silenttrainbaby | arrival (closed to Curtis)

The pain wasn't bad, not really. As he'd trained, he'd been hurt a lot, muscles and joints bruised and bones nearly broken. He's used to pain. This - this pain he felt now - was nothing new, not really. It was just more final and Grey knew it. Since Gilliam was dead, this - death - was nearly a relief. He'd done what he could to help Curtis, to avenge Gilliam's death. Nothing more could be done. As he felt the knife press into his chest, he sank into oblivion.

Only to wake up with a start at the train seeming to have stopped. He was on the floor, of course. The pain woke up a second later and he hissed out between clenched teeth. He pulled and realized that the knife was still lodged through his right hand. That hand throbbed and his entire body felt as if he had been been through too much, worse than any training session. His left hand hung from his wrist uselessly. He forced his eyes open and stared at the ceiling of the steam car of the train.

Where was the old man in the suit?, he suddenly wondered, the one who had been fighting him? Grey's vigilance forced him to sitting, ready for more fighting despite the pain. He pushed the knife from his hand and held it, even if the pain seared through his palm, his left hand still hung loosely; the wrist was broken. It didn't mattier. Surely, if the train had stopped, he must be ready for anything. He pushed to his feet and forward in the train, it not yet occurring to him to go outside the car. After all, wasn't the world still frozen?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Letting out a relieved breath, Curtis nodded, sinking back further into his chair.

"Luckier than me," he snorted, one corner of his mouth twitching faintly. Not that he remembered the surgery, or the days afterward.

Grey found his eyes wandering to Curtis's amputated arm. What he understood was that his hand would be okay, but maybe feel funny.

He was all right with that. He tried to flex is hand and winced again.

"Well, don't do that," the nurse said quickly, taking his hand again. "I need to stitch it up. Sit still, all right? Then we'll get you cleaned up and a cast on your wrist."

They could see the way Grey wanted to pull away from her touch.

Drawing in a breath, Curtis hesitated for a moment before getting to his feet, edging around the nurse's supply cart and sitting himself down on the edge of the bed at Grey's side.

He'd never been great at providing comfort. Or at accepting it, for that matter. But he rested his hand on Grey's shoulder, trying to give the kid something else to focus on.

It helped. A lot. Curtis could feel Grey's shoulders lift as he took a deep breath, and settle. He watched, though, closely, as the nurse readied what she needed to stitch up his hand.

It didn't hurt; that was the strangest thing: he could see the needle go in, come out, the thread pull, but it didn't hurt. He stared intently.

She finished, quick and efficient, then turned her attention to carefully cleaning up his other arm as best she could.

"The doctor's going to want to set this," she explained, giving them both a sympathetic look. And then she was gone and they were both alone again.

What did that mean? "Set it"? Grey looked at Curtis again, also looking to the protein bar - another bite of that would not be unwelcome.

"The, uh, the bones aren't lined up, anymore. They'll need to push them back into place," Curtis said, matter-of-fact as he reached for the protein bar and held it out.

"It'll hurt like hell for a minute, then they'll put the cast on and we can get the fuck out of here."

There had been more than a few bones broken in the tail and Grey remembered the sound of bones crunching, screams of pain.

After he chewed and swallowed he set his jaw. He was ready. He wouldn't complain.

The doctor-- a middle-aged man with a sharp face and a briskly impersonal demeanor, bustled into the room, scrubbing his hands and quickly firing off instructions to the nurse before he'd even glanced in his patient's direction.

Curtis slid to his feet, resting a reassuring hand against Grey's bare back for a moment, before slipping away.

"Okay, we'll try and make this quick," the doctor said, glancing between the two of them, clearly trying to figure both of them out. Good luck with that, asshole.

It was probably best that the man was like this. It made it easy for Grey to gird his defenses, to watch the man with cold eyes and a hard jaw.

When the doctor reset the bones, he barely made a sound, a swallowed-sounding grunt. But other than that, he didn't move.

The doctor seemed almost impressed, stepping back. "We have to wash that arm, then we'll plaster it." By "we," he meant a nurse, of course. With one more look at them both, he stepped out and away. Grey's gaze returned to Curtis and there was the smallest flash there. He showed him, didn't he?

Curtis returned the look, a faintly proud glint in his eye. With a sick twist in his gut, he realized that was Gilliam's favorite tactic, showering Grey with praise and pride and apparent devotion, worming his way into all of their ears, manipulating them all with what passed for affection and love.

His eyes cutting away, Curtis muttered, "I'm gonna step out. I'll be right back."

Pushing through the curtains, he stopped in the hall and dragged one hand-- his only hand, over his face and let out a shuddering breath. What the fuck was he gonna say to this kid? About any of it? About Gilliam.

Was it really a truth that needed knowing? Was it the truth at all?

The nurse passed him on the way through the curtain with what was needed to cast Grey's arm. But first, a scrubbing to get as much dirt and blood of as she could. She didn't know it could be worse: that the shower car had washed away a good deal of the settled-in grime.

As she worked, Grey kept his gaze on the break in the curtains, waiting for Curtis to get back.

He left them to it, pacing the hall outside and waiting until he heard the nurse say, muffled through the curtain, that she was done.

When he swept back inside, she was carefully going down a list of instructions, handing over a couple of prescriptions the doctor had written. An antibiotic and a painkiller. Her eyes flickered to Curtis, uncertain.

"I'll get 'em filled," he said, leaning in to take the slips of paper.

Sliding to his feet, Grey, the cast feeling cumbersome and foreign, reached for his coat, holding it in a ball at his chest. Yes, he was ready to leave. He was very ready to leave this place.

arrival (closed to Curtis)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject