Title: Do for Me
Fandom: GANGSTA.
Rating: T (for graphic violence)
Pairing: None. Friendship only between Worick and Nicolas.
Author's Notes: The idea for this little fic came from a great roleplayer on tumblr. Much love to woricksarcangel. He was kind enough to give me permission to try and flesh his idea into a fic. This is inspired and dedicated to him. I hope you guys like the story! Also, please note that I will be posting this to tumblr, , and AO3. I have different names on these sites. They are all me! So no need to worry if you see this floating around in multiple places! I'm a total feedback fiend you guys! Please let me know what you think! Thank you! Until next time my friends! -Kitty
GET UP.
The words were signed so quickly there was an air of sloppiness to them. Yet he wasn't quite so deluded as to think Nic's hands were shaking.
He didn't have the facilities to sign back. He simply shook his head and muttered, "Can't."
His volume didn't matter, only the movement of his lips. Nic caught on and he wasn't happy.
But what exactly was Worick supposed to do?
He'd been beaten before. He'd been stabbed. Grazed. Even properly shot. But this was different. He knew it the marrow of his bones. His hand was pressed against his chest, just under his right pectoral. His hand and shirt were warm and sticky with the blood that stubbornly seeped from the entry wound. The rest of him felt cold. He'd heard that wasn't a good sign.
He didn't know if the bullet was still inside. There was too much pain in too many places to take note. The bullet may have torn his body asunder on the way out. It may also have still been in there, blocking a potentially fatal hemorrhage after it caused its damage. Worick wasn't a doctor. He didn't know.
All he knew was extremities were slowly going numb. And that it hurt to breathe. Each exhalation ended with a wet wheeze. A pierced lung? Perhaps.
It was getting harder to focus. He had to think in order to cast his gaze at Nic. Thinking was getting harder to do. He blinked slowly, his blue eye settling on the other. It was shock setting in. It must have been. He'd never seen Nic look so…lost. Not even the time he'd found Nicolas amongst the butchered remains of his family. There had been anger in those dark eyes that day, a murderous thirst, along with guilt so deep he'd been ready to turn his katana on himself.
This was different. This was worse. They both knew that.
A footfall caught Worick's fading attention. He watched nearly passively as Nic knelt before him, knees astride one of Worick's outstretched legs. He couldn't feel that leg. He looked at Nicolas instead. The other looked at the wound then at Worick's face. Worick must have imagined the pained undercurrent to Nic's gaze. Nick didn't emote like that.
He was surprised to hear a rough sound in the back of his partner's throat and to see teeth bared. A voice that was ragged from disuse said, "Worick. Get up."
Worick set his jaw. Nic was such a stubborn little shit. There were many things the other could have been doing, but Worick vaguely understood that Nic hadn't been explicitly taught what to do in a situation like this. Worick was always lecturing Nic about going too far and getting hurt.
It dawned on him then. A realization so simple and yet so gut-wrenching, he would have rested a hand on Nic's shoulder had he the energy.
Throughout their twenty-two years together, Worick had always faced an uncertain future. He'd always pondered what he would do when Nic died. Neither of them had ever considered how Nic would manage if he was the one to go first.
He couldn't bare the thought of leaving Nic all by himself.
"Help me up?" he rasped weakly.
Nic made no affirmative, only tucked his arms under Worick's underarms ready to support his weight. Worick pressed his hand tighter to his chest, agony rising from the torn flesh. He fought to bring his legs under himself. It didn't help that with Nic's superior strength, his arms were being pulled upwards without the support from his own two feet. This put a strain on his body he could not take this time around.
His free hand smacked Nic's back. Curses, cries of agony, and pleas to stop left his lips. But not before he got a good look at the alleyway over Nic's shoulder. He sagged in Nic's arms, unable to stand but unable to have the other read his lips. Nic struggled to keep Worick up, to get him moving. Eventually he gave his partner a momentary respite. He let Worick rest against the brick wall once more.
His eyes glanced at the wound. What should he do? He could get to Dr. Theo's clinic in record time, but the physician wasn't as fast as him. Plus, he didn't want to leave Worick so defenseless. He could try to pick Worick up and carry him. It may have been awkward since Worick was taller but that wasn't the issue. He didn't know what damage he might cause. Worick was human. He was fragile.
Worick weakly knocked on the wall behind him. The vibrations caught Nic's attention. Worick was so pallid…
"Behind you," he said.
Nic threw a cold glance over his shoulder. He picked up his katana and stood upright. He shrugged off his black jacket and placed it over Worick. He met his friend's gaze. The grip on his weapon tightened.
"I'm coming back," Nic ground out.
"I'll be here," Worick smiled faintly.
