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When Yuuri entered the dimly lit warehouse, he was greeted by a flash of silver hair and the click of a safety coming off a gun as the Spectre of New York twisted around at the sound of footsteps. He froze where he stood and raised his hands.
“Oh, it’s only you,” Viktor slumped back. “I was worried it was the cops.”
“I am a cop,” Yuuri protested, automatically, as he drew closer.
“So you are.” With the dwindling distance, he could see the amusement in those blue eyes. “Are you going to turn me in this time, then?”
Yuuri’s mouth twisted. He didn’t answer. Viktor studied his face and nodded, satisfied. “Katsuki Yuuri, the only honest cop in the city.”
“Not so honest,” Yuuri said. “I’m hiding you, aren’t I?”
“Ends and means,” Viktor said lightly. “You know as well as I do they would have killed those boys.”
Yuuri had heard the incident over the radio, relayed in the usual language. Young men, a rough neighborhood, an unnecessary pursuit. A garbled relay that the Spectre was there, and then shots fired.
Per usual, New York’s favorite vigilante or least favorite terrorist, depending on who you asked, hadn’t left a drop of blood in the alley. Still, the minute his shift was over, something had compelled Yuuri to come to this warehouse in the Bronx instead of heading home.
Yuuri didn’t answer again, but Viktor didn’t seem to need Yuuri’s verbal agreement. Instead he said, “Are you going to help me?”
“With what?” Yuuri asked, warily.
“Check for an exit wound.”
“What!” Yuuri covered the last few feet between them in a few quick strides and dropped to his knees. “You were shot?”
“Yes. Here.” He reached out a hand, and Yuuri let Viktor grip his wrist and bring his fingers to a warm wet spot just below Viktor’s ribs on the left side. He hissed when Yuuri made contact. “ Fuck.”
Yuuri jerked his hand away in shock, but Viktor pulled it back. “Can you see if the bullet is still there?”
Tentatively, unwilling to do further damage, he probed Viktor’s back for an exit wound. His fingers found blood, and then Viktor sucked in a sharp breath and flinched away from him. “Ah, there it is.”
“Sorry,” Yuuri said. “How bad is--”
“I’m bleeding quite a bit,” Viktor said. “But if it had hit an organ, I think I’d be dead already, so good news there.”
“You need a hospital,” Yuuri said. “You need--”
“I need a hospital like I need another bullet in me,” Viktor said. “You know they’re required to report gunshot wounds to the police. And your brethren would like nothing better than to put me in a cell. Help me wrap it, please.”
“Okay.” Yuuri took the roll of gauze from Viktor and watched him push his shirt up. Yuuri stared at the ripple of muscles under it. Viktor caught his eye and grinned when Yuuri blushed.
“Here.” He sat still as Yuuri wound the bandages, only the stiffening of his posture indicating the pain of the pressure on the wound. Yuuri tried not to think about how warm Viktor’s skin felt under his fingers.
“What are you going to do?” Yuuri asked.
“Wait for it to heal, I think,” Viktor said. “What else can I do?”
“How are you going to get home? Do you live near here?”
“I think that’s more information than you want,” Viktor said, carefully.
“You’re right,” Yuuri said. He’d decided months ago, the first time he’d come face to face with the Spectre and impulsively blurted, “They’re coming from the north. You can lose them if you go east,” that he couldn’t know too much. He couldn’t get attached. Viktor’s first name was bad enough. “...but you must live near here.”
“Close enough for hand grenades,” Viktor said.
“I thought you must be from here,” Yuuri said.
“What makes you say that?” Viktor asked, interested.
“The Post compared you to the Joker,” Yuuri said. “But I think you’re more like Daredevil.”
“If Daredevil was fighting police corruption, maybe,” Viktor said, but he seemed please with the comparison. He straightened up.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“I have a high pain tolerance,” Viktor said.
They sat there quietly for a moment. “I should go home,” Viktor said. “And you shouldn’t follow me, unless you’ve changed your mind about turning me in.”
“No,” Yuuri said.
Viktor pressed a hand to the ground to push himself into a standing position. He managed it, but almost fell immediately; Yuuri caught him. Impulsively, he reached down and lifted up the bottom of Viktor’s shirt.
Blood had already soaked through the bandages.
“You’re going to die,” Yuuri said, suddenly terrified of the thought. “Isn’t there anyone who can help?
“I’ll be alright,” Viktor said, but he made it only a few steps before he stumbled and Yuuri had to catch him again.
“You can’t walk,” Yuuri said.
“Just give me a moment,” Viktor said. His face was twisted with pain.
“Do you trust me?” Yuuri asked.
