At first, Apollo didn’t feel a thing.

He remembered seeing a bright flash of red light when he pushed open the heavy doors of the warehouse and thought, “Well shit, that’s not good.” He remembered as he tried to desperately dive out of the way as the hex or jinx – whatever it was – came hurdling at him. He remembered his colleagues running and shouting as he lay on the cold concrete floor. Sweet Merlin, they were loud.

Then he felt it. It wasn’t much as first – a warm, slick wetness that started at his ankle before it began to slowly spread across the bottom leg of his pants. He thought it must have been his right leg because the other was nearly curled up into his chest; so it didn’t make sense for it to be the left leg. Why that mattered, Apollo couldn’t say, but he felt like it was an important distinction that needed to be made.

Then he felt the pain. It started with a burning numbness at the ankle (always the ankle) that quickly swelled with his pounding pulse until it bloomed into a raging fire that was nearly unbearable. Apollo gritted his teeth as he rode through each agonizing wave of pain, and crawled up onto his elbow in order to get a better look at his leg.

It was a mess.

The wetness, he realized, was blood. Oh sweet Merlin, there was a lot of blood. The blood now soaked the majority of his pant leg and was beginning to pool on the ground beneath it. His right foot – or what was left of it – was a gnarled mess of meat. It looked to barely be attached by bone and tendon, but even that was suspect. Apollo didn’t know if he could move it and he was almost too afraid to try.

The whole damn thing made him lightheaded.

Trying his best to ignore the pain, Apollo glanced around the warehouse. He could see his colleagues, but it was hard to tell what was going on. He saw Alastor berating two of the trainees, Oberon and Dawlish, while Felix and Edgar secured the perimeter. Then he saw Sebastian, grim-faced and pale, as he made his way to Apollo. It didn’t take a genius to realize that things weren’t good. He only had to look at his brother to confirm his suspicions.

“Tu as l'air malade [You look unwell],” Sebastian said causally as he crouched down next to Apollo. Despite the uneasy concern still etched on Sebastian’s face, he was trying to comfort his brother. “La prochaine fois, fait un peu plus attention [Next time, be a bit more careful].”

Apollo laughed. It was short as the sudden movement rocked another wave of excruciating pain throughout his body. It also did little to help with the lightheadedness that was suddenly making it much harder to focus. “Beck moi tchew [Kiss my ass],” he countered back after a moment, finding the haziness impossible to shake off. He blinked a couple of times – hoping that might help – and decided it might be best to lie back down on the concrete. “I lost a lot of blood,” he explained to Sebastian, his words beginning to slur. “Just between us, I don’t want to lose my foot.”

Sebastian squeezed his shoulder, but said nothing else. When asked about it later by his superiors, his brother’s face was the last thing Apollo remembered before he passed out.

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This time, Apollo felt everything all at once.

It was the pain that woke him: a fresh pulsating flare that started in his leg and coursed through his entire body. Apollo groaned as he came too, but instead of feeling the cold concrete against his back, he was supported by something much softer. Focusing his eyes took a moment, but it obvious that he wasn’t in the warehouse anymore. This new room was dark as heavy scarlet-colored curtains were closed and most of the dim light came from the various crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. Though the oak paneled walls did little to brighten the atmosphere, Apollo knew where he was – he was at St. Mungo’s. He was in a hospital bed.

“You’re awake.”

From across the room, Apollo could see Sebastian with a blue vial in his hand. From the looks of it, Sebastian had been keeping himself occupied by nosily rummaging through the hospital ward’s cabinets. Like him, Sebastian had never been one to sit down and simply wait. Though he was better at it than Apollo was, it was neither of the Giouards’ greatest strengths.

Apollo nodded as he attempted to lift himself up into a sitting position. He grunted in pain, but tried to be careful as to not jostle his foot. When he looked at it this time, he saw the appendage was thankfully still attached, but hastily bandaged. Someone must have provided first aid at the warehouse, but he guessed his foot was still a disaster underneath the wraps.

“What happened?” Apollo asked. He truly didn’t know. It was supposed to be a standard raid – typical illicit black-market type of stuff. Hell, the warehouse wasn’t even supposed occupied. The Hit Wizards were already in pursuit of the dealers somewhere out in Durham. All the Aurors had to do was secure the warehouse and take inventory. It was supposed to be easy and dull – Apollo wasn’t even looking forward to the job.

Sebastian placed the blue vial back into the cabinet. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but it didn’t matter. His silence spoke volumes to Apollo. Sebastian was being evasive as he knew whatever truth he had to share wasn’t going to make his older brother happy.

“C’était un accident [It was an accident],” Sebastian said, slowly trying to find the right words. “Il a dit que c’était un accident [He said it was an accident].”

Apollo narrowed his eyes. “Who’s accident?”

“Oberon,” Sebastian admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “Alastor told him and Dawlish to clear the first room. They spent fifteen minutes in there before Oberon came out sayin’ it was done. Obviously they were missin’ somethin’ because then you walk in and…well, that’s why we’re here.”

At first, Apollo didn’t know how to respond to the news. He felt a flurry of emotions churn within him – grief, anger, disbelief – but it all seemed to ultimately be overwhelmed by his anger. Apollo may have been a lot of things – even accused of being reckless on the job himself – but he never did anything to jeopardize the lives of his colleagues.

“So I might lose my foot,” Apollo said, struggling to control his temper, “Because some couillon doesn’t know how to clear a fuckin’ room?”

“It was an accident,” Sebastian reminded him. “These things happen.”

“It was the front door,” he snapped back. “It’s the first door you use! Don’t they learn how to clear a room durin’ their first year? I remember learnin’ that my first year.”

Again, Sebastian remained silent. Apollo knew he wasn’t going to engage his brother while in his current state. It didn’t change anything – past or present circumstances. They were still here at St. Mungo’s and they needed a healer to examine Apollo’s foot. Apollo still didn’t even know if he was going to be able to keep it.

“Je te trouverai le traiteur [I’ll find the healer],” Sebastian said, breaking the silence. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and headed towards the door. Pausing at the doorway, he cast one last glance at his brother, “Détends-toi, tout va bien. C’est pas mauvais, Apollo [Relax, everything is fine. It’s not bad, Apollo].”

Apollo grabbed one of the pillows from behind him and threw it at Sebastian. His brother quickly ducked out of the way before disappearing into the hallway of St. Mungo’s fourth floor. “Ne me dîtes pas de me calmer! Il est couillion! Je vas lui pass une calotte [Don’t tell me to calm down! He’s an idiot! I’ll hit him!]!” Apollo shouted after him.

He was going to kill Oberon the next time he saw him – peg legged or not.

tagged: Andromeda Caecilia Tonks notes: Save my foot, doc!
And please pardon the most likely slaughtered Cajun French.