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The knock on the door pounds through the music. Still, it’s only the second one that Paul reacts to. Sets down his beer once he realises it isn’t just the drums.
Shawn hardly looks up from the smoke he’s rolling, his wrists against the table and filter in his mouth for lack of space. They’re deep into the night and cans are piled into the cracks between pizza boxes.
Not much it could be at this time except a business call.
Paul sighs, but stands.
When he pulls the door open, a weight falls straight forwards and bodily into his arms.
He takes a step back, but mostly out of surprise rather than physical force. In the flash of red-and-black, and the slight form now hanging off him, he doesn’t even need to see his face to know.
“Joey?”
Blinking, Paul realises the door is still open. Tightening his arms around the surprise arrival, he drags Joey back a couple of steps, turning enough to shoulder the door shut.
A hand lands on his shoulder, Joey grabbing for purchase. The smaller guy doesn’t get very far in his mission to get upright, but Paul makes an attempt to hold him at arm’s length, trying to get a look at him.
“Joe? What the- What’s going on?” Paul splutters. It’s probably the alcohol that keeps his voice from sounding panicked, not any sort of self-control.
He takes in his friend, head to toe. His black hair trails into an identical coloured top and skirt, and fishnets below that.
“You were working tonight?”
For a moment, Joey manages to look up blearily from between the strands of hair falling down his face, and it snaps Paul’s attention to him. Eyes open. That’s a good sign, right?
But Joey sags further against the larger man, listing to one side. Paul grips his arm tight, keeping Joey upright as he gapes in concern. A wince pinches Joey’s face and Paul catches a curse hissed through his teeth.
Eyes darting back down in panic because he doesn’t know what’s happening, Paul’s eyes train on something. How did he not catch it before?
He doesn’t know where it’s coming from because the whole outfit is too dark to tell, but there, below the hem of his skirt, there’s blood. It’s still running over his thigh and weaving through the gaps on the fishnets.
Paul’s eyes bulge.
“Joey-”
That instant, Joey’s hand pushes and he’s launching himself away from Paul’s grip. Lunging after him, Paul misses but stumbles after Joey who makes a beeline for the sofa.
Shawn's stood up at some point, his cigarette abandoned dangerously close to a half-empty pizza dip. Now he finds his previous seat taken as Joey slumps down. The way he drapes across the couch feels so much like every other time he comes home after a long night.
But there isn’t usually blood.
“What the fuck happened?” even the alcohol’s grogginess can’t overpower Paul’s rising concern anymore.
Joey tilts his head back over the arm of the couch. His hair falls away and at least his face is unscathed and his eyes are open- but they slip just as Paul thinks it.
“Think I found our guy,” Joey murmurs.
Instantly, Shawn is stunned.
“You better be fucking joking right now, kid.”
It takes Paul too long to catch up. His eyes follow Joey’s hand which weakly comes to rest just above his hip. And when it moves, it drags red over his palm.
“Our guy?” Paul echoes.
He turns to find Shawn already on his knees, rifling in the cabinet below the tv – in the left side. They need medical shit, although Joey would surely not say no to some of the stronger stuff they have stashed through the right-hand door either.
“Who’d you fucking think?” Shawn grunts, crossing back to Joey’s side, making Paul step back. “The three bodies on our patch this month ring any bells?”
A strained sound in Joey’s throat brings Paul back from his shock. Joey’s shirt is bunched up, Shawn pressing something against the bleeding wound.
“You’re not serious, Joe?”
Paul crouches, level with the injured man’s head. His eyes are still shut, but it looks like it’s from the pain, the way they’re screwed up.
But with no response, Paul shifts closer, taps his cheek.
“Hey, Joey? Are you seriously telling us he came for you?”
Mercifully, Joey’s eyes ease open.
“Yeah…” he’s a bit breathless, “must be. I just thought he couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel he said he had… next thing I know-”
Giving in again and scrunching his face in pain, Joey just gestures down to the wound. And, yeah, they get the picture.
Shawn rests his weight on the cloth currently steeping in Joey’s blood and turns his attention to the patient himself.
