OOM: Help

[latino_menace]

After this, Ramon is not thinking straight. To put it mildly. It's not like he canBut he knows three things; he has to get away from the outside and then away from the bar before he changes and shows off the very obvious signs of a fight. And then...he's going to need some help

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[justcallmefee]

The sound of an angry panther is somewhere between a banshee and tearing metal. Huge claws gouge through the wood of her blue door like it's paper and she's in motion by the second horrendous caterwaul.

She knows this cat. She saw him once before, for less than a minute, but this is Ramon, transformed by rage.

She doesn't even think to arm herself.

"What? Oh god."

He's covered in blood, and she can't tell if it's his or someone else's.

[latino_menace]

He shoots into the room like his tails on fire and then stops, nowhere else to go. His head turns to look at her and then he's pacing, up and down, up and down, just waiting to calm enough that he can change back again.

[justcallmefee]

She drops to her knees, reaching for him, fingers slicking through his fur, coming up red. She catches him around the neck and pulls him to her, hands exploring.

"Slow down. Where are you hurt? What happened?"

[latino_menace]

Obviously there's nothing he can say. When he's changed, he'll explain how he's practically invulnerable in this shape. But back as a human? Well, she'll see for herself in a few minutes. For now, he licks her face once and then rests his heavy head on her shoulder, letting her pet him and enjoying the way her hands feel in his thick fur.

[justcallmefee]

She holds him, hearing the low growl in the back of her throat, but not at all afraid of him. The lick gets a nervous laugh, and a quiet shush. Her fingers continue to explore, down his strong neck, over his shoulders, down his front paws. There's blood all over him.

"Whoever he is, he's dead, isn't he?"

She hopes he deserved it.

[latino_menace]

He licks her again as a yes and then pulls back and walks away. He's relaxing and that only ever means one thing. He jumps up onto the bed and lies down; a minute or two later he's slipping back into himself.

If he'd thought it through, he perhaps wouldn't have gone to the bed. She's going to have to throw the sheets out; there's blood still pouring out of a clearly badly broken nose and split lips, he's curling up immediately into a position that should be very familiar these days, holding his groin again and starting to tense in pain.

She'll also see that his jeans have been sliced off him at the back, his favourite leather belt cut clean through.

'Hospital, Fi.'

He's not going to put up any kind of bravado this time. He needs a doctor.

[justcallmefee]

She follows, her hands on him the whole way, even through the transformation.

"Oh god. Oh god. Okay."

First things first. The heroin kit is in the bedside table. She gets it out, and eases his arm out of the curl of agony.

"Hold on. Just hold on."

Her hands go through the motions like she's done this before, not just watched it. She wonders if he'll even notice. Just a half a gram, enough to kill the pain until she gets him to the ER.

[latino_menace]

If he's surprised - which he is, or will be when he can think about it - it doesn't show on his face. He never thought she'd condone this kind of drug use but desperate times, he supposes. And it's good, Christ, good to feel it relax him and drift him away from how it hurts.

'Thanks.

...hospital.'

[justcallmefee]

While the drug takes effect, she's grabbing her keys and her mobile. She returns to his side, easing him up, her eyes scanning to see if he's got any external bleeding. No it's all internal. Fuck.

"I know. Come on. Hold on to me."

She eases him up and loops his arm around her shoulders. She's stronger than she looks, even without the adrenaline flowing in her bloodstream now. But her touch is steady and sure. She's done this once or twice.

"We'll go back to Miami, I'll call an ambulance."

She's just got him to a sitting up position when she notices his trousers have been cut. Her eyes go wide, but something tells her, that would be what triggered the change.

"Fucking hell, if you didn't kill him, I will."She dashes to his side of the wardrobe, rummaging through his clothes for a pair of sweats. There. In the dirty clothes, of course. It takes her a few moments, but she eases him out of his ruined trousers and into the sweats. She resolutely does not look at the ruined flesh between his legs again. Fucking bastard,

[latino_menace]

Her moving him up to sitting brings a strangled cry and his face goes more white, breaking him out in a cold sweat. He's glad of the change in pants because jeans aren't comfortable like this and it gives him time to psych himself up for moving again.

Attempting to stand is agony. There's a band of tight, white-hot pain across the base of his abdomen when he tries to straighten, the world swims in front of his eyes and he can't stop himself retching. He can taste nothing but blood and adrenaline and there's not enough heroin in the world that could block this completely.

'Lets go.'

It'll be hell itself but it has to be done and the quicker they move, the quicker the nice doctors wil knock him out.

[justcallmefee]

"Just breathe. Let me do the rest."

She shoulders his weight again, and starts the long walk down to the bar. The walk between the bottom of the stairs and her Door is the hardest, because she has to move quickly, but it's better than being waylaid by security or some 'concerned citizen.'

That accomplished, she deposits him on the couch in her condo and immediately dials 911, leaving his side to grab a clean kitchen towel, wetting it under the kitchen faucet, talking all the while.

"2259 Hyacinth Street, Number 2B, I need an ambulance... Patient is male, 53, and has been assaulted. No LOC, but he may have internal injuries... Okay, I'll leave the front door open. ETA? Okay."

She snaps the phone shut, and settles beside him, trying to wipe the blood from his face.

"Five minutes baby. Five minutes. Just breathe, okay?"

For half a moment, she hopes that Sam is actually listening to the police scanner today. No, because that would bring Michael too. Fuck.

[latino_menace]

By the time he gets to the couch, he's firmly of the opinion that he's never going to be able to move again. He's weak and shaking all over with the effort, the cold sweat is back and he feels like he could puke at any second. He did some reading after the accident wih Blanco and he's pretty sure he knows what's going on here.

'Be OK. Will get there in time.'

[justcallmefee]

The cloth is turned inside out and used again, until it's soaked. Only then does she move away to rinse and wring it out, coming back to his side. She smooths his hair back from his brow, seeing that cold sweat and feeling her own resolve hardening.

"Who did this to you?"

[latino_menace]

He shakes his head, not wanting to think about it or talk about it, not yet. There's no space in his head for anything but the pain.

'Doesn' matter. s'dead.'

[justcallmefee]

"Good."

She can hear the siren now, and moves away to open the door.

"I'm going to tell them you got jumped. It means the cops will come and try to question you. You don't remember anything, okay? And all I know is that you went for cigarettes and came home like this."

She tries to hold his hand as best she can.

[latino_menace]

'...'k.'

It's a good enough story and he's too far gone to care about how it makes him look.

'Gun, on my ankle. Get rid of it.'

He wonders briefly what happened to the one he had in his waistband but it hardly matters now. It must have fell on to the grass when Urquhart cut his jeans off him.