Kidney Pie – Chapter Fifteen-and-Seven-Eighths

"Jack?"

What the hell? Jack shook his head as something nudged him awake. He lay on rough stone, and he could smell filth and slaughter. And he felt as if he had been thrown from a carriage and then trampled repeatedly by the entire Whitechapel police force as he lay in the street. His head throbbed terribly. "Ugh…"

As he tried to lift his hand to his head, it dawned on him that the only the thing that hurt worse than his head was his arm. Blinking and cursing, he tried to sit up, only to find Mrs. Lovett leaning over him, looking anxious.

"You alright, love?"

"Yes, I'll be -" He tried to rise, but fell back dizzily as her face blurred above him. "Oh."

Her hands steadied him. "Take it easy, then. I guess you just about tried to bust your silly head open across my bakehouse floor. All better now?" He stared up at her, and, past her, at the brick-lined passageway up to the barber shop. "Looks like Beadle Bamford was good enough to break your fall a bit. Probably dead before he hit the ground, the bugger."

Jack glared at the bleeding lump beside them that had been the unlucky official, his knife still sticking in its side. "Lucky him."

"I'm sure." She hovered beside him, and Jack could sense an impatient energy about her. It gave him the distinct feeling that she'd like nothing better than to drag him up off the floor immediately. Jack's head throbbed. He wanted to no part of her hurry. "What the hell happened up there, anyway?"

"That wretched Beadle is what happened, and some other fellow." Carefully, he propped himself up on his good arm, as she backed away a step or two. "And if that blasted barber is still alive, I'll cut his miserable throat for him!"

"Oh, no, you won't, now! Come on, I'll help you up." He pulled his hand back quickly as she reached for his wounded arm. "Don't tell me. Not you, too?"

The Ripper pushed back his coat sleeve before carefully probing at the aching place in his arm. He winced, hoping it was only bruised, but he could feel the rising heat and swelling even through his sleeve, feel the grating pain. "I think I might've broke it. My good hand, too."

"That's alright. We'll get you sorted out quick." He caught that restless sense again, a note of breathless worry in her voice as she spoke. She ducked behind him, slid her hands under his arms and hauled the Ripper upright. Jack swayed just a little as he found his feet. "Alright? Now come on. I need you to help me with Mr. Todd."

Jack stopped short, leaning back against her guiding hand. "Oh, no! I don't think so, Eleanor."

"Jack!" She struck him lightly, pushing him harder toward the oven, were he could see his rival laying on his back in a puddle of blood. Hope it's all his. "He's been shot! I need your help to get him upstairs."

"Leave him right there. That way when he bleeds out, you won't have to drag him back down again."

"Jack the bleeding Ripper! What's the matter with you!?"

"He locked me in a madhouse!"

"You ain't in a madhouse now, are you?" Plowing ahead, Nellie tugged him on by his good arm, ignoring him as he scowled and pulled his bad arm close to his chest. "We can sort that out later. Just help me, love." Her next tug jerked at his broken bones and he followed reluctantly.

Mrs. Lovett knelt to lift her tenant to a sitting position, her skirts trailing in the blood on the floor. Jack watched, glaring. A small, round hole punched in the barber's arm bled steadily into the dark pool around him. The result of Bamford's stray shot, he supposed. Better him than me. Stepping forward, he knelt carefully on his rival's left, wincing as Nellie slung the wounded arm over his shoulder, hot and wet with blood. With his good arm, he reached around to Todd's other side. "The things I do for you, Eleanor."

To his right, Nellie pulled Sweeney's other arm over her shoulder. "I appreciate it, dear. Now, quickly, one, two, three!"

As they both dragged him to his feet, Todd let out a strangled groan and stirred. Jack supposed, with a sense of bitter satisfaction, that his foe had to be in agony. Might have been kinder to leave him lying after all. But Sweeney rolled his lolling head to glare groggily at the Ripper. "You still alive?"

"Livelier than you are, boss." Jack pulled the barber close against his shoulder, his left arm cradled close to his chest and his teeth gritted against the sudden pain. "And don't you look so clever yourself, when you got beat by an old man without so much as a walking stick."

