Red leaked down Danny's skin as he tried in vain to stop the flow of the substance without anything to help. He'd met a gang. They hadn't liked him. He could still remember the knife that split his skin when he tried to get away, and the pounding of the fists on his body. He shivered, blood loss making him cold despite his icy core. He couldn't remember being in so much pain since...Well, it didn't matter. He grimaced, sagging against the frigid metal of a sign. He felt incredibly weak. He didn't know what he would do. He watched the crimson stain the snow. He found himself morbidly wondering whether or not a halfa disintegrated if they died. Or ended. He wasn't entirely certain of the term. He didn't have any money, and he wasn't healing very fast. He stood, stumbling to his feet. Every move he made hurt. He limped to the edge of the park he was in, a little amazed by his ability to find himself in odd situations, and curious as to how far he would make it.
Suddenly, he fell face-first, hitting the ground like so many sacks of potatoes. He simply lay there for several seconds, before he slowly sat up, and caught sight of a huge, bare tree. He felt a thought begin to gather at the edge of his mind, and waited for it to form. It finally turned into a real thought.
Cypress Street, and the man he'd met, the odd one, Scott Summers, with the eye disease. He almost winced at the way he remembered him. Really? Because he had an eye disease? Now, if he could just remember the location. He decided to head in that direction, and hope he wasn't interfering with the poor man's life too much. He also hoped he could borrow some thread, a needle, maybe some glue, and a bed. A meal might be nice, but for now, he was mostly occupied with the bed and first aid.
He slowly got up, and proceeded to the east, feeling the cold wind's bite. He stumbled, falling several times, and finally making it to Cypress Street. He finally got there, and found the right house after several moments. Now, all he had to do was go up some stairs. Lovely. But if up he must go, then up he would go. He dragged himself up the stairs, and knocked on the door. There was a long pause. He waited for a few moments before rapping again. After maybe five knocks, he got the door to open. Scott was on the other side, and was startled by the small boy on the other side of his door, apparently waiting for it to open. He looked like he might fall over, and Danny was grateful when Scott grabbed him by the shoulder and helped him in.
Danny practically collapsed on Scott's bed, relived that the older man had led him there, rather than to any other place. Scott also seemed to recognize him.
"Danny! What happened to you?" questioned Scott.
"I...I met some people. They decided they didn't like me. It didn't end well, as you can see." Danny made a full body indicating motion. "Have you got any glue, or maybe thread?"
"I do." Scott responded numbly, staring quite a bit, and going to retrieve it. He finally arrived with the thread. He started to hold them out, before hesitating. Danny instantly reached forward for the tools. Scott withdrew his hand. "Let me stitch it up." Scott stated firmly.
Danny objected. "I can take care of myself!"
"Just let me. It'll take only a little bit."
Danny gave a defeated sigh, and let the older man strip Danny's shirt off slowly. It hurt to peel away the dried blood, but he fought through it. He grimaced, and allowed Scott to stitch him up.
"I don't have any anesthetic. Just bite this if it hurts too much." Scott proffered a rag, and Danny took it, allowing it to hang limp between his teeth for know as Scott carefully began to stitch him up. Danny was slightly stiff, but mostly avoided flinching. Scott studied him closely.
"How long have you been on the streets?"
Danny froze. "Wh...What are you talking about? Why would I live on the street?"
"You didn't flinch. You're used to stitching yourself up. You're covered in scars, and watch all the corners in the room. Your clothing looks terrible. That's the only reason I can think of."
Danny was silent, considering the options, before his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. You win. Yes, I live on the street. Been doing that for two years. Don't bother yourself."
Scott thought for a long moment before telling him, "You've been on the streets since you were fourteen."
"Yes."
Scott was quiet for another second. "Stay here. I can help."
"No. I don't need it."
"Yes, you do. You got badly hurt. I can't have you going and getting killed."
"Once a month."
"Stay"
"Weekly."
"Stay"
Desperate, Danny made a deal he was sure he'd regret later. "Daily. Once a day, I'll come over. You can stare at me, make sure I'm fine. But no more."
Scott considered. "Sure. But you'd better stay here tonight."
Danny reluctantly agreed, and decided it took too much energy to object. He might as well eat something good.
Scott produced a large sandwich. Danny instantly gulped it down, his hunger taking control.
"How long has it been since you last ate?" Scott enquired.
"Does it matter?" Danny's prickly response came. He didn't need pity, he didn't need anything. He. Was. Fine.
"Yes, it does."
"Not really. I mean, two weeks ago, you didn't even know me. Heck, you'd never seen me."
"But now I have. I also have lots of food that needs to be gotten rid of."
Danny grinned. "I can definitely help with that, Scott. If you don't mind."
"I don't. I was, after all, the one who suggested it."
Scott looked a little amused as Danny stood up and began to look around at all the food. He carefully gathered all sorts of odd things, and ate. And ate. And ate. It was rather obvious that he hadn't had a square meal in days, and Danny could feel it. His stomach growled with glee at the food in front of him.
By the end if the meal, Danny had definite confirmation that his eyes were bigger than his stomach. It was a little embarrassing. He still hurt all over, but ghostly healing was slowly beginning to help. It wasn't much, and Danny could easily envision still being in pain for another day, maybe. He hoped it wouldn't last long. He finally retired to bed, curling up in a tight ball, and falling into a dreamless sleep.
So, one shot number two! I don't really have everything planned enough to script out the events between their meetings and the rest of the plot, so stuff like that will probably be in one shots, and stuff before they meet will probably be in flashbacks. I have a few more ideas to play with turning into one shots before the background is established. Review! I also own nothing.
-Miaulin