#hurt ashton

[sylvanfreckles]

No. 28: Explosion

Part 28 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: T Warnings: violence, gore, impaling

Summary: Ashton is injured in an explosion at a tavern, and it's up to Orym to get them to safety. (Read on AO3)

...

Ashton leaned back against the bar with a sigh, folding their arms across their chest. This line of questioning wasn’t really going well. The barkeep was either completely ignorant or stonewalling them, and even though the rest of the Hells had scattered around the tavern to question the patrons, they really couldn’t see getting any concrete information here.

“Picking up anything?” they muttered to the person on their right.

Orym sighed and shook his head. He’d perched on a barstool to get a similar eyeline to Ashton’s and had been scanning the room ever since they’d arrived. “Something doesn’t feel right. I’m trying to work it out, but something in here is just off.”

They grunted in reply, having learned early on to trust Orym’s instincts. “Think we should leave?”

“Maybe,” Orym whispered. His eyes were on one of the tavern staff, who was rolling a large barrel out of the back room. Instead of rolling it behind the counter, they left in the center of the main floor, maybe ten feet from where Orym and Ashton were standing. “That’s not right,” he said as he shoved himself off the stool and started for the barrel.

Ashton saw the little curl of smoke spiral out of the barrel the same moment Orym did. “Everyone, down!” they shouted, grabbing Orym by the shoulder to shove him behind them.

The barrel exploded.

The heat washed over Ashton first, with a force that sent them crashing back against the bar, pinning Orym between their body and the sturdy wood. Then the burning, and countless points of agony as bits of metal and glass lodged in their skin. The barrel had been packed with shrapnel; designed to do the most damage to living casualties and not structures.

They stumbled to their knees. They hadn’t been facing the explosion head-on, so it was mostly their left side that had taken a hit. A quick glance revealed that their leather jacket was practically stapled to their body by jagged nails longer than their hand. Wine-colored blood oozed out of numerous wounds.

“—shton? Ashton!”

Wearily, they cracked their eyes open. They didn’t remember falling to the floor, but they were definitely horizontal now, and a singed-looking Orym was leaning over them.

“We gotta go,” Orym said. He took Ashton’s less-injured arm and hauled on it, as though his halfling strength would be enough to pull someone like them to their feet.

“Go…go on,” Ashton tried to bat at Orym’s arm, but their vision was blurry now. So, head injury on top of everything else. “I’ll be…jus’ go.”

“Fuck.”

If the situation had been less serious, Ashton might have been amused to hear his reserved friend using such strong language. Orym was usually so careful and measured with his words—if they survived this, Ashton was never letting him forget it.

“Look, man, I didn’t want…I need your help.”

Ashton peeled an eye open again and stared balefully up at Orym. The tavern was most likely falling in around them, a good portion of it was on fire, and they had dozens of new piercings in their stony skin.

“I-I can’t find the witches,” Orym stammered. He looked up and away, shaking hands still wrapped around Ashton’s arm. “I can’t look on my own; you’ve gotta come with me, all right?”

Well, fuck. With monumental effort, Ashton heaved himself up to one knee and paused as the world spun around him. Orym was still at his side, insistent, holding his forearm with both hands.

“Wh’r they go?” they slurred when they finally staggered to their feet. Orym was at their side, holding their hand against his sturdy halfling shoulder.

“They must be outside,” Orym replied. “We’d better hurry.”

Thinking was painful at the moment, but it did cross Ashton’s mind to wonder why Orym needed their help to look outside. Particularly when Ashton could barely stay on their feet.

They stumbled, dropping to their knees, and would have fully collapsed if Orym hadn’t braced himself under their chest. Ashton hissed in a breath and coughed it back out wetly, as Orym unintentionally put pressure on one of their wounds.

“Sorry, sorry,” Orym gasped. He wasn’t looking so good, either. Ashton had shielded him from the brunt of the blast, but he’d still taken a few hits. “We gotta go, Ash. Stay with me, okay?”

“I’m not….”

“I can’t do this without you, man.” Orym’s gaze was intense as he stared into Ashton’s eyes. “It’s real bad out there. We need you.”

Fuck it all, these people were going to be the death of them. Ashton shoved back up to their feet, leaning heavily on Orym (which nearly made the halfling collapse). Part of them knew they were in no condition to fight, but if Orym was saying they were needed it must be true.

“That’s it,” Orym’s voice wavered as they neared the door. “As soon as we’re on the street we can look for the ladies. They’re pretty much helpless without us, right?”

Ashton grunted. They thought of Laudna, who looked like a stiff wind could snap her in half. Of Imogen, who could get so focused in battle she forgot to defend herself. Of Fearne, who definitely still had interesting things worth stealing in her pockets.

There were more shouts now. People were running past them to tend to the fire or look for other survivors. They were shuffled to the side, largely ignored in the hubbub as Orym lead then doggedly toward the tavern’s open door.

They stepped through into fresh air and late afternoon sunlight, familiar hands joining Orym’s to guide them away from the chaos.

“Fucking…fuck,” Ashton groaned as someone finally let them lie down. Hands were prodding at their chest, worrying over the bits of metal. Someone brushed his forehead and a jolt of healing warmth cleared up some of the ache and confusion of his head injury. They looked up into Fearne’s worried face. “Hey…found you.”

“You certainly did,” Fearne replied.

“Orym was…he was worried,” Ashton said. Their head was spinning in and out, blackness gathering at the edges of their vision. “Needed my help.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

Something in Fearne’s tone made Ashton stare at her. She was barely hiding a smile, and they looked past her to see Imogen and Laudna talking together a few feet away.

Orym knelt next to Fearne, filthy and bruised and covered in blood—both his and Ashton’s. “Letters is on their way.”

“You,” Ashton jabbed an unsteady finger at Orym. “You lied to me.”

The halfling had the audacity to look embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No, no, no. No sorry,” Ashton waved the finger. “’m proud of you.”

“Okay, that’s the concussion talking,” Orym said, gently resting a hand on Ashton’s shoulder. “Help’s on the way.”

[utilitycaster]

one more thing (started to put this on the previous post but realized it applies to CR too) but between CR and D20 discourse, why are so many people surprised when US-based actual play shows are coming out with the message of "being angry and resentful and using your pain as an excuse makes you prone to radicalization into a violent cult with little regard for the lives of others, and that is not good of you" and what does it say about them that they keep trying to argue against this.

[lunarrolls]

listen so closely to me i think liliana temult is a fascinating character and she’s really fun to examine morally but also nothing will ever come fucking close catharsis-wise to watching ashton and orym fucking cross examine her ass in episode 92. the sexiest shit i’ve ever seen “your worst fear is probably my worst fear, and i think we just got a little sample (my worst fear came true because you weren’t fast enough, what will you do when it’s her head on the line?)” and “keep wrestling (you must bear the weight of their deaths on your conscience and know it will never be enough for what you took from me)” like holy SHIT you guys

[chaosgenasi]

Please describe to me how you regain yourself. How do you wanna subdue this?

[captainofthetidesbreath]

Chet and Ashton's "you should leave" conversation from episode 78 because it's a highlight in a really strong episode

[dreamydxze]

(offers a callowmoore hug in these trying times)

[difeisheng]

qiao wanmian and li xiangyi's relationship really is so important to me, because they're a study in how amatonormativity causes people to idealize one another and others to idealize the image of them together, until neither of them can bear the weight of those combined expectations. they're two people who loved each other but later realized that being in love perhaps meant something else, but it was too little too late at the time and there would have been no way to separate without hurt. but i'd also say that their ending is hopeful, in that they do manage to get closure, and although it gets cut short, they manage to restart a relationship as friends who know one another well. i don't know, it's just nice to see that there's a way through/around exhausting societal standards and the damage they've done, and the possibility to heal from it with others

[gobliiine]

