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CHARACTERS: Agravaine (nevermercy) & Hermes (mercurial_punk)
DATE/TIME: Thursday, afternoon/evening
LOCATION: Precinct 25 in East Harlem
RATING: R
WARNINGS: These guys are their own warnings.
SUMMARY: Time to play knight in shining armor.
Hermes had very little experience with being lost. He decided he didn't care for it. New York was a monster-infested mess, but it was still New York, right? So he should have no problem finding his way. He had wanted to find the hospital near Madison Square Park where this older gentleman was holed up and which wasn't too far from NoHo, but the streets seemed disconnected somehow. He had been skulking about all day, hiding whenever he heard a noise, avoiding the subway tunnels and the bigger streets: those tended to be gridlocked with abandoned cars. Some of them looked like they had been stepped on, which was something that sent a shiver down Hermes' spine. Even worse was when he found himself on the wrong end of Central Park. He couldn't trust his sense of direction, which made Hermes feel like he were blind, groping about in darkness. It added to his sense of paranoia.
He needed sleep. He realized he was becoming less alert when he failed to recognize the police precinct until he was right in front of it. 119th Str. That made sense. Perhaps he could lock himself in a cell and get some decent shuteye from this walking nightmare. Perhaps he could find a weapon. Perhaps (and this was the most hopeful thought) there were other people here? Hermes jimmied open one of the emergency doors and snuck in, trying to be as wary as he could. These... things could be everywhere. Hermes had seen one of them opening doors. It took some moments before his eyes adapted to the darkness inside. He could hear some vague noises coming up ahead and, in defiance of all common sense, Hermes rounded the corner, sneaking nearby to check it out. In his defence, it didn't sound like the monsters he had seen outside. It came from inside a room. Very carefully, Hermes snuck a peek around the door.
If Agravaine had cared that he could attract attention from people and monsters alike, he seriously didn't show it as he slammed a locker door shut, loading up one of the police-issued Berettas up with a full magazine. As fortune had it, he wasn't unfamiliar with firearms, and had probably fired more of them than the average New Yorker, from what he imagined.
He moved with experience, sticking the gun into the holster around his hips, but those movements were almost a little too careful. Like he was injured and trying not to cause further harm to himself. Which was true: his ribs had seen better days. Ribs didn't mend themselves in two weeks.
The knight could've easily been mistaken for a cop from behind with the NYPD coat wrapped around him, and for one fleeting second, he wondered why he didn't take up the profession. Knight of the round table as an officer of the law. It was poetic. Logical.
Hermes hadn't been noticed just yet, but any cough or shuffle would get Agravaine's attention on him in moments. For the time being, however, he was blissfully ignorant of anyone by the door.
This guy could be useful. Hermes had no experience with guns. He decided to make his presence known, counting on the fact that announcing himself with words -- human words -- would prevent the cop from emptying the gun in his chest. Hermes mustered up what little confidence he could and leaned against the door-frame, looking like the cock-of-the-walk despite the black smears on his face, his haggard clothes and his lack of shoes. Smirking, he said: "Evening, officer Krupke."
That Beretta left the holster in record time, and was pointed directly at Hermes' head. A badly concealed grimace passed over the ex-knight's face as he gave the man a quick once-over, not the check him out, but to assess the danger. Didn't really look like a threat, but nevertheless, he kept the gun up to let him talk to the firearm.
"Who the fuck are you? And who the hell is Officer Krupke?" His voice was gruff, tired. He hadn't exactly had a decent sleep, let alone a decent morning. Then again, one look outside and it was clear the only people who could possibly be in a good mood were the four horsemen.
Two of which were apparently burning down Coney Island. Fucking great.
As a concession to the gun, Hermes raised his hands to show they were empty. He also cocked his head to the side, however, looking the presumed cop in the eyes. The man was a bit scruffy, but he had good shoulders. "My name's Mark," Hermes said, easily enough. He liked flirting with danger. "Though, if I suspect this is anything like last month, the name Hermes might mean more to you." He grinned. "What do I call you? Tall, dark and cranky?"
He was glowered at for a couple more seconds before the gun went down. The kid had a smart mouth, but he didn't seem dangerous. Just potentially very irritating. Agravaine adjusted his fingers on the grip, considering the admission. "Mortal names aren't worth shit here, since the only people here are us," he pointed out, trying to breathe as evenly as possible.
"So you start by calling me Agravaine. And if you piss me off, that'll be Sir Agravaine to you."
The name rung a distant bell. Something... English. Celtic mythology had never been Hermes' forte. And recently, Agravaine had been involved in some drama with a girl, and... eh. Hermes couldn't care less about that right now. The man looked competent and obviously knew how to work a gun, though, as Hermes studied him, he could see that his new-found companion looked weary. "If you don't mind me saying, you look hella tired. Sir." The last word didn't sound at all deferential.
"I do mind." Beretta holstered, arms folded -- carefully. "And you look like you crawled out of a fucking dumpster," Vaine shot right back, leaning his weight into the desk behind. Yeah, he felt tired, and had no doubt he looked it too. Sleeping with busted ribs when he refused to take his pain killers didn't result in a good night's sleep. But he hated medication.
Or maybe that was his pride talking.
Probably his pride, which hadn't wavered since his first life.
Hermes shrugged at that. He probably did look awful. "I gotta admit, I could use some decent shut-eye." His eyes lingered purposefully on Agravaine's body, before he looked up at the man's eyes again, his mouth twisting into a wicked smirk. "So, you wanna sleep together, hey?"
Agravaine didn't do speechless. At least, not for long. The look on his face could've probably been described as 'Not Impressed', somewhere between 'I Should Have Shot You' and 'Over My Dead Body'. He clicked his tongue, far from amused and living up to his tall, dark, and cranky status.
"I think there's a locker somewhere here with your name on it. We should see if you fit inside." The shotgun he'd left on the desk was snatched up in his hand, and without another word, he stalked in Hermes' direction, walking right past and into the corridor. With luck, the guy wouldn't follow him.
But he had a feeling luck wasn't on his side that day.
Hermes turned around, his eyes on Agravaine's back. A macho man. Lovely. Still, he needed an ally, but if he was going to be needy and apologetic now, Agravaine would keep that edge over him. Hermes' eyes narrowed, noticing the stiff way Agravaine was walking. Something had happened to the man. Hermes quickly switched tactics.