"Boys and their squabbles!" Mrs. Lovett gave a little grunt, trying to shift herself to support Sweeney more securely. "My knees ain't what they used to be, Jack. Help me get him to the stairs." Carefully, the three started their painful, staggering way across the bakehouse.

Behind Todd's back, Eleanor's arm crossed over his own. "When we get up to the shop, Jack, I'm going to need you to help me again. He's got a bullet in his arm. Just please tell me you're a bloody doctor or something."

Todd stumbled, between them as they started up the stairs, his knees buckling under the load of sheer pain. The impact jarring Jack's arm. "Don't need no doctor."

The Ripper snarled as he pulled the barber upright again. "Good, 'cause I'm not a doctor. I'm a Ripper. Though I'd be happy enough to work on him in that capacity, if you like."

"Jack!" Mrs. Lovett glared at him from around Todd's other side. "He's bleeding like - For all the bloody …"

"I don't need a doctor!"

"Hush now, Mr. Todd. Don't you worry." Mrs. Lovett panted beneath her tenant's weight as the three climbed. She glanced again at Jack. "Ain't you supposed to have medical knowledge?"

"Medical knowledge?" Despite the pain in his arm, the Ripper allowed himself a grim smile. "I can find you a gallbladder in the dark with my eyes shut and one hand round her throat." They cleared the top step.

"Good. Then you won't have no trouble, will you?" The light in the shop stung Jack's eyes, but Mrs. Lovett only nodded toward a table in the corner. "Over there, love, away from the window."

The kitchen, to Jack's surprise, was full, with the baker's lad and the sailor and a pale and bloodied girl that could only have been Johanna all staring nervously at them. Another man, well-dressed and vaguely familiar, lay slumped over a table. Turning from their spectators, Jack followed Eleanor's lead toward the table.

She ducked out from under Sweeney's arm as they drew near, ignoring the glare the two killers shared as she left them to prop each other up. Quickly, she pulled out the chair nearest the wall. Grimacing, Jack coaxed Todd over to it, and then dropped him carelessly into the seat. "There, and be welcome." Kicking out the next chair over, Jack sat down himself, scowling at his rival.

"Play nice, boys." Nervously, Mrs. Lovett ran her hands over the barber's shoulders. "Alright. Anthony, you go and get Johanna sat down in the parlor. Then I need you to come and watch Abberline."

"Abberline?" The Ripper started in spite of himself, wincing as the motion jarred his arm, and turned for another look at the man slouched over the table near the door. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what he's doing here?"

"Drooling into one of my meat pies, at the moment. Don't worry. Toby, bring me a good, full bottle of gin, and … Jack, what do you need?"

"I need one good reason why I shouldn't rip him to pieces, that's what." He met her glare with a scowl of his own, but held it for only a moment before he looked away angrily at the table-top. "There's a bag I stole from Fogg's. Dropped it just in the yard, I think."

"Toby, find it quick if you can." The others scurried off, Toby for the door and Anthony carefully coaxing Johanna into the next room, leaving only the baker and her men, and Abberline slumped over in his pie.

"I suppose I'll need bandages, too, or something."

Todd glared blearily around him, nodding with exhaustion. "What you need is to leave me alone."

Nellie slid her hands anxiously over Sweeney's shoulders. "I'll get them. Let's just…" A note of longing crept into her voice as her hands slipped hesitantly, reverently down toward the buttons of Todd's waistcoat. "I suppose we'll have to get this shirt off him…"

Jack spared her a grim look before he curtly snatched the bloody sleeve and tore it quickly away, the fabric ripping where the bullet had rent it. "Bandages, Eleanor."

She blinked, cast a hesitant look at the Ripper, and then stepped back. "Back in two shakes, love."

Jack watched her go, and gingerly rested his broken arm on the table-top. Then, fighting to make his clumsy right hand cooperate, he prodded casually at the wound. About a handbreadth above the elbow, the single hole looked neat enough, aside from the free-flowing blood. He supposed the bullet had lodged in the barber's arm. It was hard to see through the blood, and difficult to feel anything under the tense muscle, but he probed for that hard lump he knew was hiding there. "Just up against the bone, I should think." Jack pressed his palm firmly over the gash, trying to staunch the bleeding. "Have to get that bullet out before we patch you up, old boss."

