|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 6:46 pm
It had started to rain by the time Michael slammed on the brakes of his car, skidding just passed the alley where he’d been directed. The phone call came almost too late for him to answer. He was in the process of preparing to power up and patrol the city for a few hours before heading back home. It was already late, past midnight, and most people and stores were already closed.
Michael didn’t bother closing the door to his car as he jumped out, dashing down the darkened alley, trying to find where Caspian was, while also keeping an eye out for any Negaverse officer that might have been lurking in the shadows. Thankfully, he hadn’t been too far away, or at least not far enough for him to feel the need to call an ambulance, despite his knee jerk reaction to want to. He had more or less promised Caspian that he would only insist he go to the hospital if absolutely necessary.
At least he knew Caspian was still conscious, having insisted upon keeping him on the line until he got there, making him at least say something every now and then, with the threat of calling an ambulance had he stopped saying anything.
For a few moments, Michael wished he’d brought a flashlight with him, but soon saw the outline of someone on the ground near the wall of the building, having told Caspian to try and get out of sight as best he could. Michael didn’t ask what happened, or who might have hurt him. He didn’t care what happened as long as he was able to get there in time.
He quickly dropped to his knees by Caspian’s side the moment he could, his face already pale, but not anywhere near as pale as Caspian looked. The only reason he hesitated was because he didn’t want to hurt him more.
“Can you stand?” he asked, surprised that his voice still sounded steady. He already knew from being on the phone that his back had been cut, and his chest, and his arm, but in the dark it was hard to see how severely. “I’m going to carry you,” Michael decided instead, not wanting to risk Caspian collapsing. He pulled at the bottom of the hoodie that he was wearing, despite the heat, pulling it up and over his head, and waiting until he could get Caspian to at least sit up, before more or less forcing the hoodie over Caspian’s head, if only to keep him warm.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 7:14 pm
He was, at the very least, relatively coherent. Michael had made him keep talking the entire time he'd driven over, in spite of all of Caspian's quips about not being on the phone while driving. He hadn't really moved since he'd collapsed, and was still on his stomach, because lying on his back was too painful on many levels.
The rain did not help. By the time Caspian heard a car coming close, he felt wet and cold and disgusting, and altogether not very pleased with this unbelievably shitty situation he'd gotten himself into. If he was not quite so miserable, he might have just gone home, but there was no getting around calling someone for help - and that someone unfortunately had to be Michael.
There was a screech of tires, a click of a door swinging open, followed by sloshing footsteps. Michael's face appeared above Caspian's as he opened his eyes, and in the dim lighting, he thought he looked worried, but it was difficult to tell.
"I can stand," Caspian grunted as he sat up, and the next second he found an overlarge sweatshirt jammed over him somewhat unceremoniously.
"Ow - what the - "
He poked his head out of the top and shook it, sending droplets of water flying and making himself feel slightly dizzy in the process. "I can walk," Caspian insisted, but this was a blatant and total lie, because as he staggered upright, he immediately tilted sideways once more and fell to his knees on the wet cement.
"Or maybe not."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 8:30 pm
Even through his concern, Michael managed a scowl as Caspian tried standing up on his own, only to fall back to his knees. Typical. Michael knew he was stubborn, but at least he wasn’t so stubborn that he didn’t know when to call for help. And he was glad that Caspian did.
“Which arm was cut? Your left?” Michael asked as he also stood, trying to decide how best to get Caspian to the car. He didn’t want to agitate his back, and he knew he had a cut across his chest that needed to be looked at.
It was only the fact that Caspian was still making light hearted comments that Michael wasn’t about to cart his a** right to the hospital despite his complaints against it. But no, he wasn’t going to break his trust immediately, although if it was worse than what it currently seemed, he definitely would.
“It’ll be better if you try not to move,” he suggested, taking hold of where Caspian’s elbows would be through the hoodie, and hoisted him up to his feet. “And put your arms over your chest to protect it,” he added, not wasting any time in leaning down to put his arm around the back of Caspian’s legs, and lifting him as if he were a sack of flour, or maybe even as one would a tired child, holding him against his chest. It was the only way he could really carry him with the least amount of risk of hurting him more.
