The Big Bash is Back

Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT OWN THE 7D!

Author's Note: Thank you for the positive feedback!

The air hung heavy in the dark, dank room. The bull's stance was frozen in fear, but he eventually bowed his head and gazed into the orb.

Bashful lay on his side, his eyes peacefully closed, a gentle stream of red leaking from his cracked-open mouth. His back spilled blood from the nasty fall from the table, when he crashed to the top. His small area of chest barely echoed with breath. The dwarf was sensitive, and his body couldn't take much physical abuse.

John's heart raced. Bashful never deserved this. Is this normal? the bull wondered suddenly. The backstabbing, the sorcerers, the pain. Emotions hit his chest like a load of bricks. But what was worse was the sight of the injured dwarf right under his nose.

The bull nudged the orb slightly, nerves bursting, not knowing what else to do. No response. He bumped it again. Relief budded in him when his beloved dwarf groggily opened an eye.

Bashful blinked heavily, his mind struggling to work. His back burned, the warm blood sticking to his sweater. The metallic liquid tinted his taste buds, dripping from a cut in his lip. The dwarf looked up, hoping for someone to help him.

The familiar face of a bull stared back. Bashful smiled gently, despite his pain. John crouched to inspect the injuries, when all of a sudden, the thundering sound of feet filled his ears. A victorious whistle followed.

"I knew the Glooms were involved!" Grumpy exclaimed, unsurprised.

John gazed disapprovingly at the dwarves. If anyone should help Bashful, it should be him. He actually cared!

Grumpy glared back. If looks could kill… Doc kept his grim expression and looked up at the animal. "Listen, there's no stopping us running into you, but I need to see Bashful. We know he's here." Dopey whistled in agreement, confident in his tracking this time.

The bull huffed, disgruntled. This dwarf, this traitor, thought he could boss him around? Not a chance!

A minuscule voice whispered out to John. "Please….just let them." Bashful was smart enough to know he had to get medical attention. The injury hurt terribly, the pain clawing through his entire being, fogging his mind. He had to make it stop!

John looked down, fear flooding through him. Yes, Bashful was injured, but how did he know the 6D wouldn't make it worse? All he knew was that the dwarves were rude and unappreciative. Those didn't seem like very good doctor traits.

Thinking quickly and irrationally, John stamped a hoof on the glass orb at his feet. Cracks issued, prying the prison apart. The spell was broken, and John hastily threw the regular-size Bashful onto his back.

He huffed protectively, and ran. The dwarf groaned and grasped the short blue-grey hair around him. Bashful's back ached, and he couldn't understand why his trusted sidekick was running from the dwarf whose name was literally Doc. The strawberry blond had to put this injury above all the bad stuff he had heard. The pain was nearly unbearable.

John however, had no intention of turning around. He had convinced himself the other dwarves were cruel, heartless villains. A fury still burned in him. There was no way he would let any of them lay a finger on Bashful! If his dwarf was hurt, he could find a way to fix him on his own.

After all, they were superheroes. They could do anything...right? Wasn't that how it worked?

Doc pressed his thumb and forefinger to his forehead. He sighed, stress building. "How are we supposed to do anything, if that bull keeps getting in the way?" He spoke "bull" sourly.

Dopey sat on the ground, his blue sweater pooling around him. He had an idea brewing in his mind, and wanted to share it. Unfortunately, he could only whistle, and Doc didn't always translate correctly. Besides, this could end up getting Bashful in trouble.

He kept quiet.

Dopey was smarter than he got credit for. He knew that bull was the same one from before. Therefore, this bull had connections with the mysterious hero that was the Big Bash. And just now he was with Bashful. It seemed pretty clear, but there would be a lot of unwanted blabber if the idea was false.

Grumpy pounded his fist. "This is more trouble than Bashful's worth," he remarked, remembering all the times Bashful merely stood by, or was hiding while the rest were on a mission. All this trouble seemed worthless to him. What good would it do?

Sneezy frowned at Grumpy, wiping his nose on his scarf. The elder dwarf scowled at this-disgusting. "But Grumpy, Bashful's our friend!"

"And our friend is hurt!" Doc added. "Sev-er, six D, we can stop at nothing to defeat that bull and rescue our pal!"