"No." Sweeney spoke through gritted teeth, trying hard to keep stiffly upright. "The bullet could be stopping the blood."

"If that's what it's doing, it's making a wretched job of it. You're bleeding like a whore with a slice took out of her." Jack smiled a bit as he thought, in spite of his throbbing head and arm. "Hope you don't mind my using my off hand. Managed to break the other arm falling through that blasted chair of yours."

Todd scowled. "Gin first." His shaky hand reached for the bottle of gin, but Jack snatched it first.

"Why, of course! Gin first." Fumbling one-handed with the half-closed lid, the Ripper took a drink for himself to stave off the grinding pain from his arm, then splashed the gin cheerfully onto his rival's bleeding arm. "Keeps infections down. Probably shouldn't drink any, though, in your condition."

Sweeney was still cursing through clenched teeth as the bells over the door jangled. Jack glanced up, and saw the boy stepping through the door. The hands that gripped Fogg's bag, he noticed, dribbled blood across the already-gory leather. The Ripper wondered briefly what had happened in and above the shop after he fell. Chip off the old motherly block, I suppose.

The lad's mother reappeared from the parlor as the door swung shut, rolls of bandages unwinding across her arm. Quickly, she ducked over to him and hugged him. "That's my boy, Toby. Here, I'll take that for you." The boy blushed a bit – Jack almost smiled to see it – as he escaped her hug, and he handed her the bag. "Thank you, love. You go wash up and take care of yourself, alright?"

Jack craned his neck as far as he could to watch her sweep over to the counter, tucking a bottle of gin under arm, before she arrived hurriedly to drop their assembled gear onto the table-top. The vibrations of the falling bag made his arm ache. "Now, I brought bandages – we always did keep them around, you know. Just in case." She tossed them onto the tabletop, and both Jack and Sweeney looked skeptically at the yellowish, stained linen strips that unrolled as they landed. "Color's a bit funny, but I don't suppose it makes any difference. And I brought some wet rags." They flopped onto the table with a damp slap, and Mrs. Lovett, empty-handed, moved to stand behind the barber. "You could use a bit of cleaning up yourself, dear."

Jack glanced at the rags dripping on the table, then at his own bloody hand, then at the arm that wouldn't move to pick up the cloth, and frowned as worry tugged at him in spite of himself. Right-handed, he took the rag and clumsily mopped at the ragged hole in Sweeney's skin. "I don't know if I can do this with one hand. I'll get the shot out, if I can. After that, I'll tell you what to do, sweetheart, and you do it." Dropping the rag, he reached for the pair of forceps gleaming in Fogg's medical kit, but found that he had trouble slipping his fingers into the handles. "Besides, I'm quite good at taking people apart, but I haven't had much practice at putting them back together."

Mrs. Lovett gave him a look, worried and resigned. "Just please behave yourself, Jack." The Ripper had already turned back to his tools, trying miserably to slosh a bit of gin over the tip of the forceps. He didn't notice Nellie grip his rival's hand nervously.

He grinned only slightly as he held the curved metal up to the light. "This may hurt just a bit."

Sweeney bit back a snarl as Jack went to work, trying hard not to tear away his arm. His right hand clamped hard around Mrs. Lovett's as the baker peered fretfully past him. She winced even to look. "Careful, Jack, You don't have to hurt him any more than necessary."

The Ripper paused, not looking up. His brow was furrowed with concentration, but he couldn't quite help the faint smirk that flickered across his face. "Well, I am doing this all wrong-handed, my dear." He leaned carefully forward, trying to see better. At the bottom of the hole punched in Sweeney's flesh, he could feel the forceps meeting something hard, whether bone or lead, but he couldn't quite get a grip on it. The pincers slipped again. "Curse it!"

Jack leaned carefully closer before once again reaching into the wound. His hand worked clumsily, but the forceps slipped deeper. He felt the steel tips strike the hard place. They opened, jabbing, he knew, into the bleeding tissue to either side, and he closed them as firmly as he could. He paused. "Just a tick. I think I might almost have it."

