The Wild Woods (open)

[Lala & Reese Degreas]

One crack and he was motionless. How weak, the twins thought, nearly shaking their heads in disdain. Lala’s head tilted to the side, like a kind of beast listening in the distance. Their brain processed the sounds in the distance, but chalked it up to the disant city, or an animal, or the angry blood boiling in Reese’s hears. They were fairly certain Josh’s jaw hadn’t even broken. Not a broken bone in the man’s body (maybe a dislocated one) and he was still submitting. Weak. Reese punctuated the thought with a swift kick to Josh’s ribs as Lala rained down a barrage of punches on his face and shoulders.

The ribs splintered under the strength of the blow, cracking and breaking to varying degrees. The sound, to the twins, was almost as familiar as that of the gunshot. The bullet whizzed between them, pushing the girls apart with wide eyes. Someone had the guts to shoot at them? They looked incredulously in the direction of the attackers, Lala slowly rising to her feet. Their shoulders heaved in tandem. They blinked.

They felt pressure on their mind. Metas. Reese wanted to speak, but Lala’s lips were sealed tight. Metas didn’t belong helping humans. They belonged above them. The click of the hammer clearly voiced the other two’s opinion. They felt more pressure. And he was getting closer.
They were slightly disoriented, but recognized the mental attack. And before Sean could lay a hand on either of them, they flew apart, jumping at a level of agility and strength that normal people were not capable of. The landed nimbly near Cobalt’s side, glared at the trio of men with a devilish vehemence…

And were gone.

The two tore through the forest impossibly fast, recognizing danger where it was. This was a fight that they couldn’t win. Even a Gestalt Pair couldn’t win against a gun. They looked to each other as they bolted through the forest, taking the long way back to the compound. And they thought...they thought

“Sean Neville/Sean Neville.”

Gabe would need to know of this incident.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh inhaled sharply with each kick to his side, breathing in the alien smell of commingled dirt and pine needles and blood. His glasses had fallen away at last, but this was probably for the best; Lala would surely not be concerned if her punches resulted in glass poking out his eyes. Then again, they weren't likely to leave enough of him intact for anyone to identify anyway, so what was an eye or two? He certainly didn't have any time to consider such trivialities, awash in the pain and fear of the moment as he was.

Stabbing pain lanced through his body; he didn't connect this with broken ribs, instead wondering vaguely if the tips of her shoes had blades hidden in them. If he weren't so busy trying to protect his face from the quieter sister he would have felt for blood -- out of instinct, rather than thought, as pain left very little room for any other considerations. Even the sound of a gun, though foreign to him except through clips on the news, barely registered. There were other people, yelling, and while some part of him thought he ought to recognize the voices he couldn't make sense of what they were saying or whether or not they were here to help the twins.

But then, although it seemed like eons, the blows stopped coming; he braced for more, but after several seconds it became apparent that he was (for the moment) safe and he lowered his hands slowly, squinting at his surroundings both because he couldn't see as well without his glasses and because his eyes were already puffy and swollen. The pain in his sides was nearly unbearable, and he pressed both hands -- as they were now free -- against them without thinking, because somewhere in the subconscious part of his mind he equated pressure with alleviating pain, but instead it only made things worse and he cried out, moving as best he could to find a position that would lessen the pain -- it turned out that there wasn't one.

The two girls had, as far as he could tell, left for good and one of the newcomers was standing in front of him. He lifted his head gingerly, half afraid that the new person was going to continue the attack but even through pain and fear and black eyes he could just make out Sean's familiar features. This was comforting and confusing. What was Sean doing here? His brain refused to come up with an appropriate answer, still intent on reminding him that he was in pain.

There were no attempts at even acknowledging Sean was there aside from that shaky, distant mental question. Even attempting to stagger to his feet was, at the moment, beyond him.

