I found a forum that paired Garland x Bryan. It was hilarious.


Chapter Five
Land On Your Feet

It all happened so fast I barely kept up. The first thing that came to my mind was how vile the blood tasted. The second was mostly a blur of panic over losing my tongue and anger towards the psycho who held the scalpel. Lying flat on my back, bleeding and with his aroused panting in my ear, I was so sickened I almost forgot to feel the pain.

But he didn't get too far. If it was a miracle or just a lucky strike, something made my life a hell of a lot easier. Or, so I thought for the moment as the door suddenly flew off its hinges, leaving the doorway open and almost naked. The guy with the scalpel spun around, surprise in his eyes but then there was nothing in them at all. A foot had kicked him off his feet and I could bet my shoes he was going to wake up with some brain damage.

But my enemy's enemy didn't turn out to be my friend, the tall man not exactly looking happy to see me. He eyed me suspiciously, then let out his own little amused laugh, his face twisted as if he wasn't sure what to do. He put his foot on the chair, leaning over it to give me some sort of scornful look, bemused and amused at the same time.

I just glared at him through the blood and the sweat and the total shock that was eating me alive. Either he was going to help me or hurt me, and I could not stand waiting to find out what. All the patience I had ran out long ago. But then Mr. Friendfoe did a funny thing. He turned to look over his shoulder and shouted the last thing I ever expected to hear.

''Ey, Kuznetsov! I found something!''

I was torn between relief and despair. Knowing where one stood in a battle like this was about as easy as to find a wrinkle in a plastic surgery clinic. Boris had been protecting me so far, but also he had beaten the crap out of me and tried to kill me. Seeing how Garland was not really prince charming himself, I wondered just how much I could trust a man who tried to slice a sixteen-year-old to death with wind-attacks when he was a teenager.

My questions were not unanswered for long, since soon I could see a shadow emerging in the doorway. It, as I had assumed, proved to be Boris but he looked quite surprised to see me. I couldn't quite tell if it was anger blazing in his glare, or if it was something else. Something I couldn't decipher yet I didn't want to bet all I had that it was something bad.

''Looks like I just saved him from some sick torture''

Mr. Friendfoe nodded towards the briefcase containing all of the unconscious psycho's little shiny friends. Boris barely even glanced at it, his eyes firmly fixated on me as if I was the only thing in the universe. It almost made me miss torture.

''Leave him. We have no use for him.'' The Russian muttered.

I would have protested if my tongue hadn't begun to swell.

''Hey, I think that a guy who was just about to get his tongue cut off must have quite some interesting things to say''

''I don't care what you think, we're leaving him''

Mr. Friendfoe glared at his fellow partner in crime, a partner who looked more like he was considering backstabbing as a new career. I, on the other hand, agreed with the other man and to show them this I instantly started gurgling and mumbling, any sound that wasn't too painful to produce. Boris just gave me a glare of death, as if to tell me something I was too emotionally unstable to understand. In hindsight, I don't know if I regret it or not.

''We should ask boss first''

''Are you're even dumber than you look? We're leaving him.''

''Just like that?''

''Let him bleed or starve or what the fuck ever!''

Mr. Friendfoe snorted, standing up properly to glare the Russian straight in the face. None of them intending to step down, it was almost painful to see. Two alpha males sharpening their horns before bashing right into each other, skulls breaking and blood flowing. To top it all off, the emotional storm I'd been endearing had momentarily shut off the pain, but was now starting to fade away, leaving me in agony again.

''He's not important!'' Boris snarled in a low and vicious way that would have cut down a forest.

But his colleague only smiled. A dark and bitter smile void of anything that a smile should originally have. It was somewhat like putting a dress on a rotting corpse.

''In that case'' in one swift movement he had fished up a gun from his jacket, the weapon looking ominous and almost glowing in the dim light. ''You won't argue with me doing this''

It was time to panic now. Thrashing and throwing I tried a scream, but all it gave me was a wave of blinding pain splitting my skull. I never stopped moving though, kicking and jumping and doing all the motions a person tied to a chair could do. Mr. Friendfoe didn't seem to care though, his gun pointed at me from out of nowhere. My eyes widened remarkably, and for a moment it looked almost like he was checking his own reflection in my eyes.