"Oh yeah," he called out contemptuously, "go ahead and run. Find some place to sleep alone, have your brains eaten out by one of those things outside. Good thing you're fit and capable enough to make it on your own. Good luck with that."
Sadly for him, the knight didn't miss a beat. "Least I'll last longer than you will," he returned with what could almost be considered amusement. But Agravaine didn't get very far before the window smashed behind him, glass exploding on the back of his neck and sending him stumbling a few feet forward.
The thing, whatever it was, skid into the wall with a squeal of claws on linoleum, its thin wings flapping uselessly. The second he turned on a heel, he met its beady eyes. There was quiet. And then it screeched.
Hermes face fell. There were flying monsters? For crying out loud, seriously? It was a freaky thing, a filthy pink pterodactyl sort of critter, except it had more teeth and wings than it should. Hermes tried to look inconspicuous as he slowly advanced on the two, hoping Agravaine could deal with this himself. The grotesque bird didn't seem to notice Hermes, too busy snapping and lunging at the ex-knight.
Had the other man been without a weapon, this might have looked like a sticky situation, but the shotgun felt safe in Agravaine's hands. He aimed, fired a shot, and stepped out of the way before the thing could crash into him. The impact with the wall hurt like a bitch, but he swallowed the pain and backstepped toward the Greek while the creature attempted to turn in the narrow hallway.
Without a word, he unholstered the gun at his hip and held it out to Hermes, gaze flickering to him for only a moment. "I wouldn't trust you to do up a fucking tie for yourself, but you point, you don't turn the safety on, and you pull the trigger. Or you go hide in a goddamn room."
His bad temper was far from gone, but at least his tone was devoid of some of its earlier crabbiness.
While Hermes didn't like being talked to like he was a damsel, he thought that particular debate could wait until after they had disposed of the bird. He reached for the gun. The freaky flying thing, which was now both anxious and angry, had managed to turn around and sized them up before swooping in again. It was eerily quick, moving more like a bug than a bird.
Hermes jumped back, back flat against the wall, as the thing hit Agravaine square in the chest, knocking the air out of him and working him to the ground. The gun was knocked out of his hand and skidded down the linoleum floor. The monster gave a victorious snarl and bit at Agravaine's shoulder.
Pain flooded from every direction once the former knight's back hit the cold, grimy floor, but the sharp teeth sinking into his shoulder shook the stars from his sight, even when he struggled to breathe with all the weight on his chest. He could feel the talons dig into his sides, and might've hit back if he hadn't been so short of breath. Then he ceased to be able to focus, and could only imagine the bones of his ribcage grinding together, threatening to shatter even further.
That beak was too close to his throat. Way too fucking close.
Death by bird. Pathetic.
Hermes' moves were surprisingly calm. He knew that if he started freaking right now, he wouldn't be able to stop. He reached in his messenger bag, for the can of spray deodorant he had raided from a deli earlier. He got in closer, crouching down, raising the deodorant and his zippo. "Yo, bird."
The thing didn't have the decency to look up, so Hermes settled on aiming for the back. The Zippo clicked and his make-shift flamethrower erupted, heat engulfing the monster's body. It shrieked, obviously hurt, and backed off, flailing about helplessly. Hermes saw Agravaine's chest moving, his eyes blinking. Still alive. Good.
Hermes doubled back for the gun, returning to Agravaine's side in a moment. "Shoot it," he said, his voice urgent as he pressed the gun in the knight's big hand, "can you shoot? Shoot it!"
His only response was in the form of a half-hearted glare as the handgun was gripped tightly. It was extremely painful to lean up, but after getting himself about half a foot off the floor, he aimed, steadied his hand, and plugged three bullets into the bird.
Two were direct hits, one to the throat and the other to its chest, while the last only grazed a wing of the flailing, burning mass. One last bullet found its way into the grotesque creature's head, and with one last final shriek, it hit the wall, and collapsed in a heap.
Agravaine waited for it to stop moving before lowering himself back down to the floor with a pained grimace. He could still feel those uneven teeth in his shoulder, even with the bird gone.
"You're bleeding," Hermes observed. He could still feel the adrenalin thrumming in his veins. Agravaine looked even more of a mess, though. "Still a good shot, though." It was a rare compliment. The gloating over the fact that Agravaine wouldn't have made it without Hermes would come later. "Can you move, man? I've got stuff to patch you up, but I'd rather not do it in this corridor with the open window. We should get you a bed. Or something bed-like."
With his vision still dancing, the older of the two leaned up on his elbows, breathing heavily all the way. "Really? I hadn't noticed," he crabbily retaliated to the first part, moving as if he didn't have any intention of asking for help -- which he didn't. Something like this wouldn't get him down for long. He was a knight of the round in one life, and things never really changed over a span of several reincarnations.
The lives, yes. The people inside, no. He'd survived two hospitalizations in the last few months, so this? Wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been. After snatching both handgun and shotgun off the floor, Agravaine leaned his unharmed shoulder into the wall. Breathe.
"A bench is fine."
Hermes resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If Agravaine had no intention of asking for help, Hermes had no intention of asking the ex-knight whether he needed it - rather, he simply chose to provide it. Being small enough, he could put himself under Agravaine's uninjured shoulder. Hermes may have looked skinny, but while he would probably lose from Agravaine in an arm-wrestling competition (well, provided the Greek didn't cheat), he didn't lack the muscle to support the heavier man's weight. "C'mon big fellow."
A little rougher than was necessary, Hermes led them both down the corridor, not bothering to consult with Agravaine as they returned to the locker room. There were guns there, benches, and the room only had a very small window. It was defensible, and Hermes could safely make some light there.
Only then did Agravaine manage to find enough stubbornness to pull his arm away, staggering off to the side to set the shotgun down. The desk was grabbed for a moment to find his balance -- chest on fire, had it ever been this goddamn uncomfortable? -- and when he began to feel that blood drip down his arm beneath his shirt, he began to strip without a care of who was in the room with him.
Off went the jacket, the vest, leaving him in just the grey tshirt he'd arrived him, and while the bite on his shoulder wasn't too deep, the material there was still bloody. Apparently bulletproof vests did nothing to prevent attacks from mutant birds with teeth.