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cobalt waited a moment longer after the Gestalt pair bounded away, tense and ready for something else to happen. After a moment, though, concern for his friend overcame his caution and, with shaking hands, he pocketed his gun and ran over to Josh’s prone body, skidding to his knees before him. He nearly cried when Josh raised his head slightly to look at Sean, so relieved that Josh was even still alive. “Hey, Josh.” Cobalt said, his voice uneven. Gently as he could, he pushed Josh’s hair away from his forehead, partially as a check for head wounds, partly as a reassurance that his friend was still alive. “Hey, I’m going to check you for breaks and stuff, it… may hurt a little. I’m so sorry.” Gently and carefully, Cobalt felt around his jawline (swollen, but not broken), his neck (fine, no swelling), his arms (no severe breaks that he could feel) and his torso (no swelling, so no discernable internal bleeding). He did, however, come across Josh’s broken ribs when his slight touch caused his friend to cry out and turn away. Cobalt removed his hands immediately. “Sorry. Sorry, you’re okay.”

He looked up at Sean, anger starting to replace his panic now that Josh was sufficiently not dead. “He’s got broken ribs. That much is obvious. There aren’t any breaks that I can tell, but I’m no expert and there’s a lot of bruising and I can’t tell what’s swelling from that, and swelling from what’s something bad.” He took a deep, steadying breath. He couldn’t get angry about this, not yet. He still needed to be rational. Josh still needed him to be rational. He looked down at Josh and took his hand, fingers gently stroking Josh’s wrist. This was unreal. He looked over a ways and saw Josh’s glasses, bent but more or less intact, on the forest floor. He reached over and pocketed them. “We need to get him to a hospital.” Cobalt said, still looking at Josh.

Giving Josh’s hand a gentle squeeze, he stood up painfully, his knees aching from the run and the time spent on the ground. His hands balled themselves into fists. He wanted to scream. “Let’s get him up to the van.” He muttered, anger and worry coiling hot in his stomach.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The girls looked somewhat familiar – like older versions of people he had seen before – but in Sean’s stress-addled state, he did not have the time to play the game of “where have I seen these two before?” He could match files when Josh was not lying on the ground bleeding in the middle of the woods. He had only been able to glean a little information from them, primarily their hatred for non-metas, which made him suspicious and did little to ease the paranoia that had already risen the moment he’d learned that Josh was missing. They recognized him, because he heard his full name, but that could be the result of either prior association, or of hearing about him through someone else. Namely Gabriel, which was a possibility he could neither discount nor verify, and distressed him as a result.

He acknowledged the other man’s assessment with a brief nod and made a decision to check Josh over in the car. Even if it involved removing his shirt, which he would try to avoid in front of a third party. Broken ribs were to be expected, and a miracle was in their favor if that and the bruising were the full extent of the injuries. Josh looked terrible, and Sean remained both sympathetic and livid.

Calmly, eerily so, Sean reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his van; he met Cobalt’s eyes briefly as he held the keys out to him. “You drive; I’ll be in the back with him.” His tone left no room for argument; he was calm, but he would bite if provoked. This was the result of nothing that Cobalt had done, but for now being in the middle of this scenario, and potentially being between the telepath and his closest friend. “When we get to the hospital, we’re going to want a Doctor Wechsler; he was one of my students, and he’ll keep this quiet.” That was important to Sean. More so that Ethan would let him stay in the treatment room while Josh was given care. He’d dropped the golf club, and he didn’t care about it at the moment; it could either be picked up or left behind and replaced later.

He then knelt beside his friend and reached out to brush back a lock of hair from his brow. His lips were set as a deep frown, as he made a quick survey of Josh’s injuries. Next he wrapped his arms around his friend and carefully lifted him up. He cradled Josh to his chest, creating what was perhaps the worst bastardization of the ending scene from An Officer and a Gentleman; the thought didn’t amuse the telepath. In this moment, he felt as though nothing might amuse him ever again.

Sean walked with purpose towards the van, which he had left unlocked. Upon reaching the vehicle, he shifted Josh in his arms enough to pop open the door and set his friend down comfortable along the back seat. He climbed in around him and settled beside him. Reaching out, he gently cupped his cheek and spoke softly. “I’m here, Slim, and you’re safe now.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Oh. Sean wasn't alone; Cobalt was here, too. He couldn't figure out why Sean and Cobalt were here, in the woods, but ultimately that didn't matter. They were here, and the two women were not, which meant that his heart rate could begin the slow descent from fear-driven to normal. Both Sean and Cobalt were friends, which meant they could be trusted regardless of whether or not they appeared out of nowhere, and if the two other men were mostly talking to one another instead of to him, well, he was too busy focusing on the fact that it hurt even to breathe to really object, and when Cobalt did address him he couldn't manage more than a groan in response -- until the other man prodded him in the side with more force than was necessary, which resulted in an involuntary yelp of pain and an attempt to cringe away from his friend's probing touch.

