A shock ran through me, forcing me awake. I immediately sat up, breathless at the thought that more pain could be coming. My entire body ached with the movement; my stab wound pulsed, but there was no more pain beyond the throbbing from my earlier attack. Gasping for breath, I surveyed my surroundings.

Maheen was long gone and Fenton was curled in a ball, close to the cell bars where I was against the back wall. There was no change in the cell that I could see. There was nothing to tell me about what had gone on this morning and what had caused Fenton to either activate his powers or to cross his boundary line.

"Fenton?" I began, though my voice didn't make him stir at all.

I didn't want to disturb him; he always let me get my sleep in, it wouldn't be fair for me to wake him. I sat there, wondering if it would be worth it to lay back down and try to rest some more. I certainly needed it, though looking at Fenton made me uncomfortable. He was lying in such a weird position – all crooked angles – that it made me cringe. I didn't know how he could be comfortable like that, although each to his own, I suppose. However, there could be no upside to his head lying on a stone floor, or for his arm to be tucked under his back like that. I cocked my head to the side, trying to understand how his arm was like that. As I was studying it, I noticed something on his white dress shirt, which had turned to a dingy grey by now. It was beginning by his ribs, more under his arm pit than anything. It looked like a stain (and if it was, I really didn't want to know what it was), but as I stared, it began to grow.

It was clearly crimson, although oddly enough, there was green mixed in with the red. The green is what prevented me from reaching my conclusion immediately. But when I did, I gasped and scuttled to his side.

It was blood.

When I reached his side, I felt sick. He looked like Tucker and Jazz; beaten and helpless. His face was swelling uncontrollably. There was blood pouring from his nose and from several long cuts high on his cheekbones, right underneath his eyes. He had been growing a beard while in the cell, but it looked as if the facial hair had literally been gouged away from his face; the entire bottom of his face was red and bloody. His shirt was torn in the front, with cuts running along his chest and sides, similar to the ones on his face. There was bruising along his chest as well; the skin of his torso was beginning to swell.

"Fenton?" I shrieked again, putting my hands on his shoulder, and shaking him gently. "Fenton!"

I slid my hand to the left side of his chest. I breathed out a long sigh of relief as I felt a strong heartbeat thud under my palm. He was alive and he wasn't even close to death; there was no weakness in his heartbeat, no stuttering in the rise and fall of his chest. Now, I just had to figure out what to do with him. I didn't know how I was supposed to take care of the blood or the swelling. I wouldn't know what to do with him even if I were in a good situation with a fully stocked medical at my side, let alone in a dingy cell like this!

I took a deep breath and tried to think. What could I use as bandages? Absolutely nothing. I could use his shirt, but I was reluctant to do that. Despite the fact that it was already torn, it was still a source of warmth for him and I didn't want to take that away. I thought of ripping up the skirt of my dress to make bandages for him, but I didn't know if that was a good idea either. The top and bottom layers would be extremely dirty by now and it wasn't a good idea to rub dirt in a wound. The middle layers were made of a scratchy material, and I didn't want to antagonize his wounds any further. The only soft thing I could think of was toilet paper … Oh well; it would have to do in a pinch.

If I saw Maheen again anytime soon, I would have to request bandages for Fenton. With any luck, she already knew about what had happened to him and would bring bandages right away. Of course, we were locked up and had been for over a month now, so luck wasn't exactly on our side.

I reached for a roll of toilet paper when I noticed something behind it. Frowning, I leaned forward a little more to inspect this unexpected object, and I had to grin to myself. Maheen had prepared us well; she must have known. As I picked up the bandages – there was one roll of thick gauze with a roll of tape next to it, and a small box of large Band-Aids - and small stack of wet wipes Maheen must have left behind, I thought back to the pain-fogged conversation I'd had with her earlier. I clearly remembered her telling me "he'll be back soon", meaning that Vlad must have removed Danny from the cell in order to do this to him. It would also explain the pain of earlier. I thought I remembered her telling me that she had left supplies, though I might have just been thinking that because I had found the supplies.

I picked up one of the wet wipes and hesitantly lowered it to his face. I was afraid of hurting him; I didn't want to cause anyone undue pain and he looked like he'd gone through enough for one day. Still, I had to get the wounds clean. I slowly ran the wipe over his facial wounds, clearing the blood away from his cheeks. He was still bleeding, though not as heavily as he once was. I quickly ripped up the gauze and placed it over his cut face. I added a few more layers, just so that the gauze wouldn't have to be changed every few minutes, and taped the gauze to his face. The bandages, while still odd-looking, were nowhere near as terrifying as the blood and I was glad to see him look a little more cleaned up.

I studied his shirt for a minute, wondering if I should attempt to clean through the rips, and then I realized that would be a stupid decision. The blood had probably spread beyond the original wound site, and I would only end up ripping the shirt further in order to reach the dripped blood. I was trying to save as much of the shirt as possible, so in the end I had to decide that it was time for the shirt to come off. First though, I had to rearrange him into a more comfortable position. I pulled at his arm until it was out from underneath him; I thought for sure my tugging would rouse him, but there was no reaction from him. I rolled him onto his back and then spread out the rest of his limbs. That done, I focused on the buttons of his shirt.

