Damien (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hungercity_hellhound) wrote2021-10-09 12:39 am
hungercity_hellhound) wrote2021-10-09 12:39 am
I'm Not a White Rabbit but I Am Late
For prompt Touching #20 bandaging/stitching up an injury
Damien had a promise to keep and a mess to avoid. He was pinned down by at least two helicopters. A glance at his watch and he frowned. The watch was set to the time in Ziggy's world, where Zack was waiting and Damien was running late. The Ministry fucked everything up, even in other worlds now. Sighing he looked around from where he was hiding in an old car, folded up on the floor in the backseat. The helicopters were lingering and were likely to land so the Dog couldn't stay there forever. They weren't going to leave.
Slowly, he peered up over the center console at the two choppers making their way to the ground across the field.
“Fuck.” Damien swore under his breath and sat up behind the seat so he could give the scenery behind the car a good look. It was going to be a long run to cover and that was sparse. A glance over his shoulder and out the windshield at the choppers settling in the grass. The dust and debris they kicked up might be helpful. One deep breath and Damien kicked the door open, bolting for the tree-line. Everything hurt, he was tired, hungry, and at the end of his reserves after being chased around most of the day. At this point, near evening, he couldn't even remember how the morning had started.
A bullet clipped his side right above the hip and sent him sprawling into the understory. He cracked hard onto a downed tree, hair tangling in the briars that grew up around it. He had to tear himself free, leaving hair and some of the thorned branches breaking off, hopelessly twisted into his hair. A bullet wound was nothing to ignore but even someone as used to fighting as Damien could find himself feeling like prey, bolting for his life. Maybe that was what kept him alive some days?
He was lunging through the underbrush, arms up in front of his face to protect it from branches and thorns. There were dogs barking behind him, scent hounds that would keep the Ministry on his trail. Hunger City wasn't an option. They were too close to cross the lone bridge or try to swim the river. He knew another way in a place that was a fools errand to enter. As the Jersey shore had flooded and the parts of the industrial area fell to ruin a swamp appeared over the years. Everyone in the Ministry was taught to avoid it at all costs. Sinkholes and quicksand.
Damien slid to a halt at the edge of the marsh, glancing over his shoulder. He couldn't see them but he could hear the barking dogs and oafish Ministry police crashing through the forest like bulls. He checked the bullet graze on his side and the blood trailing down his side. The swamp was the only choice. He skirted it and looked for thick grass. Hopefully, it would prove a safe path. He didn't have a choice.
Running as fast as he dared through the mud and water he prayed to whatever might exist in the universe that he avoided the quick sand. He slipped more than once, almost tumbling into water that might not even be water. The only saving grace was that it sounded like the Ministry and their dogs were having a worse time of it. He ran until his lungs burned and his hair was wet, plastered to his face with sweat. Finally, the ground became solid again.
Damien doubled over, hands on his knees, as he panted and tried to fight down the shakes from all the adrenaline. His hands felt cold from the way his pulse was thumping in his arteries. Cuts were all over his exposed skin; hands, face, lower arms, even his stomach where the shirt had rode up while running. Better scratched and shot than imprisoned by the Ministry.
The next few minutes were spent walking slowly toward the bridge that would take him home. He glanced at the watch again and scowled at the time; 30 minutes late. By the time he got through the doorway and to Zack it would be an hour late. The poor drummer would probably be worried out of his mind before Damien could get there. He glanced down at his clothes, the mud and blood, sticks and burrs stuck to him. Thankfully the leather pants protected at least part of his body.
Breaking into a jog Damien decided cleaning up would make is arrival even later. Better to show up dirty than let his young partner panic for an extra hour. He pushed himself to a run as he crossed the bridge into Hunger City, both for safety and to get to Ziggy's realm faster. The doorway, that he paused before, then stepped through out into the all too familiar alley. Ziggy's New York and his Hunger City were so close that the buildings and alley were exactly the same, even the street names.
Damien tried to push his long hair back, picking brambles and forest bits out of it while he walked toward the hotel. The ends of his hair were muddy from falling in the swamp. He smelled bad too, as only a swamp could. Zack was going to have to deal with it. On the bright side, there was a hot shower in the hotel that he could indulge in after feeling like he walked out of a near death scenario.
The muddy Dog walked into the posh Manhattan hotel which drew everyone's attention. Muddy smudges left beihind on the white floor as he walked to the elevator. Once inside he shifted, trying to fix up the messy state of his clothes and hair. Usually he didn't care but for some reason Damien found that he felt anxious. A side effect of the lateness or the panic of the last few hours.
Pausing before the door, he almost knocked but instead took a deep breath and stepped into the hotel room. “Zack?”
“Damien?” The young drummer bounded up from the chair with a smile that faded as soon as he saw the state of the Dog. “What happened?”
He gave Zack a tight hug despite the mud and state of his person. “I'm fine. Sorry I'm so late.”
