1 YEAR.

⤏ PHIL

phil was shaking. he couldn't stop shaking, no matter how hard he clenched his fingers into fists by his sides. he could feel everything in his own reality slipping out of his grasp, and he couldn't stop thinking one thing: he didn't understand.

the boy who lay at his feet was still alive... he knew he was still alive, he could hear his slow, shaky breathing. somehow it echoed louder than the rustling of the tree branches in the breeze that always seemed to dance through the leaves no matter what the weather was like outside of the thicket.

phil knew well enough not to try and pry the wooden arrow from his chest, no matter how badly his instincts urged him to. he was already bleeding way too heavily, spilling out over his grey coat and tricking to the soft underbrush of the forest floor he was laid out on.

a fucking arrow. one of those old ones, made from sticks and grass and a rock sharpened to a dagger's point. jesus christ, when had he entered the middle ages? and why did it feel so normal to him now?

phil went to his knees, unsure if he wanted to touch him or not. hot tears pricked his eyes as the man's head turned to look at him. his face didn't betray much emotion other than pure agony, and that tugged at phil's heartstrings a little too hard. no matter how many late night nursing classes he attended, he'd never get used to something like that.

maybe he really wasn't meant to be a nurse after all. clearly people only got hurt around him.

"i'm sorry," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the threat of even more embarrassing tears. "i'm sorry this had to happen."

far off in the distance, beyond the trees, he heard the faint, comforting sound of sirens. he finally let the throbbing in his skull set in from his own injuries, the pain enveloping him until all he felt was a white hot sinister warmth.

everything became a green and brown blur...

and phil passed out.