He didn’t waste time listening to any complaints Caspian might have had, and brought him over to his car, opening the back door so he could help him lay down across the back seats.
“I’m taking you to my place to get you cleaned up. But I will not promise that I won’t end up taking you to the hospital if things get worse. I don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” he explained, obviously not caring if blood or dirt or water ended up on the black leather seats of his car. There was hardly anything in it, and kept clean. He much preferred his motorcycle for land transportation, anyway.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 8:42 pm
"Look," said Caspian, in a tone that suggested he was about to make a comment somewhere along the lines of I'm totally fine, really. Except none of the rest of it actually made it out of his mouth, because Michael had stooped, grabbed him, and hoisted him up with a strength that could only be from his days in the Navy.
Every snarky comment that Caspian had been intending to make abruptly dissolved into nothing more than wide, startled eyes and a complete lack of words for once in his life. This was not what he had expected or planned whatsoever.
"Uh," he said brilliantly, "Wait."
But his chest was throbbing - he hadn't listened to the whole put your arms over your chest suggestion, but they were trapped anyway, the sleeves of the sweatshirt long enough that they covered his hands. Caspian doubted there would be any single thing about waiting.
"Now I know how a bag of flour feels," he grunted, exhaling a sigh. "And it's my left arm," he added, rather belatedly.
He was wet, grimy, bloody, and in pain. Michael had set him in the back of the car, and Caspian scooted back, hissing out a noise that didn't really sound like him. He didn't dare lay on his back, but twisted over to lay on his stomach, pressing his forehead to the leather.
"Nice car," he mumbled, only half audible.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 9:06 pm
There was no time to waste. Not only was Caspian clearly in pain and injured and losing blood, but at any moment the Negaverse officer might come back. Michael frowned as Caspian groaned and hissed and settled as best he could into the back of the sedan, and made sure his feet were out of the way when he closed the door behind him, before finally looking up to the buildings above them, and back down the alley to make sure they weren’t being watched.
He went around to the front to get in and start up the car. It didn’t take long for him to get to the house he supposed he called home. Probably because he didn’t quite stop at all the stop signs, and went a little faster than he probably should have on a rainy night, but it wasn’t as if anything happened during that time, and the sooner he got Caspian home, the better.
Once again, he didn’t listen to any of Caspian’s comments or complaints as he pulled him out of the car and carried him to the door. He supposed he could claim to live in the suburbs, because it was a ranch style home on its own lot. The houses weren’t that far apart, and since the areas around it were developing like rapid fire, it became a prime location to live. It was also convenient to come and go on patrols. ”Jeez, you were out late,” Peter commented as he mashed at the buttons on the controller as he played his video game, his feet up on the coffee table, trying to hack away at monsters and ghouls without getting killed. He knew he was up late too, but he was so close to finishing the quest he’d been working on. A little longer and he’d even level up. “Mom called, she said she’s making lasagna on Friday and she wants us to come over. I think Chris and Paris are going too. I think she’s gonna try and make it a movie… night…” he trailed off, finally coming to a point in his game where he could look up and see what Michael was doing.
“Oh my god, did you kill someone else??” he sputtered, quickly pausing the game and jumping up from the couch. “Why are you bringing them here??” he gaped. He was already in his pajamas, which was just a teeshirt and boxers since he didn’t exactly expect anyone else to show up, much less a dead body.
He was finally reaching the point where his long awaited growth spurt was kicking in, and he stood around 5’8” although he was still rather lanky, not filling out as much as his brothers. He’d maintained his undercut hair style since the start of the school year, the longer strands brushed back. And aside from Michael having azure blue eyes and Peter’s being goldenrod, their coloring was exactly the same, from their mahogany hair to tanned skin.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 9:29 pm
Caspian shut his eyes tightly throughout the majority of the ride, ignoring the way that the car jostled him back and forth and trying to pretend that he didn't feel more than a little pathetic at the moment.