Zack pulled away after they lingered together only to stare at his hand, it was slick and red. Damien stared at it too because he had forgotten that he was shot.
“Were..” Zack was startled. Damien forgot sometimes that he wasn't worldly, and more important Zack didn't know Damien's world. “....Were you shot?”
All he could do is nod as he pulled off his shirt to look at the wound. Zack touched the scratches and the huge bruise over most of Damien's side. Falling on that damned tree. He touched his bruised ribs gently, wincing at the touch. While the Dog stared at the injuries Zack pulled the brambles out of the long blond hair.
“Let me clean you up.” Zack asked with the usual tint of blush on his cheeks.
“Have you ever done this?” Damien asked and stroked Zack's cheek as he shook his head. “I'll teach you. Grab the bag I leave here.”
Damien limped as he moved toward the bathroom. The pain was seeping in around the falling adrenaline. Zack followed along, fear in his eyes. It was a look that happened any time someone new joined the Dogs, realized how hard life was for them. He washed his hands and then took a seat on the sink counter. He'd need a shower but he had waterproof bandages that would keep the scum from running into the wound when he rinsed the rest of it off.
“First, warm soap and water. You want enough space to tape down the bandage.” He instructed while watching Zack wet the small towel from the hotel. Damien hadn't really ever had someone to take care of him, not since the doctors while he served with the Ministry. Normally, he bandaged himself, even stitched his own wounds most days. The touch of warm water caused him to hiss with pain and left Zack apologizing for hurting Damien.
The clean up got easier as they went; disinfecting, and then more nerves when Damien showed Zack how to pull pieces of debris out with tweezers. His hands shook when he tried but that wasn't important. The important part was that he tried. More cleaning and some antibiotic cream before explaining how to put on the clear, second skin like patch that would keep the wound beneath clean and dry.
Zack looked frazzled by the time they were done. Damien felt for his lover but it was more love than concern over the momentary stress. The young drummer shyed away after Damien gave him a kiss but the flush was back as soon as Damien kicked off his shoes.
“I might need you to wash my hair and get all the sticks out. My side hurts too much.” That wasn't a lie. The angry bruise that took up a good portion of his right ribcage was pounding, tight with a sharp pain any time he moved.
Zack smiled, partially hiding behind his own long hair, then started untangling the sticks out of the Dog's hair. It was going to take time to get him cleaned up.
“Don't worry. I'll always get back, even if I'm late.” Damien leaned into the drummer. Zack was the sweetest person Damien had ever known, though, with his world who knew if that meant much at all.
Damien had a promise to keep and a mess to avoid. He was pinned down by at least two helicopters. A glance at his watch and he frowned. The watch was set to the time in Ziggy's world, where Zack was waiting and Damien was running late. The Ministry fucked everything up, even in other worlds now. Sighing he looked around from where he was hiding in an old car, folded up on the floor in the backseat. The helicopters were lingering and were likely to land so the Dog couldn't stay there forever. They weren't going to leave.
Slowly, he peered up over the center console at the two choppers making their way to the ground across the field.
“Fuck.” Damien swore under his breath and sat up behind the seat so he could give the scenery behind the car a good look. It was going to be a long run to cover and that was sparse. A glance over his shoulder and out the windshield at the choppers settling in the grass. The dust and debris they kicked up might be helpful. One deep breath and Damien kicked the door open, bolting for the tree-line. Everything hurt, he was tired, hungry, and at the end of his reserves after being chased around most of the day. At this point, near evening, he couldn't even remember how the morning had started.
A bullet clipped his side right above the hip and sent him sprawling into the understory. He cracked hard onto a downed tree, hair tangling in the briars that grew up around it. He had to tear himself free, leaving hair and some of the thorned branches breaking off, hopelessly twisted into his hair. A bullet wound was nothing to ignore but even someone as used to fighting as Damien could find himself feeling like prey, bolting for his life. Maybe that was what kept him alive some days?
He was lunging through the underbrush, arms up in front of his face to protect it from branches and thorns. There were dogs barking behind him, scent hounds that would keep the Ministry on his trail. Hunger City wasn't an option. They were too close to cross the lone bridge or try to swim the river. He knew another way in a place that was a fools errand to enter. As the Jersey shore had flooded and the parts of the industrial area fell to ruin a swamp appeared over the years. Everyone in the Ministry was taught to avoid it at all costs. Sinkholes and quicksand.
Damien slid to a halt at the edge of the marsh, glancing over his shoulder. He couldn't see them but he could hear the barking dogs and oafish Ministry police crashing through the forest like bulls. He checked the bullet graze on his side and the blood trailing down his side. The swamp was the only choice. He skirted it and looked for thick grass. Hopefully, it would prove a safe path. He didn't have a choice.
