oo2: storm and resolve
sundaysnuggles, [ here].
SUMMARY: FIGHTING CRIME IS NOTHING. BEING THE BUTLER TO THE GUY WHO FIGHTS CRIME...NOW THAT'S A DIRTY JOB.
WARNING: blood, stitching up wounds.
Chester snapped awake at the clamor of several phones all going off at once. He looked around stupidly, at the infomercial on the television, the clicking 12:24 on the grandfather clock, not sure where he was, who he was, what he was. The phones rang again, and he felt himself bolt out of his skin for a second. Good God, were they always that loud!
With a curse, he reached long over the arm of the sofa and knocked the endtable phone out of its cradle, burying his head in a pillow to let off a groan before dragging the phone to his ear.
“--are you there?” the boss was already asking, voice caught between death and static.
Chester bolted upright. Jun--
“Did you pick up, Chester?”
“Sir, yes, I’m here.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a fury.
“…Can you come get me?”
“Right away.” Chester knew better than to stop for details, but it cut him suddenly, wanting to ask what happened, are you hurt badly, can anyone see you, are you alone, who did it, was it Terror, is he still there?
He did ask, “where are you?” and got up, rounding around the sofa for his keys on the hook by the door; the phone cord wouldn’t let him get that far, though, and he snapped back, grunting.
“I’m…parking deck roof. …The car, it’s twelve blocks away. Hurry.”
Chester dropped the phone where he stood, hurdling for his keys.
*
When he got there, he looked out the windshield at Jun in horror, curled up in a pool of his own blood, his disguise shredded and the crest ripped off at his chest. His mask had been pulled off, too--
“Dear God!” Chester stalled the car and spilled out of the driver’s side, hands yanking at the seatbelt that wouldn’t give in to his shaky demands.
“It’s okay, Chester,” Jun gurgled, blood in his mouth. “I just…”
“Save it-- I’m here!” He rushed over to Jun and made a hasty judgment, before getting his hands underneath him. Jun inhaled sharply at Chester rolling him back and hoisting him into his arms, and Chester could feel the blood slip between his fingers, the wounds soft against his fingertips. “Sorry, sir, it’s only a moment to the car.”
He got Jun to the backdoor and damned his stupidity that he didn’t have it open already in anticipation. He leaned back, leveraging most of Jun’s weight against his chest, so that he could free a hand up and open the door for him, blood slick over the handle.
“Here, sir, just lay back, and we’ll be home in no time. I’ll fix you up.”
Jun did his best to help, but Chester still had to do the brunt of the work, ducking in and crawling over the floor to get him comfortable.
“Thank you, Chester.”
“Anytime, sir.”
*
It turned out Jun had gotten gouged at a lot by Terror’s right-hand, Razor Hawk, but there was nothing broken and no internal bleeding. Except for having been unmasked, he was lucky. He could have done with a proper transfusion at the hospital, but he’d said no, muttering that there were better who deserved it more. It was a risk, and he’d be weak for a while for taking it, but Chester didn’t force his opinion.
Jun laid quiet for the most part, when Chester was fixing him up, even under the brunt of the needle for several dozen stitches.
“You saved the day again…” He said later, as Chester ran some antiseptic over the smaller cuts along the underside of his chin; he seemed to even have held it in until Chester was right there, inches from his face.
Chester nodded, meeting Jun’s eyes for a second. “The job description said heavy lifting, didn’t it?”
Jun started to chuckle, but it twisted up into a gasp through the pain.
“She did a number on you…”
“Ambush.” Jun swallowed, unsettling Chester’s swab at his throat. “I didn’t see her until she was on top of me. But I shot Terror, so they had to retreat.”
“Good thing.” Chester smoothed Jun’s hair back off his forehead so he could get at the gashes on his hairline. “But they unmasked you…”
Jun snorted, though it seemed triumphant, closing his eyes. “I got Terror’s, first.”
“No?”
“…Mayor Garrett.”
Chester stopped, laying his tools down quietly, as if he didn’t want to spook the dream he was in. “The mayor? The mayor is Terror? You’re pulling a fast one. He’s all the time saying about how he’s going to clean this city up. His whole platform was about cleaning up the city! I voted for him. You voted for him! That would make Razor Hawk--”
“Probably his lovely wife.”
“Damn it all!”
“I figure… He knows if there’s still a problem, people will still need him. So when there aren’t problems, he makes them himself.”
“Good god, he came over here--” Chester felt the agitation start in his legs and carry up. All of a sudden, he couldn’t keep still. He felt sick and angry, cheated by someone he’d talked up to other people, someone he’d believed in, someone who’d seemed like a godsend to the city. Someone who’d-- tricked them all this time! “He sat on your couch and asked for your help! He could’ve killed you tonight! Now he knows who you are! What am I still doing here!” Overcome by rage, he turned to go for his keys again, but Jun grabbed his wrist and set his hand back to task-- or just, just back to touching him at all. Chester couldn’t be sure because he wasn’t holding the swab anymore, and his fingers were bare against Jun’s jaw.
“Don’t go killing yourself.” Jun grinned, unconsciously testing the stitches in his cheek. He slid his hand up to wrap tight in the elbow of Chester’s suit jacket, keeping him close. “Maybe I should start taking you out with me…”
“I keep saying that, sir. I could be a great asset.”
“You already are. In any case…they may come here, so you should be prepared.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jun licked his lips and smiled again. “I'm all patched up, then... Could you double-check the alarm and carry me up to bed?”
“Carry you?” Chester felt himself lit with an entirely different sort of mania then. Jun was the sort who had to do everything on his own. Even that he’d called Chester earlier was a surprise. He’d once driven home with his shin split in half. This was two flights of stairs. His legs worked fine, if they were cut up. He was weak, but he’d been weaker. There was no real need for carrying--
“Sir…are you sure you wouldn’t prefer--”
“Take me to bed, Chester.”
SUMMARY: FIGHTING CRIME IS NOTHING. BEING THE BUTLER TO THE GUY WHO FIGHTS CRIME...NOW THAT'S A DIRTY JOB.
WARNING: blood, stitching up wounds.
Chester snapped awake at the clamor of several phones all going off at once. He looked around stupidly, at the infomercial on the television, the clicking 12:24 on the grandfather clock, not sure where he was, who he was, what he was. The phones rang again, and he felt himself bolt out of his skin for a second. Good God, were they always that loud!
With a curse, he reached long over the arm of the sofa and knocked the endtable phone out of its cradle, burying his head in a pillow to let off a groan before dragging the phone to his ear.
“--are you there?” the boss was already asking, voice caught between death and static.
Chester bolted upright. Jun--
“Did you pick up, Chester?”
“Sir, yes, I’m here.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a fury.
“…Can you come get me?”
“Right away.” Chester knew better than to stop for details, but it cut him suddenly, wanting to ask what happened, are you hurt badly, can anyone see you, are you alone, who did it, was it Terror, is he still there?
He did ask, “where are you?” and got up, rounding around the sofa for his keys on the hook by the door; the phone cord wouldn’t let him get that far, though, and he snapped back, grunting.
“I’m…parking deck roof. …The car, it’s twelve blocks away. Hurry.”
Chester dropped the phone where he stood, hurdling for his keys.
*
When he got there, he looked out the windshield at Jun in horror, curled up in a pool of his own blood, his disguise shredded and the crest ripped off at his chest. His mask had been pulled off, too--
“Dear God!” Chester stalled the car and spilled out of the driver’s side, hands yanking at the seatbelt that wouldn’t give in to his shaky demands.
“It’s okay, Chester,” Jun gurgled, blood in his mouth. “I just…”
“Save it-- I’m here!” He rushed over to Jun and made a hasty judgment, before getting his hands underneath him. Jun inhaled sharply at Chester rolling him back and hoisting him into his arms, and Chester could feel the blood slip between his fingers, the wounds soft against his fingertips. “Sorry, sir, it’s only a moment to the car.”
