A bathtub was the first thing to flash across his mind. To scrub away the blood, grime and... Phoenix shuddered at the thought of what else was littered across his body. The urge to get clean was overpowering, all-consuming. His thoughts were encompassed by this urge. Heartbeat pounding so loudly in his ears, Phoenix was sure he was deaf.
He tried to move his legs, realizing idly that they would not respond. They didn't feel like his legs anymore. Just... legs. Limbs. Phoenix found himself crawling slowly, achingly painfully, across the gravel ground of the alleyway. There was no one out this time of night; there shouldn't have been anyone out this time of night.
There was. Phoenix felt fuzzy when he thought about anything, so he let his mind fall blank. He observed a pair of arms - his, surely - grip the brick wall and lift up a mangled body. This body must also be his, Phoenix reasoned, though he could feel no sensation from the limbs.
The legs he was watching moved, for the first time, in an attempt to take a step. That's when the pain came. Roaring, rushing through every nerve in his body, Phoenix felt a sharp twist to his insides and he fell to the sidewalk, tearing open his knees. His insides heaved, broken sobs escaped his lips, and he began to vomit out everything inside him.
The heaves did not stop with the emptying of his stomach. It was as if he was so disgusting his body was trying to get rid of itself, a strange feeling for sure.
Phoenix almost preferred the emptiness to this. The pain had not subsided yet, a dull ache seeping through to his bones. He let his head fall to the ground, too heavy to keep up.
His eyes - his, really his - hurt too. A thick ache pounding in his skull that threatened to burst his eyes right out of his head. From where he lay, Phoenix saw only lamp posts, benches and dark city skies. There was no one out here, now. No one but himself and this broken body that he seemed to occupy.
Time holds no meaning when there's no way to measure it. It was a long time until anything moved in his vision, but Phoenix Wright did not know how long he lay like that. The first thing that changed was the weather. It was spring, so sudden changes in temperature were not unheard of.
Rain started faintly, then began beating harshly down on him and his body. It was warm, would have been soothing were it not the violent scratches and open gashes all along Phoenix's legs. He realized that his pants were barely there and he had no shirt to protect his gashed back from the weather. Each drop of rain that landed on his hypersensitive skin made him howl in agony until he was in excruciating pain as each nerve in his body caught fire.
It was a blessing when the temperature changed to cold. A slight breeze picked up, carrying now-cold drops of rain onto his abused body, soothing the wounds. The rain was welcome, now, and Phoenix found himself watching the same view through wet clumps of his hair.
It was startling when he heard the first sound of a car, the low rumble of an engine well-oiled.
Miles Edgeworth was not in a good mood. His dog, Pess, had woke him up at 5 o'clock am with an empty bowl. There was no more dog food in the house. He was still in his Steel Samurai pyjamas, wiping gunk from his sleepy eyes. Miles had forgotten his umbrella at home. He was just on his way to the 24/7 to pick up a bag of Chow, and was approaching the parking lot when he saw beside his car, a still figure sprawled out in the rain. Braking quickly, Miles peered out at the sidewalk, looking to see if this was some sort of practical joke.
When the person did not move, Miles sighed and opened his car door, stepping out into the rain. This had better be important.
It was. The figure was male, certainly, and it didn't take much looking to see that this man had been raped. Miles shuddered, and looked around briefly for any sign of who this person may be, as their face was covered by hair.
There was no ID on the ground, the person didn't seem to have been carrying their wallet - or if they had been, it was long gone. The only things around the body were shreds of clothing, blood, a shiny button and a soggy folder of paper. Miles picked up the folder, careful to avoid tearing it. It was completely illegible. Hopefully nothing in that folder had been too important. On impulse, he picked up the shiny button and put it into his pocket absently. Just as he was taking his hand away from his soaked pyjama shit pocket, he realized the button had strange grooves in it.
He pulled it back out and took a good look at it. It seemed... familiar. With a start, Miles realized it was no button. He had found a defence attorney's badge. He should know, that damn Wright kept showing him his... wait. Wright!
Rushing to the body's side, now, Miles confronted his fears and checked for a pulse. He'd never been good at this medical sort of thing, but it seemed that whoever it was lying here, they were alive. He carefully reached over to the victim's face and moved their hair slightly. Shit.
Phoenix Wright stirred slowly awake as someone moved his hair. He groaned as they touched his bruised cheek, and blinked a few times to clear his vision as the figure in front of him swam in his sight. As his vision cleared, he could make out the unmistakable features of Miles Edgeworth.
"Wright!? Wright, what... what happened?"
Miles sure sounds panicked, Phoenix thought lazily, but I don't know what happened. He couldn't bring himself to open his mouth and say anything out loud, it seemed a waste if he had no information. So, Phoenix Wright closed his eyes and rested.
Miles knew he couldn't leave Phoenix out here by himself in the cold. Especially in his... condition. Slowly, carefully scooping up his torso, Miles went to move Phoenix's legs so he could lift them when the defence attorney screamed in agony. Phoenix pressed his face into Miles' chest, groaning. He shook in pain, everything hurt so much, why did everything hurt so much?
They sat like that for a few minutes, letting Phoenix slowly settle down. There was only one option left, as he could obviously not move Phoenix's body. Miles Edgeworth pulled out his cell phone and called the police and explained the situation. They advised him to keep the victim still. Figures. He was left to cradle Phoenix's head in his arms until the ambulance arrived.
It seemed surreal, disturbing the silent street. Paramedics rushed out of the car and soon Phoenix was taken away on a stretcher. They let Miles sit inside the ambulance with him, completely ignoring his own red sports car. No words were exchanged between the two, simply watching each other.
The trip did not take long. The hospital emergency room was azure, a colour that haunted Miles' mind for a long time after the incident. After Phoenix was admitted into a ward, the doctors questioned Miles about what he'd happened upon, if he'd seen anyone at all besides the victim. They told him regretfully that any semen traces had been washed away with the harsh rain, and so there was no way of locating the man responsible.
Enraged by the news, Miles stood outside under a balcony. He let his arms fall to his side, noticing suddenly that a pack of cigarettes were still in his pyjama pants. How long had it been since he'd last smoked?
Those were really old pants, evidently. Miles poked his head inside to ask the receptionist for a smoke. She took pity on him, he certainly looked weary. Letting the nicotine rush fill him, Miles thought about what had just happened to Wright.
It was really unfair. Of all the people for this to happen to, why him? He was a defence attorney, dedicating his life to help others. Extinguishing the fag, the prosecutor stormed inside to visit Phoenix's bed.
Wright was asleep, looking very peaceful, and would have seemed normal were it not for the purple bruise on his cheek and the dark hollows under his eyes where the rapist must have beaten him. It hurt to even think of the attorney in such a situation.
The doctor walked in and told Miles that when they'd questioned Phoenix, he seemed confused and detached. He would need therapy, to see psychiatrists and take a break from his job. They also asked if Miles would help him.
The answer was obvious.
Miles pulled up a chair from outside the room, a small pink plastic kid's chair. Leaning back, he let his eyes fall to Phoenix, watching him silently.
Would he ever return to normal? Could he ever defend anyone again, if his own defences were torn to shreds? It didn't look like physical consequences were the only affect this had had on him.
It was then that Miles truly feared that this may be one turnabout Phoenix would never accomplish.