YOU BETTER BE. Nic quickly signed.
He turned to face the newcomers. The usual kind of thugs. The usual kind of weapons. The usual kind of jabs and sneers at the fact that Nic was of a smaller stature and carried a sword. Nic paid attention to none of it.
He stared at each one of them, sizing them up but searching. His silent accusation the only thought rattling around his mind.
Was it you?
It didn't matter.
He was going to kill them all regardless.
Unsheathing his sword, he jumped, therefore dodging the first barrage of bullets. The balls of his feet landed on one Normal's shoulders, the weight of him sending the man crashing to the ground on his back. As soon as the man's mouth opened, Nic drove his katana through the soft back of the throat before cleanly severing the spinal cord. He turned the katana's sharp blade upwards towards the roof of the mouth. In one precise sweep, he cleaved his opponent's head in two. He could not hear the sickening squelch and crunch of brain matter and bone separating. Nor could he hear the satisfactory whine of forged steel scraping across stone. But he could feel it. And it was wonderful.
His baleful gaze fell on the other three. Their faces slack with terror, it took them a long moment to gather their wits about them. Shock wore off. Anger took hold. They trained their weapons on Nic, firing off round after round. He moved with the agility and skill of a predator. He killed with the poise of a madman. He stood before one man and sunk his word into the man's chest. He viciously pulled his blade down, parting the human's stomach. Entrails spilled onto the stone of the alley before the victim followed their downward descent.
Turning and following the vibrations of a recently fired gun, he sliced an outstretched hand from an arm. This thug jerked back and screamed while clutching at where his dominant hand used to be. He looked up in time only to see the rapidly approaching arc of the katana nearing his neck. His head separated from his body, falling in an opposite direction than the rest of him. Nic caught his head by the hair and flung it at the last remaining man.
The other almost caught it before scrambling back. He was screaming then yelling at Nic. He was probably begging for mercy. Nic didn't pay any mind to his lips. He paid attention to his gun and then to his eyes. Mistakenly taking that as a signal to surrender, the Normal dropped his weapon. He held up his hands in placation. It wasn't going to work. Nic did not quite understand the concept of mercy. Plus, someone had to pay for what they'd done to Worick.
Everyone had to pay for it.
He lunged forward too quickly for his next victim to move away. Steel pierced flesh, carving an egregious wound in the man's heart. Ventricles were torn asunder and the man died while impaled on Nic's sword. Nic smiled savagely, justification coursing through his veins. He kicked the other off his prized weapon, a thick coat of burgundy blood coating the blade.
Worick had watched with a dying man's uninhibited observance. Nic was always efficient when he wanted to be. He was glad in this case. He didn't think he had time for Nic to play around. Yet it was rather apparent to him that Nic was not deliberately saving time. He was furious. Worick could tell.
He was making noise.
Nic was a virtually silent man. Though he could speak, he preferred not to unless someone openly asked for a verbal response. He simply didn't make 'noises'. But the longer Worick watched the more guttural Nic became. For a moment, Worick amused himself with the thought that Nic was like a child having a temper tantrum. His mind quickly provided him with a more sobering thought. Nic looked like a man having a fit while heartbroken.
'What a dunce,' Worick thought affectionately. He gave a feeble grin before letting his head rest back. He had no reason to worry. He knew Nic could take care of it.
The other panted, roughly wiping the blood off of him with a sleeve.
They were dead. They had paid their debts in full. But he wanted more. He needed more. He needed them to understand that no one could touch Wor—
He whipped around. He looked at Worick for a long moment, waiting for any sign. The alley was still and so was his companion. He dropped his katana and moved promptly to Worick's side.
Worick's eye was closed.
Nic's desperately looked about his friend before reaching out to hesitantly nudge Worick's good shoulder.
"Worick…" he called.
"Worick!"
It was an unfair belief that Nic felt no emotions. He'd always felt. Happiness, worry, sadness, hurt, even fright. He was well acquainted with them all. He'd simply never been taught how to express them. To feel was not the reason he had entered the world. From the time of his conception he served a purpose. An asset was not supposed to show anything but a calm and collected demeanor.
Worick, on the other hand, didn't know what to do with his emotions. He experienced everything to the highest form, but his half-fine breeding and survival instincts sent his emotions haywire at times. Perhaps that was why Worick was always smiling and touching people. It could have been his way of releasing pent up…whatever jumble of emotions that resided within him. Or so Nic thought.
'What a pair,' Nic mused to himself.
He'd only ever had two real relationships in his life.
His father and Worick.
