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This is not how Purpled intended for his night to go.
Admittedly, one does not normally plan to get stabbed in the abdomen and he wasn’t paying attention on patrol as well as he probably should’ve been. Walli recently had an extremely close call with the hero known as Swirls, or Kayne, and it was leaving his roommate in a frustrated state. Luckily, he came home with no major injuries apart from the swollen red ring around his wrists from the power-dampening cuffs the heroes are always using—seriously, who designed those? They hurt like hell.
Actually, getting stabbed hurts like hell, and he’s reminded of this fact the second he tries to grab onto the railing of the fire escape above him.
He hears himself take an uneven breath before trying to get a firmer grip on the railing. It turns out to be more difficult than he first anticipated because his hands are sticky and red and a little bit too shaky for his liking.
He hauls himself over the railing anyway, ignoring the white-hot pain that shoots through his whole body at the abrupt movement and the loud clang of metal as he lands. Which, he’s now realizing, isn’t the sneaky approach he was meaning to take, but if anybody heard it, they don’t care because nobody opens their windows.
Fresh blood gushes from the wound and pools around his unsteady hands as he desperately tries to stop the flow.
Two more floors to go until he reaches the apartment.
He can’t exactly remember whose apartment he’s going to, just that he knows the person and he can’t go anywhere else at the moment.
The world spins around him and he nearly trips over himself from the wave of dizziness that crashes over him. Sporadic black dots dance threateningly in his vision, ready to take him under but he can’t follow them even if his whole body is screaming for him to.
Two more floors and he’s over here wondering if he’s even going to make it one.
Come on Purpled—he’s Purpled. He should be able to do this, no problem. He’s taken one too many knives to the abdomen, so why the hell is it so difficult to work with this one?
Probably because it wasn’t a knife dumbass, it was a sword that dug clean through your skin and stuck all the way out your back the slim part of his thoughts that’s still decently rational explain.
His head feels fuzzy.
Purpled decides that the idea of climbing up the railing can go fuck itself because there’s no way he’s doing that again.
He takes the stairs this time.
It’s definitely an easier strain on the muscles that previously felt like they were on fire, but it doesn’t stop the blood flow or the billion thoughts circling his head, or the fact that he can barely fucking see right now. He’d really like that ability back.
He makes it to the top of the steps and his knees nearly buckle underneath him. He can feel his arms grow weaker by the second as if they were sand ticking away in an hourglass and his whole body feels like a giant weight has been thrown on him.
One more floor.
He doesn’t take a break—he doesn’t have the time to.
He hardly even noticed that his ears were ringing by the time he made it to the top of the next set of stairs.
Purpled shakily clutched onto the railing to keep himself from toppling over and managed to grit out a raspy swear as he felt blood trail down his back, a section of the wound he can’t reach to put pressure on.
He hates how weak he feels.
The window is in front of him before he even registers it. The adrenaline from fights earlier on in the night is almost completely gone and holy shit he does not recommend getting stabbed. It does not feel very good. Zero out of five stars.
Blood drips steadily onto the window sill as he uses the last of his strength to push the window upwards, revealing a dark but clean room ahead. Bed on the middle right wall with a Television directly across from it. Closet on the opposite side of the room from the window, and carpet as flooring.
He dragged himself through the window and landed in a noisy heap on the ground. The wind was knocked out of him briefly, but it was getting harder and harder to breathe properly so it took him longer to find air again. There was a metallic taste in his mouth that he swore wasn’t there before but it must’ve been because that would make sense right?
He hardly even registers the faraway sound of footsteps as they tread carefully toward his direction.
“Couri I swear if you’ve—“ A weary but familiar voice starts before stopping to take in the scene that is Purpled hardly breathing in a pool of his own blood.
A familiar voice.
He might actually live.
He would have laughed if it didn’t feel like he was going to destroy his body in the process.
“Purpled?!” Feinberg exclaimed. “What the fuck?!”
Oh, it’s Fein’s place.
“You look like shit,” Purpled finds himself saying despite his own situation, observing the way Feinberg has bags underneath his eyes that are filled with an emotion he can’t quite make out right now.
Feinberg scoffed in a slightly incredulous tone, “Yeah because I’m the one bleeding out on my friend’s carpet.”
Purpled takes in another gasp of air and does his best to try to stand up but he only gets as far as sitting against the wall before Feinberg’s at his side helping put pressure on the wound.