This feeling was not exactly helped by the fact that, once they had stopped, Michael dragged him out and up into his arms again without a word. Caspian made a disgruntled sound of protest, but didn't fight it, instead dropping his forehead to rest on Michael's shoulder, biting back the obscenities he was debating shouting instead.
There was a voice that came from the door the moment it opened. Caspian couldn't exactly turn around, but it sounded a little younger than himself, combined with the familiar beeping and crashing of what as probably a video game of sorts.
"I'm not dead," Caspian groaned at whoever it was that was speaking, rolling his eyes. "Jeez. Put me down already, I'm fine, really Michael."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 9:44 pm
“You should be in bed,” Michael said in response to Peter’s comments, ignoring most of them in favor of getting the door closed behind him and Caspian into the house. “Move off the couch,” he added, to which Peter awkwardly stepped aside, his eyes wide when the person actually spoke. ”Woah, that’s a lot of blood,” Peter observed, but scooted away from the couch so Michael could proceed to place the injured guy on it. “Dude, that sucks,” he sagely added, deciding that this was definitely more important than a video game and picked up the controller to turn the system off, even without saving. Michael should have known that Peter would have been awake and getting in the way. Or maybe it was good he was up because, now that he thought about it, he might actually need some help. After depositing Caspian onto the couch, he took a couple steps back to head towards the kitchen to pull out the large first aid kit he had in the pantry. It would have practically everything he could think of to use on wounds from being on the job. Well, the kit was a lot fuller before Peter moved in, but he didn’t think Peter was dumb enough to try and avoid going to the hospital if he needed to go.
“Hey, grab some towels will you? And heat up some water? And some aspirin? And wash your hands,” Michael asked, lugging the kit out into the living room and onto the table. “You’ll have to take off your shirt,” he said to Caspian, his voice a little softer than the orders he’d been giving Peter. He was probably in a lot of pain. “You should probably let me do it. I bet it’ll be stuck to your skin at this point,” he frowned, knowing from experience what a pain it was to peel off fabric stuck on by dried blood. Peter stared at Michael for a few moments, before glancing back at the guy on the couch, and let out a huff but went to do as he was instructed. “You know we’re out of pain meds,” he pointed out, which resulted in a stressed ‘What?? Why didn’t you get more?’ from Michael. “Dude, I’m living on a fixed income and you won’t let me drive your car. Besides, it’s your house,” he pointed out, although he went to get the towels and turn on the keurig to heat up some water.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 9:56 pm
"I'm really ffff..........."
He'd almost yelled out <********> at the top of his lungs instead of "I'm really fine" as Michael set him down on the couch, but bit it back when he noticed that it was indeed a kid that was speaking. Or rather, not just a kid, but a miniature Michael, with the same mahogany hair, to the lightly tanned skin. The difference in eye color was the only thing that Caspian could tell, but he closed his own after a moment, exhaling a pained breath.
By the time Michael had come back, Caspian was on his side, half curled up.
"No," he grunted, just because being stubborn was in his nature, but he sighed and attempted to push himself up, everything swimming hazily in front of him. Caspian drew his knees up to his chest and tried to think of anything other than the searing pain that seemed to emanate with each movement.
"Who's the mini-me?" he mumbled, desperate for a distraction.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 10:15 pm
Well, s**t. That wasn’t what he was planning. He could have sworn that they had plenty of pain medicine, but if Peter said they were out, then they probably were. That’s what happened when you lived with a kid who had been a chibi senshi until just recently. Now he was full fledged, or whatever.
