Chapter 1: The Terminal Show
It's not everyday you see a guy get jumped. He's across the street from me right now, and the three men that attacked him are running off the way I came. They had all started throwing punches at the same time - it's no wonder he looks like he's about to fall over dead. I'm just glad they didn't decide to pay me a visit too. Cowards.
It's hard to tell from here, but it looks like the man's nose is bleeding. I think it's turning a little purple, too. To be honest, I'm not really sure what to do. I don't like the idea of leaving someone who's obviously hurt, but I don't know anything about the guy either. He might attack me if I go up to him. Actually, he looks like he might be homeless.
A low screeching noise is hurting my ears. My neck cracks in protest as I glance behind me; it's my train pulling into the station. I think I've probably got about five minutes to get on. I look back at him. He's not laying on the ground anymore. From what I can see all the way over here, he managed to push himself up into a sitting position. Cars are whirring past in between us, not one stopping to see if he's alright. Oh god, I think I can hear him coughing.
The walk symbol's shown up for the crosswalk. I don't have time to sit here and think. I grab my bag and dart as fast as I can across the street without looking back. I can hear my train setting off.
I'm going to be late to school.
He's leaning up against the metal lattice fence behind him when I get there. His breaths seem labored. I really hope he doesn't have any internal damaging. I don't think I can fix that by myself. I slow down as I get closer to him, and stop a few feet away. There's no way I'm getting close to him yet. What if he has some kind of disease?
His coughing is picking up, and it looks like he's finally noticed me. It sounds a little off though- I can't put my finger on why. Like- it almost sounds- Oh. He's not coughing. He's laughing. I couldn't tell the difference; he sounds horrible. He might be some kind of drug addict. Is there a drug that can mess up your voice? Maybe he smokes. 'Homeless people are people who've given up on life. They got that way from doing drugs, and being lazy. They never got jobs.' I remember Mum saying that to me, back when I was living with them.
Somehow, hearing her voice again even as a snide remark in the back of my head makes up my mind. I inch closer to him and kneel down.
"Can I help?" He looks up at me from under his dirty hair, and his strange chuckling dies down a bit. His eyes are wide, and a grin is fighting to surface. It's a startling expression on someone who just got the shit kicked out of him.
"N-nah, kid. I'll live." His voice is just as scratchy as his laughter. I'm not surprised. He's still looking at me like I'm some kind of ghost; is he just not used to people offering to help him? Don't people help out the homeless all the time? I feel like I'm out of my element here and I don't like it one bit.
"Well. If you aren't hurt, I'll be leaving." I guess I'm more than a little mad 's brushing me off. I missed my train to help him and he won't even accept it?
I don't even make it back to the crosswalk before he calls out to me again. "Hey- Wait! Kid! Don't- Don't go!" I know I'm smirking as I turn back around. Control. Now he's at least trying to get my attention. Something in his eyes is wrong, though. Was he just trying to act tough? That's certainly plausible, but... I don't know.
I cross my arms and give him the best 'unamused' look I can muster. Which, by the way he's sheepishly scratching his neck and averting his eyes, I can assume is working fairly well. He's weird, but he seems nice enough. I definitely don't think he's going to try and kill me. Mum would be so disappointed in me. That thought is, again, enough to motivate me.
"My name is Vlad. Vlad Masters. I live just down the street; and you're certainly welcome to come home with me. I can see if I have anything to fix some of those bruises with." And it's true- one of his eyes looks like it might end up swelling shut. . I can also see a smaller bruise popping out from under his ratted scarf.
I'm throwing common sense out the window, I realize. Sam will be furious if she finds out about this. What kind of idiot drags home a person like this? Apparently, me.
He unsteadily climbs to his feet, and limps to the closest sign post where he leans against it with his gloved hand. It's the first time I've gotten a good look at what he's wearing, and I'm sure now that he's homeless. Tied loosely around his neck is a navy blue and green plaid scarf. One of the ends is ripped down the middle. He's wearing what looks like a dulled orange vest over a dirty black sweatshirt. The sweatshirt has a few holes in it where - a slash mark?! They had a knife?! There's a lump in my throat when I try to swallow. They could have killed him. If they'd cut him somewhere vital, and I'd just stood there... he would have died.
