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Kingston had used all his heals on injured civilians, which was what he should do, of course. No one should have to spend their night in the ER explaining that they'd been attacked by what they thought was a group of drunken SantaCon assholes. So it was good that Kingston had fixed everyone up, counting on the umbral arcana and his own innately grounded magic as the Vox populi to convince them there was nothing weird about their sprained ankles and bite marks healing up like they'd never been hurt.
Still, the selfish part of Kugrash, the side of him that had been a rat bastard even before he became a rat, wished his friend had saved just one healing spell for him. One disadvantage of being so small now was that he easily got kicked and stomped on and even trampled by friendly feet. He thought that half the bones in his tiny little rat body were now broken, including his tail which was downright mangled from being trod on. Using his pipe staff as a cane, Kugrash forced himself to his feet, but his legs trembled as the broken bones in his paws screamed at him, and he would have collapsed again if it wasn't for Kingston crouching down beside him and putting a wide hand on his furry little back.
“You alright there, Kug?” the man asked gently.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm alright,” Kugrash tried to insist. They both knew he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself.
“Why don’t you come home with me for a bit?” Kingston suggested. “Once I rest some, I can heal you.”
“You sure, man?” Kugrash asked. He wasn’t enough of a fool to argue that he didn’t need Kingston’s healing, as he couldn’t exactly go to the hospital anymore, but he didn’t need to go to the man’s house. Even as the Vox populi, maybe Kingston wanted to keep the magical life of the city and his home life separate. Kugrash had never been to his house before, even though they collaborated frequently on problems like SantaCon and other magical threats to the city and the people living in it. “I’ve got a place in the sewers not far from here, and I could just meet you tomorrow for some healing.”
Kingston winced. “You’re gonna get all sorts of nasty infections if you go underground all cut up like this. C’mon, Kug. You’ll be helping me out if you let me help you.”
Kugrash sighed, letting himself lean into Kingston’s support. “Yeah, alright, twist my tail. Suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to leave the sewers for a night.”
“Good man,” Kingston encouraged. The words sent a pang through Kugrash’s chest, but then again, that could have been his cracked little rat ribs. The actual man seemed to hesitate for a second, which was unusual for him, before continuing to speak. “Would it be alright if I picked you up? I can tell you’re in pain, and I don’t want you to have to walk if it’s gonna hurt you.”
Kugrash grumbled under his breath, but nodded. He knew he would just slow Kingston down if he tried to walk, and this was only confirmed when the man removed his supporting hand and Kugrash swayed on his paws again, barely able to stay upright. He knew he would also probably attract more attention despite the umbral arcana if he followed the man onto the bus or however they were going to get back Uptown. If he was carried, he didn’t know how he would show up, but it might be less suspicious and less likely to get him kicked off the bus if he appeared as a mangy dog or a regular rat.
Kingston shrugged off his long trenchcoat, draping it over his knee to keep it off the ground, and then removed the sweater he wore beneath it before putting his trenchcoat back on over only his t-shirt. The sweater looked thick and soft, necessary for keeping Kingston warm in the cold December air, and Kugrash wondered why he’d taken it off for a moment before the man reached out with it in hand with the clear intention of bundling it around the rat. Kugrash barely managed to sway back out of his reach.
“I will ruin that thing if you wrap me up in it,” he protested. He knew he stank by human standards and that the stench of his fur would easily rub off on the fabric.
“It’s old anyway,” Kingston said, but Kugrash thought he was lying. The sweater didn’t even seem to have any awful stains or holes in it! Although, maybe his standards for what qualified as old or damaged had just been changed by his life of collecting lost and discarded items from the streets and subways. “And there’s a laundromat down the block from me that can fix anything,” Kingston added, reaching out with the sweater again.
This time, Kugrash didn’t dodge away from him, and let the man wrap him very gently in the sweater and lift him up. Kingston seemed unsure about the best way to hold the badly injured rat without hurting him, and Kugrash tried to make it easy for him by not squirming until he was held gently but carefully against Kingston’s chest.
“This alright?” He asked, and Kugrash could feel the words rumbling through his chest and into his own body.
“As good as it can be,” Kugrash said. It wasn’t the most comfortable, and he felt very vulnerable being held, but it didn’t hurt and he trusted Kingston to be careful with him. “Now let’s get going so you can put me down again soon.”
Kingston did as asked, and after he squeezed the subway token hanging around his neck, his bus pulled up soon to take them back Uptown.
“Bringing home stray dogs, Kingston?” the bus driver asked. She reached out to scratch Kugrash’s ears, or those of whatever dog she must’ve been seeing instead of him, but thankfully Kingston turned his body to stop her reaching him. Good. Kug thought he probably would have bit her on instinct if her hands got too close.
“Just helping out,” Kingston said, before moving to sit down. The movement of the bus was buffered by his body, so the jostling on Kugrash’s broken bones was less than he knew it would be otherwise. The more gentle movements actually almost felt nice, and he found himself drifting off in the man’s arms. Well, he was badly hurt. Maybe he could say he’d passed out if Kingston teased him. Which he wouldn’t, because he was too nice for his own good.
When Kugrash woke up the next morning, he was warmer and more comfortable than he could remember being in a long time. As he stretched, he realized his broken bones had been healed in his sleep, and there was a sticky note beside him on the couch.
Had to leave for work, it started off in casual handwriting. You’re welcome to stay in my apartment, help yourself to anything in the kitchen, etc. but if you want to leave, take the fire escape, not the main stairs. I don’t want you scaring my parents or getting caught by my nieces and nephews. Kugrash chuckled, thinking about Kingston’s parents, who were probably the sweetest old people imaginable, chasing what they thought was a regular rat or possum or something out with a broom. He had already decided that he would raid Kingston's trash can, although he knew that wasn't what the man had meant by “anything in the kitchen,” and then he would be off. There would be a lot of people in need after SantaCon yesterday, though hopefully no one else had gotten involved in as bad of a tussle with the clones as the one he and Kingstom had broken up.
Already thinking about his responsibilities, he almost forgot to read the bottom of the note.
P.S. You’re welcome to keep the sweater.
Kugrash clenched his claws into the thick wool of the garment. He'd clearly been set down on the couch still swaddled in it, although he must've kicked it partially off in his sleep and now just sat on top of it. Despite the blood and grime that had rubbed off of his fur onto the fabric, it was still far nicer than anything else Kugrash still owned. Far too nice for a rat like him hanging out in the sewers. But maybe someone else could use it. He tied the sleeves around his shoulders, forming it into a second cape on top of his ripped MTA vest, before taking off into the city. After all, unless the laundromat Kingston knew was literally magic, which was always a possibility, it wouldn't ever get clean again anyway.