“Woah, easy—easy Purp,” Feinberg cautioned. “Take it easy—holy shit what happened?”
Purpled tries to take a deep breath as his head falls limply onto his shoulder, eyes closing of their own accord. Feinberg is somebody he can trust. He’s in good hands, he’ll be fine.
“No—Purp, awake.”
“Sword, “ He wheezes out as a cough wracks his body. He wants to stay awake, he really does, but his eyes are refusing to open again and the rest of his body is practically begging for him to give up.
“Sword?” Feinberg repeats, confusion being the only emotion Purpled can distinguish, but even he isn’t too sure. “Nobody uses a sword. At least nobody we know.”
Purpled can feel his consciousness giving out its last breath so he musters up a quick apology, “Sorry. Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Feinberg stifles a laugh at how stupid what Purpled just said is, “Brother, you couldn’t go anywhere else or you would’ve died. Hey—awake, Purp! I need you to try and stay awake. Can you still hear me?!”
Purpled’s out before Feinberg can even finish.
Feinberg swears, “Purpled?!”
He looks around to try and allow his brain a distraction from the fact that his friend’s blood is covering his hands right now. A distraction to allow him to think so the younger doesn’t bleed out in his arms because holy shit Purpled might actually die and Feinberg wasn’t prepared to deal with this tonight. “When you get better, I’m making fun of you for this.”
Think.
He needs to think.
Refocus his mind.
A thought finally enters his brain and he welcomes it with open arms.
There’s a high chance Couriway kept the extra regen pot they managed to grab (steal) a few months back, but Feinberg has no idea where. He doesn’t have time to ask and he sure as hell doesn’t have enough time to look everywhere, so he goes to the first place he thinks it’ll be in: the kitchen.
Their kitchen is unnecessarily large compared to the rest of their apartment (which is also unnecessarily large). Two bedrooms on opposite sides of one another, a kitchen as soon as you enter, and the living room further past the kitchen.
Feinberg slams open cabinet after cabinet, not giving a care in the world for his neighbors who are probably going to yell at him for “making too much ruckus” the second he steps out the door in the morning. Blood marks wherever his hands go, staining the wood a darker color and he doesn’t even know if it will come out or not.
A slim sense of panic blossoms in his gut when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.
Half of it dissipates a few seconds later when he remembers that Couri keeps stuff like that in his bathroom. It’s an interesting choice of placement, but Feinberg doesn’t question it because he trusts Couri and his judgment.
At the thought of this, he ends up chiding himself for not going there first since it’s in the same fucking room as Purpled.
Couri’s bathroom is cramped. The only room for decoration is a semi-fluffy carpet sprawled out on the cool tiled floor and some candles on a shelf above the toilet. There’s a small mirror by the faucet because the cabinet above the sink takes up too much space for a mirror. The shower curtain’s rod is a little rusty, and the doorknob to the bathroom is sensitive. The way Feinberg throws the door open doesn’t help its case.
The first thing he sees when he opens the cabinet door isn’t the pot, but something else that is useful.
Gauze.
He grabs it without hesitation and sets it off to the side.
Glass bottles clang against plastic ones as he rummages through them, trying to catch a glimpse of that familiar pinkish liquid.
Feinberg’s been lucky compared to all the other vigilantes. He hasn’t had to use cheat things like regen pots or those healing apples people keep mentioning. Those are things people use when they’re desperate, and Feinberg’s never been that desperate. Especially since hardly anybody can even afford them in the first place. The only reason he and Couri managed to steal one is because the person who had it was an idiot and didn’t understand the value of what they had, so they left it out in the open for all to see. They were asking for it at that point.
A glimmer caught the corner of his eye and Feinberg reached for it, grabbing the bottle with a firm grip and wasting no time in retrieving the gauze he tossed aside and then rushing back out into his roommate’s room.
His heart stuttered at the sight before him.
Purpled was pale—noticeably paler than normal and oh wow that’s a lot of blood. It might take Couri’s carpet a few months to recover, but all care is thrown out the same window Purpled came in through the second Feinberg realizes he can’t tell if Purpled is still breathing or not.
Feinberg knelt beside the younger as fast as he could and his fingers settled against the abnormally cold neck, searching—praying for a pulse.
“Come on,” He found himself muttering repeatedly for a second or two before a wave of relief crashed into him.
It’s faint, but it’s there and that’s all that matters.
And—okay.
Feinberg’s not entirely sure how to do something like this. He’s only ever seen it be done once.