His fingers are scratching at his neck again, just under the top of his scarf. It must be itchy. I barely recognize that he's grinning back at me again. I can't take my eyes off the gash in his shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Vlad. I'm Danny." His voice finally distracts me, and I meet his gaze. I'm reminded of the cat that ate the canary, and I can't help but feel like I'm missing out on a joke.
I look him over once more. Danny- It seems wrong to call a full grown man by such a childish name. I don't like it. "Alright, Daniel. Follow me, and don't worry. It's not that long of a walk from here. You should be fine like that." I'm trying to keep a straight head on here, I'm telling myself. One foot in front of the other. I hope he doesn't steal anything.
His jaw drops. "No! My name's Danny!" I don't know what he's so upset about, but I don't really care at the moment either. He's shuffling his feet awkwardly now as he walks. One of his legs looks really banged up; did they break it? No, he would be on the ground screaming if they did. Maybe it's dislocated. I hope not, I don't know how to fix that. Jack might, though…
Besides our initial conversation, the walk back to my house is quiet. The air between us is tense and heavy, but I'm not surprised. I'm nervous, and he's hurt. I think he might be trying to say something, but by the time we've reached my street he hasn't gotten it out. His shuffling has degraded more into a limp now, though. From the way he's gripping his side, there might be something wrong there, too. His other arm is still scratching at his neck. I should take that scarf away.
I'm pretty good with first aid. Sam made me take a class in it, after all. It comes in handy when Jack hurts himself playing football with the college students. If nothing else, I should be able to bandage up those cuts of his. It'll be too easy for them to get infected out on the streets.
Daniel is standing a few feet back, staring at my house. He looks a bit startled. "Are you surprised?" I ask.
He takes a moment before responding with a simple shake of his head. "No, not really. I should have known you'd be dirt rich."
Should have known? Is it really that obvious? I almost trip on the first step onto the porch I'm thinking about it so much. I look around me. I'll admit, my house is huge. We live in the wealthier pocket neighborhood though, so it's not the only large house on the street. I've got the key in the lock when I decide to mention it. "You should have known? Why?"
His smile is crooked. "You're wearing the McFadden uniform. It's one of those preppy private schools for rich kids, right?" I straighten my tie. He knows about my school? I guess you get around and see stuff if you have nothing better to do than wander.
"Yes, that's where I was headed this morning when I ran across you."
"You're missing school to help me? Wow, thanks, kid." He actually does sound thankful. I'm surprised, yet again. I'm shaking my head as I open the front door. I've never been more thankful in my life that Sam's at work. Daniel follows me in slowly; his eyes are darting around like mad. "Won't your parents be mad that you're bringing some dirty old man into their heart and home?"
I'm stuck. Do I let him know Sam isn't home? That could be really dangerous. "Well…" He's fidgeting a lot. I decide. "No. We're alone." This is probably the worst decision I've made in my whole life. Maybe I should call Jack over. He'd skip school for me. But if Jack comes, Maddie will come too… She might get hurt, no way.
Daniel's shoulders drop and he exhales a long breath. He's suddenly holding himself with a much more relaxed air. Well, besides the awkward limp and itching. Was he worried about someone else being home with me? Now I'm worried. This was a bad idea.
He's definitely calmer now, and looking around the front room. "Ah- um,-" He starts, and backs up a bit. Why..? He points down. Oh. The carpet. There are a few reddish stains where he had been standing. He was bleeding on it. At least he's considerate, I guess. Maybe he'll be nice enough to clean up the blood after he kills me.
"Don't worry about that. I can get the stains out before anyone gets back." I tell him.
His eyebrows have knitted together, and he's frowning. "But it's my fault. I should help."
"That would require you sticking around longer. No offense, but I'd rather have you out of here quickly." He opens his mouth and closes it. Hunching over a bit, he nods. "Wait here. I'm going to go get the first aid kit." I narrow my eyes. "And if anything is missing…"
He jumps, and starts wildly shaking his head. He'd probably be waving his arms around too, if one of them wasn't cut up. "No- no! No! I wouldn't steal anything from you!" I eye him for a few seconds before heading down the hallway. The bathroom door is already open, and it only takes me a few moments to snag the right box. I'm almost running when I come back out to the front room.
