damned_institute | Nightshift 40: M71-M80 Hallway

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Nightshift 40: M71-M80 Hallway

Peter scrambled to put on a calm facade. He had his moments as an actor, but sadly, this wasn't one of them. "I'm fine. I just forgot something." Brainy was just trying to be nice, but there was no point in dumping his problems on him. He didn't want the other boy to think he was a burden (which he wasn't), and there was nothing to be done about Harry except run as fast as he could to M98, and hope to god that Eddie hadn't been reading the bulletin board.

The intercom sounded, and he nearly vaulted straight from his chair to the door. His hand clasped around the handle, then suddenly faltered. Flashlight. Right. There was the radio and the map, too, he couldn't leave without those.

The tray was carefully set aside as he lifted the top of his desk. Well, there was the radio, just like that guy had said. And for some inexplicable reason, his map had been set next to it. Who put it there? He'd been keeping it tucked in his waistband...

He shook his head. No time for that. He quickly strode around his bed and lifted the pillow away. There was nothing there. Not even a flashlight shaped dent. Baffled, he began to tug the sheets off, then dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. Still nothing.

"Um, this may sound crazy, but have you seen a flashlight around here somewhere?"

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Clark spasmed awake and wished he hadn't.

At first he had no idea where he was, what was going on, only that something had dug itself into his stomach and sliced. His good hand instinctively jerked toward the deep, bleeding wound as he screamed...but this time there wasn't enough energy for the heat vision, just enough to try to shrink back, though there was nowhere else to go with the floor at his back and his life bleeding out of him from the large wound. His eyes flew open, unseeing in the dark as the scream trailed over into a broken moan. Blood was quickly covering his whole stomach, spreading in a pool of red that spilled over toward the shield-shaped scar burned into his chest. Blood trickled more freely from his mouth as he futilely tried to cover the cut with his hand.

Clark forgot all about Grell, Luxord and Brainy. He knew he'd just been badly hurt, but there was a part of him that somehow couldn't believe it. His breathing had begun to become irregular, weak and rapid as shock began to set in, and Clark gasped loudly on the floor in the dark, face even more pale than before. It felt like every conscious thought in his head froze in its tracks, with just room for the thoughts of how much it hurt. Clark had no idea if he blacked out again or just grayed out. He had no concept of time right now, just this feeling of agony overwhelming him.

He'd picked the wrong card? Clark's life hung in the balance, and he'd picked the wrong card?

"No, wait," he said frantically, trying to pull his arm out of Luxord's grip. There had to be another way, something he could offer them... His eyes widened as Grell crossed the hall to where Clark was lying, unconscious, unable to defend himself, and gently patted the Kryptonian's cheek. "...please don't do this."

His eyes locked with Grell's, desperately hoping there was some way he could make the man stop, but like that night where they'd first met, there was no compassion there at all. The light glinted of the blade of the scalpel as it rose...

And fell. Brainiac 5 was already screaming as it plunged into Clark, as though somehow his voice alone would be able to stop what was happening before his eyes. But all it seemed to do was drive Grell on, and the Clark jerked awake and screamed in pain, his voice trailing off into a sick groan and was somehow much, much worse than the moment Grell had stabbed his friend. Brainiac 5 was barely aware of Luxord letting him go and Grell suggesting they leave. His eyes were locked on Clark and the spreading blood from his wound.

The pain from his own injuries was a distant ache as he forced himself to move to his friend's side. Up close, Clark's wound looked even worse. He had to find a way to stop the bleeding, stop Clark from going into shock too badly, get help... If he could get help, he could get Clark to the chapel and save him. Brainiac 5 would gladly take the wound in his place if that was what it took. This was his fault after all. He hadn't needed Grell to tell him that much. He'd nearly killed Superman once before because he hadn't been strong enough to fight against his ancestor, and now was he going to lose Clark as well?

No. He wasn't going to allow that to happen. Not now, not ever. "Clark," he croaked, coughed, and tried again. "Clark, you have to wake up! Please!"

Perhaps that had been a bit more amusing than he had previously thought, yes. He had almost begun laughing at all the screaming, but he somehow held it in, determined to not ruin this little horror show. Not that Brainiac would ever notice anything other than his precious Clark at the moment, but it was the principal of the thing.

At Grell's signal, the Nobody was moving to his side, holding his arm (with his non-injured shoulder) to the god as he had earlier. "That sounds like a splendid idea, my lady. As it is, this smoke is beginning to irritate me."