''A mute witness is a dead witness. Bye bye, kiddo''

A swift and soft sound, no doubt the one of a silenced gun, carried through the air as graceful as a dancer. Quicker than a thought, the bullet hade entered the targeted cranium within a moment. I screamed this time, not really knowing how it would help since a gun was being fired and last time I checked the sound of my voice wasn't bullet-proof. Then, I waited. Waited for the pain and the blood that undoubtedly would come from yet another wound. I ignored the thoughts of why everyone found it fun to use me as target practice, and instead focused on my death.

A death that seemed rather reluctant to come.

Without having noticed when I closed them, I opened my eyes. It took a while for my vision to clear, but as it did, the image before me was a tad surprising. Boris putting his gun back from wherever he had gotten it from, blood on the wall as the same ruby liquid trickled across the floor, oozing out of a hole attached to Mr. Friendfoe's head. If my breath hadn't stuck in my lungs I would have gasped.

Boris gave me a look that clearly promised an excruciating and gruesome death if I even opened my mouth. So I obeyed him and kept quiet, merely gazing at him in shock. The Russian muttered curses in his native tongue, and it wouldn't surprise me if most of them were about me. Bending down he grabbed a deathly hold of my throat, growling me right in the face with as much threat as he could manage.

''I'm going to kick your ass''

''Hrm?!''

I can admit it was a pathetic sound, but it was sadly all I could manage. I wanted to say something more along the lines of 'What the hell are you talking about? I'm the one supposed to kick your ass for landing me in this mess to begin with! Now get me to a hospital and shut up.' But the taste of blood has a habit of killing your mood for chit chat.

''Don't move. Don't squeal. Don't breathe.''

''Hr grrgg grrr mre?!''

''Yes, I'm going to leave you.''

Wherever he learned the graceful language of Gargling I never want to find out. Perhaps he just anticipated what I was going to say long before he even spoke himself. Perhaps Boris was just good that way. Perhaps it just made him a little creepier. That and the fact that he just killed a man without even blinking. Suddenly getting Boris to leave me alone was not sounding like a bad idea. Except for the fact that it would leave me alone, bound and bleeding, no one knowing where I was.

''Having problems, Kuznetsov?'' some voice called from outside the room.

Boris gave me one final glare before the grip loosened and he stood up.

''Everything's fine.''

''I thought I heard a ruckus – ''

''I said everything's fine!''

I wanted to tell him what a stupid mistake he'd just done. How was he going to explain his dead comrade or the blood on his shoes? I wanted to ask him how the hell bleeding to death was considered as keeping me safe. All the effort he'd put into keeping me out of harms way, it would all be useless if he left me there. If he was going to walk away, he could as well have left me to die in that alley when all of this started.

Perhaps I didn't need to tell him this. Because just by looking at him, he seemed to read my eyes like neon signs in the dark. He muttered, knowing I was right and undoubtedly hating my guts for it. I did not doubt he was going to kick my ass when he got the chance. After a lot of thinking, he finally shook his head, his eyes reluctant as if he'd come to some new realization he'd rather left untouched.

''I hate you.''

Was all he said before he leaned down again.

''I really, really hate you.''

I didn't even bother gurgling. I just gave him a tired, piercing look, telling him to hurry the hell up and get us out of there. Boris snarled, picking up a knife from somewhere inside his clothing, cutting the ropes that bound my hands and before I knew it I was breathless with pain. In just one moment he had picked me up and placed me over his shoulder, the strain it put on my wounds making my eyes water.

Cautious steps that seemed so unlike Boris led us out into a brightly lit corridor. Like a tunnel made entirely of light, everything spotlessly clean. It was like stepping out of a torture chamber in Saigon and into a hospital corridor in Beverly Hills. To my surprise it seemed empty of people, but I didn't dare hope luck was on our side. Knowing me I'd probably just jinx it.

I don't know for how long we walked before we heard the voices. The horrified and angered sounds of people finding Mr. Friendfoe's corpse. I didn't know how long it took before someone fired a gun and before Boris fastened his steps. I don't know how he got to the staircase and I don't know why he was even saving me. But Boris didn't seem to care. That moment, the fact that he was throwing everything he had away like discarded toilet paper, didn't seem to touch him the slightest.

Perhaps that only spoke about how his life was nothing to throw away in the first place.

My body felt awfully numb. You know how when you're drinking the first thing that goes numb is your lips? Until the feeling spreads through your skin to your fingertips and face, and soon you don't feel anything at all, like your soul is floating without a body, yet attached to heavy weights at the same time? That was the feeling I had. All the psychological and physical stress getting to me, and as we hurried down the stairs I really didn't blame my body foe shutting down.

