Scars
Wilhelm Wicki/Hugo Stiglitz
PG
These men are the property of Quentin Tarantino.
He wakes to voices and hands on his shoulder. He remembers walking in the woods; remembers hearing a shot, a grunt of pain, and darkness. Face down on the loam, he tries to sit up. Rough hands push him down.
"Bleiben Sie immer noch, Hugo. I have to clean the wound," Wicki rumbles. "You're lucky. It was a clean shot."
He smells iodine, then feels its burn. "Und die anderen Menschen—?"
"Are fine. Omar was grazed. He shouldn't heal badly." Wicki runs a careful hand down his back, over the still tender gouges.
"Aber diese, Liebling, werden diese Narbe…"
A/N:
Stay still, Hugo.
And the other men--?
But these, darling, these will scar...
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