He always did love a good slaughter. He would have enjoyed a good fight much more, but Clark had been a difficult one to rile. Tomorrow, however, would bring so much fun. Perhaps he'd even dress for the occasion, inasmuch as the pesky nurses would let him, of course.

Taking Luxord's offered arm, Grell turned his back on the bloody scene and smiled. His work was done, so he had no reason to stay around any longer. Death just wasn't as interesting when he didn't have a Record to watch. "Isn't it though? Smoke is terrible for the complexion. Let's find some clearer air, hm?"

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/608066.html?thread=51193666#t51193666)]

Clark's voice was weak, shaky. He wasn't sure if he was awake, the taste of his own blood in his throat feeling like it was going to choke him.

"...Brainy?"

He tried to make sense of what was going on, his eyes barely open, unfocused. Something told him he recognized that voice. Everything hurt and while he knew that bizarre scar on his chest was burning, glowing like dying embers, it was really the least of it all. Clark's hand ghosted up toward the deep gash crossing his stomach, flopping up as if trying to cover it or keep his life from bleeding out. His memory of what had just happened was a mess, in patches and with just flashes of pain, voices, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Clark's skin was cold to the touch, movements lethargic.

"Clark!" Relief was clear in his voice, but while Clark was still conscious now, he'd have to move quickly to try and keep him that way. "Try and stay awake," he said, his voice rough from emotion and the smoke. "You've... been badly hurt."

He had to stop the bleeding. Clark wouldn't have a chance and couldn't be moved if he didn't find a way to bind the wounds Grell had left. Moving on automatic, Brainiac 5 began to peel back Clark's shirt, but stopped when he saw the odd glowing symbol there. It was Kryptonian... the symbol for the House of El? Why would Clark have that burned on his chest?

He could find out later. Muttering vague apologies under his breath, Brainiac 5 tore what remained of Clark's shirt off and wadded it up, pressing it against the wound. His friend's blood began to soak it almost immediately; too much, he realised. Clark was losing too much. And without any supplies, he wouldn't be able to stop the blood flow easily... Desperately he looked around for something else, and finally, with some difficulty, pulled off his own shirt and pressed that to the wound as well, pressing down firmly to try and stop the blood.

Clark moaned as Brainy applied something to his stomach, the pain spiking. He saw spots bursting before his eyes, back arching a little under the other patient's touch. His skin was even more pale now under a sheen of sweat as he closed his eyes, having to struggle to open them again when he remembered Brainy asked him to stay awake. Clark feebly coughed as he inhaled some of the smoke in the hall, more blood flecking his lips.

"Are you okay?" Clark mumbled, words slurred. He didn't know if Brainy heard him, but from what he could remember about what happened, he had no idea why Grell and Luxord would just leave Brainy alone tonight when they'd gone after him the last couple of nights.

"I'm fine," he answered shakily. It was just like Clark to worry more about other's safety than his own, even when he was bleeding out all over the floor... A sob escaped his throat before he got control of himself again. The shirts weren't doing anything to stop the bleeding and he had nothing else to work with; they needed help. Someone who could help get Clark to the chapel, and then everything would be alright. He'd make sure of it.

Taking as deep a breath as he could in the smoky hallway (which had to be making things worse for Clark but there wasn't much else he could do about that now), Brainiac 5 put as much effort as he could into shouting; "Please, somebody! We need help!" He broke off, coughing slightly. "...please..."

Clark's eyes were starting to drift closed again. With a sinking feeling, Brainiac 5 realised he'd already done everything he could think of, all he could do now was hope someone would hear him and come to help. Until then, he'd have to try and keep Clark awake and alive on his own.

His hands were shaking as he reached out and took one of Clark's hands - it was so cold in his - and gently lifted his friend's head onto his lap. "This is all my fault," he said softly. "Y-you were going to tell me about Smallville..."

Clark flinched as his broken finger was jostled, unable to return the gesture with the stab wound in his wrist. All he could manage was a feeble twitch of his fingers around Brainy's hand.

"Smallville?" Clark echoed. He seemed to have trouble following Brainy at first, closing his eyes for a long moment before opening them. It took an effort to focus himself on what Brainy was asking: there was a part of him that somehow knew Brainy was trying to distract him, but he was relieved it was a big enough distraction to actually work. He asked about home. "It's...small, I guess."

