I do not own anything except my plot and story.


Injured

You wake up, dirty & covered with injuries on the cold old ground of an alleyway. You try sitting up, causing your bones and sore muscles to call out a protest. You slowly stand up, every part of you is begging you to just lay back down and let yourself slowly fade from existence. Your head is throbbing, your vision is blurry, and your ears are ringing. Pretty soon you begin to stumble forward. Your hands flail, but eventually your right hand reaches the filthy brown brick wall of the dark alleyway you woke up in. You should be surprised you even woke up after losing that much blood. You decide that perhaps the gang didn't beat you up that bad.

Who are you kidding, they totally beat you to a pulp, and the only reason why you are stumbling out of the alleyway right now is because of two reasons. One, it could have been worse, a normal gang penalty of being kicked out was death. But thanks to a little help from one of the gang members who you kind of thought of as a friend, you were only beaten to a near death. And now on to reason number two, the strong sense of survival -if you haven't noticed after you were able to stand up- is on high alert.

Or maybe not so high, it's obviously not good enough as you begin to see black dots. You had just made it out of the alleyway and into the block sidewalk and you already felt like fainting again. Don't give up idiot, you can do it Karkat Vantas walk forward. Is what you tell yourself.

Beads of sweat and rusty colored blood roll down from your damp black locks of hair to your forehead. You are still dragging yourself down the sidewalk whilst using the cream colored building to your right as leverage. Your wounds sting, and the only thing on them is the old dirty cloth you call clothes. Your now filthy attire consists of a simple dark grey shirt (that is now ripped & stained with blood), unintentional ripped black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket that luckily didn't get damage that couldn't be fixed.

You keep moving forward with all your might, though you feel like you have run a thousand miles you shouldn't give up. The world around you passes you by without a second glance, you should return the favor and move onward. Your only companion is the bright moon lighting up the night sky. Everyone else can go fuc* themselves.

The only sense of living beings you get are the roaring beasts by the name of cars racing past you on the road. The people in them probably assuming you are just a stumbling drunk teenager, when you are actually a stumbling injured adult, you are eighteen after all. But that doesn't matter right now, what matters is... wait, you don't even know what matters anymore. Sure, survival is important, but where do you go to get healed? A hospital? Not a good option considering the next step from there would be jail. A friend's home? You don't have any friends outside the gang. The gang you were in was the closest thing to family, and the hive was the closest thing to a home. But even then you didn't have much friends other than Gamzee and Sollux. Now you lost the little you had as well, you are now left with nothing.

Nobody will take in a shaggy haired, beaten and battered, ex-gang member with a dirty mouth and an impudent attitude. Well, that is what you thought as you fell forward, face meeting the cold ground.


"We apologize for your loss Ms. Harley, but we have to get down to financial business." the older man in business attire said. You are Jade Harley and your grandfather and guardian, Jake English, passed away in an accident four months ago. You are finally over it, the topic of your grandfather is a touchy one but you know what has to be done. Right now you are currently living with your friend Dave Strider and have been for three months you are most likely moving out today though. Living in your grandfather's house is still painful. But as the only one who can be heir, the house and your grandfather's money will all go to you. That is why you are currently sitting in this damp, stuffy office, with a man sitting across the table in front of you discussing all this stuff with you.

...

You sigh as you walk out of the building into the cold midnight air. That took longer than expected, you think as you walk along the sidewalk. Cars pass you by, and the damp street lights are the only things besides the moon lighting up your path.

You groan slightly as you remember how far away you parked your car, but that's not only why. You had to drive for about two hours just to get here since you live quite far away. You are most definitely not looking forward to driving for an hour and a half back.

As you walk down the side walk with your hands stuffed in your green sweater pockets, you notice a dark figure stumbling in a distance. The figure has his or her right hand holding on to the building wall left to you. Is it drunk? You think to yourself. Your emerald green eyes widen as the harsh midnight wind blows from north to south, playing with your long locks of blue-black hair, and carrying the scent of rust. You are surprised you hadn't noticed before considering your very sensitive sense of smell. But now you smell it loud and clear with your small nose, the person is bleeding and is badly injured.

The figure stumbles a couple feet more, then falls down to get slapped by the cold hard ground of the sidewalk. You rush forward to her or him. As you stand in front of the injured person, you find out that it is a he. You flip him over, a gasp escapes your lips at all the cuts going across his clothes, into soft pale flesh, and the bruises & cuts on his face. Past all the blood and marks you can see the boy is most likely a teenager, he is pretty short and still has a babyish face. All though you don't have much of a right to say that when you are only nineteen and have similar childish attributes.

You pick him up bridal style, you are a pretty strong young woman but you are still surprised at how light weighted this boy is. You walk ahead for about three yards and are elated to see that your car is sitting patiently right there by the sidewalk and a parking meter. You struggle slightly as you reach for your keys in your sweater pockets, but eventually you are able to get the ring linking to the many keys you use daily. You manage to open to door to the back seat, you then gently lay the boy across the seats. You decide it is best to tend to his wounds now than later. Luckily you have a first aid kit tucked in the back pocket of the driver seat. You take it out, hovering over the boy to get it. You close the door behind you to prevent anyone from peeking in, though you doubt anyone would, considering the time it is.

You lift up the smelly cloth of his shirt and tend to the worst wounds first. You narrow your eyes, the wounds were most definitely done by a blade of some sort. You conclude because of the bruises and scars that the boy you just rescued was beaten brutally with punches and was cut with a knife. He is strong if he managed to stay alive from the unattended blood loss. you think to yourself.

Once you are done tending and bandaging the worst of the wounds, you decide to tend to the smaller ones along with the bruises once you get home. Maybe you could contact a hospital after. Or if he wakes up you could contact his family and drive him home.

You hop over to your seat and plug in the key. The engine starts and you drive your way home. As you come to a red light you stop and look back at the male lying with his long thick black eyelashes closed on the back seat. You smile encouragingly at the unconscious male. The light turns green and you turn your attention to the road ahead.