Young Writers Society

Bobby tried to calculate the possiblility that the man holding him knew how to count. He was one of the Ringly's rival's men, so he most likely wasn't plucked from the higher classes. He was pretty well-kempt, but that just meant he was well paid, not necessarily educated.

"Fine," he said before Bobby could finish thinking. So he could count, or he just expected Kazimir to do the counting.

"When I say three, let go," Kazimir said, looking the man dead in the eye. "One. Two. Three."

He pushed the man he was holding forward, practically throwing him at the man with Bobby.

Bobby felt the guy hesitate just before three, but was ultimately sent stumbling into Kazimir's chest.

The man with the gun stood in front of his partner and aimed his gun at Kazimir and Bobby, "Get the hell out of this part of town," he threatened, before running off down the alley and vanishing around the corner with his partner.

Bobby shifted away from Kazimir, trembling, staring at him with words clogging up his throat. Questions, concern, more questions....

Kazimir put his hand lightly on Bobby's back as he watched the two men run down the alleyway, and waited until they were out of sight before he tore his eyes away and looked down at Bobby.

He pulled his hand away, but kneeled down slowly, scanning Bobby with concern.

"Hey, it's okay," he said. "Well, better that those guys are gone, anyway. I'm not sure how I got here, but I know this isn't my home. I don't know if it's yours."

He tilted his head slightly to the side. "Are you okay? You're not bleeding? Nothing's broken?"

Bobby shifted uncomfortably. "You were shot," he said, "You need to sterilize it. If those guys were..." Bobby trailed off. Kazimir didn't need to know anything about the local gangs. Nothing not relevant. "They might have infected the bullets," he finished instead.

Kazimir blinked. Bobby was at least alright and coherent enough to urge him to care for his bullet wound, which was good. He smiled, though his smile was a little tense as he nodded.

Infecting bullets? Well that was shitty.

"Well. You're not wrong there. I should do that." A pause. "I don't suppose you know of a place I could do that, would you? Normally I'd know where to go, but I'm not exactly familiar with the area."

Bobby hesitated. He did know a place. Several places.

If Kazimir was a member of any one of the local gangs - even if he could so much as pass as a member - Bobby would know a number of places to take him. There were many doctors willing to work underground for a little bit of extra cash, and a few gangs even laid claim to local hotels where Kazimir could rest up and use a first aid kit.

But Kazimir wouldn't pass. Those tattoos, that accent, even his general figure, all of him seemed designed to draw attention here. No one would turn a blind eye, and no one would think him innocuous not to comment on. Word would spread fast and....and something. Chances were it wouldn't get drawn right back to Bobby, but if Kazimir couldn't get home....

Bobby pushed that thought from his head and looked for another solution.

.....There was one other place.

Bobby rolled the skin of his lower lip between his teeth.

"I....I might know somewhere."

Kazimir simply watched as Bobby thought, and considered quietly. His eyes lit up and he strained a grin as he nodded.

"Wonderful," he said, with the w sounding more like a very hard v.

He was out of his element here, and he knew it. He already felt bad for Bobby having to carry the burden of playing the helper, the navigator, the everything. He knew it wasn't fair, but he didn't know what else to do.

It was this, or part ways, and Kazimir had a gut feeling that it wouldn't end well for either of them if they did that.

"I'll follow your lead."

Bobby swallowed a lump in his throat. She's gonna kill me if she finds out...

But she was hardly ever there. It would be fine.

"Lean on me," Bobby said, "It's a long walk. You'll put to much strain on it if you don't."

Lean on him? Kazimir was well over twice the kid's weight, but he knew Bobby was right. He'd lean some weight on him, but he wasn't going to crush the kid.

He stood up and grit his teeth and then put an arm around Bobby's shoulders to brace himself.

"Okay. Let's have a nice long walk through the city, then."

Bobby gave a nod and adjusted to account for Kazimir's weight. He was heavy, and Bobby was becoming increasingly sure that his ribs were more than just bruised. The sharp, ceaseless pain that grew to be nearly-blinding when Bobby breathed too deeply and when he moved in such a way that his tight bandages constricted them in just the wrong way....it was more than was usually there when it was just a bruise.

Still, Bobby dutifully ignored it as he focused on each step, one at a time, through the nearly-empty streets of the city until finally, they made it. A big, plain red-brick apartment building with a front door that squealed on its hinges and the scent of dust and mildew in the air.

Bobby knew the place was clean. That no one genuinely lived here.

The smells were fake, the wear and tear masterfully faked, the comings and goings of people carefully staged, all to keep this place under the radar. A delicate machine with a million moving pieces, and Bobby was bringing a bleeding Russian man in through the front door.

Maybe he should have tried the window.

Bobby helped Kazimir up the steps, grimacing at the trail of blood he left behind. Bobby had a lot of cleaning to do.

They made it to the thrid floor, and Bobby found the correct door. One of the numbers hung upside down on the door, held in place by a single remaining screw, so the '7' looked an awful lot an 'L'. Apartment 3L.

He produced a key from one of his pockets and let them inside.

The inside of the apartment was unremarkable. A couch, a TV screwed to the wall with a coffee table between them, a kitchen that looked like it was used frequently but kept clean enough, just a few scraps of paper and such other random items left out on the counter and some clean dishes waiting to be put away on the drying rack.

Bobby guided Kaimir to the leather couch and helped him sit down.

Kazimir plopped himself down carefully onto the couch. At this point, he'd lost a notable amount of blood. More of it was outside of him than he would've preferred, and quite a bit of it was out in the street as well. He hoped for Bobby's sake, that that wouldn't cause problems for them.

He let out a sigh as he leaned back into the couch and looked down at his leg. He gingerly touched the hole in his pants and ripped it open a little more so they could get to the bullet. The thing was still in there.

"Got anything sterile I could use to fish the bullet out?" he asked.

Bobby nodded. "What's your blood type? I'll get the kit in a minute."

They had a bit of every blood type here, Bobby knew, even though that wasn't strictly necessary. Paranoia and over preparedness was the name of the game, though, and this was the safehouse of one of the best players.

"AB positive," he answered, still staring down at the wound.

"I'll be right back," Bobby promised before scurrying off to the bathroom, where the blood was stored in a fridge under the sink, and the first aid kit was in the cabinet over the toilet. He just had to remember the password to the blood cooler....