"Fuck," he breathed, leaning back up against the desk. It was his chest that was worse off. A bite was something he'd live through, but the fractured bones of his ribcage? Not so much.
Hermes gave him an appraising look. The wound looked bloody, sure, but the bite was pretty shallow, wasn't it? It didn't looked mauled, not as if there were tendons ripped or bones splintered. It was strange that Agravaine seemed to be so affected by this, especially considering how macho the man was. Unless... Hermes drew in closer, asking: "What's wrong, then? Was its bite poisonous or something?"
Dark eyes shifted over to the younger man's face, scrutinizing as if expecting the sort of disrespect teenagers tended to give him, but when he was satisfied that the concern seemed to be genuine, he shook his head in disbelief rather than a shake in the negative.
"Never thought I'd fucking hear that," Agravaine ground out, nearly laughing at the thought. "Birds are supposed to just have beaks. You know, without the teeth. What the hell is this, Jurassic Park?"
He actually managed an incredulous laugh that time. Dinosaurs. Yeah fucking right.
The answer didn't satisfy Hermes, but he chose to interpret the joke positively. People who joked were either delirious or on the mend, and Agravaine didn't look like your typical drugs user. Hermes nodded, dropping his bag besides Agravaine. "Alright, then. I'm gonna go back, cover up that window and put out the fire on our pterodactyl friend. I don't want any of his friends to think we're throwing them a barbeque."
Hermes gestured at the desk. "So, sit down, take that shirt off, and I'll take a closer look at that wound of yours. My big brother's the healer of the family, but I do know my First Aid." With that, Hermes disappeared.
There hadn't been much time to retort with anything -- Agravaine's earlier words and the subsequent laugh had left him nearly breathless again, so he merely watched the boy's slim frame disappear through the door. The chair scraped against the linoleum as he gingerly took a seat, wincing when his ribcage shifted with the motion.
Christ. Apocalypse was here and he had to worry about his damn chest healing? Some death that would be: death by punctured lung, if it got to that point. What a fucking way to go.
He curled his fingers around the bottom of his tshirt to tug it up to his collarbone, assessing the bruises that hadn't faded all the way. Bloody, violent bruises. Faded in color now, but still tender to the touch. The shirt eventually found itself off and tossed to the floor, but the knight's next move wasn't to relax -- it was to grab the shotgun just in case another shrieking dinosaur decided it wanted revenge for its smoking bud out in the corridor.
Hermes sauntered back in, far too casual given the circumstances. He'd put a metal drawer-cabinet in front of the window, all but covering it, and found some relatively clean sheets in a overnight cell that was left open. He smirked again when he saw Agravaine, shirtless, brandishing a gun. Despite the man's generally battered appearance, Hermes would be lying if he said this image did nothing for him.
Hermes wet his lips, the appreciative smirk fading. An eighteen year old's libido was truly magical, but this really wasn't the time. He focused on the bruises on Agravaine's well-developed chest. He crouched at his bag and took out a red-and-white First-Aid kit, noting: "Okay, I can help you with the wound, but I have no idea what else you got going on on your chest. What happened, man? That shit looks old."
Well, no avoiding it, it seemed. Agravaine tilted his head to the side as he watched the kid play nurse, tonguing his upper teeth in thought as he considered the lie he was about to spill.
"I thought I'd pull a Fight Club and beat myself up for no fucking reason." The shotgun didn't leave his hand. Not this time. Wheeze in, wheeze out. "Don't think my boss appreciated it, though." It might not have been much of a lie, but it was a better alternative than telling him he got jumped in an alleyway by Kratos from God of War.
"Right." It wasn't clear whether Hermes bought the lie or not. He had finished tearing a few strips of cloth from the sheet and soaked one of them with water from his bottle. He realized a second to late he should've checked whether this place had running water. Couldn't be helped now.
Carefully, as to avoid the bruised areas on Agravaine's skin, Hermes began cleaning around the bite. He had been right. Most wounds where nothing more than shallow cuts. Only one of them might need stitches. Damn. The wounds clean, he took up some disinfectant. "This may sting," he warned as he applied it to the wounds. "So, them old wounds... Are they just bruises? Because it looks bad. Like, broken-bad, maybe."
The application of the disinfectant only drew out a shadow of a grimace, but it might've easily been from an awkward inhale. "Yeah, they're like broken-bad. Like broken ribs bad." Broken, fractured -- same thing, only one sounded less harmful than the other. Less damaging. Agravaine paused briefly, before: "And yes, I'm fucking fine."
His labored breathing might've said otherwise, but whatever.
Stubbornness was a trait that obviously ran in the family.
Hermes' dark eyes looked up at Agravaine's face. "Sure you are, wheezy." Stubbornness was a trait that also ran in his family. He finished up on the cleaning. "So, you think they got re-broken during that little skirmish? Because setting ribs is not my area of expertise."
Something angry flashed in the older man's eyes as he leaned in, as far as his chest would allow him too without stressing the bones there. He hated being treated like some delicate flower, like he couldn't hold his own after a fight. How many brawls had he been in in his life? Too many to count. But like hell he was going to keel over from a couple of screwed up ribs.
"I said," he hissed, "I'm fine."
Hermes was less than impressed by Agravaine's display. He turned his head a little, his lips now close to the ex-knight's ear, which made the situation oddly intimate as he whispered: "Whatever you say, big guy. You think you can handle me?" There was a beat of silence before Hermes thought to specify: ""Cause I think your shoulder's gonna need some stitches."
Any closer, and the Greek might've found the muzzle of the shotgun in his cheek. Withholding a snort of derision, Agravaine angled his head away, eyes straying toward the door. Still safe -- for now.
"Just get it over with." Needles were far from the problem here; he'd had stitches plenty of times before. Just as long as Hermes knew what he was doing, otherwise he'd do the damn stitching himself. Not like he couldn't look over his own shoulder to do it.
Hermes quickly set to work. Lacking an appropriate bowl, he filled the cap of his water-bottle with disinfectant and let the sewing thread soak in it. Primitive, but it worked. He sterilized the needle with the flame of his Zippo. He switched on the light of his phone and handed it to Agravaine. "Here, hold this. You can be your own nurse."
He tried the locker room sink and was relieved to find that there was at least some water left to wash his hands with. "Alright, sunshine," Hermes said as he put a knot in the end of the threat, "I haven't got any liquor or ice for you, so you're just gonna have to grit your teeth and soldier through it."
Hermes set to work, his face serious, intent. Still, when he asked: "So, Agravaine, tell me something about yourself. Wife? Kids? Pets?" it sounded as if he were doing nothing more casual than making a cup of coffee.
A needle slipping through his flesh wasn't a feeling Agravaine ever found himself liking, but there wasn't much of a choice. It was either risk infection, or save himself from it. Obedient for the moment, he held up the light source, tilting his head back like he was already bored with the conversation.
"No, no, and no."
The ex-wives part could stay secret. No one needed to know about them just yet. Common courtesy stated that he should've asked the next question, but to be honest, he didn't care that much about Hermes' life.
Hermes didn't mind Agravaine's unfriendliness. He knew the man would warm up to him eventually. Everybody always did. Rather than trying to get to know the man better, Hermes was trying to make conversation in order to distract Agravaine from what he was doing. He tried again. "So, is it any fun, being a cop?"
The sigh that left Vaine's lips was weak. "Sure. Loads," he admitted without a single shred of excitement. Mostly because it was a total lie. But his brother, who he didn't keep in touch with anymore, was a cop back in Vermont. Where the rest of his family was. But not his real family.
Suddenly, something occurred to him.
"So you don't know what broken ribs look like, but you know how to fuckin' sew stitches?"
"Mm-hm." The wound was jagged some, but not too much. It allowed for some clean, straight stitching -- Hermes wasn't a doctor, but it looked professional enough. It might leave a scar, but he figured Agravaine wouldn't mind that much.
"Sewing's sewing," he explained absently. "When you know how to sew a tear in your jeans, you know how to sew a tear in someone's skin. Back in LA, I skated plenty, and whenever someone split their lip or cut open their knee due to a bad fall, I was the designated stitcher. We only got 'em to the hospital when they were bleeding dangerously. So yeah. Never did any broken bones, let alone ribs."
It took a couple of seconds for 'skated' to process in Agravaine's head. Skateboarding. Probably not rollerblading or roller derby, though who the hell was he to know what this kid did in his spare time?
"I'm sure it's killing you that you can't touch me," he shot back, some sort of humor colouring his words. At least he could still manage sarcasm, weak as it was. "But I'd rather you kept your hands where I can see them. Don't know where you've been."
Hermes put a knot in the thread and used his army knife to cut off the left-over. He raised an eyebrow, trying to look serious, but his eyes sparkled playfully. "Okay, first off? This flirting thing -- you're doing it wrong. Second, I don't necessarily need my hands to touch you." He grinned, his tongue momentarily lewdly denting his cheek. He drew back, reaching for the gauze. "Thirdly, your stitches are done. Hold still for a moment more, and I'll bandage up your shoulder. You're good to go after that."
A pair of eyebrows rose in response. Yeah, like Agravaine had plans to start moving around after all that'd happened. Acutely aware that a certain aunt was coming over to the station, he glanced once more at the open doorway, unconsciously adjusting the hold on the firearm in his other hand.
There would be no admitting that he wouldn't feel a sting of disappointment -- among other things -- if she didn't end up making it. Little as he knew Morgan in this life, she was still family. And family were a much higher priority than people might've given him credit for.
Not sure if he'd be willing to let her to the protecting thing, though.
Hermes finished up on the bandages, an observing look on his face. Agravaine's face wasn't hard to read -- there were just a lot of walls there. Hermes liked walls. He had them as well -- he wondered if Agravaine's were there to keep other people out, or to provide them with a challenge. It was no good just letting everybody in, was it?
Casually, Hermes said: "You know, when I was asking about us sleeping together, I was really suggesting sleeping in shifts. Keep an eye on one another, you know? I promise I won't rob you of your virginity when it's your turn to catch some z's."
Someone else might have laughed at the last part. Smiled. Instead, it earned the kid another 'not impressed' face as Agravaine reached out to snag his shirt off the dirtied floor. "I'm not tired. You do whatever you want." With a miraculously suppressed groan, he pushed out of the seat, rotated his bandaged shoulder, and shrugged that abandoned shirt back on.
There was a pregnant pause, the sort of pause where one might expect a 'thank you', but since he wasn't someone who said 'sorry' either, 'thank you' was just as out of the question.
Hermes shook his head. He was a little sorry to see that shirt back on. "I'm guessing you don't have many FaceBook friends."
"Don't use Facebook," the ex-knight informed him without much care, retrieving the vest once again, though it wasn't immediately yanked back on. Facebook was a social networking site he'd never thought twice about, possibly less than Twitter and all those other sites, but apparently everyone in Hermes' generation lived on it like it was more addictive than crack.
Agravaine normally didn't give too much of a shit about age, but he definitely felt his own right there.
Hermes would have been more surprised if Agravaine had admitted to having an account. Humour was apparently something that Agravaine didn't understand or appreciate.
Hermes smirked and drew away, looking about the locker room. He had slept in worse places. He stretched his arms theatrically, a strip of his flat stomach showing as he yawned. "It'll just be a little nap, promise. You can nudge me awake after an hour or two, 'kay? I just need to shut my mind off for a bit."
An hour or two would likely give Morgan more than enough time to get to the station, provided she wasn't attacked along the way. And if she was, Nurse Hermes could work his magic as he had for him. Pressing a hand down on the bandages to adjust them more comfortably, Agravaine gifted the younger man with one last look.
"Yeah. Sure." His voice wasn't entirely convincing. Like there was every chance that Hermes would get left behind without another thought.
Hermes wasn't sure he could trust Agravaine to stand vigil, but he had little choice. His mind was growing fuzzy around the edges -- the rude awakening of this morning, the fear and the adrenalin -- and he would have to sleep, Agravaine or no Agravaine.
He made himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench, using his hoodie as a pillow. "Cheers," he said, his voice low, "and thanks, mate. I owe you." His limbs rejoiced. Rest! Five minutes, and Hermes had slumbered off into a light sleep.
After those five minutes ticked by, Agravaine slowly lowered into a slow crouch before the kid, waiting to see if he'd rouse. No response. A good sign. The wheezing didn't subside even after those weapons had been reholstered and the stolen jacket had been shrugged back into, and idly, he wondered if his little auntie would make much of a fuss if she saw the state of him. That was what girls did.