A rain of bullets filled the air, little silver spots gushing by almost soundlessly at first. Cutting through the air before they ricocheted of the wall. Maybe it was just my imagination but for a moment I thought I could see the sparks reflect in his eyes. Eyes that were colder than they'd ever been before, icy blue like the arctic sky.

And maybe that's what disturbed me the most about the situation. The fact that there I was, on his shoulder, bleeding, with a swollen tongue, having been abducted twice and not knowing even what day it was while a lot of people I didn't know where shooting at us… and all I could really think of was his eyes. The eyes of a man who had only meant trouble every time I'd run into him. I had entrusted my life in the hands of a murderer, still I didn't know if that disturbed me the most, or the fact that he was the only one I could trust at all.

Boris flinched noticeably, gritting his teeth like a white cage to hinder the pain from escaping in a moan. I lifted my groggy head to see what he was making such a fuss about, ignoring the worry that gnawed at my heartstrings. I didn't see anything wrong with him, yet the warm, red liquid that grew into dark, crimson spots on his jacket and travelled onto my own clothes were bound to come from somewhere.

I tried to open my mouth, wanted to say something even though knowing I couldn't. Not only was it physically impossible, I couldn't even come up with good words to throw at him. But I guess Boris didn't care, as he knelt down to pick up his own gun, hissing and swearing as bullets rained down around us. If I squinted, it almost looked like falling stars.

''Fuck it'' he muttered, undoubtedly thinking very nasty thoughts. ''I should use you as a human shield''

I gave him a pointed glare, daring him to make reality of that thought. He ignored me, counterattacking as his gun fired off. Deafening bangs exploding in the air, turning up the volume of my headache as my ears filled with the chaos of guns and bullets and all the turmoil it caused. I clasped my hands over my ears, trying to shut everything out, yet it was impossible. I could even feel the movements in Boris' body, how his frame shook in anger and the blood that just kept gushing out of him, like burning lava against my skin. For a moment I thought I could almost smell sizzling flesh.

''Bogni'' I gargled, trying to pronounce his name but failing, my tongue stinging with pain. ''Boogniii…''

It was complete nonsense uttered by the panic in my chest. But it was all I could actually focus on, like a cat clings to a log in the river.

''If it's true what they say'' he muttered then, reloading his gun as he crouched behind a railing. ''I hope that saying doesn't just go for cats.''

I looked at him, understanding nothing of what he was saying and knowing that nothing good could ever come from that look in his eyes. Boris fired off his gun again, someone upstairs screaming in pain. I wasn't sure what happened next, but Boris decided to jump.

Air gushing past us, teeth of glass sinking into my skin I felt like a bullet myself where we flew out into nothing. By the time I had understood what Boris had done, I hoped that saying about cats was right. And if it wasn't, then I sure hoped falcons could really fly.

What followed then was pain. True and immense, jaw dropping, breath taking, heart throbbing pain. I was blinded for the fraction of a moment, numb and shocked motionless until it hit me all at once. A stinging in my skin, a fire in my wounds and explosions in my head. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't, and that seemed to make matters worse. Fighting to regain my breath, my tongue so swollen I had to breathe through my nose as gasping gave me nothing. I cringed, turning over on my side, hoping nothing was broken. Boris grabbed me again, and before I could swallow the shock we were on the move again.

Even with my weight he managed to run decently fast, steps hurried in that way of a hunted deer. Even though its powers were since long gone and the muscles were screaming with pain, it had to keep on running faster and faster, because if it stopped for even a moment, it would all be over.

I was dozing on and off, floating in and out of consciousness almost in a certain rhythm. One moment I heard guns firing, the other all was quiet. The next I heard Boris' pounding heart, then my own. The world came together as one theatre of vividly, if badly, put together scenes that after a while melted together completely, leaving me staring into nothing but an enigma of colours.

The Russian's gasping breathing, clawing frustratingly for air, rang worse than any gunshot in my ears. Something wet fell down on my face, and I didn't know first if it was his sweat or rain. It turned out to be both. Digging through his pocket Boris soon pulled out a worse-for-wear cell-phone, typing the number several times before getting it right. It didn't take long before the person on the other end answered, and Boris muttered something impossible to understand. I realized then that he was speaking in Russian, and only five sentences later he hung up.