Nic had, in all honesty, been very attached to his father. His father had been his whole world when he was young. He'd grown up around mercenaries, heartless men who cared about their paychecks over people. Nic's father had hit him more often than not. The other men had never said anything against it. Nic never had any friends his own age. He had never gone to school. He had never interacted with other—kinder—families.
He'd never known that his father wasn't showing him any form of love. Nic had always assumed that what his father did was normal. That it was a kind of affection that he might show once he was older. Even when he had seen the first bruises on Worick…he'd thought it was okay.
But something had shifted inside of him as a boy. The more people he'd seen on the Arcangelo estate… The more human interaction and true affection he had witnessed… The sickness he felt in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Worick's injuries… The more he had realized that this wasn't normal. That it wasn't okay.
That the blemishes marring his Master's pale skin were unforgivable.
That sentiment rang true to the very core of him.
Worick and Nicolas had always hurt one another.
Worick had bought Nicolas like chattel to liberate him from his father.
Nicolas had slaughtered Worick's family for causing the other boy anguish.
Their bond blossomed from the transgressions they'd bestowed upon the other boy.
They could never truly forgive the other. And yet could not survive without each other. For twenty-two years Worick had been trying to take care of Nic. And for twenty-two years Nic had been trying to tell him that it didn't matter. Nic's life didn't matter. Worick's did.
Over the course of twenty-two years, Nic's world had become Worick.
Worick was warm and familiar. Worick was a tie to other people. Worick was his teacher, his provider, and once upon a time his protector. But Nic had always had an instinctual sense that he would never hesitate to put his life down for Worick.
He wished he'd taken the bullet instead.
In the cold silence of Dr. Theo's clinic, he was left alone with nothing but his own regrets. He'd cleaned the blood off of himself and changed as he waited to see news on Worick's condition. He'd been on the operating table too long. Nic could feel it.
He wished Nina were there. He wished he could pull on her little button nose and then pat her head. He wished he could sign to her that everything would be all right with Worick. That everyone was going to be okay. He wished he could comfort her and therefore convince himself.
But Nina was in the operating room. And Nic was alone.
The thought of remaining alone...
He ground his teeth and stared at the harsh linoleum floor. He dug his right thumb into the palm of his left hand. He wanted to pace back and forth like Worick did from time to time. Or even gnaw at a nail out of anxiety. But he couldn't bring himself to do anything. He found himself immobile and it wasn't because of the downer he'd been given upon arriving at the clinic.
A shadow caught his eye.
Nina stood in the doorway, hospital blues drowning her. There were smears of blood here and there. She looked tired and frantic…but hopeful. Nic rose to his feet. She ran over to him and hugged him. He stood there, unable to tap into that brotherly urge to comfort her. He was too worried about somebody else. It took him a long moment before realizing he was being given exactly what he had longed for. He rested his hands upon Nina's head and she let go of him. Clasping onto his larger hand, she pulled him forward, attempting to sign that 'HE IS RESTING.'
Nic took determined strides, intently searching for his partner. His longer legs carried him faster than Nina, who he wound up dragging along behind him.
He wasn't thrilled with how quickly everyone had shown up. Chad, Cody, and Alex were there. Naturally Dr. Theo stood by, cleaning up the tools of his trade. There was a curtain pulled back but with everyone standing around Nic couldn't see.
He didn't care if Alex was asking if he was alright. He didn't care if Chad was berating him for making a mess for the Police to clean up. He didn't care if Chad was even telling Alex to leave them. Nor did he give a damn at the disappointed glint in Theo's eyes, who was not so subtly waiting for him to die.
He let Nina go and pushed through everyone. He turned on his heel and dragged the curtain, enveloping the occupied hospital bed in a shroud of white. The overhead light was off causing a faint shadow to fall over all within the curtain's domain.
Nic waited until the pairs of shadows beneath the curtain diminished in numbers. Eventually, the others got the point. They either stood far back or left. No one dared tried to peek inside. Nic was glad for it. He knew Worick would be disappointed in him if he heard tell that he'd chased some of his partner's visitors away.
He finally rotated to see. Worick had always been broken yet he'd never looked so akin to a corpse. He appeared ashen while surrounded by white hospital linens. The splotches of color in the room came from the dark circles under his visible eye, the burgundy staining a fresh bandage, a bag of blood, and the incessant beeping spikes of the ECG machine. There was an oxygen mask over his face. Worick's chest rose and fell slowly, the mask fogging at steady intervals. It was one of the few signs that Worick was still alive. Worick was stationary and silent. It rattled Nic to the very core.
He slowly approached Worick, half-expecting and half-hoping for him to open a blue eye. He wanted Worick to smile at him and try to be overly affectionate with him. He wanted Worick to yell at him for overdoing it again. But Worick did nothing, not yet out of the haze of anesthesia.