“s**t,” he said out loud anyway, even as Caspian struggled to sit up. He was pale and didn’t look good at all. Michael lifted a hand to rub through his hair in frustration, trying to think of something he could do. Going out to the store right now might work, but most were closed and Caspian was in pain and suffering. Against his better judgement, he stepped away from the couch and headed back towards the kitchen, not intentionally ignoring Caspian’s question since he was distracted, but ignoring Caspian’s question. ”Let’s just say, science has gone too far,” Peter filled in the gap when Michael wandered off, obviously trying to hold it together but probably not knowing for how much longer. “The mad scientists decided to call me Peter, so I guess you can call me that, too,” he chirped, everything said completely deadpan.
“Who are you? Knight or senshi?” he asked, figuring he had to be one or the other. Or if he wasn’t, well, then that was awkward and Michael probably should have warned him ahead of time. “Why would you think he is??” Michael was back in time to hear the question already scowling at the whole situation. The look he got in return was one that clearly said what else would he be, and Michael dropped the subject for now.
“Here, sorry, it’s the best option I’ve got right now,” he said, turning his attention back to Caspian, pushing a bottle of Everclear into his hands. “Or don’t drink it,” he added, knowing Caspian was underage and maybe didn’t want to drink before he was legally able to. Or maybe he just wouldn’t want to have his senses dulled that much.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 10:38 pm
He tilted forward and rested his forehead on his knees, listening to the sound of Michael and his mini-me running around. A part of him wanted to ask if it was his kid, but the age difference between them didn't seem enough for that to actually make logical sense.
"Peter Pan it is," said Caspian, without lifting his head. He'd wrapped his arms loosely around his knees, his breathing labored, and he could not remember the last time he had ever felt this shitty. Volleyball and boarding injuries were one thing, but stab wounds and knife cuts were entirely different, something completely unfamiliar - and frightening, though he was trying very hard to try not to think about this last part.
Caspian was saved the trouble of answering Peter's question by the sound of Michael's annoyed voice. Something cool was being pressed into his hand, and he raised his head, squinting down at the bottle with a mixture of hazy confusion and amusement.
"Trying to get me drunk already?" he asked, grimacing a little as he straightened, but he tipped the bottle back and took a swig, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Jeez, it ******** hurts like a ******** b***h. Sorry," he added, with a glance at Peter.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 10:58 pm
“I’m fifteen, not six,” Peter rolled his eyes when the guy apologized for his language, or he assumed it was his language. He didn’t have anything to say about the nickname, since it wasn’t as though he’d never been called Peter Pan before. As if that was original.
But he did frown in concern when Michael passed a bottle of liquor to someone who looked like he could be in high school, too. As much as he would have liked to argue about how not cool that was, he was also not the one bleeding everywhere. “Actually, yeah,” Michael frowned, watching as Caspian took a drink from the bottle. He would have to drink more than that, but at least he could start working on patching him up. “Alright, try to hold still. Peter, can you bring me the water and towels?” he asked, temporarily removing the bottle from Caspian’s hand as he took hold of the sweatshirt to pull back off now that he was out of the rain.
Whatever color Caspian’s shirt had been before, it was now stained red with blood. Michael could see where the largest wounds were along his back and chest, but while the shirt covered those, the sleeves were too short to stick to the cut on his arm.
Instead of going to work on cleaning the arm wound, Michael simply took a roll of gauze to wrap around it, keeping the wound protected from the elements for now. He would have to come back to that one last.
“This will probably sting,” he warned, seeing as Caspian was nowhere near drunk enough to not feel the pain. Michael took one of the towels Peter brought over for him and soaked it in the hot water, using that to gently rub against Caspian’s chest to loosen up the fabric stuck to his skin and the wound. It was a slow process, but once it was unstuck from his chest, and a strip of gauze used to keep the wound covered, he pulled back to have Caspian turn around as best he could.
“I’m going to fix the cuts on your back, first. Can you lay on your stomach? Or side,” he suggested, since it would be easier. “Peter, can you grab a pillow?” ”Yeah sure,” he agreed, having been mostly watching. He really hoped he would never get to the point where he needed at home surgery.