He trailed off, not knowing or caring he was just stating the obvious. The Kryptonian swallowed thickly, trying very hard not to choke on the blood in his mouth.

"My...my Mom and Dad, we all live on a farm," Clark mumbled. His fingers twitched against uselessly in Brainy's hand, his touch clammy. "Lots of cows. Fields. Not like here."

Used to run through the endless corn fields all the time. Despite how fast he could move - and he had to at least try a little to beat the bus when he kept missing it - he always remembered somehow what it looked like running through the fields, cutting a line through the corn and feeling the leaves slapping against his clothes.

His own fingers tightened in response to Clark's attempt to reassure him, but he loosened his grip almost immediately when he remembered how damaged that hand was. The last thing he wanted was to cause Clark more pain.

He swallowed hard as Clark talked about home, his voice sounding distant and too weak. It was clear that Clark missed his parents and home and... Brainiac 5 was afraid that he wouldn't get the chance to see either of them again.

"It sounds so... different from my own world. But in a good way. Colu isn't..." He sniffed and took a deep breath, trying to keep from just breaking down over Clark. He couldn't do that, not when his friend needed him to be strong, to believe that somehow everything would work out... But it isn't going to is it? He shook his head, dismissing the all-too-familiar voice and glared at the blood on Clark's mouth, wiping it away with his hand.

Clark, I..."

He almost didn't say anything, but... he felt like he should try and be honest with his closest friend. Because he might not get another chance.

"...I lied to you. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes. "I said I didn't know anything about Krypton's destruction but... I do. I know exactly what happened."

Speaking about Smallville, feeling what it felt like to bleed out on the floor, Clark was hit with the worst feeling he'd ever felt, aside from knowing he couldn't just shake this off like he normally would. He was gonna die.

And he wouldn't ever get to see Mom and Dad again, or his family. They'd still think he'd just vanished one night. They'd never know what happened.

Fresh tears began to glimmer at the edges of Clark's eyes as it sank in.

But what Brainy admitted next was enough to make him pause when he finally understood what he was saying. Clark's head turned slightly toward Brainy, his eyes glazed over with pain and struggling to remain conscious.

"What?"

Brainiac 5 turned his gaze away, not wanting to meet Clark's eyes now or see the tears there. Ones he'd no doubt caused, either through getting Clark involved in this situation in the first place or by what he'd just revealed.

But even if he did decide to keep the truth from his friend, he couldn't go back now. He'd said too much.

"I... didn't want you to find out the truth right away because..." He half-sobbed, half-coughed and tried not to notice the fresh tears in his own eyes. Like somehow looking away and pretending they weren't there would make them invisible to Clark as well.

"I didn't want you to hate me when we'd only just met." He managed another deep breath, trying to calm himself but his hand was clutching Clark's tightly. "But the truth is..." His voice became painfully soft, almost mimicking Clark's though he didn't realise it.

"It was because of my ancestor."

Edited 2009-04-29 09:20 (UTC)

Clark couldn't think of what to say. A lot of it was probably the blood loss, the pain, but another was that he had no idea how to process something this big. How could....how could one person destroy an entire planet? Clark stared up at Brainy, barely able to make him out in the darkness, and choked back another cough bubbling up in his chest, blood trickling down the corners of his mouth as he tried to come to terms with this. Try as he might, he just couldn't. It was too big.

"How..." Clark's voice failed him, so quiet he could barely even hear himself. He coughed up more blood this time, weakly trying again. "How come you're telling me this?"

Why would Brainy's ancestor do that? Why had he lied? Clark closed his eyes, feeling suddenly so tired and unable to cope with this new information. He was having enough trouble staying awake to begin with, nevermind trying to process something as big as someone saying they somehow blew up your home planet and every other Kryptonian out there.

The question surprised Brainiac 5 and made him stop, eyes unfocused and fixed on a patch of the wall as he thought about it. Why had he chosen now when not even two days ago he'd been adamant that the Kryptonian never learn the truth?

"I-I thought you had the right to know..." he said weakly. But a cold, calculating part of him knew that was far from the real reason.

Clark's coughing was getting worse and he forced the unpleasant thought aside, returning his attention instead to his friend, eyes widening as he took in how much blood was staining the too pale skin of Clark's face and chest. The other boy's eyes were drifting closed again, and Brainiac 5 felt a icy stab of fear that had him straightening and forcing a yell of "Help! Can anyone hear me?!" in the desperate hope that he could still somehow, despite everything that he logically knew, save Clark's life.