Damnit.
It was going to be a long fucking night.
DATE/TIME: Thursday, afternoon/evening
LOCATION: Precinct 25 in East Harlem
RATING: R
WARNINGS: These guys are their own warnings.
SUMMARY: Time to play knight in shining armor.
Hermes had very little experience with being lost. He decided he didn't care for it. New York was a monster-infested mess, but it was still New York, right? So he should have no problem finding his way. He had wanted to find the hospital near Madison Square Park where this older gentleman was holed up and which wasn't too far from NoHo, but the streets seemed disconnected somehow. He had been skulking about all day, hiding whenever he heard a noise, avoiding the subway tunnels and the bigger streets: those tended to be gridlocked with abandoned cars. Some of them looked like they had been stepped on, which was something that sent a shiver down Hermes' spine. Even worse was when he found himself on the wrong end of Central Park. He couldn't trust his sense of direction, which made Hermes feel like he were blind, groping about in darkness. It added to his sense of paranoia.
He needed sleep. He realized he was becoming less alert when he failed to recognize the police precinct until he was right in front of it. 119th Str. That made sense. Perhaps he could lock himself in a cell and get some decent shuteye from this walking nightmare. Perhaps he could find a weapon. Perhaps (and this was the most hopeful thought) there were other people here? Hermes jimmied open one of the emergency doors and snuck in, trying to be as wary as he could. These... things could be everywhere. Hermes had seen one of them opening doors. It took some moments before his eyes adapted to the darkness inside. He could hear some vague noises coming up ahead and, in defiance of all common sense, Hermes rounded the corner, sneaking nearby to check it out. In his defence, it didn't sound like the monsters he had seen outside. It came from inside a room. Very carefully, Hermes snuck a peek around the door.
If Agravaine had cared that he could attract attention from people and monsters alike, he seriously didn't show it as he slammed a locker door shut, loading up one of the police-issued Berettas up with a full magazine. As fortune had it, he wasn't unfamiliar with firearms, and had probably fired more of them than the average New Yorker, from what he imagined.
He moved with experience, sticking the gun into the holster around his hips, but those movements were almost a little too careful. Like he was injured and trying not to cause further harm to himself. Which was true: his ribs had seen better days. Ribs didn't mend themselves in two weeks.
The knight could've easily been mistaken for a cop from behind with the NYPD coat wrapped around him, and for one fleeting second, he wondered why he didn't take up the profession. Knight of the round table as an officer of the law. It was poetic. Logical.
Hermes hadn't been noticed just yet, but any cough or shuffle would get Agravaine's attention on him in moments. For the time being, however, he was blissfully ignorant of anyone by the door.
This guy could be useful. Hermes had no experience with guns. He decided to make his presence known, counting on the fact that announcing himself with words -- human words -- would prevent the cop from emptying the gun in his chest. Hermes mustered up what little confidence he could and leaned against the door-frame, looking like the cock-of-the-walk despite the black smears on his face, his haggard clothes and his lack of shoes. Smirking, he said: "Evening, officer Krupke."
That Beretta left the holster in record time, and was pointed directly at Hermes' head. A badly concealed grimace passed over the ex-knight's face as he gave the man a quick once-over, not the check him out, but to assess the danger. Didn't really look like a threat, but nevertheless, he kept the gun up to let him talk to the firearm.
"Who the fuck are you? And who the hell is Officer Krupke?" His voice was gruff, tired. He hadn't exactly had a decent sleep, let alone a decent morning. Then again, one look outside and it was clear the only people who could possibly be in a good mood were the four horsemen.
Two of which were apparently burning down Coney Island. Fucking great.
As a concession to the gun, Hermes raised his hands to show they were empty. He also cocked his head to the side, however, looking the presumed cop in the eyes. The man was a bit scruffy, but he had good shoulders. "My name's Mark," Hermes said, easily enough. He liked flirting with danger. "Though, if I suspect this is anything like last month, the name Hermes might mean more to you." He grinned. "What do I call you? Tall, dark and cranky?"
He was glowered at for a couple more seconds before the gun went down. The kid had a smart mouth, but he didn't seem dangerous. Just potentially very irritating. Agravaine adjusted his fingers on the grip, considering the admission. "Mortal names aren't worth shit here, since the only people here are us," he pointed out, trying to breathe as evenly as possible.
"So you start by calling me Agravaine. And if you piss me off, that'll be Sir Agravaine to you."
The name rung a distant bell. Something... English. Celtic mythology had never been Hermes' forte. And recently, Agravaine had been involved in some drama with a girl, and... eh. Hermes couldn't care less about that right now. The man looked competent and obviously knew how to work a gun, though, as Hermes studied him, he could see that his new-found companion looked weary. "If you don't mind me saying, you look hella tired. Sir." The last word didn't sound at all deferential.
"I do mind." Beretta holstered, arms folded -- carefully. "And you look like you crawled out of a fucking dumpster," Vaine shot right back, leaning his weight into the desk behind. Yeah, he felt tired, and had no doubt he looked it too. Sleeping with busted ribs when he refused to take his pain killers didn't result in a good night's sleep. But he hated medication.
Or maybe that was his pride talking.
Probably his pride, which hadn't wavered since his first life.
Hermes shrugged at that. He probably did look awful. "I gotta admit, I could use some decent shut-eye." His eyes lingered purposefully on Agravaine's body, before he looked up at the man's eyes again, his mouth twisting into a wicked smirk. "So, you wanna sleep together, hey?"
Agravaine didn't do speechless. At least, not for long. The look on his face could've probably been described as 'Not Impressed', somewhere between 'I Should Have Shot You' and 'Over My Dead Body'. He clicked his tongue, far from amused and living up to his tall, dark, and cranky status.
"I think there's a locker somewhere here with your name on it. We should see if you fit inside." The shotgun he'd left on the desk was snatched up in his hand, and without another word, he stalked in Hermes' direction, walking right past and into the corridor. With luck, the guy wouldn't follow him.
But he had a feeling luck wasn't on his side that day.
Hermes turned around, his eyes on Agravaine's back. A macho man. Lovely. Still, he needed an ally, but if he was going to be needy and apologetic now, Agravaine would keep that edge over him. Hermes' eyes narrowed, noticing the stiff way Agravaine was walking. Something had happened to the man. Hermes quickly switched tactics.