In a TV show.
He knows Couriway has helped aid multiple people using pots and probably knows a lot more about this than Feinberg does, but Couri isn’t here right now, so he’s left scrambling to search through his brain to find at least some useful information.
He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as a clear idea stands out from the rest.
He leans Purpled back up against the wall in a sitting position like an abandoned doll and hopes that what he’s about to do is correct and doesn’t make Purpled choke.
Grabbing the regen pot with a now blood-smeared glass exterior, Feinberg gently tilted Purpled’s head slightly back and opened his mouth just wide enough to get the liquid down. He could hear small wheezes of breaths exit his friend’s lips as he poured more—not too much—into his mouth before closing the lid and setting the bottle off to the side.
Part of him aches with the idea that this might not be enough. An Instant Health pot would work one hundred times better than a regen pot in this kind of situation. Regeneration helps with internal damage while Instant Health allows you to rub it on the wounds externally to seal them up and stop bleeding.
Feinberg unravels the gauze and carefully wraps it around Purpled’s abdomen. He makes sure to make it tight, but not crazy tight. There’s probably stuff he should have put on it before wrapping it in bandages, but they don’t have the right stuff and even if they did, Feinberg wouldn’t know what that stuff is.
He also doesn’t know how long Purpled’s been bleeding out, and he sort of wishes he were able to take Purpled to a hospital, but with their abilities, going to a hospital is risky and not worth it in Feinberg’s eyes. They don’t have the specific stuff to get the job done.
Man, he wishes Couri were here.
He sighs and slides his way down the wall next to Purpled.
He brings a hand up to rub at his eyes even though they’re covered in blood. He hasn’t been able to get a lot of sleep recently and he’s only now starting to feel its effects. His eyes are heavy and honestly, now that he’s sat down, he doesn’t want to get up. He was close to sleeping and was actually on his way to his room when a wild Purpled landed on his roommate’s carpet.
The last two nights have been rough to put it lightly. Feinberg first had a patrol out near the Blockwars district with Fruit which took around seven hours because they had to deal with not one robbery, but five. Apparently, everyone likes to rob stores on Friday nights.
Then, before he could get back to his apartment, he was jumped by the hero known as FBM, or Shane—actually, he has a lot of names—and they had a rough go at each other that, thankfully, didn’t end up with major injuries on either side of the playing field.
Feinberg holds a surprising amount of respect for FBM considering the guy is a hero. To get more specific, he’s a vigilante-turned-hero, but that doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, the man is a scary opponent. His proficiency with a multitude of weapons is nearly unparalleled, and that matched with enhanced agility is a dangerous combination that Feinberg tries to avoid as much as he possibly can.
Anyways, after that whole party, Feinberg found himself stopping a mugging and then finally managed to make it back to his room. However, he wasn’t able to sleep because he realized it was morning and he had to go to work for the next however many hours. Honestly, he didn’t mind working as a host at Harvey’s Kitchen. Not only did he get to work alongside friends, but the community is mostly kind except for the occasional people from other districts. Pay is pretty well considering Harvey is a hero after all, so the amount of people who are always looking to be seated is considerably high. The place is comfortable, and the atmosphere in general is just nice.
After that, he was called in by Couri, saying that he needed help with a mission and Feinberg found himself on patrol for the second time in a row, except Couri’s mission turned out to be a lot more difficult and long-lasting than either anticipated. So much so that Couriway ended up pointing out how tired Feinberg looked and offered for him to go back to their apartment and get some rest, reassuring Feinberg that he’d call in someone else.
And now he’s here.
He glances back over at Purpled.
Blood is steadily soaking its way into the gauze, but the regen pot seems to be doing at least some work because his breaths aren’t consisting of wheezes anymore and it actually sounds like he’s taking in air.
He’s known Purpled for a little over a year now.
First met him when he and Walli came to grab a bite to eat at Harvey’s Kitchen. Feinberg didn’t know it was him at the time because the only identities the public know about are those of heroes, but they figured out each other’s identities in a concerningly short amount of time that had both vigilantes rechecking multiple things to make sure they stayed hidden.
After they first came in, it didn’t take too long for them to become sort of regulars. Apparently, Purpled knew some of his coworkers: Shane, Jojo, and Tubbo.
