Day 8: In Shangri-La
Still PG-13, but no medical gore.
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Red had no idea whether Wells would wake up soon or not. He guessed not, but he wanted to be there just in case the guy flipped out.
Wells was horribly still beneath the covers: his chest rose and fell, but that was it. No twitches, no shifting, nothing. If Red hadn't been watching him breathe, he'd have thought Wells was dead. He was just shy of corpse pale, having lost a crapload of blood.
Red flexed his arm, and felt the beginning of a bruise at his elbow. Not that he'd given nearly as much blood as Wells had lost, or he'd be laid out too. As it was, he was tired and starving. Wells would be okay for a couple minutes, wouldn't he? Red could nip out to the kitchen, get a sandwich, and come right back.
As he made his sandwich, he noticed how filthy his hands were: a dried-blood crust was on his hands and it flaked onto the bread. Gross. Red threw out the sandwich and, with a quick check on Wells, he hopped into Gray's shower and, afterward, threw his own clothes in the wash. They'd be stained, but at least they wouldn't be shedding grunge.
He made himself another sandwich and went back to Wells.
Red felt ridiculous in one of Grace's robes, but it was the only thing that was even close to his size. It wasn't one of Grace's work outfits: Red doubted he would take on any client who wanted him to dress in banana-and-monkey covered flannel. Red settled into the chair next to Wells's bed and tried to ignore the way the robe only covered to his knees when he sat. Too bad Gray was so short, even if he wasn't a teenage punk anymore.
It creeped Red out a little, thinking about what Gray did for a living, but he didn't do as much in the bedroom as Red had once thought, either. A lot of it was escorting clients to this or that event, wearing a nice suit.
That was how Gray had met Jennings, actually, at one of those events: a press junket for a new hospital wing, as Red recalled. Not that he'd been there himself, but Gray had told him after, when he'd practically floated around when Red had met him for lunch the next day.
But Jennings was gone now. There wasn't much point in remembering that sour-faced bastard. Grace had gotten harder and quieter, but he was absolutely convinced that Jennings was out there, somewhere. Red frowned. It was just like how Jennings was convinced his father-adoptive father-was out there somewhere. He'd disappeared too, and Jennings not long after.
Red sighed. It was just him and the kid now.
He looked at the bed. Still breathing.
Maybe it was him and Grace and Wells, then. Not that it mattered. The way those two were going, it'd be just him on his own sometime soon. He wanted to laugh. Maybe not. Maybe after last night they'd all disappear at once.
A sudden noise in the street sent Red jumping out of his chair.
"Dummy," he said.
His voice bounced around the room.
Red got up off the floor and checked Wells to make sure he hadn't woken him.
But the bed was empty. Wells was gone.
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Oh no! A mysterious-ish cliffhanger! XD
~later
=====
Red had no idea whether Wells would wake up soon or not. He guessed not, but he wanted to be there just in case the guy flipped out.
Wells was horribly still beneath the covers: his chest rose and fell, but that was it. No twitches, no shifting, nothing. If Red hadn't been watching him breathe, he'd have thought Wells was dead. He was just shy of corpse pale, having lost a crapload of blood.
Red flexed his arm, and felt the beginning of a bruise at his elbow. Not that he'd given nearly as much blood as Wells had lost, or he'd be laid out too. As it was, he was tired and starving. Wells would be okay for a couple minutes, wouldn't he? Red could nip out to the kitchen, get a sandwich, and come right back.
As he made his sandwich, he noticed how filthy his hands were: a dried-blood crust was on his hands and it flaked onto the bread. Gross. Red threw out the sandwich and, with a quick check on Wells, he hopped into Gray's shower and, afterward, threw his own clothes in the wash. They'd be stained, but at least they wouldn't be shedding grunge.
He made himself another sandwich and went back to Wells.
Red felt ridiculous in one of Grace's robes, but it was the only thing that was even close to his size. It wasn't one of Grace's work outfits: Red doubted he would take on any client who wanted him to dress in banana-and-monkey covered flannel. Red settled into the chair next to Wells's bed and tried to ignore the way the robe only covered to his knees when he sat. Too bad Gray was so short, even if he wasn't a teenage punk anymore.
It creeped Red out a little, thinking about what Gray did for a living, but he didn't do as much in the bedroom as Red had once thought, either. A lot of it was escorting clients to this or that event, wearing a nice suit.
That was how Gray had met Jennings, actually, at one of those events: a press junket for a new hospital wing, as Red recalled. Not that he'd been there himself, but Gray had told him after, when he'd practically floated around when Red had met him for lunch the next day.
But Jennings was gone now. There wasn't much point in remembering that sour-faced bastard. Grace had gotten harder and quieter, but he was absolutely convinced that Jennings was out there, somewhere. Red frowned. It was just like how Jennings was convinced his father-adoptive father-was out there somewhere. He'd disappeared too, and Jennings not long after.
Red sighed. It was just him and the kid now.
He looked at the bed. Still breathing.
Maybe it was him and Grace and Wells, then. Not that it mattered. The way those two were going, it'd be just him on his own sometime soon. He wanted to laugh. Maybe not. Maybe after last night they'd all disappear at once.
A sudden noise in the street sent Red jumping out of his chair.
"Dummy," he said.
His voice bounced around the room.
Red got up off the floor and checked Wells to make sure he hadn't woken him.
But the bed was empty. Wells was gone.
=====
Oh no! A mysterious-ish cliffhanger! XD
~later