Sneezy grinned. "You saw da feet on him, Doc!" Sleepy smiled sideways at his friend, and they high-foured. That joke never seemed to get old with the two dwarves.

Dopey whistled softly to Doc, needing to remorsefully point something out. Doc choked slightly. "Yeah, Dopey. I guess...I guess we were mean earlier. But you don't think Bashful heard any of that, do you?"

Dopey awkwardly shrugged. If his theory was correct, Bashful heard it all. ...Huh, that would explain why he was acting so strangely back at the cottage.

The dreary cottage was suddenly an explosion of voices. Explanations told to the wrong person, defenses held strong, teary apologies. It was, unsurprisingly, Doc who brought peace.

"Listen, fellas. We can't really take back what we said. But we can't stand around here feeling sorry for ourselves. We need to find Bashful. He never did anything to us. Besides, that wound looked bad, and it's highly plausible it will get infected if we don't treat it."

Sneezy recoiled. "And by infected…?"

Doc pulled a photo from his tall blue and green hat, displaying it. A chorus of "eew!" sounded.

Sleepy peeked his eye open. "Yeah, let's go help Bashful."

"RESCUE HEIGH HO!" The group charged out of the disheveled home, guilt and determination filling their hearts.

John charged through the village square. It was certainly a sight to see- a large bull, crashing through town, a bleeding dwarf on his back. Bashful wrapped his tiny arms around the animal. The wind exploded onto his open wound, producing a burning sensation. The shy man hissed through his teeth.

As the duo thundered through town, villagers jumped out of their way, screaming. A certain royal advisor noticed too late, though. Starchbottom was plowed down by the bull, shouting at the top of his lungs.

The green-clad man stood, dusting off his strange clothes, and looked over. He was certainly surprised at least to see a familiar dwarf looking back. His violet eyes were hollow and tired. The advisor recoiled at the sight of blood.

Starchbottom mustered up courage. He could show that he was clearly able to help. He dashed after the bull, calling, "Bashful! Hey, Bashful!"

John barely slowed down enough to let the queen's helper catch up. The latter cleared his throat nervously under the intimidating red-eyed gaze of the creature. "Bashful, um, if you're hurt, then I can, you know, take you to the castle hospital wing."

The bull's nostrils flared, but the dwarf smiled wearily. He quietly responded with, "Only if I won't be a bother."

Lord Starchbottom grinned hugely. Now was his chance to show he could work just as well, or better, than the 7D. How better to show that than rescuing one of those dwarves? Awkwardly, Starchy avoided the eyes of the animal. He could feel the hot breath of the beast on his face.

Bashful gently patted his sidekick, prompting him to follow the advisor. John reluctantly agreed. He had hardly seen this man, but Bashful seemed to trust him. The creature decided he would bolt if this guy turned out to be a creep. Anything to protect Bashful.

Once the trio arrived at the entrance to the castle, Lord Starchbottom turned to halt the bull, but John casually kept walking. The staff member tensed. How would the queen react to a random bull strutting through the castle? Starchy ran to catch up.

Where did this bull come from anyways? And why was Bashful with him? Bashful was a timid, gentle dwarf; that didn't mix well with a crazed, tough bull. This animal walked the halls like he owned the place, while Bashful always bowed politely in presence of the queen, and often hid behind his friends. The two were complete opposites.

At the hospital wing, John winced when Starchbottom lifted Bashful. If this strange man hurts Bashful, he better believe I will hurt him. The advisor was exceptionally careful, scared he could damage the very fragile dwarf. Once the shy dwarf was lying on a cot, John sat next to it, looking like an obedient dog.

Bashful was actually quite silent as he got put into the bed. His violet eyes were half-lidded, too. It spooked Starchy a bit.

Starchbottom inhaled and exhaled, trying to slow down and remember some medical training. (One never knew what they would encounter while working for the queen.) With careful, shaking fingers, Starchy fiddled with Bashful's sweater.

Face burning red, the dwarf spread his arms across him as best he could with a back injury. "W-what are y-you doing?"

The advisor ran a hand through his red hair. "I need to see the injury, Bashful."

"B-but..." Bashful wasn't too keen on showing himself to others. It was so awkward. He could already feel prying, judging eyes. The dwarf felt much more comfortable in his green sweater. "..o-okay then..."