My hands shook as I started to unbutton his shirt. I tried not to think of New Year's Eve, zippers, and a boy with the same chest I was staring at now, but with a different face. I set my jaw, determined not to let it get to me. I had been doing so well at putting that behind me, or so I thought. Not just with the time that had passed since it had happened, not just with Gregor, but even being in the cell and being able to be close to him without feeling like I was going to break down. I thought that I had finally begun to heal; Fenton's presence just spurring me on toward the ultimate goal of being heartache free. I guess it's all about baby steps, though.

I unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and I also undid the button on his cuffs. I rolled him to the side, propped my knee underneath his body to keep him from falling back over, and gently eased his arm out of his sleeve. I switched sides and repeated the process. By the time I was finished and had his shirt sitting next to me, completely off his body, I head tiny beads of sweat on my brow. Fenton was heavy, especially compared to me. He was a tall, muscled boy and I was small on a good day. I sucked in a deep breath and then picked up my cloth. The cuts along his chest were numerous in comparison to his face. I wondered what they had been doing to him; why they had removed him from the cell.

I had about half of his chest wounds bandaged and taped when I thought I saw movement in his face.

"Fenton?" I asked, though the word came out in a whisper. I swallowed, trying to lubricate my throat and tried again. There was no response.

I cleaned another set of wounds and ripped up the gauze. I placed it over the wound and began tearing off strips of tape. As I was taping down the gauze, I definitely saw movement in his face. He was wincing; he was waking up. I continued on with my task. I finished taping down that wound and leaned across him to get to the next one; this one was on the top part of his chest. As I touched the wipe to his skin, Fenton's hand snapped up to my wrist, gripping me tightly; so tightly that I felt as though my bone was going to shatter under his touch.

"Stop!" I cried. "Fenton, it's Sam!"

His grip loosened. Fenton's eyes opened and I watched him try and focus on me.

"It's just me, okay?" I gestured to his bandaged chest. "You were hurt pretty badly."

Fenton's grip slackened further and he glanced at the cloth I had in my hand.

"Sam?" he forced out, his voice squeaky and tight.

"Yes?" I knitted my eyebrows together.

"My leg," he gasped. "There's something wrong with it. My leg is fucking killing me."

Alarmed, I noticed tears in his eyes and I jumped into action.

"Where?" I asked, twisting so that I was pointed toward his legs.

My hands hovered uselessly over his legs. I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing. His pants looked undamaged.

"Left," Fenton ground out. "Inner thigh."

"Can you get your button?" I asked, unwilling to do it for him. That would be a step too far.

His hands were shaking as they drifted toward his button. He fumbled with it, and then I heard his fly go down. I hooked my fingers around the bottoms of his pant legs and tugged them down until I had revealed most of his legs. I crept up his side, trying not to think of how little clothing he actually had on; trying not to think of New Year's Eve. That was until I saw his leg. It looked as though someone had shot him. There was a gory hole in his thigh.

"Fuck," I murmured, because there was nothing else to say about it.

Before I even touched it, I jumped to my feet and went back over to the little store Maheen had been building up for me and Danny. I picked up the pain medication, knowing they were nowhere near the calibre he needed to be comfortable. I knew from experience, although his wound looked more brutal than I think mine ever felt. I shook two pills into my hand, grabbed a bottle of water, and went to kneel by his head.

"Here," I prompted, "take these, before I even attempt to bandage it."

He shook his head. "Those are for you," he protested.

"I think you need them more than I do. Just take them, okay?"

He looked at me, and he kept his lips sealed shut.

"Don't be stubborn," I growled at him, my patience with him beginning to wear thin.

I pressed my hand against his lips. "Come on."

I felt his mouth open. I dropped the pills in, gave him a drink of water, and then moved back to his leg.

I cleaned it as best as I could, ignoring his whimpers as I cleaned around it. He stayed more or less silent until I lifted his knee in order to give myself better access to his wound. I'd decided that it would be best to wrap the gauze around his leg in a circle, rather than trying to tape a square over the wound. When I lifted his leg up, he let out a cry so pain filled that it nearly brought tears to my own eyes. I did my best to ignore it, wrapping the bandage around his leg as quickly as possible. I ripped off a long piece of tape and secured the loose end. Finally, I was able to place his leg back against the floor.

I repositioned myself up by his chest to finish patching there. He wriggled a little bit, pulling his pants back up. When he was still again, I began my routine – wipes, bandage, tape.

"Thank you, Sam," Danny rasped. "For taking care of me."

"Well," I replied, "I couldn't let you suffer."

"You should have." He answered, and then closed his eyes, leaving me speechless.

He was obviously in immense pain. I couldn't have just let him lie there, bleeding, unable to take care of himself. I couldn't think of anyone I would leave just lying there like he had been. It wasn't just that I felt a need to take care of people. It was the decent, human thing to do. He needed to be helped and, just because we had a bad history, that didn't mean that I should deny him assistance. He had helped take care of me when my wound was at its worst and I was just returning the favour. In this cell, all we had were each other. I didn't want to be alone in here; I needed him in this cell, oddly enough, to keep me sane.

It was just an act of survival.

I don't own anything recognizable. Thanks to my betas: Forever Sky.

~TLL~