“Is he dead?”
They both watch, hardly breathing, as Joey wrestles to open his eyes again. It’s too slow, and Paul’s heart lurches down along with Joey’s eyelids when they almost fall closed again.
“Thought it wouldn’t be as anonymous with my blood all over his fucking body,” he grits.
Paul has to give him that.
Shawn hums.
“We gotta catch him…” he shakes his head, gaze wandering. Paul’s not inclined to find out what grizzly torture he’s cooking up. Whoever’s been attacking their workers was already on limited time, but now that he had come for Joey…
Then Shawn snaps his eyes back up. Clicks his fingers in Joey’s face.
“Shit, Joe, do I need to tell you to stay awake?”
If Joey could, he probably would have rolled his eyes. As it is, they droop again.
“’m good, man,” he slurs. He drags a hand down his face, but it soon drops at his side.
Paul and Shawn exchange a look.
Shifting to kneel proper, Paul rests his arms over the couch to sit his chin right next to Joey’s head.
“I’m not convinced you don’t need hospital right now, Joe.”
That gets a reaction. Still not eyes open, but.
“Yeah, and you’ll make me pay, huh?” Joey groans.
“Only if you don’t open your eyes right fucking now,” Paul retorts.
Huffing, Joey cracks them open.
“Did this guy at least pay you first?” Paul asks next.
“Did, actually,” Joey raises his eyebrows. Or tries to. But then his hand is fumbling in his skirt. “Doubt he was planning on me keeping it.”
“That’ll show him,” Paul snorts.
Joey’s eyes fractionally widen. Following his movements, Paul looks to Joey’s hand, pulling cash from his pocket. But it isn’t only cash.
“Shit…” Joey breathes, and his eyes close, “I fucking forgot.”
“What’s that?” Shawn demands.
But Joey’s head lolls to one side, falling towards Paul.
“Fuck-” Shawn growls, while-
“Joey!”
Paul lifts his head to reach an arm forwards, grabbing the side of Joey’s face. When his friend doesn’t even blink, Paul taps with more urgency. It’s not until he’s got Joey’s face between both his hands, fingers drumming at his temple, that Paul finally sees him stir.
“If you think you’re gonna go dark on us-” Shawn is scolding the moment Joey’s woozy eyes open to look at them again, “you deserve that damn hospital bill.”
“Chill, man,” Joey’s protesting, but his lips are hardly cooperating.
“Nah, screw this,” Paul reaches across, one hand still cupping Joey’s head, to the wad in Joey’s pocket, “the guy that did this can fucking pay for it. We’re going-”
But as his hands close, it isn’t only paper. It startles him away from watching Joey.
Tucked beside the notes is a card of some kind, and he knows Joey doesn’t take ID with him when he’s working.
“I… I got a picture,” Joey’s faint voice sounds a little proud.
Shawn grabs the flip phone from Paul’s full hands. The moment he opens it, he curses, but this one sounds more like admiration.
Just as Paul fishes the card from within the paper bundle, Shawn holds the image up. The man’s unconscious, only lit by the phone screen. There’s the outline of some trash bags beside him, one of many unrecognisable and empty streets in the city. Exactly somewhere a man like him would choose to do his business out of sight, though it would surely work against him now.
The picture is blurred and badly lit, but it’s enough to go off. And if it isn’t, then several similar-looking men are going to end up in dumpsters before the week is up.
Except, it turns out that won’t be necessary. Paul lifts the card level with the phone, and it’s the same face. Plus full name.
Almost letting himself smile, Paul turns back to Joey, whose eyes are half-closed again. He pokes him in the cheek.
“If you live through this, fucker, I’m gonna say it was lucky he came after you.”
Shawn is standing up, stashing the lot.
“He’ll be out of the picture before you’re even out of hospital,” he promises.
“…it’s just a scratch,” Joey mumbles, squinting up at him. “Won’t need no time.”
And then he’s yelping as Shawn hoists him into his arms, car keys jingling from one finger. Leaving the remnants of their lazy night behind them, Paul hastily follows to the door.
Shawn smirks.
“Exactly.”