I panted, my chest sinking and rising rabidly as my nasal paths were beginning to burn with the amount of air I forced into them. Blinking out some of the droplets from my eyes, I shivered. If I could've, I would've yelled at him. But I couldn't even hiss. So I settled for staring, glaring with accusation until he met my eyes.

''Don't give me that look.'' He muttered, sounding drained behind the anger.

I continued glaring, thinking that it would all feel just a little better if I had someone to blame. Someone to be angry with even though most of this was my fault. If I had kept to my own business that night… I could have helped Boris in any other way. I didn't have to kick that guy in the head. If I had acted differently, would the situation have been any different? Was Boris the main reason it all went bad for associating with criminals in the first place oe was this entirely my fault?

I hissed in pain as he shifted my weight, still carrying me for some reason.

''Kon, for once in your damn life, take it like a man.''

He made some odd scrunched up face when he quickened his steps, like he had strained something. I moved my arms to keep myself upright, clinging to his shoulder as much as I could with the wound on my chest which any movement seemed to disturb. I hissed a little more. I guess that was just what a hit-and-run-victim must feel like.

He kept walking for a while, the cuts in his face flaring an angry red that contrasted greatly against his pale, almost colourless skin. His hair was wet and plastered against his face, making him look sort of ghost like, those piercing eyes tearing through the air. I panted heavily, fighting to keep myself awake, while our little trip continued onwards.

When the rain had gotten heavier, and my skin was basically curling in cold, my shivering went wilder. Exactly then, Boris seemed to find just what he had been looking for. I didn't even bother looking when he somehow, with me in a steady grip, kicked a window in. Glass shattered and as I waited for an alarm to set off, he climbed inside. It took me a minute or so of dry, warm air to realize that the alarm wasn't going to ring. We were alone, and in some morbid sense I guess one could consider us safe. Nothing but the sound of the rain outside, my shivering breath and Boris' heartbeat to keep us company.

He put me down on an ice-cold floor then, and instantly I bolted upright with a trembling body. I looked around hazily, taking in the sight of shelves and boring, grey-white walls. Lamps in the ceiling, concrete floor. Nothing I could place and yet it seemed very, very familiar. Like some sort of storage room, but I couldn't understand what kind. Boris gave me a stare I couldn't understand, looking me over before turning his eyes elsewhere.

He shrugged off his jacket with a concealed difficulty, throwing it in random direction to let it dry. Pacing around it didn't take long before he was out of sight, his footsteps the only sign that he was still in the building. I listened silently to him, leaning back against the wall as sombreness claimed me. I didn't want to close my eyes, afraid I would pass out if I did but my eyelids were so very, very heavy. I wanted to know what was going on and most of all, what was going to happen and maybe I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, Boris would be gone.

Just a second before I was ready to give in to my tiredness, Boris emerged in the room once again. He threw something large and soft at me, which landed right in my confused face. As I grabbed the odd thing, I felt the soft fabric of a blanket. As I held it questioningly in my hands, a little smile crept onto my lips. I was just about to wrap it around me when Boris knelt down, glaring threateningly. I raised my eyebrows in question, but he just narrowed his eyes.

''Sit still'' his words came out as an order, more than anything else.

And just like that he raised a cloth to my face, which immediately as it made contact with one of the cuts stung like a thousand electric shots. I jumped, staring at him in frustrated agony. He just grabbed my chin, firmly keeping my face in place and I knew that struggling would do nothing but wear me out.

So the stinging continued as he cleaned the wounds, and after a while I got used to it. In a macabre way it was almost soothing, the stinging like a lullaby of pain, calming my shaken nerves the longer he did it. Soon, perhaps a little too soon for my liking, he let go of me and picked up another clean cloth, drenching it in a strongly smelling liquid. And just like that, he tugged at my shirt.

''Whr ge hegg agru gooing, goo pegvetd baggag?!''

Translation; What the hell are you doing, you perverted bastard!?

''If you don't clean it you'll get an infection'' he stated a-matter-of-factly, dully looking at me like I was nothing but an unruly animal.

I glared, grabbing my shirt firmly with a look that told him to stay away if he wanted to keep his hands. Boris just snarled.

''I'm not exactly thrilled at the thought of seeing you shirtless. But if you die from some silly little scratch – ''

I growled.

''- it is a scratch. And if we don't clean it this would all have been in vain. And then I'd really hate you.''