He disagreed with Cobalt's assessment that he was okay, and the comment (directed over his head, to Sean) immediately after that he had broken ribs confirmed that: broken ribs were not okay. That did mean he hadn't been stabbed by the toes of short-hair's boots; he still felt like he had been, though. His breath was coming out in short, ragged bursts in a subconscious attempt at pain management; deep, regular breathing was a luxury he would be avoiding until he had enough pain medication in his system to override the screeching message his nerves were sending.

When Sean knelt down beside him he had to resist the part of his brain that told him he should wave away the help and insist on getting up himself; he didn't need to impose on anyone else, because he knew he couldn't help himself up, at least not without excruciating pain (was more pain even possible?), and he really didn't want to stay there on the forest floor. He winced as he was picked up, but managed not to moan with the pain of movement this time.

He registered the short distance from where they were to the van with a distant sort of self-annoyance. If he'd realized how close he was to the edge of the woods he would never have needed to stop and ask for help. He sighed (which hurt) and closed his eyes, allowing his friends to discuss their course of action without complaint. As long as they chose an option that resulted in less pain and more sleep he would be (at least momentarily) satisfied.

The touch and the nickname -- familiar, though infrequently used in recent years -- caused him to open his eyes once more, squinting up into Sean's face. "Hey, Steve." He whispered back; he had never been a movie watcher, but he'd tolerated them on occasion when he and Sean were in college, and the result had been several teasing, personal nicknames. Most of those names had fallen out of favor after the break up, but it was comforting to hear them again now, when the world had decided to turn upside down on him. He appreciated the reassurances that he was safe, but the pronouncement that Sean was there (as if that wasn't obvious) begged the question, "....why are you here?"

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cobalt bristled at Sean’s ordering tone, but didn’t argue. Yet. Right now, the main priority was getting Josh back to the van. Grasping the keys in hand, he limped down the trail after Sean, adrenaline still pounding in his system, making him nauseous. He left the golf club on the forest floor without even thinking about it.

At Sean’s reasons for why he wanted that specific doctor, Cobalt stopped in his tracks. He stared at Sean’s back, anger and disbelief rolling around in his gut. Keep this quiet? Why would Sean want to keep the severe beating of his friend secret? Why wouldn’t be want justice for what happened to Josh? In Cobalt’s mind, his suspicions were basically confirmed: there was something going on here. Something serious and something that was being kept under wraps. And knowing Sean, it was almost certainly had something to do with Hammel. So furious he almost couldn’t see straight, Cobalt opened his mouth to say something (what, he didn’t know, since he was far too angry to actually make words), but they’d cleared the woods and the van came into view. So Cobalt held his tongue, reminding himself that the priority right now was Josh and getting him safe.

Leaving Sean to get Josh situated, Cobalt circled round the front of the car, pulled open the front door and hauled himself up into the seat. It was then that Cobalt realized that because Sean’s legs were considerably longer than his, he couldn’t quite reach the gas and break pedals. Shaking with fury mostly pointed inward, and not knowing what to do with it, Cobalt reached under the seat and pulled it forward with quick, jerky movements.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Cobalt started the van up and pulled away, trying not to jostle Josh around too much. Cobalt glanced in the rear view mirror at the pair in the back. Sean and Josh were talking in hushed tones and he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. As angry (and, yes, scared) as he was, he let them finish their conversation before glancing at Sean.

“So tell me, Sean.” Cobalt growled, his voice cold, “What kind of shit have you and Hammel gotten into that you want to keep this quiet?” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I mean, if Josh wanted to keep this quiet, then there would be no issue here. That’s his choice. I guess I don’t see how you have the right to decide that anyways, and frankly, I’m still waiting for one goddamn reason I shouldn’t go to the police, or some enforcement better equipped to handle this, and try to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Dammit Sean, I don’t care if you don’t think this is my business. This” Cobalt nodded at Josh, “Situation has kind of made it my business.” Deep down, he knew it was far more complicated than that. He knew. But he wasn’t about to give Sean the benefit of the doubt right now. Not when, as far as Cobalt was concerned, Sean was choosing to protect Hammel over his friend.