Ashton went looking for answers and the answer was definitively that you were fated to be what you are, you were always going to be great

and they said no fuck that. but I will be anyway

[cringefaecompilation]

cannot stand it when i see posts saying orym could/can only ever have concrete conversations about himself and his feelings with either dorian or ashton or that they're the only people that would understand what he's going through. asides from the Women Just Don't Get It-ness of it all, like:

i rest my case

[towards-toramunda]

Orym is such a good character for Fearne specifically to be best friends with. Cause like… I feel like the big thing I realized during the latest episode was that Fearne and Ashton are both so chaotic that it leads to enabling each other’s chaos in a destructive and unhealthy way, whereas Orym is “the responsible one”, BUT he stole from a ghost ship for Fearne. Orym is more chaotic because of Fearne and Fearne is more responsible when she’s around Orym. They really balance each other out so well and I just love their friendship so much.

[tv1xx]

Father-Son conversations 🥰❤️ (guys I swear this pains me to even do this)

[astrangertomykin]

I truly honestly understand what the hell Ashton was thinking in that moment and cannot find myself to be mad at them. When you spend your life in pain already, there is no threat or fear of more. It's all the same, really. Especially when this way you could use it to help the people you love and, finally, make that pain worthwhile.

[utilitycaster]

Various CR characters, the latest of which is Ashton Greymoore: I don't believe in fate

Matthew Mercer, descending directly into the narrative: the interplay of fate and free will is the most consistent culture-spanning theme in the entire universe I built and is set up as the crux of the finale of Campaign 3 so your belief does not actually matter but this is a great character trait for you to have so go off

[cassafrasscr]

As a chronic pain haver, Ashton repeatedly asking the group to please just take a Long Rest already (and dragging themself after their friends when they don’t) hits a little close to home. 🙃

[danwhobrowses]

It shouldn't need to be said but I'm seeing a lot of vitriol towards Ashton about their actions and I have to say I don't agree with them.

At the clock tower Fearne brought up the shard, stated that in her opinion Ashton should take the shard because she didn't want it. Ashton decided then as a result they'd take it, but because it was an extreme risk made very aware to them all they knew the other Hells wouldn't allow them to go through with it. Ashton asked Fearne if she was okay with both of them going together alone with the plan, reiterating that they didn't want to put this on Fearne, that if they died Fearne would not be to blame, and that they have no intention of dying, and Fearne said yes.

Fearne having second thoughts at the Ziggurat was just worry, because she cares deeply for Ashton, Ashton kissing her was not manipulation either; it was letting go of fear, having no regret with the person they also care deeply for and taking the risk. And yeah, it was frightening, 10 rounds of perpetual fiery near-death situations and one actual death situation; Laura is fuming, Ashley cannot look, Liam is playing Mad World on loop in his mind, even Matt is completely on edge, but they survived. Accusations that Ashton manipulated Fearne to selfishly take the shard seem to misinterpret the shard saga as well as Fearne and Ashton's characters, they will get a very intense amount of chastising for sure, but it will be out of love, out of the fear that they were going to lose them, not because they thought Ash was manipulative.

[masterqwertster]

Two prompts from the hurt/confort list that caught my attention was

Wizard - Illusion for Orym maybe

Wizard -Graviturgy for Ashton would also be interesting

Ended up mixing the two together a bit. I think it came out pretty good.  Illusion Wizard: Convincing them that someone or something they find soothing is there when it, in fact, is not. Graviturgy Wizard: Picking them up, even if they are much heavier than their caretaker could normally lift.

“Okay, big guy, up and at ‘em,” Orym tiredly pleads, tugging pretty ineffectually at Ashton’s arm. 

Normally, he could lift their arm, but since Ashton is in their titanous form, it’s too much for Orym. Their bicep is bigger than Orym’s torso when they’re like this. Still, he needs to get the barbarian up and going. After all, Orym doesn’t know where the others are. All he knows is that the explosion blasted everyone away, he doesn’t recognize anything about where they landed in the dim light Ashton’s arm and head throw off, and that Ashton is the only other person around them he can sense. Oh, and they’re not going anywhere if Ashton isn’t moving under their own power. They’re just too heavy for Orym to move and Nana’s gifts aren’t any help in that department either.