On a particularly busy day when the two had to wait for their reservation, Feinberg ended up having a nice conversation with them. He can’t remember what exactly it was about but that was when two things happened. One, they became actual friends instead of just saying ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ to each other at a restaurant. And two, Feinberg became suspicious of a certain topic the two had brought up: heroes.
Feinberg thought it was a stretch to assume anything right off the bat because heroes weren’t exactly an uncommon conversation topic in their district. Their district was more towards the outskirts of the whole country, so the heroes never usually visited to help and that made people angry.
A couple of nights later, however, is when he first met Purpled on patrol. It was during that meet-up that it clicked for both of them who the other was because they aren’t dumbasses and can actually see the signs when they’re there.
After that was pretty chill all things considered. He and Purpled don’t hang out crazy often, but when they do end up running into each other it’s always filled with playful competitiveness and witty comments.
He may have known Purpled personally for little over a year, but he’s known of the vigilante for a lot more.
The guy lives up to his reputation, and much like FBM, Purpled is a powerful opponent. His whole thing is that he can’t miss. Literally. With enhanced aiming abilities, and the knowledge of practically anybody, it’s close to impossible to catch the man off guard, let alone catch him at all. By training himself in combat skills and hardly ever using anybody else as guidance, his moves are often unpredictable which is a huge advantage most people don’t have. Not only that, but the way he somehow manages to maneuver himself through crevices and knows over half of all the shortcuts possible in the districts is insane. His movement in general is some of—if not, the best Feinberg has ever seen before.
Which only makes him even more confused about how Purpled is unconscious next to him at two in the morning.
“You’re so stupid,” he finds himself whispering. It was directed at Purpled but ended up falling on deaf ears.
Feinberg sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, tempted to go to his room to sleep, but he honestly doesn’t feel like getting up and doing anything right now, so maybe the floor isn’t too bad.
Hopefully Couri doesn’t mind a little sleepover in his room.
The first thing Purpled feels when he finally comes to is that his abdomen is sore as fuck.
And he doesn’t know why.
Whatever happened last night is fuzzy. The last thing he remembers is going out on patrol to give Walli some space before something bad probably happened since he can’t remember it.
This theory is confirmed a second later as he tries to sit up and receives an abrupt, suffocating pain that makes him gasp. He subconsciously finds himself clutching at the wound but stops once he feels fabric constricted tightly around his stomach. Upon looking down, he’s met with pink-stained gauze, and out of confusion, he takes in his surroundings.
One glance at where he is and memory of what occurred reenters his mind.
A hooded figure.
A roof.
A sword.
Blood.
A walk that felt like 50 years.
Feinberg.
He groans as he hauls himself up to a standing position using both the wall and the window for support. His knees threaten to buckle underneath him from the abrupt amount of weight they’re expected to carry, but he catches himself before they can do so.
The door to the room creaks open and Purpled doesn’t have it in him to look towards it because suddenly the floor is spinning beneath him.
“Well, at least you’re awake,” Couriway reasons behind him, taking in the obvious disoriented state Purpled’s in.
The older’s words take a second to register in his mind, “How long have I been out?”
“Like, two days.”
His body jerks awake at that and he whips his head around to the figure standing in the doorway, “Two days?!”
“You lost a lot of blood, Purp,” Couriway explains. His eyes trailed down to the bandage, “Had to switch that out twice and put some stuff on it to make sure it didn’t get infected. We couldn’t risk moving you too much either, so I’m sorry for the uncomfortable waking.”
Okay, so it’s the blood loss that’s making him feel lightheaded. He’ll have to go see Hannah about that later.
“Does Walli…” Purpled trailed off, unsure what he was asking to begin with.
“Walli came by yesterday while Fein was getting some much-needed sleep and I had to reassure him he could come back again today to get him to leave, which is why he’s eating in the kitchen right now.”
Purpled nodded with a quiet sigh and mentally prepared himself as he attempted to stand up straighter only to hunch back over again as his stomach seared.
A reassuring hand landed on his shoulder a second later and a small part of him panicked because he didn’t even hear anybody move.
Damn, he must really be off his game.
“Let me help,” Couriway offered.
Under normal circumstances, Purpled would have declined.
But he isn’t stupid.
And these aren’t normal circumstances.
“Thanks,” Purpled decides to say as Couriway wraps a supporting arm around his back.
The walk into the kitchen and living room was quiet save for Purpled’s slightly uneven breaths, courtesy of him trying to recollect his thoughts.
