The kid that wandered into Cutter's shop was creepy and skittish, but damn was he a good worker.

He wouldn't let Cutter touch him at all, even brushing past him a little too closely seemed to scare the shit out of him. Cutter figured he was just that way- some people were jumpy little things, and he definitely was a little thing. He and Cutter were almost the same height, but he was skin and bone. The clown swore he could bench press him if he had to.

He wasn't well- he could see that from the get-go. He had a heavy limp that only got worse as the days went on, and he smelled horribly of infection. He developed a cough, too, which often made him swoon when he suffered a really terrible fit.

Otis could have been dying, for all Cutter knew. But that kid with the hair like the moon and eyes like blood came every single day to work.

Until one day, he didn't.

If it had been anyone else, Cutter wouldn't have cared. People missed work. But in the weeks that he had known Otis, he knew that he was reliable and diligent- always on time and always giving his all at whatever he was doing. So for him not to show up was odd. In their discussions, he had pieced together where Otis was living- squatting in an abandoned apartment building that still had electricity and running water.

He drove to the building, fully expecting the worst.

When he threw down the door with his body weight, he wandered through the apartment, then tripping over something on the floor.

That something was the poor albino bastard who hadn't shown up for work that day.

"Aw, fuck!" He knelt beside Otis, who slowly put a gun to Cutter's head. His hands were shaking so heavily, Cutter wondered how he was even holding the weapon up. "Hey, relax kid. It's me. It's Captain Spaulding. Remember? It's just me. The clown, remember? Relax."

Otis stared at him, drenched in sweat, panting, even paler than he usually was.

"It's okay. Not gonna hurt you. Bet you're too weak to even cock that sucker, kid."

Otis feebly tried to cock the gun, and Cutter found that he was right.

"Okay. I'm gonna get you straightened out. We're gonna get you outta here, okay?"

Otis moaned, letting his arm fall. The gun clattered away from him and he whimpered in protest.

"It's alright. You don't need it." He rolled Otis onto his back, listening to the younger man growl in pain. "Shit man, you're really busted up, ain't ya? I'm gonna need someone else to help me get you out of here."

Otis wheezed, peering at Cutter through half-closed eyes.

"I know. You don't trust me. But you're gonna die if you don't, and you don't really have any other choice, either. You can't exactly defend yourself."

"It's okay. You're okay. Don't you die on me. My wife'll kick my ass if she finds out I didn't get to you fast enough." He let Otis settle, ripping up a shirt and drenching the fabric in cool water before laying it on his head. "I'm gonna see if I can get you out of here myself."

"How...?" Otis croaked.

"I think I can carry you. You're not a big guy, you know."

With that, Cutter hoisted Otis onto his shoulders and carried him out of the building. He tried to ignore the pained protests of the battered man as he loaded him into his truck and drove away.

Otis faded in and out of consciousness, but when he was coherent, he heard Cutter begging him not to die, to just hang on a little longer.

He finally felt the truck stop, heard Cutter slam the door and rush into the house. His door opened and he toppled out into strong arms.

"Whoa, hey, buddy. Ok, you're breathing. Barely, but you are."

He didn't recognize the voice, and alarms rang in his head. Fuck, who was touching him? It was a man. A BIG man. Was he going to tie him down and brutalize him like his father used to?

"You're alright. Relax. None of us is gonna hurt ya." He grumbled. Otis grimaced. He must have tensed and given away his fear. He couldn't help the whining moan that escaped his lips when he was lifted out of the car. His whole body ached, throbbed in an excruciating rhythm. Not to mention his injuries that he had sustained from a victim that had just gotten too feisty. "Sorry, sorry."

He felt himself being laid on a bed, but was too tired, too sick and too injured to react. He had wasted his energy on the initial panic.

"Holy fuck, John why'd you wait so goddamned long this kid's gonna die!" Another new voice yelled.

"He wouldn't come when I offered..." He grumbled back.

"Well, then it's his own damn fault if he does croak." The older voice answered back. Otis felt cool steel against his leg, and heard the rip as his jeans were filleted, along with his shirt. Otis whimpered in protest- he felt exposed. And there was nothing he could do about it. "S'alright, kid. We're gonna take care of ya."

Otis coughed feebly. He didn't even have the strength to discharge the air anymore.

"John, go get an oxygen mask and a tank."

Otis felt the mask being pressed to his face and tried to turn away, to no avail.

"Dammit, Otis stop squirmin'. It'll help you." He finally got the mask in place on Otis's face, and he seemed to relax himself. Oxygen filled his lungs and he calmed- he didn't feel like he was being strangled anymore.

"Got a lung infection on top of this. Fantastic." The older man grumbled, massaging the puss out of Otis's infected leg wound.

"Oh, god..." Cutter cringed, backing away as the scent of infection filled the room. "That's...fuckin' ripe..."

"Yeah, well imagine how it felt. It'll feel much better now."

Otis groaned.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. This wound on your stomach doesn't look much better." As the older man began to work the infection from the wound, Otis feebly howled in pain, choking and coughing on his own agony. "I know. Calm down, kid."

Working up enough strength, Otis grabbed the older man's wrist, squeezing as hard as he could.

He chuckled. "Kid's still got some fight left in him. Relax. You're not gonna push me off and you're going to exhaust yourself trying."

"What's he tryin' to do, Hugo?" Cutter asked.

"He's tryin' to get me to stop. Must hurt like a bitch." He easily grabbed Otis's hand and threw it to the side. Otis growled in pain, frustration and fear. There was nothing he could do- Hugo had just proven that- and it petrified him. "How much this kid weigh, Cutter? Ain't nothin' but skin and bone."

"I don't know. I...I don't even know if he's been eating at all, to tell you the truth. I haven't seen him eat at work."

"We'll get him straightened out. Get some meat on them bones and get him back on his feet."

Otis began to relax again as Hugo cleaned his wounds again and dressed them. His eyes felt heavy, and his body was tired- more tired than he had felt in his entire life.

"That's it, kid. Just rest. You're alright." Hugo reassured as he placed a blanket over Otis, who whimpered desperately one last time before succumbing to sleep.