Nic stood by for an immeasurable amount of time. He could feel vibrations on the floor of others scurrying around and slamming doors. Things were going to get busy after this latest incident, but all was stagnant in Worick's designated place in the clinic. There had never even been a question that Nic was in this for the long haul.
He moved to the small chair beside the bed. He plopped down without fanfare, staring at Worick with an indiscernible expression. He wanted to do something. He had felt a need to exhibit some kind of closeness with Worick but he didn't know how. He'd never witnessed friends showing any form of affection or worry. Worick was always the one he saw and learned from. But Worick wasn't able to guide him this time. He thought he should say something. And yet what was the point if Worick couldn't hear him?
It angered him to be so ignorant of what to do. It only reminded him that all of Worick's teachings had been for naught. An animal couldn't be taught how to be human.
But Nic felt.
He'd always felt.
All he felt now was desolation.
He put his forearms on the soft surface of the bed. Unappreciative of how foreign the action felt, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Worick's shoulder. It did and didn't feel right.
It was all he could manage.
Someone was leaning on him. Little Nina?
A flash of black hair reached his remaining eye. Alex?
He turned his head, hating how sluggish he felt but knowing his only other option was to be in agony. He was, in truth, amazed that he was still around. The awful ceiling of Theo's clinic proved he hadn't kicked the bucket just yet.
He was staggered that it was Nic by his side.
He did his best to smile and raised a heavy hand to pat the other's head. It was more of a sloppy slap than a pat. He focused his fuzzy attention to scratch at short black hair. Nic probably knew that he had awakened before he'd moved. Nic always knew. He was so attune to everything around him though he could not implement one sense.
Anesthesia was working its way out of him. He lightly dozed for a long moment without realizing. He jerked awake when his hand hit his upper arm. He blearily blinked and strained to focus on the other. Eventually, he registered that Nic looked absolutely miserable.
"The fuck are you poutin' about?" Worick rasped. One corner of his mouth turned upwards. At least, he thought it did.
Nic signed nothing.
"You mad I'm still 'round to nag ya?"
IT'S MY FAULT.
Worick remained silent. He stared at Nic. He then took proper note of how close Nic was to him. He never lingered so close…true, he was remained close to Worick when they were together, almost like a disconnected shadow but…not like this…
Worick clumsily reached up and cupped the back of Nic's head. There was a moment of resistance before Nic let Worick guide his head back to his shoulder. Nic let out a grunt and wore a blatant look of disapproval. Worick smirked when Nic didn't pull back after he'd relaxed his grip. It was the closest thing to an embrace they had ever shared.
Nic raised a hand and began signing.
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE.
"You were," Worick replied.
Nic 'heard' his response through the rumbling of Worick's voice through his chest. He'd come to recognize different vibrations as sounds long ago.
"Nic. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you," his brows furrowed as he focused his gaze back on the ceiling. Fragments of thoughts he'd contemplated in the alley flitted through his mind. It was only natural right? He was slightly older than Nic. Even if Nic held a different fate than he did…he was supposed to die first. The older always were. "I'm supposed to go before you."
He coughed out a cry at a hard blow to his chest. "Ahh! You little shit!"
That had fucking hurt.
Nic smacked him again, forcing him to open his eyes. He was about to scream when he caught sight of Nic's signing.
I DON'T MATTER. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT, YOU DUMBASS?! STOP TRYING TO SAVE ME. YOU'RE MY MASTER. MY DUTY IS TO PROTECT YOU NO MATTER THE COST.
Worick's face hardened, his breathing even but only by his valiant efforts to control himself. He was torn between backhanding Nic for dismissing his own life so easily or hugging him. Nic was atrocious at expressing sentiments. But that was the closest Worick would ever come to hearing Nic say that the older man was dear to him.
He reached out and grabbed the front of Nic's shirt. He roughly yanked the other towards him, wincing as the action began a chain reaction of awakening nerves. He glowered into Nic's dark eyes as he brought their faces closer. There was a hint of confusion there, but it was almost imperceptible. Worick steeled his nerves for what he was about to do. He'd never be able to take it back.
Why could they not forward without causing each other pain?
"I'm only going to say this once, so fucking pay attention. I order you not to die on me. You keep yourself alive. Got it?"
There was nothing he detested more than implementing an order. It felt like a violation of the respect they held for one another.
Nic could not refuse.
He clasped Worick's wrist. There was no pressure behind the hold. For once, he didn't feel like pushing Worick away quite so soon. It was a comfort to have that solid grasp on him. It reminded him of his purpose.
He met Worick's blue eye and fought the tug of a smile. 'What an idiot.'
He nodded resolutely.
"Yes Worick."
-Story End-