TRAUMABEANS AU

[conning]

boop

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[abrightboy]

That shaking hand touches Neal’s skin above the cut. It feels like his skin always feels. He looks at the cut, then looks to meet his eyes.

“…Are you sure?”

But his breathing already sounds less ragged.

[conning]

“We’re the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

Goosebumps again as he remembers the thing leaping for his throat. “You get the first aid kit, I’ll make tea?”

[abrightboy]

“No!” Malcolm gasps instinctively, lunging to grab him before he can get away. He takes a breath. “Come to the bathroom and let me clean it up,” he says softly.

[conning]

Neal flinches in surprise, but then nods, letting Malcolm lead him there. Making sure they stay touching in one way or another until Neal himself is planted on the seat of the closed toilet and Malcolm is getting a better look at the injuries.

They’re not as long as the cuts in his dream. They’re not as deep. But they’re definitely not shallow, and someone with Edrisa’s eye—or Malcolm’s—could probably tell that they seem to have been made from the inside out.

“Are you okay?”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is peering at the cut on Neal’s chest as he cleans it up and it takes him a second to process the question. He looks up from under his brow.

“Am I okay?”

[conning]

"Yeah?" He's disoriented enough to be unsure what he said wrong. If he did say something wrong. Neal takes Malcolm’s wrist lightly in on hand, rubbing his thumb against the inside curve of the other man’s skin. “You… I got hurt in front of you and you couldn’t tell if you were awake. Are you okay?”

[abrightboy]

“I’m still not sure I’m awake,” Malcolm admits in a subdued tone. “But I have to assume I am. If I’m not and I act like I am, it’s fine. If I am and I act like I’m not… it’s bad. Are you sure you don’t want stitches?” he confirms.

[conning]

Neal eyes his shoulder for a moment. “Do you think I need them?”

Mathias notwithstanding, he doesn’t have a lot of personal experiences with significant physical injuries.

[abrightboy]

“They’re not so deep that you have to have them, but they’ll scar less if you do,” Malcolm tells him. “Up to you,” he adds. “They don’t make you less attractive.”

[conning]

He sits up a little straighter at the notion of having another scar.

“Stitches,” Neal says. A pause. “Please.”

Malcolm might not think they make him less attractive, but Neal has his twitches.

[abrightboy]

“Okay. Let me tape them up and we have to get dressed,” Malcolm tells him. “We have to go to the clinic.” Malcolm isn’t qualified to do it.

[conning]

Neal grimaces a little, then nods. He’s willing to do it even if he doesn’t want to leave the house. He stays almost comically still as Malcolm tapes up the injuries, then writes a note left-handed for Ellen to explain where they’ve gone if she wakes up. His left-handed writing is just as elegant as his right.

They’re at the door before Neal realizes something. He lifts a hand to Malcolm’s cheek. “You don’t have to come if you’re worried they’ll think you did it. You didn’t.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s hand starts shaking and he clenches it against his leg.

“I can’t leave you there,” he protests.

[conning]

Neal shakes his head. "You're not. You wouldn't be."

He would like Malcolm there. He's unsettled, and the more time he has to think about it on his own the more unsettled he's going to get, but he's also not going to ask Malcolm to go to a hospital when he has so many of his own issues with them. What is balancing one's own emotional needs with those of another person??

[abrightboy]

“I can’t,” Malcolm informs him, pressing the second bandage into place, then going out into the bedroom to grab clothes to get dressed.

[conning]

Neal follows him, pulling on a button-up and slacks and leaving it at that. It hurts to move his shoulder too much, and he's getting paranoid. "Okay. All right. I just thought..."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what I thought. I don't know what I'm thinking."

[abrightboy]

“We don’t know what’s happening,” Malcolm says, pulling on a sweater and jeans, “and there’s no one to ask. I can’t abandon you because they might hurt my feelings.”

[conning]

Neal catches Malcolm around the waist with one arm as he locks the door behind them downstairs.

"Thank you," he says softly. "I don't. I don't want to be there alone."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him.

“You’ll never, ever be alone,” he says like it’s obvious.

[conning]

Neal kisses him.

The cab ride over to the emergency room, he keeps thinking he sees things keeping pace with the vehicle. Shadows that are a little darker than their surroundings. But every time he looks, there's nothing there. It's hard to get out of the car when they pull up to the curb, even though he doesn't think there's anything present. He doesn't want to get ambushed. Get tricked. He hangs on to Malcolm's hand for dear life as they head inside.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm walks with him up to the counter.

"My friend was attacked. He didn't see who it was." It's dark out. "Some maniac with a knife. He has two cuts."

[conning]

The nurse looks at them in surprise and concern, takes in the way they're dressed--well--and then turns her attention to Neal. "Where are the injuries?"

He turns to show the faint start of a scarlet line on his shoulder, staining white of his button up. Not the best choice of wear, probably, but hopefully some peroxide and bleach will sort it out. The nurse notices the bulk of the bandage underneath and gets up, leading them back to a waiting area behind a curtain. "A resident will be with you shortly."

As soon as she’s gone, Neal murmurs to Malcolm, “Did you see anything on the way here? Any… shadows, or. Anything?”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him.

“…What do you mean?” Of course there were shadows. It’s dark out. There are street lights and lights in buildings and car headlights. There are a million things in New York to cast a shadow.

[conning]

Neal takes Malcolm’s hands in his own, looking at them instead of Malcolm’s face. “Anything strange, that shouldn’t have been there.”

[abrightboy]

“I was paying attention to your seeping wounds; I wasn’t looking. Was there something I should have seen?” Malcolm asks.