Cobalt’s arms were shaking still as he drove down the street. Two stoplights to go and they would be at the hospital.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was almost touched by the fact that Josh returned the endearment, calling him Steve like he used to; actually, he was touched but the emotion was kept in check by the situation that prompted it. At least his friend was able to recognize his voice and presence, and he was clear-minded enough kept his voice low, keeping calm for Josh’s benefit and because that was how he always was in the aftermath of crisis: calm, cool, collected...unnerving in how out of place he often looked. “Cobalt called me to say that you weren’t answering your phone, even though you’d been good about it lately,” he explained, as he unbuttoned Josh’s shirt and spread it apart to assess his torso. Work shirts were useful in how simple they were to get off, something that Sean had noted before for very different reasons.

He managed not to flinch when he saw Josh’s chest, but he wanted to find those women and make them face what they had done to an innocent man. Although he had seen worse during his career, this was Josh and so every bruise was magnified ten-fold to him. “I got worried after I tried calling, and then I hit the streets. I took off the rest of the day and everything.” That wasn’t said to guilt him, only to demonstrate that Josh had his full time and attention.

Or he would have his full attention if Sean didn’t have to deal with loathing and profanity from the other occupant of the van. Cobalt was lashing out at him unfairly, and worse yet, he was making a scene in front of Josh, who already had enough stress today; he didn’t need to hear the two of them arguing. And while the telepath was usually respectful of personal boundaries, he had no other options because it was the best of his available options. Thus he split his attention and a second later, he was in Cobalt’s mind, admonishing him for trying to rob his friend of what little privacy he might have and for seeing demons that didn’t exist. Keeping it quiet preserves his options for when he’s no longer bleeding and in agony. Not keeping it quiet robs him of the choice to keep it quiet, because then it’s out of his – and everyone else’s – hands at that point. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle.

As for what keeps you from going to the police, nothing beyond basic human decency. You’re not going to go now, because Josh needs to get to the hospital first and foremost. And if you want to go from there, then you’ll have to go on foot or call a cab, because you won’t take my van for the task. If you do choose to be completely impulsive and go, neither you nor the police will be allowed into his hospital room for what good it will do you. There was a brief pause in the mental diatribe while the psychiatrist brought his hand to press lightly on Josh’s side, above three ribs. Voice soft, completely lacking any indication of the cool tone of his telepathic conversation with Cobalt, he said, “Tell me if this causes any sharper pain.” He didn’t doubt for a moment that ribs were broken, but he wanted to isolate which ones before they reached the hospital; that would cut down on time wasted in diagnoses and would let Ethan start on treatment immediately. He shifted in the backseat, moving around Josh's body; although it was illegal, he had opted not to wear a seatbelt so he had freedom of movement and could offer the other man tender care and gentle comfort through touch.

And although I’m grateful that you called to alert me to this situation, that doesn’t give you a free pass to be needlessly and thoughtlessly cruel. You don’t know me well enough to even pretend to make an educated guess as to my motives, and so you’re letting your prejudices shine through. It’s neither fair nor charming. You can dislike my job, you can dislike me as a result of my job or for the myriad other reasons people dislike me, but you have no right to question my devotion to my closest friend. And what happens at my job is no more your business than what happens at your job is my business, even when you have a trial in session. My professional life and private life are separate, and you’ve stumbled headfirst into my private life. More was the pity for that.

He added one last remark to make certain that the younger man understood the rules from here on out. You might be sitting behind the wheel, but trust me when I say that you’re just along for the ride this afternoon. With his free hand, he began to stroke Josh's hair, as he had often done before the breakup - and idly afterward whenever he was in a position to do so, usually when Josh was drunk or drifting off to sleep; if it would help him sleep now, all the better.

[Joshua Bernstein]

".....oh." Josh exhaled at Sean's explanation of why he and Cobalt had showed up so unexpectedly, uncertain whether he ought to be grateful or ashamed that he'd slipped back into forgetful habit and forgotten to recharge his phone. On the one hand, this had resulted in his rescue. On the other, would he have encountered the twins at all if he'd charged his phone in the first place? Too late for regrets, now; what was done was done. At least his friends had been concerned enough to search for him; as much as he hated worrying them, he hated to think what would have happened if they hadn't arrived. "I'm glad you came..."