"Oh yeah," he called out contemptuously, "go ahead and run. Find some place to sleep alone, have your brains eaten out by one of those things outside. Good thing you're fit and capable enough to make it on your own. Good luck with that."
Sadly for him, the knight didn't miss a beat. "Least I'll last longer than you will," he returned with what could almost be considered amusement. But Agravaine didn't get very far before the window smashed behind him, glass exploding on the back of his neck and sending him stumbling a few feet forward.
The thing, whatever it was, skid into the wall with a squeal of claws on linoleum, its thin wings flapping uselessly. The second he turned on a heel, he met its beady eyes. There was quiet. And then it screeched.
Hermes face fell. There were flying monsters? For crying out loud, seriously? It was a freaky thing, a filthy pink pterodactyl sort of critter, except it had more teeth and wings than it should. Hermes tried to look inconspicuous as he slowly advanced on the two, hoping Agravaine could deal with this himself. The grotesque bird didn't seem to notice Hermes, too busy snapping and lunging at the ex-knight.
Had the other man been without a weapon, this might have looked like a sticky situation, but the shotgun felt safe in Agravaine's hands. He aimed, fired a shot, and stepped out of the way before the thing could crash into him. The impact with the wall hurt like a bitch, but he swallowed the pain and backstepped toward the Greek while the creature attempted to turn in the narrow hallway.
Without a word, he unholstered the gun at his hip and held it out to Hermes, gaze flickering to him for only a moment. "I wouldn't trust you to do up a fucking tie for yourself, but you point, you don't turn the safety on, and you pull the trigger. Or you go hide in a goddamn room."
His bad temper was far from gone, but at least his tone was devoid of some of its earlier crabbiness.
While Hermes didn't like being talked to like he was a damsel, he thought that particular debate could wait until after they had disposed of the bird. He reached for the gun. The freaky flying thing, which was now both anxious and angry, had managed to turn around and sized them up before swooping in again. It was eerily quick, moving more like a bug than a bird.
Hermes jumped back, back flat against the wall, as the thing hit Agravaine square in the chest, knocking the air out of him and working him to the ground. The gun was knocked out of his hand and skidded down the linoleum floor. The monster gave a victorious snarl and bit at Agravaine's shoulder.
Pain flooded from every direction once the former knight's back hit the cold, grimy floor, but the sharp teeth sinking into his shoulder shook the stars from his sight, even when he struggled to breathe with all the weight on his chest. He could feel the talons dig into his sides, and might've hit back if he hadn't been so short of breath. Then he ceased to be able to focus, and could only imagine the bones of his ribcage grinding together, threatening to shatter even further.
That beak was too close to his throat. Way too fucking close.
Death by bird. Pathetic.
Hermes' moves were surprisingly calm. He knew that if he started freaking right now, he wouldn't be able to stop. He reached in his messenger bag, for the can of spray deodorant he had raided from a deli earlier. He got in closer, crouching down, raising the deodorant and his zippo. "Yo, bird."
The thing didn't have the decency to look up, so Hermes settled on aiming for the back. The Zippo clicked and his make-shift flamethrower erupted, heat engulfing the monster's body. It shrieked, obviously hurt, and backed off, flailing about helplessly. Hermes saw Agravaine's chest moving, his eyes blinking. Still alive. Good.
Hermes doubled back for the gun, returning to Agravaine's side in a moment. "Shoot it," he said, his voice urgent as he pressed the gun in the knight's big hand, "can you shoot? Shoot it!"
His only response was in the form of a half-hearted glare as the handgun was gripped tightly. It was extremely painful to lean up, but after getting himself about half a foot off the floor, he aimed, steadied his hand, and plugged three bullets into the bird.
Two were direct hits, one to the throat and the other to its chest, while the last only grazed a wing of the flailing, burning mass. One last bullet found its way into the grotesque creature's head, and with one last final shriek, it hit the wall, and collapsed in a heap.
Agravaine waited for it to stop moving before lowering himself back down to the floor with a pained grimace. He could still feel those uneven teeth in his shoulder, even with the bird gone.
"You're bleeding," Hermes observed. He could still feel the adrenalin thrumming in his veins. Agravaine looked even more of a mess, though. "Still a good shot, though." It was a rare compliment. The gloating over the fact that Agravaine wouldn't have made it without Hermes would come later. "Can you move, man? I've got stuff to patch you up, but I'd rather not do it in this corridor with the open window. We should get you a bed. Or something bed-like."
With his vision still dancing, the older of the two leaned up on his elbows, breathing heavily all the way. "Really? I hadn't noticed," he crabbily retaliated to the first part, moving as if he didn't have any intention of asking for help -- which he didn't. Something like this wouldn't get him down for long. He was a knight of the round in one life, and things never really changed over a span of several reincarnations.
The lives, yes. The people inside, no. He'd survived two hospitalizations in the last few months, so this? Wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been. After snatching both handgun and shotgun off the floor, Agravaine leaned his unharmed shoulder into the wall. Breathe.
"A bench is fine."
Hermes resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If Agravaine had no intention of asking for help, Hermes had no intention of asking the ex-knight whether he needed it - rather, he simply chose to provide it. Being small enough, he could put himself under Agravaine's uninjured shoulder. Hermes may have looked skinny, but while he would probably lose from Agravaine in an arm-wrestling competition (well, provided the Greek didn't cheat), he didn't lack the muscle to support the heavier man's weight. "C'mon big fellow."
A little rougher than was necessary, Hermes led them both down the corridor, not bothering to consult with Agravaine as they returned to the locker room. There were guns there, benches, and the room only had a very small window. It was defensible, and Hermes could safely make some light there.
Only then did Agravaine manage to find enough stubbornness to pull his arm away, staggering off to the side to set the shotgun down. The desk was grabbed for a moment to find his balance -- chest on fire, had it ever been this goddamn uncomfortable? -- and when he began to feel that blood drip down his arm beneath his shirt, he began to strip without a care of who was in the room with him.
Off went the jacket, the vest, leaving him in just the grey tshirt he'd arrived him, and while the bite on his shoulder wasn't too deep, the material there was still bloody. Apparently bulletproof vests did nothing to prevent attacks from mutant birds with teeth.
"Fuck," he breathed, leaning back up against the desk. It was his chest that was worse off. A bite was something he'd live through, but the fractured bones of his ribcage? Not so much.