“Do I have a choice?” Viktor returned.
Yuuri helped lower him to the ground and then retreated a few feet to send a text. 5901 2nd. Bring your car. Don’t bring your camera.
Viktor watched him through half-lidded eyes. “Calling the police?”
“No,” Yuuri said. His heart was thumping so loud he could hear it in his ears. “A friend.”
It was twenty minutes before the car pulled up out front, long enough for Yuuri to begin to question every decision he’d made in his life up to that point. The front door opened and Phichit climbed out. “What is it?”
“Did you tell anyone you were coming?”
“No,” Phichit said. “Yuuri, this is weird, even for you.”
“Come on,” Yuuri led him into the warehouse. “Phichit, this is Viktor. Viktor, Phichit.”
“You’re not a cop,” Viktor observed.
“I’m a journalist,” Phichit said, affronted. Then his eyes widened. “Holy shit. You’re the Spectre. Yuuri!”
“I know,” Yuuri said. “Don’t remind me.”
“You’re breaking so many laws! You’re a cop!”
“I know,” Yuuri said.
“I’m so proud of you,” Phichit said. “What are we doing?”
“Um,” Yuuri said. “Are you sure you’re on board? This is definitely aiding and abetting.”
“Yes,” Phichit said. “Absolutely. What are we doing?”
“We’re driving out to Westchester,” he said.
“Westchester?” Viktor said. “Why?”
“Oh my god,” Phichit said. “Are you taking him to--”
“Yes,” Yuuri cut him off.
It took both of them to get Viktor into the back of the car. It quickly became clear that Viktor’s composure was mostly an act; by the time he was seated, all the blood had drained from his face.
Yuuri checked the dark stain on the bandage again. “Don’t die on the way, okay?”
“I don’t even know where we’re going,” Viktor said.
“Somewhere safe,” Yuuri said. “I promise.”
He couldn’t tell if Viktor believed him, but either he trusted Yuuri or was in too much pain to stay awake any longer, because he fell asleep partway through the drive. Yuuri sat in the passenger seat and spent the journey glancing between Phichit and Viktor and the stretch of highway ahead of them.
It was almost midnight by the time they arrived at their destination. Yuuri had a brief moment of terror when he opened the car door and Viktor didn’t stir, that he’d died sometime in the last few hours, but when Yuuri shook his shoulder he blinked slowly.
“...Yuuri?”
“Come on,” Yuuri said. “We’ll go in the back.”
“Where are we?” Viktor asked, twisting his neck to read the sign. “Yu-topia Katsuki?”
“It’s an inn.”
“Yuuri,” Viktor said. “Are you taking me home to meet your parents? This relationship is moving pretty fast.”
Yuuri shushed him, cheeks burning again. “Wait here.”
He slipped in through the back door into the kitchen, where his mother was stacking dishes. “Okaasan.”
She turned and beamed. “Yuuri! What are you doing here?”
“I have a friend,” he said. “He needs a place to stay, do you have anywhere…?”
“The banquet room is free,” his mother said, as thought this happened all the time. “I’ll get a futon.”
“Thank you,” Yuuri said, and went back out to where Phichit and Viktor waited. “We’re--they’re going to set up a room for you. Here.”
The long car ride had done nothing for Viktor’s well-being; he was still pale and his breathing was shallow. Yuuri and Phichit helped him inside and down the hallway to the futon. He sat on it gratefully and then slumped back, curling on his right side.
“Go home,” Yuuri told Phichit quietly. “Plausible deniability.”
“I’ll be your alibi,” Phichit said cheerfully. “Goodnight, Yuuri.” He waved to Viktor, then went.
“We should rewrap it,” Yuuri said once he was gone. “We need to get more pressure on it.”
“Can we not,” Viktor said.
“I know it hurts,” Yuuri said. “But no.”
He slipped back out of the room to get supplies and Mari accosted him in the hall. “Mom and Dad might not watch the news,” she said. “But I do.”
Yuuri gave her a pleading look.
She sighed. “Let me get stuff. Did you know they invented tampons for gunshot wounds?”
“You look like Yuuri,” Viktor said to Mari when she came in with an armful of first aid supplies.
“You don’t look like anyone, because I never saw you,” she replied.
He grinned at her. It became strained as she prodded at the wound, and disappeared entirely when she packed it with gauze, but he didn’t complain. He did reach for Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri let him take it and grip it too tightly as Mari wound bandages around him again.
“Yuuri,” Viktor said quietly, once she was satisfied with her work and left them alone. “What are you doing?”
“The right thing,” Yuuri said, more steady than he’d expected his own voice to sound. “Go to sleep.”