Title: The Coming of Shadows
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen
Characters: Don, Colby, David, Alan
Spoilers: for up to season 2, set in season 3 or 4.
Warnings: violence
Word count: 545
Disclaimer: Own nothing, not being paid.
A/N: Thank you to Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain and zubeneschamali for the beta. Title from the name of a Babylon 5 episode. I wrote the first part of this a while ago, but then my muse wandered off for greener pastures. In an effort to entice the muse back, I'm trying to finish off some of these older fics.
Summary: He's sitting, leaning against something solid, a wetness sliding down his neck, plop-plopping onto the cold concrete below him.
Don. Don, you okay?
The voice is in his ear, loud, as the blackness curls and dances around, not staying in any one position. The darkness writhes, sinuous and enticing, trying to lure him with its song.
Don, can you hear me? Anybody got eyes?
He's sitting, leaning against something solid, a wetness sliding down the side of his neck, plop-plopping onto the cold concrete below him. Something whizzes past, shattering into the wall opposite him, cracks appearing in the concrete, dust clouding in a yellow puff.
No. He went behind the dumpster. It didn't look good, David. If you give me cover, I think I can get to him.
His head is heavy, a ten pound bowling ball pulling him forward in an inexorable fall, his hands on top of the soaked denim of his leg close to becoming an intimate acquaintance with his face. The pops continue all around him, fading in and out on the tide of blackness.
Okay. Do it.
The pops are louder, more frequent, jarring his head up briefly.
Colby, you okay?
"Yeah, I'm okay."
The voice is both loud and tinny, slightly out of sync with itself. There's movement to his side, battling his darkness with its own. Something rests on his neck, warm and comforting.
"He's alive. He's got a serious graze to the neck, one to the vest and one to the upper leg. There's a lot of blood. We need to get him out of here. Sorry, Don."
A gorilla sits on his leg and everything flares white before the darkness encroaches again, engulfing him fully.
"How you feeling?"
Don blinks, trying to get rid of the gummy feeling in his eyes and bring everything into focus. His dad is there, beside his bed, hand resting on Don's arm.
"I'm in a bed."
Why was he in a bed? And why wasn't it his bed?
"They've got you on the good drugs, haven't they?"
He tries to sit up but rapidly abandons that plan when things pull in his neck and leg and pain flares.
"Woa, careful there. Don't want to destroy all the surgeon's handiwork."
His dad is standing, hands gently resting on both of Don's arms, making sure he doesn't try to move again.
"You're in the hospital, Don. You got shot—three times. Although David tried to keep the third one from me, not telling me until after I saw the bruising."
"Oh."
Alan finally removes his hands and sits back down, dragging the chair closer to the bed.
"You get shot three times and all you can say is 'oh'? Please don't restrain your reaction just because I'm in the room."
Don's mind was starting to clear a little. They'd been in an alleyway and he hadn't moved quite fast enough. He'd been in such shock that he hadn't really registered what had happened or from where the blood was leaking out of his body.
"I'm a little fuzzy, Dad. The good drugs, remember?"
Alan's scowl fades, the worry plain in his eyes. "You need to rest."
"How's my team?"
A slight hint of the scowl returns. "They're fine. Nobody hurt but you."
"That's good," Don says, feeling his eyes start to slide shut, shadows all around.
"Just sleep, Donnie."
--FIN--