“So,” he started cautiously, “Why not go to the hospital?” Since, they would be trained for this sort of thing.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 11:08 pm
He almost said "close enough," then didn't, and took another drink from the bottle instead, letting the alcohol burn down his throat. It was most certainly not his first drink - he and Cassie had stolen booze from their cabinets on more than one occassion since they were about fifteen - but it was a nice respite from the throbbing everywhere else.
Caspian made a soft noise of protest as Michael tugged the bottle back out of his hand.
"First you let me have a drink, then you take it away," he grumbled, but he let Michael drag the sweatshirt back off. It was kind of a shame; it was very large and very warm and probably comfortable to sleep in too, which was sounding very appealing right about now.
Caspian had forgotten too what color his shirt was, and didn't care. He did, however, care about the towel pressed to his chest and let out a small groan of pain, and dropped his head, his hair shifting, the blue and purple strands briefly visible under the black.
"Ow ow ow ******** ow - "
By the time that ridiculous process was finished, now they had to attend to the worst one - namely his back, which Caspian was still trying very hard not to think about. Or anything else, for that matter, except for the very appealing prospect of more alcohol and less pain.
"I need another drink for this, I think," Caspian muttered, and slowly eased himself onto his stomach. He regretted this a second later, shifted, and curled up on his side, one hand pressed to the back of the couch and curling pale fingers into it.
" 'cause hospitals suck," he said, by way of answering Peter. "And they smell funny."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2016 8:34 am
Michael felt bad for making Caspian move around so much in order for him to figure out the best way to tackle all his injuries, but it had to be done. Whoever attacked him really did a number on him, but somehow, miraculously, they didn’t hit anything vital. The cuts weren’t as deep as they could have been, as if they were inexperienced with using the weapons.
“Probably,” he agreed to Caspian’s complaint about needing another drink for this. He picked up the bottle from before to hand back to him. “If you can, you should sit up a little before drinking that. If not, just don’t choke,” he advised as he turned to take the pillow Peter handed to him to give Caspian something to lay against. He also stood up to grab a blanket from the back of another chair to drop onto Caspian to give him something to keep him warm for this next part, and for something to hold on to.
“I’ll need to stitch him up,” Michael said with a lowered voice as he stood and turned to Peter, who gaped at him. “It’ll be fine,” he promised, leaning down to pull out all of his supplies and set them on the table. He also took a towel to gently stuff it between the couch and Caspian’s side, as he hopefully worked on drinking. “Can you try to distract him while I’m working on him?”
This would be fine, Michael told himself, even though he thought the hospital would be a much better environment for everything. Still, he didn’t think it would be absolutely necessary, and had promised not to enforce it if there was a way around not going.
He picked up his supplies to take with him back to the kitchen, wanting to properly sterilize everything, his hands included. He had only used his suture kit off and on since leaving the Navy, since people were mostly okay with going to the hospital, so it was still well supplied. He had his small, curved needle, medical grips, string, and scissors. He also took some syringes to fill with warm saltwater so he could make sure the wounds were clear from debris. Meanwhile, as Michael was doing that, Peter couldn’t help but gape in exasperation after him, and then turned his attention back to the guy who was now taking up residence on their couch. He looked young, but maybe not quite in high school as Peter originally thought. And he was probably someone who wasn’t used to stuff like this, since Peter couldn’t see any other major scars indicating involvement in the war or elsewhere. And his hair was clearly well maintained, so maybe he was a bit vain about his appearance?
“There’s some skin cream that will help reduce scarring,” Peter offered, moving around to the back of the couch, as it was more or less in the middle of the room, and leaned against the back to peer over at the nameless guy laying on it, guzzling down alcohol to numb the pain. Peter didn’t admit it, but he really did feel bad about not going out and getting more medicine after using the rest. It just hadn’t crossed his mind that they would need more so soon. So much for always being prepared.
“I’ll give you what’s left of my jar. Unless you want cool scars. I didn’t use any on this one,” he chirped, pointing to the corner of his left eye where he had a small scar. “Girls apparently like facial scars.” How much that was true, he didn’t know, but it was a good conversation starter.