He grimaced at Cobalt's outburst, managing a hoarse, "No, don't call anyone." In most situations he would have supported his friend's decision to alert the proper authorities: While he was a fan of activism he was less inclined toward vigilantism, preferring to pursue justice through legal channels, and the merest whiff of hate crime would ordinarily have him running to preach tolerance from the mountain tops. But now....now he felt reluctance tugging at the corners of his mind, reluctance born not of a desire to keep his privacy but instead sprung from an uncomfortable suspicion that any hint of this attack would be a set back for his cause. "Don't want an anti-meta backlash." He muttered darkly, scowling up at the roof of the car at the thought that he could be the cause of such a sever setback; he could already see the headlines in his mind: meta rights activist attacked by meta supremacists. That was the last thing the meta rights movement needed.

He shared the other attorney's dislike of Hammel's policies, but unlike the younger man he had every reason to assume that Sean had his best interests at heart, not his employer's. Even had he not strongly agreed with his best friend that this be kept quiet he would have assumed his decision was made in good faith rather than a desire to hide Hammel's failings. Fortunately that line of conversation appeared to die when Sean failed to respond -- Josh wasn't in a state of mind to consider telepathy as an option, and thus was oblivious to the fact that hostilities were being traded over his head.

"OW. Ow. You don't have to poke that hard." Apparently the answer to the question Can I be in any more pain? was a Definitely yes, if people keep prodding at me, I can be. He was sure that Sean had very good reason for poking at him; he was, after all, trained in the medical field, and it wasn't likely he would be asking about increased pain and then poking for fun, but it still went completely against Josh's objective to be in less pain.

Very fortunately the older man seemed quickly satisfied -- or, at least, he seemed to figure out whatever he was looking for -- and he ceased poking at his ribs and instead turned his attention to Josh's hair. This was far less painful and, while he had been known to object to this at times with protestations that he was a grown man, not a pet, there were other times he was perfectly happy to allow Sean this show of affection. Now was one of them: Now it wasn't a sign he was on less than equal footing with his friend; now it was a signal that he could close his eyes and cease talking and allow someone else to worry about things like getting him to the hospital, because broken ribs and dislocated jaw and bruised face and the jerkiness of the transportation were all beginning to be too much for him to keep his focus on talking and pretending to feel even remotely okay.

Someone else could be in charge. For now.

[Cobalt Weaver]

At the sudden invasion of Sean’s presence in his mind, Cobalt jumped, only just managing to keep the wheel steady. Are you stupid? He thought angrily, waiting for his pounding heart to settle, Don’t do that without warning when I’m driving, you idiot, I could have crashed. He listened to Sean’s diatribe with mounting anger—as if he didn’t have enough already—and with his mind racing. The theme of this rant seemed to be “there is something going on you don’t understand, so shut up”, but that never really stopped Cobalt. Especially not when his friend was hurting in the backseat of a van and there were pieces of the situation that were missing. This whole damn thing didn’t make any sense and Cobalt didn’t like it.

First off. Cobalt snapped mentally, You are not the only person in this car who cares about Josh. You may have known him much longer and you definitely have a claim that I do not, but that doesn’t mean that you can even imply that anything I do right now isn’t out of concern for my friend. Do you understand that? Cobalt didn’t wait for a reply, not really expecting one anyways. He continued, And secondly. Dammit, Sean, this is wrong. This was a hate crime: two metahumans attacking a non-meta, you know what that is. You and I have both been closely acquainted with these kinds of things and you know that keeping quiet isn’t the way to handle these things! You know this, and believe it or not, I actually respect you and the work you do at Hammel. So why the change of philosophy? Especially here; especially with Josh. I know you love him and I know he loves you. I may lack social graces, but I’m not blind, Sean. I see the way you two look at each other. That’s why this doesn’t make any sense. Why don’t you want to make sure this doesn’t happen again? He drove past the last stoplight, the hospital’s parking lot in sight.