Glaring heatedly, I was having the mental battle of the year. The wound was deep and it certainly wasn't just a scratch, and I knew he had a point in the fact that I had to get I cleaned. But it didn't matter as much to me as the fact that I still didn't know just why he was even bothering in the first place. Okay, so he wasn't potentially an outright bastard and if it would have been Yuriy or Takao… or maybe not Takao, he would probably have killed him himself, but anyone else in my situation, I bet Boris wouldn't have watched them get gunned down for nothing. Of course, I'm probably the only one stupid enough to kick strangers in the head.

So I guess mostly this was my fault. But even though Boris wasn't one to watch people die without doing anything, (at least if he knew them) I still wouldn't picture him going through this much trouble. Okay, so he hadn't expected to see me at Garland's. Hell, even I didn't expect that. So I guessed he had to save me there. All of it did make sense in some crazy way. But the thing that didn't, was why he was still there. Instead of dropping me off at some hospital and going back to his headquarters, pretending like nothing happened, he was here with me.

Now I demanded a damn good explanation. Too bad I couldn't tell him with words.

''Fine, clean it yourself'' he muttered, throwing the cloth in my face.

I grabbed it angrily, glaring holes into his head as he turned his back to me, undoubtedly insulting me in Russian. I ignored him though, and pulled up my shirt which was heavy with water, sticking to my skin like a second layer. It was with great discomfort that I pulled it over my head. The wound stretched, and not painlessly. I let out a moan of discomfort, but too stubborn for my own good I brought the cloth towards it.

I gritted my teeth in an attempt to keep the hisses from slipping through, yet the feeling of just having been run over by a bulldozer and the constant blazing in my chest made it a difficult task. Sweat formed upon my forehead, my heart beating tiredly as I dreaded how long this would take. Taking a deep breath, I readied myself for the second swipe.

''Oh, for fucks sake'' Boris snarled impatiently, spinning around and swiping the cloth in one movement, and before I could protest he begun cleaning the wound himself.

''If you ever mention this to anyone, I'll rip off your head and shove it so far up your ass you'll be able to peek through your throat.''

His warning had been meant to be serious, that I could tell by the hate in his voice. Yet I couldn't help the little snort of amusement that escaped my throat, something sardonic and sad about the humour of the moment. He snarled, pressing extra hard against the wound in retaliation. I flinched at the wave of pain that hit me, my eyes now forming slits of annoyance.

''You brought it on yourself'' he muttered, pouring some more of the liquid onto the cloth. ''Shit, they messed you up good.''

I made no sound whatsoever, just watched him as his brutal, clumsy movements formed some odd pattern. After the fourth swipe he had to hold me down by the shoulder to keep me from flinching too much, not a trace of gentleness as he finished taking care of the wound. He watched it in evaluation, his hand like burning hot coal against my damp skin, my body shivering in the cold and yet I felt strangely warm. He muttered before he bent down to rummage through the stuff he had brought along with the blanket, finding what he was looking for in mere seconds.

My stomach made a nauseating flip as I saw the needle in his hand. What made the situation worse was the smirk on his face and that sadistic look in his eyes I recognized from the past. The bastard was enjoying it.

When he had threaded the nail and drowned it in disinfectant, his hand was back on my shoulder to keep me firmly locked in place. Without a warning the needle penetrated my skin, a loud scream-yelp-like sound escaping my lips. He wasn't the least gentle, and he wasn't very careful, but at least he was fast. The needle felt like a bullet every time he forced it into the skin, in and out in fast movements and when he was finally done and had closed the wound, I was dizzy with pain.

I panted heavily, half-heartedly glaring at him as the silence was driving me insane. The least he could do was talk or something. I didn't even bother worrying over the fact that I wanted to hear his voice. As long as I got a distraction of sorts. Meeting my glare his grin broadened, a callous grimace that seemed to contradict the action itself. Especially when he, the next moment, threw the blanket at me. I kept my eyes on him in suspicion the whole time, stiffly draping the fabric around me and burying my body into it like a larva in a warm cuccoon. Boris just snorted, threading the needle again. I was just about to make a shocked sound when he pulled up the leg of my pants, revealing the bullet wound from earlier.

He had to be fucking kidding me.

I was just about to protest against yet another moment of torture when he shoved a bottle into my mouth, strong, mint-tasting liquid immediately filling it. I didn't know whether to spit it out or swallow it, both seemed like highly bad options. He took the bottle away, watching me in twisted amusement as he waited for my reaction. I was torn between spitting it in his face and probably getting killed on the spot, or swallowing it and taking the risk of being poisoned.