Lord Starchbottom gently wiggled the striped sweater downward off the dwarf. Cringing, he tossed the bloody rag aside. Bashful's arms covered his bare chest; slowly, he lowed them down, showing his pale torso.

Ignoring the dwarf's tomato red face, Starchbottom examined the cut. A bad purplish bruise was developing around the injury. The advisor gingerly pressed his cold hands around the injury. Bashful hissed through his teeth in pain.

Upon pressure, the bleeding slowed to barely a trickle. Starchbottom let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. If the bleeding didn't stop, Bashful would have to be taken to a medical professional.

Alright...next was...disinfection? Yeah.

The royal advisor briskly washed his hands and pulled out a yellow box of disinfectant wipes. He took out a small bucket from a cabinet and proceeded to fill it with water. He dropped a soft piece of cloth into the bucket, and brought all the items over to the clean white bed.

Bashful was lying on his stomach, turned to his left. That mysterious bull was rubbing his snout on the dwarf's hand. Starchy was baffled as to how the little guy could be smiling at a time like this.

Clearing his throat, Starchbottom placed down the items. He drenched the cloth, wrung it out, and placed it on the cut. Bashful screamed.

"NO! AUGH! GET IT OFF!" Tears pricked at his violet eyes. "IT HURTS!"

The nearby bull snapped his head up defensively.

Sweating, Lord Starchbottom jerked the damp rag off the injury. Bashful was breathing heavily, his eyes shut tight. "Bashful...I really need to clean your cut. I'll try to make it quick."

The dwarf swallowed and looked up. "O-okay..."

The advisor took a deep breath and pressed the cloth on the wound. He heard Bashful hiss in pain, but quickly finished washing the injury. As quickly as it had come, the sting of direct contact was gone.

Bashful gasped. It was over, but a light sting still lingered. He had been gripping the short blue-grey fur of his animal friend, abet tightly, but John didn't mind. The bull gently pushed his head toward the dwarf, and nuzzled his human companion.

The procedure was repeated with the disinfectant wipes.

Starchbottom washed his hands again. That's another thing done. He was just waiting for this medical stuff to be finished. His stomach had held so far, but it might not for long. Blood had somehow rubbed off onto his fingers.

Reaching into the cabinet, the man wrapped his fingers around a soft roll of bandage. Back at the bed, he carefully helped Bashful sit up, and wrapped the bandage around the dwarf's torso. The advisor tied a sloppy bow in the front.

Starchbottom sighed. The dressing of the wound was over, his job was done. He could go ahead and leave now; the advisor had achieved that feeling of superiority. Yeah, he had to dress a bloody wound, but he proved he could do better than the 7D.

Lord Starchbottom watched the little dwarf try to scramble onto the bull's back, his little legs struggling. The animal leaned down and helped the chubby dwarf onto his back. Bashful had wrapped his small arms around the beast, when he looked back at Starchy.

His smile was genuine. "Thank you."

The advisor stared as the duo burst from the room. How could one of the 7D seem so...sweet?

As the pair burst back into the world, cold air hit the small dwarf. Oh right. The sweater was left bloody and crumpled back at the hospital wing.

Bashful shivered in his bandages. He pressed himself onto John, both for warmth and to hide himself a bit.

Villagers stared. This being Jollywood, citizens had a different sense of normal, so this was barely out of the realm of regular. But it was still strange. It wasn't everyday one saw the shyest of the 7D, wearing bandages, riding upon a charging bull.

John understood enough, so he rushed to a familiar housing.

The sweet smell of laundry fluttered through the breeze. It was a mix of different smells; no two dwarves liked the same kind of detergent. Happy loved most scents, especially the flower ones, but those made Sneezy's nose really irritated. Sneezy's preferred kind kept Sleepy up at night, so he used sweet nighttime scents. Most detergents made Dopey and Bashful itch. Grumpy was picky, and so was Doc to some extent.

The unique combination of smells was impossible to mistake as anything but the clean laundry of the 7D. The tall cottage came into view and a feeling of warmth spread through Bashful.

The dwarf was dropped off at the clothesline and pulled on a sweater. He sighed inwardly. He had to admit he missed his friends.

I guess that's the thing about family. Whatever they do, you can't help but forgive them.

And maybe….if they had said those things….

Then I must be the problem.