Hermes gave him an appraising look. The wound looked bloody, sure, but the bite was pretty shallow, wasn't it? It didn't looked mauled, not as if there were tendons ripped or bones splintered. It was strange that Agravaine seemed to be so affected by this, especially considering how macho the man was. Unless... Hermes drew in closer, asking: "What's wrong, then? Was its bite poisonous or something?"
Dark eyes shifted over to the younger man's face, scrutinizing as if expecting the sort of disrespect teenagers tended to give him, but when he was satisfied that the concern seemed to be genuine, he shook his head in disbelief rather than a shake in the negative.
"Never thought I'd fucking hear that," Agravaine ground out, nearly laughing at the thought. "Birds are supposed to just have beaks. You know, without the teeth. What the hell is this, Jurassic Park?"
He actually managed an incredulous laugh that time. Dinosaurs. Yeah fucking right.
The answer didn't satisfy Hermes, but he chose to interpret the joke positively. People who joked were either delirious or on the mend, and Agravaine didn't look like your typical drugs user. Hermes nodded, dropping his bag besides Agravaine. "Alright, then. I'm gonna go back, cover up that window and put out the fire on our pterodactyl friend. I don't want any of his friends to think we're throwing them a barbeque."
Hermes gestured at the desk. "So, sit down, take that shirt off, and I'll take a closer look at that wound of yours. My big brother's the healer of the family, but I do know my First Aid." With that, Hermes disappeared.
There hadn't been much time to retort with anything -- Agravaine's earlier words and the subsequent laugh had left him nearly breathless again, so he merely watched the boy's slim frame disappear through the door. The chair scraped against the linoleum as he gingerly took a seat, wincing when his ribcage shifted with the motion.
Christ. Apocalypse was here and he had to worry about his damn chest healing? Some death that would be: death by punctured lung, if it got to that point. What a fucking way to go.
He curled his fingers around the bottom of his tshirt to tug it up to his collarbone, assessing the bruises that hadn't faded all the way. Bloody, violent bruises. Faded in color now, but still tender to the touch. The shirt eventually found itself off and tossed to the floor, but the knight's next move wasn't to relax -- it was to grab the shotgun just in case another shrieking dinosaur decided it wanted revenge for its smoking bud out in the corridor.
Hermes sauntered back in, far too casual given the circumstances. He'd put a metal drawer-cabinet in front of the window, all but covering it, and found some relatively clean sheets in a overnight cell that was left open. He smirked again when he saw Agravaine, shirtless, brandishing a gun. Despite the man's generally battered appearance, Hermes would be lying if he said this image did nothing for him.
Hermes wet his lips, the appreciative smirk fading. An eighteen year old's libido was truly magical, but this really wasn't the time. He focused on the bruises on Agravaine's well-developed chest. He crouched at his bag and took out a red-and-white First-Aid kit, noting: "Okay, I can help you with the wound, but I have no idea what else you got going on on your chest. What happened, man? That shit looks old."
Well, no avoiding it, it seemed. Agravaine tilted his head to the side as he watched the kid play nurse, tonguing his upper teeth in thought as he considered the lie he was about to spill.
"I thought I'd pull a Fight Club and beat myself up for no fucking reason." The shotgun didn't leave his hand. Not this time. Wheeze in, wheeze out. "Don't think my boss appreciated it, though." It might not have been much of a lie, but it was a better alternative than telling him he got jumped in an alleyway by Kratos from God of War.
"Right." It wasn't clear whether Hermes bought the lie or not. He had finished tearing a few strips of cloth from the sheet and soaked one of them with water from his bottle. He realized a second to late he should've checked whether this place had running water. Couldn't be helped now.
Carefully, as to avoid the bruised areas on Agravaine's skin, Hermes began cleaning around the bite. He had been right. Most wounds where nothing more than shallow cuts. Only one of them might need stitches. Damn. The wounds clean, he took up some disinfectant. "This may sting," he warned as he applied it to the wounds. "So, them old wounds... Are they just bruises? Because it looks bad. Like, broken-bad, maybe."
The application of the disinfectant only drew out a shadow of a grimace, but it might've easily been from an awkward inhale. "Yeah, they're like broken-bad. Like broken ribs bad." Broken, fractured -- same thing, only one sounded less harmful than the other. Less damaging. Agravaine paused briefly, before: "And yes, I'm fucking fine."
His labored breathing might've said otherwise, but whatever.
Stubbornness was a trait that obviously ran in the family.
Hermes' dark eyes looked up at Agravaine's face. "Sure you are, wheezy." Stubbornness was a trait that also ran in his family. He finished up on the cleaning. "So, you think they got re-broken during that little skirmish? Because setting ribs is not my area of expertise."
Something angry flashed in the older man's eyes as he leaned in, as far as his chest would allow him too without stressing the bones there. He hated being treated like some delicate flower, like he couldn't hold his own after a fight. How many brawls had he been in in his life? Too many to count. But like hell he was going to keel over from a couple of screwed up ribs.
"I said," he hissed, "I'm fine."
Hermes was less than impressed by Agravaine's display. He turned his head a little, his lips now close to the ex-knight's ear, which made the situation oddly intimate as he whispered: "Whatever you say, big guy. You think you can handle me?" There was a beat of silence before Hermes thought to specify: ""Cause I think your shoulder's gonna need some stitches."
Any closer, and the Greek might've found the muzzle of the shotgun in his cheek. Withholding a snort of derision, Agravaine angled his head away, eyes straying toward the door. Still safe -- for now.
"Just get it over with." Needles were far from the problem here; he'd had stitches plenty of times before. Just as long as Hermes knew what he was doing, otherwise he'd do the damn stitching himself. Not like he couldn't look over his own shoulder to do it.
Hermes quickly set to work. Lacking an appropriate bowl, he filled the cap of his water-bottle with disinfectant and let the sewing thread soak in it. Primitive, but it worked. He sterilized the needle with the flame of his Zippo. He switched on the light of his phone and handed it to Agravaine. "Here, hold this. You can be your own nurse."
He tried the locker room sink and was relieved to find that there was at least some water left to wash his hands with. "Alright, sunshine," Hermes said as he put a knot in the end of the threat, "I haven't got any liquor or ice for you, so you're just gonna have to grit your teeth and soldier through it."