In this instance, I’m even more disinterested in being fair and charming than I ever am, Cobalt thought, glaring at the street before him, This isn’t exactly—

His rant was cut off by Josh’s protestation, weak as it was, expressing concern about anit-meta backlash. As if that even mattered at all in this situation. Not caring if Sean was still in his head or not, Cobalt fiercely crushed down the urge to tell Josh that he didn’t give a shit about the meta rights movement, or how the public saw it, or if it set back everything he had worked for. Not when it was his friend who’d been hurt. Instead, he said, “Okay Josh. Whatever you say. Don’t worry about anything right now, okay?” His voice wavered at the end of the sentence, and he hoped nobody noticed.

Well, he thought to Sean, pulling into the hospital parking lot, That’s not an issue anymore. I won’t say anything. But there’s something wrong here, Sean. And unfortunately for both of us, our private lives are kind of clumped together for the time being. Unfortunately for you, this is definitely now my business.

“We’re here.” Cobalt announced aloud, pulling the van to the front and leaping out to open the back door for Josh and Sean.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“Not half as glad as I am,” Sean told him; his words weren’t a challenge, and they weren’t an attempt at lightening the mood, either, since he felt there was no viable way to lighten the mood. Not until Josh was safely at the hospital. Instead, he wanted to convey to his friend just how glad he was that they had intervened, because he could not fathom the alternative. Despite how they had both reached the threshold of five decades, he still felt them too young to seriously contemplate the world without one another in it; even now, his mind rebelled at the thought.

Although an anti-meta backlash was a possibility from reporting the attack, it also wasn’t Sean’s concern. It was a concern, insofar as it could come back and make problems for a group to which he belonged, but that wasn’t a reason not to report the incident. Sean had far more practical and less personal reasons for preferring not to report the incident: he didn’t believe filing a report would achieve anything. The Board had filed a report after James had been attacked, and nothing had been done. Months had passed and there had been no updates; whenever Sean had inquired on behalf of Hammel, he had received a brush off. Although it was theoretically possible that the police simply didn’t care because it was a meta-on-meta incident, Hammel’s sponsorship made that unlikely. More possible was that one or all of the local police were either on the take or otherwise affiliated with Gabriel, and if that was so – and the gestalt pair that had almost killed Josh was with Gabriel as he suspected and couldn’t rule out – then filing a report would yield no results. Worse than that, it would put Josh’s personal information into Gabriel’s hands, putting his friend at even greater risk; Sean couldn’t allow that. Fortunately, Josh didn’t want a report filed. “We won’t call anyone,” he promised his friend; thankfully, Cobalt also made that promise, creating one fewer point of conflict. If nothing else, the other man should concede that the telepath knew his friend well.

“I’m sorry to say that I’m not poking very hard,” Sean informed him solemnly, although after a moment more of feeling around, he stopped; he had more precise information to give Ethan now. “I also wish I could give you something, but I don’t want to create complications later. We’ll be there soon.” With that, he settled back on the task of stroking Josh’s hair affectionately, letting his thumb brush his temple every so often. They simply needed to make it to the hospital, set Josh’s injuries and pump him full of painkillers. Already, Sean was preparing his leave of absence request and plotting what to tell Josh’s mother; he’d take care of it for his friend, because Josh had to concentrate on recovering now. Josh had been through enough, and Sean could pick up the slack.

The other attorney was fortunate that Sean could handle having his intelligence called into question and the occasional abusive nickname without taking offense; otherwise, there would be an issue. Instead he let it slide; his problem was that he was so used to being at Hammel or otherwise around people who knew that he was a telepath and expected mental contact at a moment’s notice that he took it for granted. Thankfully, Cobalt didn’t lose control of the van and they remained on their course, everyone alive and safe...enough.

I know you care about him, and I’m grateful. It doesn’t change the fact that you’ve decided I’m putting Hammel policy before his needs. That’s the problem here; you’re questioning my motivations and putting words in my mouth. There hasn’t been a change of philosophy, and I am doing everthing I can for him, because he’s my best friend. And because he loved Josh, not that it came as a surprise, since Cobalt had just said as much. And I don’t dispute that it’s a hate crime, but the point is also settled; there’s no sense arguing about what’s already been decreed. As for what is and isn’t your business, Josh’s immediate safety is your business. Being aware of your surroundings is your business; us being here together is your business. My professional life isn’t, and I would thank you to stop making mention of Hammel in what is very much a personal situation. He stopped there, because Cobalt announced that they had arrived, and he didn’t want to argue about this; he wanted Josh to be cared for.
As soon as they reached the E.R. drive-up, Sean closed his eyes briefly, searching for Ethan’s mind; fortunately, he was on duty, and the telepath quickly communicated the situation. He didn’t smile when he received the young man’s compliance, but he was greatful. Aloud, he said, “We’re expect now. Everything will be all right.” He trusted Ethan’s medical skills.