He didn't have time to see if there was any answer. Clinging to Clark's hand as though that would somehow keep him here, keep him alive, Brainiac 5 leaned down and lightly touched the other's face.

"Clark, you have to stay awake! Please just... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. It's just that I can't... I didn't want for things to go like this. I..." Clark's skin was clammy and cold to the touch and his breathing so shallow now that Brainiac 5 was having trouble telling if he was even breathing at all.

"Please, open your eyes! Say something! I don't care if you hate me for keeping things from you, just don't..." The burst of fear-driven adrenaline began to wear off, leaving him feeling weak and drained, his shoulders slumping as he hunched over his closest - and maybe only - friend.

"...don't leave me here alone. I can't do this without you. You're... I..."

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/608066.html?thread=51473218#t51473218). Sorry for the wait! ;-;]

He had been passing by the last hall of patient rooms when he'd heard it: a choked and echoing yell that sounded more like a scream. A desperate one, distorted by too many doors and empty space. Bruce stopped in his tracks and remembered that this was the M71-M80 Hall--Wally's hall--and as soon as the idea slipped in Bruce felt his mind go blank and white before a black, taunting chant of irony irony irony beat itself through his skull and woke him.

He was already halfway down the hall when he placed the sound of that voice and realized that it wasn't Wally's but a young boy's, which meant nothing to him when he glimpsed the two broken figures on the ground. Pale faces illumined gently by the surrounding shadow, Bruce smelled before he saw what had happened: the blood on the ground, the face in the blonde boy's arms, the--

--the--

.........no. NO. There was--there were two boys on the ground, one lying down and the other cradling his head and pleading, pleading with the boy that wasn't wasn't dying not to leave him, not to leave him because he couldn't do this without someone without a name and the name he kept repeating was was was

Clark.

Clark, stay awake.

Clark.

Clark

................"No," Bruce said (when had he gone still?), the silence that'd been building finally crashing around him with not a sound of relief but a pained litany of sobs from the small, small people on the ground--bleeding and tearing in a billion different places that Bruce didn't want to believe existed. Clark, he might've said (why was he on his knees?), unable to comprehend or even cross that last bit of distance that stood between him and What Had Happened. He was--they were--it wasn't--

--was it

Edited 2009-05-06 17:40 (UTC)

Clark by now was fading fast. His eyes opened but they were unfocused and didn't seem to fix on Bruce Wayne, standing only a few feet away, or on Brainy, cradling his head in his lap and clutching his ruined hand with a death grip. The odd glow emanating from the S-shield shaped scar on his chest vanished, leaving just the blood from the wounds left from his encounter with Grell and Luxord. Clark felt a numbness start to set in. Tired. He felt tired. Too hard to keep his eyes open. They drifted closed as he managed a feeble cough, more blood bubbling up to trickle past his lips as he gasped softly in Brainy's arms. The Kryptonian had no idea how long it'd been, how long since he'd ended up on the floor, impossibly bleeding and even closer to dying the times he'd run into kryptonite.

Clark's chest, still slick with blood, rose and fell. For having superhuman strength, he just couldn't fight this.

His thoughts had grown increasingly sluggish, and it was hard to focus as he lay there dying in Brainy's arms. Smallville. Friends.

Mom and Dad.

Clark's face tilted toward Brainy, but instead of saying anything, he relaxed, eyes closed as the Kryptonian stopped breathing.

Brainiac 5's head jerked up when someone else entered the hallway and for a moment he was afraid that it was Grell and Luxord returning to mock him once more, but then he realised that the figure was too tall and muscular for either of them and desperate hope surged through him again.

"Please! You have to help me! If we can get him to the chapel, then maybe we can save Clark!" He broke off, coughing from the smoke which irritated his already injured throat and it was then that Clark tilted unseeing eyes towards him and for a moment, Brainiac 5 thought that he was going to speak...

But then Clark just relaxed, sighing as his eyes closed again.

...And he didn't breathe in again.

...no. Before he was even fully aware of what he was doing, Brainiac 5 pressed a shaking finger to Clark's neck. There was a pulse there, just barely. But it wouldn't stay for long if he couldn't get the Kryptonian breathing again... He wasn't trained as a doctor by any means, but basic first aid had always been important to know in the Legion, so it was mostly on autopilot that he shifted Clark to lay flat on the floor, took a deep breath, and started trying to revive his friend.

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