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The steady stream of water cuts off, leaving only sharp hisses and the quick drip drip drip of blood hitting the tile. The bathroom isn’t big enough for the both of them, but it was the first place Clove could think of to get this kid away from the crowds and cameras. He takes a moment to say a quick prayer, thanking Sors that they didn’t get hit with whatever it was that removed the magic protecting their identity. This is awkward enough, standing in the gender neutral bathroom with Stephen. Having to admit that he was right on top of that. No thanks.
Clove manages to stem the flow of blood on his side, but veir back is another case. As they turn to look in the mirror to figure out what to do, Stephen speaks up. “Hey, um- do you- do you want help with that?”
The automatic refusal sits on veir tongue, but the steady ache of his back stops the sound in the hollow of their throat. Clove heaves a heavy breath. “Yeah, that would be great, kid.”
He moves, switching places with Stephen to give him access to their back and the paper towels at the same time. The pressure against their wounds is feather-light. “You’ll need to press harder than that to get the bleeding to stop.” Clove makes eye contact with Stephen, his face sheet white, in the mirror. “If you can’t do it, you don’t have to. I’ll figure it out myself.”
Stephen visibly steels himself, squaring his shoulders with a deep breath, the color still drained from his face. “No, I can do it. You’ll be ok if I put more pressure?”
“Well, it’s better than bleeding out.” The joke doesn’t land, falling flat as Stephen’s movement stutters. Oh, too soon. Well, it’s too late to take it back now.
They work in relative silence, Clove keeping pressure on their ribs as Stephen stems the flow from veir back. “Oh this is kinda deep… It doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches, but you should probably go to the hospital.”
Clove snorts. “Yeah, and have to explain that I got attacked by a werewolf, revealing my identity in the process? No dice, but good try, kid.” Stephen’s face scrunches up at this answer, but he bites his tongue and continues his work.
The silence is broken by a slew of buzzing from Clove’s phone on the counter. “Should you get that?” Stephen asks.
Clove reaches out, uncaring of the blood smearing on their case and screen from his hands.
Locker room from Val.
On our way from Abi and Demetrius.
The texts pause, and Clove waits several moments for anything else to come in. Nothing does. He sets the phone back down on the counter without responding. “It’s not anything that needs a response. Let’s just finish getting me patched up enough to go home.” Their voice is strained steel, splintering cracks moments away from becoming full breaks.
“Oh, ok. Don’t you need to let the rest of your group know where you are though?”
“Stephen.” The cracked steel is tempered back to a sharpness Stephen flinches away from. He knows when not to press any further.
Stephen makes short work of patching up Clove as best he can. "This is the best I can do. You should get someone to help you disinfect and wrap it properly, make sure there's no muscle damage."
Clove grabs his shirt and coat from the sink, leaving the vest sitting there. Hopefully the red of the jacket will cover up the blood-stained shirt fine. "You'll have to leave first, so I can detransform and get out of here."
Stephen nods, starting towards the door to the bathroom. He pauses with his hand on the handle, and turns back to Clove. “I know I was the one who did this, but- um- thank you. For stopping me from hurting more people.”
God, this kid. He's making it hard for Clove to keep hating him. “It’s not your fault. The gunge, the stuff that’s doing this, didn’t transform you, it got someone else and you just got caught in the cross-hairs. There was nothing you could have done any different.” He needs to hear it, especially after literally washing their blood off his hands.
Stephen fidgets, his eyes flitting around the room instead of making eye contact. “Oh, um- thanks, I guess. Are- are you going to be ok?”
Clove sighs. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Go find your friends and whatever adult you need to.”
“Alright. This is going to spread around to school pretty fast, so um, is there something I can call you? Like a group name or something for you?”
“We generally go by the ungungers, but you can call me Soteria. Now, for real, get out of here."
With that, Stephen steps out of the bathroom, the door swinging shut heavily behind him. Clove takes a moment to wipe the blood up, and follows.