When Cobalt opened the back door, Sean slid out first, careful to not disrupt Josh in the slightest. He murmured a “thank you,” to Cobalt for the help, and then reached back into the van, carefully sliding Josh over and then taking him in his arms. He walked carefully but with purpose, entering the E.R. Ethan was out there to meet them, and Sean grabbed the admission paperwork on the way to the back of the E.R., to a private room.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh nodded once (and immediately regretted it) to acknowledge that he appreciated why Sean couldn't give him anything; he doubted his friend carried any medication strong enough to relieve this pain, anyway. What to tell his mother (and by extension his siblings) hadn't yet crossed his mind; the only reason he had at all thought about not reporting this to the authorities was because Cobalt had brought it up.

Expected? How could they be....oh. Of course. Telepathy was so useful sometimes. He hoped that meant they wouldn't have to wait, because although at this point he was no longer worried about dying he really just wanted the pain to end, or at least to be dulled enough that he could sleep. As it was, that was all his mind could focus on: Pain. And more pain. He wasn't sure if he was glad or not that Sean kept talking; on the one hand, it was something to think about other than how much he hurt. On the other, it meant he had to actually rouse his brain to concentrate, which it didn't want to do, even when the concepts Sean was discussing were nothing more complex than you're safe.

Josh was very fortunate that Sean knew him well enough to fill out medical paperwork for him; he wasn't in any condition to do it for himself at the moment. He was also fortunate that Sean knew the doctor in question and was willing to do what little explaining needed to be done. He wasn't going to argue that he could answer himself; the fact that his friend was willing to discuss for him was a relief, and allowed him to relax as far as he was capable.

On the less fortunate side was the recovery time for broken ribs: Six to ten weeks? And on a ridiculously high dosage of pain killers, to boot. And with the possibility of pneumonia. He had to remind himself that all of this was better than being dead, though he silently vowed to return to work sooner rather than later: Even the idea of being trapped in his house without human companionship was torture. He wasn't sure he would be able to endure one week of that, let alone six to ten. Not that he would be entirely devoid of human interaction; he knew that Sean and Cobalt and his mother and probably some of his other friends and acquaintances would come visit, but he couldn't expect them to hang around all day long, particularly as he doubted he would be fun company should the drugs knock him out of it like Ethan seemed to expect.

For the moment, however, it was enough that his friends had (quite miraculously, in his mind) saved him and that the doctor had managed to quell the pain at least temporarily. Cobalt had already left -- he did have work; Leila might get on to him if he didn't return in a timely manner -- which left Sean to help him back to the van alone.

The trip home was mercifully less painful (and less full of unexpected jolting) than the trip to the hospital and it included an invitation to recuperate at Sean's house rather than at his own as well as an offer to lie to Josh's mother, who was going to have to be told something. Both plans were met with no resistance; he would have to find someone to look after Mopsy (maybe Cobalt would do it) but otherwise that laid all his fears about getting about by himself or picking up prescriptions to rest, and his family could know he was incapacitated without knowing the exact circumstances. He felt as if he ought to be apologetic that Sean was going through this much trouble, but he was glad the telepath was willing to help him. In theory he'd known this would be the case, just as he would have cared for Sean had their positions been reversed. In practice, he wasn't always comfortable with letting Sean take charge.

The medication Ethan had given him to tide him over until they could pick up a proper prescription was already making him feel drowsy as they made their way up the driveway, but he was determined to stay awake at least until they'd made it into the house.

"Steve." He yawned, pleased to note the sensation accompanying this was more along the lines of a dull ache than acute pain. "Thank you."

For being my friend. For rescuing me. For bringing me home.

(wrapped/tags to wrap)