“So,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to see if Michael was done or not. “Did you want me to, like, text anyone for you to let them know you’re alive and not being kidnapped by some dude who is now getting you drunk and will probably keep you at his place for the night?” he offered with a shrug.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2016 9:13 am
He knew, instinctively, that it was going to hurt like a b***h, and Caspian lifted the bottle from Michael's hands with a sense of grim resignation. Pushing himself up just enough that he wouldn't make a mess of things, Caspian tilted the bottle back and took several long, deep swallows, ignoring the burning sensation in his throat and chest. Wiping his mouth on the back o his hand, he passed the bottle back and accepted the offered blanket, curling around it with his face buried into it.
"Do your worst, officer," Caspian mumbled, the alcohol making him feel pleasantly fuzzy around the inside of his head - probably a good thing, considering what was coming next. The booze was not as good as anesthetic would have been, but Caspian was not about to go to the hospital, so he would just have to endure.
Even if in the next second, pain was rippling up like a hot fire through his back, and he gave a sharp hiss, fingers digging into the back of the couch. For a moment, Caspian thought he might throw up, but he bit back the nausea and instead took several long, deep breaths.
This is nothing. I can do it.
I'm fine.
Michael's voice wafted towards him, instructive and calm, followed by Peter's less familiar one. He'd had his eyes closed, but Caspian pried them open to glance up at Peter, gaze falling on the little scar beneath his eye.
"So do guys," he said, and would have cracked a smile, but it was too much of a hassle, so he just closed his eyes again, his back stinging and throbbing. His head felt hazier, less clear, which was just fine with him. "Everyone digs cool scars."
He wasn't thinking about the pain, he wasn't thinking about the pain.
In spite of everything, a snort of laughter escaped him. "You probably don't have to word it exactly like that," said Caspian. "If you leave out the kidnapping part, it'll probably make sense to my sister, she's the one I live with. My phone's in my pocket."
A pause.
"I think."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2016 9:59 am
“Okay, no kidnapping, but a guy is getting you drunk and you’re staying at his house. Got it,” he said, leaning over the back of the couch to see if he could find Caspian’s phone if he couldn’t manage to pull it out of his pocket due to pain or too much fuzziness or whatever now. “Or if you know her number, I can use my phone,” he shrugged, not thinking it was a big deal to have misplaced one’s phone. Well, when it wasn’t his own phone, because otherwise he would have been devastated.
A pause, and then, “I’ll just text that you’re at a friend’s house for the night.”“How are you holding up?” Michael asked as he brought back a glass casserole pan with the sterilized medical tools inside. It would be easier to disinfect later. He didn’t have any medical gloves with him, but was sure to wash his hands with both soap and water, and then rubbing alcohol to make sure he didn’t transfer any bacteria, especially since that could lead to Caspian really having to go to the hospital.
He knelt down on the ground in front of the couch so he could inspect Caspian’s back once more, and promptly doing what he could to clean the area. He didn’t seem to be bleeding too profusely any more, so they should be able to get him fixed up without unnecessary delays. Once he was sure there was no debris in the wounds that might later create infection, using the water and syringe to clear everything out, he went to work threading his needle.
Michael didn’t envy Caspian, but hoped he was now at least tipsy enough to not notice too much of the pain that would come with stitching the wound closed. He was lucky it was such a clean cut, since that meant minimal scarring, and made it so much easier to pull the wound closed. He didn’t ask Caspian if he was ready for him to start, not wanting to draw attention to it, but worked as quickly as he could while not sacrificing the quality of the stitches. “You should probably teach me how to do that,” Peter said as he leaned over the couch to watch, although he kept an eye on the guy who was being helped for anything else he might be able to do to keep his attention drawn away from what was happening.
“So, you never told me your name,” he said when it didn’t seem as though Michael was going to respond to him, probably not wanting to be distracted with talking. “Your hair is cool. Do you do that, yourself?” he tried, not really knowing what else to say, other than to ramble about potentially pointless things.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