Thankfully, Ashton awakens with a moan, the sound rattling the pebbles and small stones around them, as he slowly pushes up from where he’d fallen, Orym taking a step back to give him space.

“Orym?” Ashton slurs. “Wh’re’s Letters? M’ head hurts.”

Orym stiffens. Watches with wide eyes as they sort of slump back down, resting their head on folded arms. Painfully observes the hazy gaze, and the swelling lump on their temple unnervingly close to the glass.

As much as Orym hopes it’s not so, he’s got a feeling the genasi is concussed and missing some key memories from recent times.

“Wazza matter? Danger?” Ashton asks, finally catching on to Orym’s apprehension and putting effort into actually getting up instead of stopping at getting their face out of the dirt.

“No, no no no,” Orym tries to sooth, hands pressing into Ashton’s molten shoulder. “No danger.” Yet. “Just– you’ve got a pretty good lump going on your forehead. I’m worried about that. So– so don’t go to sleep on me, okay?”

“M’kay,” Ashton huffs in agreement, reaching a sitting position of slumping against his raised legs, fingers idly fiddling with the stretched hem of his pants. 

“An’ Letters?” they plaintively ask after a moment.

“We all got separated, Ash, so it’s just you and me right now,” Orym evasively answers.

It’s not that Orym thinks Ashton can’t handle knowing Fresh Cut Grass is dead. He’s been doing that since it happened (they all have). But, if Ashton doesn’t remember that heartache in this moment, Orym sees no reason to return that burden to him while he’s already so hurt. Especially when there’s not anything any of them can do about it.

What Orym can do right now is give Ashton some field tests to try and determine how bad their probably-a-concussion is. The demi-titan is grumbly about it, but it’s also obviously something they’ve been through before on more than one occasion, so they go along with it well enough. Orym gets about the results he expected.

After that, with more than a little scolding from Orym that Ashton should not flop onto his back (the barbarian’s normal sleeping position) to rest a little more comfortably, the halfling ends up doing his best at playing crutch to get Ashton seated leaning back against a nearby piece of rubble large enough to support him like that. Honestly, Orym knows he didn’t provide a ton of support in steadying Ashton’s tottering stumble over, considering the top of his head is barely above Ashton’s knee when they’re transformed. But he was able to offer some measure of counterweight and support practically hanging off their hand and opposite of their hammer.

Gods, Orym feels so fucking small tucked in against Ashton’s side. His form easily hidden by the titanous bulk of their arm loosely curled around him, never mind the thickness of their torso. If it wasn’t so damn dark, Orym would be tempted to complain about Ashton ruining his sightlines. Well, sightlines on their surroundings. Sitting where he is gives Orym a decent view of Ashton’s face and has his ear pressed to their side at just about the perfect height to listen to and feel their breathing, making sure it doesn’t slow into a potentially fatal slumber.

It also means that when Ashton starts trembling and his breaths go shaky after some murky, indeterminate time, Orym is keenly aware of it.

“Ashton?” he gently asks, gripping a small patch of a very large thigh.

“‘Membered. Grass is gone,” Ashton wetly explains, the arm not around Orym coming up to rub at his face.

“Sorry. I should have told you when you asked about them, but…” Orym trails off, not sure if Ashton even wants that explanation.

“‘S okay. You were tryin’ ta be nice,” they slur, tongue still thick with the concussion, or maybe the tears they’re quietly crying, as they give Orym a brief, almost painfully tight squeeze.

“Uh, the others ‘re still…?”

“Just FCG is gone,” Orym sadly confirms.

“‘Kay. Good. Well, not good, but–” Ashton stumbles over his words.

“I get it,” Orym assures, giving their thigh a good squeeze.

“Mmm.”

And they sit and wait for the others.