He feels infinitely better than he did last night. The pain has died down significantly and he can finally suck air into his lungs which is a nice change. The issue now, however, is finding out who the hell managed to stab him with a sword of all things—what is this? The 1500s?
It wasn’t anybody they knew—Feinberg confirmed that. Purpled can confirm that it wasn’t a hero because he most certainly would have recognized a hero, new or old. Their whole face was covered, so it was impossible to get any information on how the person looked.
They were extremely well trained in being sneaky, but hardly trained at all combat-wise. Which is an uncommon combination, but with the right person, it’s dangerous.
Purpled didn’t hear them behind him at all until they made a flaw in their movement, but by then it was already too late and he was met with a sword to the stomach instantly after turning around.
The sword was ripped out quickly and in a way that gave Purpled the original observation of whoever it was not being good at combat.
He tried to chase after whoever it was but didn’t make it very far when the pain started to set in. So, he thought of the first place to go to that was closest to him.
“Purp!” A familiar voice exclaimed.
Purpled looked up and gave a small smile at his roommate.
Walli’s whole body rocks with relief the second his gaze lands on Purpled. His hair isn’t as neat as it usually is, black poking out at off angles. It looks like he hasn’t gotten as much sleep as he normally does, and any hint of frustration from his fight with Swirls has dissipated immensely.
“Finally,” Feinberg says from the couch. He’s also looking a lot better from the last time Purpled saw him, so Couriway was right and Fein has been getting some sleep. “Thought you were going to die on us.”
“Sure you did,” Purpled replies.
Feinberg merely raises his eyebrows a bit.
“Who the hell did this?!” Walli asked, bringing his searching eyes up to meet vibrant purple ones.
“I don’t know. Couldn’t see them.”
“My first thought,” Feinberg started, “is that it could be a mercenary. Assassins use knives, but mercenaries will use anything.”
“Got anybody who wants to kill you, Purpled?” Couri asked with a knowing look.
Purpled rubbed at his eyes to get rid of the black edge around his vision, “That’s a long list.”
“That’s a long list for everyone in this room,” Walli deadpans.
Silence falls on the group like a blanket. The sun casts a yellow tint on the floor beneath them and it paints the sky a beautiful picture of orange and pink hues as it dips below the horizon. Purpled’s always been a fan of sunsets.
“We’ll figure it out,” Couriway said simply after a few more moments. “Purpled, you should probably go see—“
“Hannah,” Purpled finished. “I’ll go see Hannah later.”
Couriway stared at him suspiciously for a moment before turning to Wallibear, “Walli, make sure he sees Hannah.”
“Alright man,” Purpled said, “What the fuck?”
A smile formed at the corner of Feinberg’s lips, “I mean, you don’t have the greatest track record of visiting her whenever you need to.”
“Because it’s Hannah!” Purpled exclaimed.
Is that the problem? No.
Does he actually not like her? No.
Is it fun to act like he doesn’t like her?
Yeah.
Walli laughed as he rensed out the cup he was drinking out of and threw it in the dishwasher.
Purpled and Wallibear stayed for around an hour longer to catch up on what Purpled missed and what’s been going on since the last time they spoke. Couriway explained how he was invited to work for a specific organization that gives him missions but surprisingly still allows him almost a hundred percent freedom, which is rare in organizations these days. Feinberg said he was planning on joining it because he knows most people in it, and it’s still relatively new. Purpled can’t remember the name of it but he thinks it’s something along the lines of HBG.
After that, Purpled and Walli said their goodbyes.
Walli turned around from outside in the hallway and gave Purpled a look that he only returned before sighing and turning back around to the other two roommates.
And oh man, when he looks back at this he’s going to regret it immensely.
But, they did save his life.
“Hey,” Purpled began with a certain sincerity that he doesn’t use often. He met Fein and Couri’s eyes separately and yet together at the same time, “Thank you. Genuinely.”
Couriway smiled, “No problem, Purp.”
There was a pause, and right before Purpled turned to leave Couri added, “You owe us one.”
“OK,” Purpled replied with a small laugh in a tone that said he completely expected that.
He was already out in the hallway when he heard Feinberg call out to him, “You’re a dumbass!”
“Fuck you!” He returned.
The stars were already appearing in the sky by the time Purpled left the building. Despite himself, he found it quite peaceful. Especially compared to how eventful these last few days have been. The night sky has always been one of the things he can find peace in. He used to go on walks at night just to get his head off of things.
After today, he might just have to start doing that again.