Running as fast as he dared through the mud and water he prayed to whatever might exist in the universe that he avoided the quick sand. He slipped more than once, almost tumbling into water that might not even be water. The only saving grace was that it sounded like the Ministry and their dogs were having a worse time of it. He ran until his lungs burned and his hair was wet, plastered to his face with sweat. Finally, the ground became solid again.
Damien doubled over, hands on his knees, as he panted and tried to fight down the shakes from all the adrenaline. His hands felt cold from the way his pulse was thumping in his arteries. Cuts were all over his exposed skin; hands, face, lower arms, even his stomach where the shirt had rode up while running. Better scratched and shot than imprisoned by the Ministry.
The next few minutes were spent walking slowly toward the bridge that would take him home. He glanced at the watch again and scowled at the time; 30 minutes late. By the time he got through the doorway and to Zack it would be an hour late. The poor drummer would probably be worried out of his mind before Damien could get there. He glanced down at his clothes, the mud and blood, sticks and burrs stuck to him. Thankfully the leather pants protected at least part of his body.
Breaking into a jog Damien decided cleaning up would make is arrival even later. Better to show up dirty than let his young partner panic for an extra hour. He pushed himself to a run as he crossed the bridge into Hunger City, both for safety and to get to Ziggy's realm faster. The doorway, that he paused before, then stepped through out into the all too familiar alley. Ziggy's New York and his Hunger City were so close that the buildings and alley were exactly the same, even the street names.
Damien tried to push his long hair back, picking brambles and forest bits out of it while he walked toward the hotel. The ends of his hair were muddy from falling in the swamp. He smelled bad too, as only a swamp could. Zack was going to have to deal with it. On the bright side, there was a hot shower in the hotel that he could indulge in after feeling like he walked out of a near death scenario.
The muddy Dog walked into the posh Manhattan hotel which drew everyone's attention. Muddy smudges left beihind on the white floor as he walked to the elevator. Once inside he shifted, trying to fix up the messy state of his clothes and hair. Usually he didn't care but for some reason Damien found that he felt anxious. A side effect of the lateness or the panic of the last few hours.
Pausing before the door, he almost knocked but instead took a deep breath and stepped into the hotel room. “Zack?”
“Damien?” The young drummer bounded up from the chair with a smile that faded as soon as he saw the state of the Dog. “What happened?”
He gave Zack a tight hug despite the mud and state of his person. “I'm fine. Sorry I'm so late.”
Zack pulled away after they lingered together only to stare at his hand, it was slick and red. Damien stared at it too because he had forgotten that he was shot.
“Were..” Zack was startled. Damien forgot sometimes that he wasn't worldly, and more important Zack didn't know Damien's world. “....Were you shot?”
All he could do is nod as he pulled off his shirt to look at the wound. Zack touched the scratches and the huge bruise over most of Damien's side. Falling on that damned tree. He touched his bruised ribs gently, wincing at the touch. While the Dog stared at the injuries Zack pulled the brambles out of the long blond hair.
“Let me clean you up.” Zack asked with the usual tint of blush on his cheeks.
“Have you ever done this?” Damien asked and stroked Zack's cheek as he shook his head. “I'll teach you. Grab the bag I leave here.”
Damien limped as he moved toward the bathroom. The pain was seeping in around the falling adrenaline. Zack followed along, fear in his eyes. It was a look that happened any time someone new joined the Dogs, realized how hard life was for them. He washed his hands and then took a seat on the sink counter. He'd need a shower but he had waterproof bandages that would keep the scum from running into the wound when he rinsed the rest of it off.
“First, warm soap and water. You want enough space to tape down the bandage.” He instructed while watching Zack wet the small towel from the hotel. Damien hadn't really ever had someone to take care of him, not since the doctors while he served with the Ministry. Normally, he bandaged himself, even stitched his own wounds most days. The touch of warm water caused him to hiss with pain and left Zack apologizing for hurting Damien.
The clean up got easier as they went; disinfecting, and then more nerves when Damien showed Zack how to pull pieces of debris out with tweezers. His hands shook when he tried but that wasn't important. The important part was that he tried. More cleaning and some antibiotic cream before explaining how to put on the clear, second skin like patch that would keep the wound beneath clean and dry.
Zack looked frazzled by the time they were done. Damien felt for his lover but it was more love than concern over the momentary stress. The young drummer shyed away after Damien gave him a kiss but the flush was back as soon as Damien kicked off his shoes.
“I might need you to wash my hair and get all the sticks out. My side hurts too much.” That wasn't a lie. The angry bruise that took up a good portion of his right ribcage was pounding, tight with a sharp pain any time he moved.
Zack smiled, partially hiding behind his own long hair, then started untangling the sticks out of the Dog's hair. It was going to take time to get him cleaned up.
“Don't worry. I'll always get back, even if I'm late.” Damien leaned into the drummer. Zack was the sweetest person Damien had ever known, though, with his world who knew if that meant much at all.