He got Jun to the backdoor and damned his stupidity that he didn’t have it open already in anticipation. He leaned back, leveraging most of Jun’s weight against his chest, so that he could free a hand up and open the door for him, blood slick over the handle.
“Here, sir, just lay back, and we’ll be home in no time. I’ll fix you up.”
Jun did his best to help, but Chester still had to do the brunt of the work, ducking in and crawling over the floor to get him comfortable.
“Thank you, Chester.”
“Anytime, sir.”
*
It turned out Jun had gotten gouged at a lot by Terror’s right-hand, Razor Hawk, but there was nothing broken and no internal bleeding. Except for having been unmasked, he was lucky. He could have done with a proper transfusion at the hospital, but he’d said no, muttering that there were better who deserved it more. It was a risk, and he’d be weak for a while for taking it, but Chester didn’t force his opinion.
Jun laid quiet for the most part, when Chester was fixing him up, even under the brunt of the needle for several dozen stitches.
“You saved the day again…” He said later, as Chester ran some antiseptic over the smaller cuts along the underside of his chin; he seemed to even have held it in until Chester was right there, inches from his face.
Chester nodded, meeting Jun’s eyes for a second. “The job description said heavy lifting, didn’t it?”
Jun started to chuckle, but it twisted up into a gasp through the pain.
“She did a number on you…”
“Ambush.” Jun swallowed, unsettling Chester’s swab at his throat. “I didn’t see her until she was on top of me. But I shot Terror, so they had to retreat.”
“Good thing.” Chester smoothed Jun’s hair back off his forehead so he could get at the gashes on his hairline. “But they unmasked you…”
Jun snorted, though it seemed triumphant, closing his eyes. “I got Terror’s, first.”
“No?”
“…Mayor Garrett.”
Chester stopped, laying his tools down quietly, as if he didn’t want to spook the dream he was in. “The mayor? The mayor is Terror? You’re pulling a fast one. He’s all the time saying about how he’s going to clean this city up. His whole platform was about cleaning up the city! I voted for him. You voted for him! That would make Razor Hawk--”
“Probably his lovely wife.”
“Damn it all!”
“I figure… He knows if there’s still a problem, people will still need him. So when there aren’t problems, he makes them himself.”
“Good god, he came over here--” Chester felt the agitation start in his legs and carry up. All of a sudden, he couldn’t keep still. He felt sick and angry, cheated by someone he’d talked up to other people, someone he’d believed in, someone who’d seemed like a godsend to the city. Someone who’d-- tricked them all this time! “He sat on your couch and asked for your help! He could’ve killed you tonight! Now he knows who you are! What am I still doing here!” Overcome by rage, he turned to go for his keys again, but Jun grabbed his wrist and set his hand back to task-- or just, just back to touching him at all. Chester couldn’t be sure because he wasn’t holding the swab anymore, and his fingers were bare against Jun’s jaw.
“Don’t go killing yourself.” Jun grinned, unconsciously testing the stitches in his cheek. He slid his hand up to wrap tight in the elbow of Chester’s suit jacket, keeping him close. “Maybe I should start taking you out with me…”
“I keep saying that, sir. I could be a great asset.”
“You already are. In any case…they may come here, so you should be prepared.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jun licked his lips and smiled again. “I'm all patched up, then... Could you double-check the alarm and carry me up to bed?”
“Carry you?” Chester felt himself lit with an entirely different sort of mania then. Jun was the sort who had to do everything on his own. Even that he’d called Chester earlier was a surprise. He’d once driven home with his shin split in half. This was two flights of stairs. His legs worked fine, if they were cut up. He was weak, but he’d been weaker. There was no real need for carrying--
“Sir…are you sure you wouldn’t prefer--”
“Take me to bed, Chester.”