He waited, steeling himself, sensing Sweeney steeling himself. Jack gave one final tug. The angle was awkward, and his fingers felt stubbornly uncooperative, but the bullet came free, dripping red. He heard Todd and Lovett sigh together with relief. And Jack himself released a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. He let bullet and forceps clatter together to the table as he felt the night catch up to him suddenly. "Come around, Eleanor. I need you to put a good, firm squeeze on his arm for me."

Looking around the shop, the faces he saw watching him made him strangely nervous. The sailor, his cheek still marked with an angry red gash, watched in horror and relief, and the lad stared, bloodied and unsure. Even Inspector Abberline, although face down in a plate of pie crust and gravy, remained. Something about it struck him, and the fiend of Whitechapel felt shaken.

"Like that, love?" Mrs. Lovett leaned between her two men, her hands pressing hard over the bullet hole in her tenant's arm.

"Just there – yes. Nice and hard." Jack ran the back of his bloody hand over his brow. "I think I…" He paused, and all the eyes in the shop fixed on him. I think I just saved a man's life. Worse, he realized, Sweeney Todd's life. The life of the man Mrs. Lovett adored. "I think that's all. We'll just see if we can slow the bleeding some before we patch him up. Just keep holding on, for now."

Jack's hand nearly shook as he finally finished. I'm just not used to doctoring, is all. He dragged his arm gingerly across the tabletop as he shifted his chair away, trying to give Mrs. Lovett more room. "Take the bandages and wrap him up." He leaned back, not caring to watch her wind the gauze tight around Sweeney's arm, and closed his eyes. Quite unused to it.

"You alright, dear?"

The barber breathed slow, deep, steadying breaths. "Yes. Fine."

Nellie heaved a sigh of relief as she stood. "There now, then." Her bloodied hand fell on the Ripper's shoulder. "Right. We've got a lot of work to do, all of us. Toby, my little hero, you help yourself to a drink, if you like, but then I need you to get a mop and bucket, quick, and start on these floors. Anthony, you'll have to help me get Abberline out of here. Then we'll get Johanna settled in. You two…" She turned back to the two battered monsters who sitting beside her. "I think you'd better stay where you are, loves. And Jack-" She leaned over to eagerly kiss his gore-spattered cheek, and Jack smiled a bit, in spite of the pain and the strange sensations that troubled him. "I owe you one, dear."

Her arm snaked around him quickly, and his grin vanished as her hug tugged at his left arm. "Ah!"

"I'm sorry, Jack! I forgot." Gently, Mrs. Lovett touched the fabric of his sleeve, brushing back the heavier cloth of his coat that had already started to fall back into place since he had made his own rough examination in the bakehouse. And even that careful pressure set the swelling bruise beneath aching. "We'll get you sorted out. Just hang on…"

The Ripper prodded gently at his arm, thinking. It would need to be set. He didn't know if he could do it himself, even with his good hand. Even with Eleanor's help. He supposed his only other choice was to come up with some excuse for how he'd broken it and find himself a real doctor, but he didn't –

"Bandages." Jack almost jumped, looking up to see Sweeney flexing his wounded arm experimentally. "You'll need more bandages, Mrs. Lovett. And something straight and stiff to make a splint."

Mrs. Lovett cast a doubtful look between the two killers. "Right. Well, alright, Mr. T." And, quickly, she bustled away, glancing back again at their bloodied table as she passed out of sight.

The Ripper glared at Sweeney Todd, who smiled grimly back. Of all possible options, this, he knew, was the unquestionably the worst. Curse it.

Gritting his teeth, he extended his arm reluctantly toward the barber's waiting hand. Todd smiled. Jack scowled. And the barber gripped his smarting wrist none-too-gently.

No one else was left in the shop, save the dozing Abberline.

Sweeney grinned. "This may hurt just a bit."

XXXXXXX

I think the words, "Don't try this at home," fall kinda short. Please recall that seeking medical help from serial killers is generally not advised. Unless you're in a zombie apocalypse/running from the law/1984 kind of scenario, in which case all bets are off.

Reviewing silly fanfiction, on the other hand, is not at all harmful to your health. : )