Daniel is still standing there by the door, looking just as awkward as when he came in. He gives me this little wave and grins. Almost involuntarily, I roll my eyes. Motioning for him to follow me, I lead him through a doorway and into the kitchen. Sam forgot to clean out the sink; there are dishes practically spilling out of it. That's annoying, but I can't really worry about it right now. I sit him down at the table.
"Alright." The first aid box opens with a click, and I rustle through the contents. I'm looking for the gauze. I'm not quite sure where to start, he's pretty banged up. He seems to be handling it ok though, which is good. The worst thing to deal with is someone that's hurt and getting agitated about it. Scanning him up and down the main things I can see are his hurt leg, the gash on his shoulder, and I think there's something wrong with his side. "I'll start with your arm. Take off the vest and sweater."
It takes him a few tries to get the sweatshirt off without bothering his arm, but he gets it eventually. He's wearing a simple light blue t-shirt under it, and now I can really see his stomach. There's a hole in the shirt where I can see a light cut peeking through. Thankfully, I don't think it's going to be much of a problem. That was the one I was worried about most, as belly wounds are often fatal. It looks like it'll be fine, though. A moment from earlier is brought to my mind. He was leaning against the lightpost outside, and holding his stomach. Maybe he thought it was worse than it really is. I know I would be having a real panic attack if I'd gotten tagged there whether it was bad or not.
"Take off that shirt too. You're going to have to take it off anyways for me to get to the scratch on your stomach, so you might as well do it now." He blinks at me a few times before laughing and complying. His voice suddenly strikes me. It doesn't sound half as scratchy and pained as it used to. I'm glad he seems to be feeling better. Actually, he looks a lot better all around. He'd been pale earlier and I'd assumed that was his actual skin color, but there's strong color returning to his face now.
His shoulder doesn't look too bad either, now that I've gotten a really good look. Neither of us says anything as I wrap it. He barely flinches when I use the disinfectant; the silence is getting awkward. "So…" I grab the medical tape. "Why did those guys decide it was your lucky day?"
"This isn't the first time I've gotten into scrapes with them." He jerks slightly when I tighten the tape around his arm. I think I pulled too tight. "We've had more than a few… disagreements. Trust me, this is nothing new."
"Three on one isn't very fair."
He leans his head to the side, and looks out the window. A small smile is tugging at his lips. I feel like I'm missing out on a joke again. "No." He says. "It's not."
I've done all I can for his shoulder. He maneuvers his chair around so that his side is facing me. The cut there is barely more than a scratch. "They didn't do a very good job if they were trying to actually kill you." I'm trying to make a joke, but I don't think he gets it. Disinfectant is getting on the table; that's another thing I have to remember to clean up.
"You… mentioned a Sam?" His curious voice draws my attention back, and I start wrapping his side.
"Yes. She's… my foster mother."
"Aah… I see." He nods, and looks back to the window.
It doesn't take very long at all to finish with the tiny cut. The last thing on my list is Daniel's leg. I blow out a sigh of air. "Alright, roll up your pant's leg." The man nods, and complies.
There's some serious bruising around his knee, and a couple of smaller ones scattered down his calf. I can't do much about the bruises in general, but I'm just worried about his leg not being broken or dislocated. I prod at it a few times, but besides the natural hisses of pain from the bruises I can't find any evidence for anything worse.
"It looks like you're fine." I tell him as he gets up. "There's not much I can do for your leg, so you're going to have to deal with that. I can probably give you some painkillers though, if you'd like." He scratches at his neck while smiling sheepishly.
"I should really be okay. I told you I'd be fine, see? But thank you." He chuckles, and gives me an over exaggerated bow. I'm about to warn him when he hisses and grabs his stomach before straightening up again. "Whoops, whoops!"
I can't help but snort. He gathers up his clothes and spins around slowly a few times before looking at me. Oh. He forgot how to get out.
It's probably around that time that I realize I've completely lowered my guard around this guy. He just seems… so harmless. Like a dumb puppy, really. Snorting more, I start laughing and point him in the direction of the front door. He nods his head in thanks, and I walk him out.
He's almost halfway down the street when he turns back around and waves at me.