Hermes set to work, his face serious, intent. Still, when he asked: "So, Agravaine, tell me something about yourself. Wife? Kids? Pets?" it sounded as if he were doing nothing more casual than making a cup of coffee.
A needle slipping through his flesh wasn't a feeling Agravaine ever found himself liking, but there wasn't much of a choice. It was either risk infection, or save himself from it. Obedient for the moment, he held up the light source, tilting his head back like he was already bored with the conversation.
"No, no, and no."
The ex-wives part could stay secret. No one needed to know about them just yet. Common courtesy stated that he should've asked the next question, but to be honest, he didn't care that much about Hermes' life.
Hermes didn't mind Agravaine's unfriendliness. He knew the man would warm up to him eventually. Everybody always did. Rather than trying to get to know the man better, Hermes was trying to make conversation in order to distract Agravaine from what he was doing. He tried again. "So, is it any fun, being a cop?"
The sigh that left Vaine's lips was weak. "Sure. Loads," he admitted without a single shred of excitement. Mostly because it was a total lie. But his brother, who he didn't keep in touch with anymore, was a cop back in Vermont. Where the rest of his family was. But not his real family.
Suddenly, something occurred to him.
"So you don't know what broken ribs look like, but you know how to fuckin' sew stitches?"
"Mm-hm." The wound was jagged some, but not too much. It allowed for some clean, straight stitching -- Hermes wasn't a doctor, but it looked professional enough. It might leave a scar, but he figured Agravaine wouldn't mind that much.
"Sewing's sewing," he explained absently. "When you know how to sew a tear in your jeans, you know how to sew a tear in someone's skin. Back in LA, I skated plenty, and whenever someone split their lip or cut open their knee due to a bad fall, I was the designated stitcher. We only got 'em to the hospital when they were bleeding dangerously. So yeah. Never did any broken bones, let alone ribs."
It took a couple of seconds for 'skated' to process in Agravaine's head. Skateboarding. Probably not rollerblading or roller derby, though who the hell was he to know what this kid did in his spare time?
"I'm sure it's killing you that you can't touch me," he shot back, some sort of humor colouring his words. At least he could still manage sarcasm, weak as it was. "But I'd rather you kept your hands where I can see them. Don't know where you've been."
Hermes put a knot in the thread and used his army knife to cut off the left-over. He raised an eyebrow, trying to look serious, but his eyes sparkled playfully. "Okay, first off? This flirting thing -- you're doing it wrong. Second, I don't necessarily need my hands to touch you." He grinned, his tongue momentarily lewdly denting his cheek. He drew back, reaching for the gauze. "Thirdly, your stitches are done. Hold still for a moment more, and I'll bandage up your shoulder. You're good to go after that."
A pair of eyebrows rose in response. Yeah, like Agravaine had plans to start moving around after all that'd happened. Acutely aware that a certain aunt was coming over to the station, he glanced once more at the open doorway, unconsciously adjusting the hold on the firearm in his other hand.
There would be no admitting that he wouldn't feel a sting of disappointment -- among other things -- if she didn't end up making it. Little as he knew Morgan in this life, she was still family. And family were a much higher priority than people might've given him credit for.
Not sure if he'd be willing to let her to the protecting thing, though.
Hermes finished up on the bandages, an observing look on his face. Agravaine's face wasn't hard to read -- there were just a lot of walls there. Hermes liked walls. He had them as well -- he wondered if Agravaine's were there to keep other people out, or to provide them with a challenge. It was no good just letting everybody in, was it?
Casually, Hermes said: "You know, when I was asking about us sleeping together, I was really suggesting sleeping in shifts. Keep an eye on one another, you know? I promise I won't rob you of your virginity when it's your turn to catch some z's."
Someone else might have laughed at the last part. Smiled. Instead, it earned the kid another 'not impressed' face as Agravaine reached out to snag his shirt off the dirtied floor. "I'm not tired. You do whatever you want." With a miraculously suppressed groan, he pushed out of the seat, rotated his bandaged shoulder, and shrugged that abandoned shirt back on.
There was a pregnant pause, the sort of pause where one might expect a 'thank you', but since he wasn't someone who said 'sorry' either, 'thank you' was just as out of the question.
Hermes shook his head. He was a little sorry to see that shirt back on. "I'm guessing you don't have many FaceBook friends."
"Don't use Facebook," the ex-knight informed him without much care, retrieving the vest once again, though it wasn't immediately yanked back on. Facebook was a social networking site he'd never thought twice about, possibly less than Twitter and all those other sites, but apparently everyone in Hermes' generation lived on it like it was more addictive than crack.
Agravaine normally didn't give too much of a shit about age, but he definitely felt his own right there.
Hermes would have been more surprised if Agravaine had admitted to having an account. Humour was apparently something that Agravaine didn't understand or appreciate.
Hermes smirked and drew away, looking about the locker room. He had slept in worse places. He stretched his arms theatrically, a strip of his flat stomach showing as he yawned. "It'll just be a little nap, promise. You can nudge me awake after an hour or two, 'kay? I just need to shut my mind off for a bit."
An hour or two would likely give Morgan more than enough time to get to the station, provided she wasn't attacked along the way. And if she was, Nurse Hermes could work his magic as he had for him. Pressing a hand down on the bandages to adjust them more comfortably, Agravaine gifted the younger man with one last look.
"Yeah. Sure." His voice wasn't entirely convincing. Like there was every chance that Hermes would get left behind without another thought.
Hermes wasn't sure he could trust Agravaine to stand vigil, but he had little choice. His mind was growing fuzzy around the edges -- the rude awakening of this morning, the fear and the adrenalin -- and he would have to sleep, Agravaine or no Agravaine.
He made himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench, using his hoodie as a pillow. "Cheers," he said, his voice low, "and thanks, mate. I owe you." His limbs rejoiced. Rest! Five minutes, and Hermes had slumbered off into a light sleep.
After those five minutes ticked by, Agravaine slowly lowered into a slow crouch before the kid, waiting to see if he'd rouse. No response. A good sign. The wheezing didn't subside even after those weapons had been reholstered and the stolen jacket had been shrugged back into, and idly, he wondered if his little auntie would make much of a fuss if she saw the state of him. That was what girls did.
Damnit.
It was going to be a long fucking night.