''It's just Listerine, idiot''

Somehow I doubted him.

''What's the matter, scaredy cat?''

I glared, but flushed it around my mouth anyway, the strong mint seeming to corrode my taste-buds, and as expected bringing unfair pain to the cuts in my tongue. I spat it out on the floor, wiping my mouth tiredly. Boris gave me a bloodthirsty grin, and when I least expected it, an enormous pain erupted in my leg. The sneaky bastard had just waited to get my guard down, and just like that the nasty disinfectant was eating its way through my wound. Getting an infection wasn't looking too bad compared to the pain.

But my anger soon subsided, as something very scary entered the blue eyes of the Russian. It was something akin to the look a mastermind gets after his most well planned master scheme has been foiled. Or how the creators of Titanic must have looked when they found out that their unsinkable ship had sunk. Whatever it was, it was making my skin crawl.

But Boris pretended like nothing, cleaning it up but not bothering to stitch it together. I wanted to ask why, but decided my gurgling probably wouldn't make any sense anyway. Boris settled with just bandaging the wound up, drawing a hand through his hair as he muttered. A small sneeze left me, which earned me an accusing look. I blushed slightly as I sniffled, feeling oddly heavy headed.

''Take off your pants.''

Okay. So not ready for that one.

''Hrrgg?!''

''Take off your pants.''

I looked at him with wide eyes, shocked and confused as I unconsciously backed away from him. I couldn't back too far as I was leaning against a wall, but it got me at least some distance between us. Boris muttered something about my intelligence, before throwing another blanket at me.

''Don't get any funny ideas. If you want to get sick, fine by me. But I won't take care of you.''

I relaxed, understanding what he meant. And he did have a point. It wouldn't help me to catch a cold or anything, and my body needed all the energy it could get to heal my wounds. So draping the blanket around me, I was completely covered when I thereafter squirmed out of my pants and threw them in the same direction as my shirt.

Then I just sat there, looking at him. A little warmer, a little calmer, yet twice as afraid and angry as before. I sighed in exhaustion, shaking my head exasperatedly. Boris just gave me a thin glare, before reaching for a blanket himself. Which was when I noticed the large, dark crimson spot on his shoulder. The blood that I had felt coming from him, I had momentarily forgotten but now I remembered it clearly. Before he had the time to notice my stare, I reached out to grab a hold of his t-shirt.

Boris looked slightly surprised at first, but then his eyes darkened and he was just about to hiss at me, when I ripped a piece of his clothing away. He looked down at the ruined fabric, which was revealing all of his shoulder as well as a vicious looking bullet wound. Reprimanding I shook my head, reaching for the disinfectant myself now.

Vengeance was mine.

''Don't touch me, Kon''

Naturally I ignored him, pouring the liquid right onto the wound. He clenched his jaw in a flinch of pain, but other than that he showed no sign of it whatsoever. If I hadn't known, I wouldn't have guessed he was even wounded. Hell, I had been with him all night and not noticed he had been in pain. Shaking my head I picked up the cloth, repeating the procedure he had done himself just moments ago.

The wound wasn't looking as nasty once clean, but still the gaping hole wasn't looking all too cuddly. More like a gaping mouth that was laughing at me, the pink skin leering. I muttered, glad as I realized the bullet wasn't in there still, so I wouldn't have to start digging it out. But my stomach cringed violently at the thought of having to stitch him together. But Boris just pushed me away.

''I can handle it myself.''

I looked at him quietly, and he answered me with a defensive glare. I knew he could take care of himself. After all, he wouldn't be able to lead the life he did if he couldn't. He'd be dead long ago. And I guess that thought, for some reason scared me. I didn't know why, but that moment I really didn't care. It could have been the exhaustion or the shock, it could have been the pain but I was running on a one-track-mind right then, and I had only one thought in my head as I looked at the cuts the glass had given him.

I knew he could handle himself, I just wanted to do it for him.

To my surprise, when I grabbed the bottle of disinfectant and the cloth again, he didn't move. He didn't say anything, just glared at something invisible in the distance and kept still as I cleaned the smaller wounds for him. He never flinched, his breath never hitched, he didn't do anything but glare. My breathing on the other hand, was getting harder and heavier as it took the last energy I had to clean him up, and by the time I was done, I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore.

Leaning against his healthy shoulder, I fell asleep.