#like it’s been peeled off the body and looked at abjectly

[spittingstar]

….

[antlerscolorado]

chapter 7, part 5

CONTENT WARNING: This update contains descriptions of gore.

They’re only fifteen, maybe ten, minutes from home, and Landis still sounds like he’s hyperventilating. Walker can’t see into the front of the car to know for sure. He’s stretched out in the back seat, trying not to let any external stimuli break his focus and loosen his hold on the wound he’s plugging up. Ripples of pain radiate outwards from his shoulder as he fights to keep compression on it with an unsteady hand. Walker squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard, and pushes against the blood trying to flow out of his body, using his powers to force it away from the bullet still stuck inside of him.

That’s twice that a fucking DPR tactic saved my ass today, he thinks grimly, tucking his legs a little closer to his body, Usually his powers are like a third limb - he doesn’t even have to think about turning them on, or do more than consider an object to pick it up and send it across the room. But he’s been slipping in and out of semi-consciousness for the last leg of the trip, as the shock starts to wear off, and it’s starting to take a toll on him physically. He’s not so sure how long he can keep it up.

“Can you just gun it?” Walker asks Landis. He feels something warm and viscous start to drip out of his nose and for a brief, crazy second wonders if his brain is starting to melt. He gingerly touches his upper lip with two fingers, moving them away from his face to inspect them. Just blood. Could be worse.

“I really think you should go to the hospital,” Landis says, his voice high and uneven. Nonetheless, the car gradually starts to increase in speed, and he even runs a red light before making a wide, sweeping turn into the apartment complex parking lot. If Walker wasn’t in so much pain, he might have found it in him to be impressed.

“Nah,” Walker says, as Landis’s car careens into a space. “I’ve been shot before. S’okay.”

The car doors click as they unlock, and Walker pushes one open with a combination of his foot and some sloppy power work that nearly yanks the door out into the lot. He slides his body out and stands up slowly, leaning on the car until Landis comes around from the driver’s side to act as his crutch. Walker’s shirt is plastered to his body with sweat and blood, but at least being out of the claustrophobic back seat makes him feel a little less like throwing up.

“My apartment,” he grunts, slinging his good arm around Landis’s shoulders as they approach the front doors to the complex. “Let’s go.”

Landis makes a small noise of protest - he’s very pale, and looks about as sweaty as Walker feels - but doesn’t actually say anything while Walker drags him across the lobby to the elevator. Walker punches the Up button and the doors slide open almost instantly. He steps on, careful not to pull Landis around too roughly, and stares at the button panel inside, the numbers starting to swim before his eyes.

“Here,” Landis says, and pushes one of them.

“Thanks,” Walker says. He adjusts his position against Landis, raising his wounded shoulder a little, and winces at the jolt of pain that shoots all the way down his arm. “Listen, you’re gonna have to help patch me up. I have to make some calls.” Landis eyes him. “Calls?”

“To the DPR,” Walker says. “I want to know more about the guys Jenny’s with before we go back there. I mean, I probably should have had them looking into it before we went in the first place, but -”

“Before we go back?” Landis’s voice rises even more, and cracks. “Walker, we can’t go back there, you -”

“Look, we have two options,” Walker says. The elevator stops, chiming to announce their arrival, and he nudges Landis towards the doors as they open. “We go back there before they move on down the road, and we get Austin, or we let them deliver Austin to whoever’s paying them, and we maybe don’t see Austin again, ever. If you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Landis is quiet the whole way down the hall. Walker can’t tell if he’s honestly thinking about a plan, or just declining to answer because he doesn’t feel like arguing. It could be either, or it could be both.

“Keys,” Landis says finally, once they stop in front of Walker’s apartment door. He holds his hand out expectantly, and Walker blinks stupidly for a moment before it occurs to him what Landis is asking him for.

Right. Keys. He digs his hand in his pocket, hissing as pain lances up and down it again from the movement of his shoulder, and draws out his keyring. Landis takes it and unlocks the door. He lets Walker keep using him as a crutch, carefully steering the two of them into the living room, patiently stooping to let Walker sit down on the couch without incident.

“Thanks,” Walker says through gritted teeth. He wrestles his cell phone out of his other pocket, but the pain is making it hard to even focus on navigating to his Contacts screen. He drops it next to him on the couch. Guess I’ll deal with that later.

“Do I have to get the bullet out, and, uh, stitch you up?” Landis asks. He’s obviously trying to make the question casual, but his voice sounds abjectly horrified by the idea of having to perform minor surgery. Walker can’t help but laugh.

“No, no, I just need a few things. There’s a pack of big bandages and some antiseptic behind the bathroom mirror - grab those. And if there’s any ibuprofen left, get that, too.”

Landis nods and scurries away. After he’s out of sight, audibly rifling around in the bathroom, Walker lets out a long, slow breath and leans back against the couch. It’ll be better if he doesn’t have to see this.

He looks down at his shoulder out of the corner of his eye, at the hole punched clean through his t-shirt and his skin. His powers are still blocking any blood from coming out, but now Walker redirects them, taking hold of the bullet and beginning to slowly pull it loose. The pain is excruciating. Walker finds himself gasping, blood, tears and spit streaming down his face as the bullet comes out, a fraction of an inch at a time. Once it’s free, spat out onto the rug, covered in some bodily chunks that Walker doesn’t care to recognize, the hole feels strangely empty.

“I’ll take that,” he says hoarsely as Landis comes back into the living room, tugging the bottle of ibuprofen safely into his own hands. He twists the cap off and shakes four pills out into his palm, shoving them into his mouth. When was the last time I ate? Should get on that soon so I don’t puke.

“Uh,” Landis says, gesturing vaguely with the box of bandages and the bottle of antiseptic. “What should I -”

“I can do it,” Walker says. He peels his shirt off, grimacing, and dumps it on the floor. “I just need - actually, never mind -”

He can see the roll of paper towels from his vantage point, staring through the window set into the wall that separates living room and kitchen. Grabbing just a few sheets is out of the question at this point, so Walker just brings the whole roll along for the ride, nearly clipping Landis in the head with it as it wobbles by.

“Okay, I need a favor,” he says to Landis, wadding up a fistful of paper towels and pouring antiseptic on them.

“What’s the favor?” Landis asks, a hint of trepidation in his voice.

Walker cleans up his shoulder first, before answering, wincing a little as he mops up the blood to reveal a dark bruise ringing the bullet hole. He clenches his teeth tightly even before he applies antiseptic to the hole itself, but even steeling himself for the pain isn’t enough to keep him from twitching and groaning as he presses down with the wad of paper towels. It almost hurts worse than being shot in the first place.

“My phone,” he says, gesturing as best as he can to where it sits on the couch cushion. “I need you to go into my contacts, find the one labeled -”

“Actually, I was thinking about that,” Landis interrupts, tugging his wallet out of the back pocket of his pants. “About saving Austin, I mean. Making a better plan.” He opens his wallet, peers inside for a second, and takes out a square piece of paper with a design on it that Walker can’t quite make out. “I think I know how we can beat those guys at the motel.”  

7.4 || 7.6