meadowlarklogs | would you break before you twist the knife?

Entry tags:

would you break before you twist the knife?

WHO: jason todd & cain
WHERE: shady underground fight rings
WHEN: october 23rd
WHAT: tmw you piss someone off so they send some assholes to try and murder you
NOTES OR WARNINGS: attempted murder, blood, stabbings?? etc etc

( he's gotten a little too comfortable hanging around the fight rings, maybe. jason doesn't get in the ring himself much anymore; when he's angry, when he wants to punch someone's lights out, when he's feeling a little more stiff than usual--sure. why the hell not. but he's here for information, to chat with the usual customers, talk with members of the warlocks and laugh at all the right jokes, start shit with all the wrong people.

it's a home away from home; the rougher crowd reminds him of life back in gotham, helps fill in that bit of homesickness he gets while satisfying that craving for something a little more. and sometimes, shit happens. fights start. knives get thrown, people pull out all their shiny tech or show off their enhancements and it's fun.

what isn't fun is that jason's gotten overly comfortable with it all. enough that he lets himself get just tipsy enough, grins at the man in front of him--wade--as they talk through the new supply route sen has been planning out when someone approaches him from behind. moves to step to the side of jason with just enough space jason doesn't see it as anything shady but--

there's a knife in hand. a knife he's holding in a tight fist and thrusting it right for jason's chest with a quick step in. fast enough that jason doesn't have time to dodge, but does have time to wrap his own goddamn fingers around the blade to keep it from sinking in too deep. he hisses, gripping tight as the man moves to try and thrust it in deeper despite the hand in his way. if it had landed any higher, jason'd be fucked.

the guy may have been fast enough to get the knife in, but jason's reaction time after getting the shit stabbed out of him is better. he takes a step forward with his hand still gripping onto the knife, hisses through the pain and leans in to shove a forearm against the man's upper arm. lets go of the blade just long enough to wrap his fingers around his wrist and forcefully pull the knife out, keeps hold of that wrist and turns the man's arm in before slamming his elbow into his humerus and raising a leg to slam his knee directly into the man's crotch. )

Ow, fuck. ( he's down. jason can't bend over to grab hold of the knife, but wade's snapped out of the momentary shock enough to try and grab it with a shout back to someone else. jason raises the bloody, cut up hand to his chest where the knife dug in--right between floating ribs, a great shot for his fucking liver which he'd be thinking about if he wasn't. busy collapsing down onto his knees and trying to keep pressure on it.

it's definitely going to leave a mark. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's his first night back in the ring in weeks. Preoccupied both with the Hideki plan and Abel's arrival, time's taken away from this particular info-gathering hobby and sport. And he knows Hideki's opinion of the fighting rings is more negative, so it's not good to be seen here with any frequency given his attachment to social media now. A fucking inconvenience is what it is. Tonight Cain's cast caution to the wind in favor of scratching that itch of frustration the only way he knows how: getting his fists bruised on someone else's body. Maybe he isn't the best of the lot, but he's good and always improving -- those skills need to remain sharpened. He can't let himself slack off.

Not when any moment, they could fall to an attack. Not with Abel here now, depending on him to keep them safe.

This night is a good one, because Jason's around too, a known face in a crowd of shadow and unfamiliarity. He's planning to get him a beer at some point, but they've yet to come together -- Cain's coming down out of the ring from a harsh victory when it happens. Windblown and high on adrenaline and grinning like a wild animal, he freezes halfway across the room. The moment's so quick he's almost not sure what he's witnessed: someone moves too close to Jason, there's a flash of silver in the spotlight overhead, a brief tangle of bodies, the other man's body dropping, then wet red, then Jason on his knees. Cain's expression wipes clear of winner's elation and instead creases in livid anger.

Panic, fluttering frail somewhere beneath the savage pulse of his heart.

He pushes forward through the crowd at a lunge, takes someone by the shoulder -- Sen, not that Cain knows him -- and shoves to clear a path.]

Move! Back the fuck off!

[Cain's snarling all teeth as he arrives at Jason's side, distrustful of every single person in the vicinity. Protective enough he looks as though he might physically bite anyone who gets too close. He kneels and pulls Jason's arm over his shoulder, in preparation to haul him out of this place, somewhere quieter to assess. The underground isn't safe. Someone could try again, to finish the job.]

Don't pass out on me, asshole. You're too fucking heavy.

Edited 2019-05-16 22:34 (UTC)

( the instantaneous reaction gave what he needed. room. time to try and hold his own guts in. there's noise and yelling and other bullshit but jesus christ it hurts too. he--sees someone getting up closer, recognizes cain and decides there's no need to try and push him away. cain's not going to do shit. )

's fine. ( is what he says instead, letting cain grab onto his arm and pressing the hand even harder against the open wound as he's moved. leans into cain once he's up onto his feet and hisses again when the movement causes a fresh stream of blood to spill from the wound. what he wouldn't give for his kevlar-laced gear, that shit wouldn't have gotten near as deep had he been properly dressed. thanks new amsterdam, for taking away his favorite toys. ) I'm fine, ( he tries again, hissed between teeth. ) flesh wound, it'll heal.

( but his voice is strained, more gruff than usual, and the color's draining from his face fast. he's--definitely not okay, even if he's still awake. pulling the knife out was a stupid, shitty move. christ. he should've just left it in, broken that asshole's wrist, dealt with this whole bullshit later but--he didn't think of it in the heat of the moment, like an idiot. )

[The panic is singing louder in his head once the first flare of shocked anger fades, but at least Jason is alive, leaning warm and heavy onto his shoulder. They just have to get the fuck out of here. Away from the crowd, into one of the back rooms until Cain can figure out what the hell happened and how they're going to fix it. Dangerous to haul Jason further while he's bleeding like this if the damage is excessive. He could risk losing too much, too fast, and...

Cain isn't going to let that happen. Even if there's the security of a revival through Morningstar's means, he's never gone through that process, doesn't really understand how it could work. He doesn't want to take that route. His hand covers Jason's over the wound. Soon they're both smeared in blood and he can feel it everywhere, slick in the black glove he's wearing.

Whoever's attacked Jason's gone from the crowd and lost somewhere in a tangle of people who don't give much of a fuck about what happens to each other; maybe this isn't the first time someone's been stabbed in the chest. Shoving open a door, Cain drags him inside and eases his weight down.]

What, so is your power gonna let you stitch it up? 'Cause that'd be real nice right now.

( his legs are fine, but he hates the walking. there's grumbled nonsense under his breath when cain keeps on moving, when he helps jason down to the ground but he's--fine. mostly fine. pale, bleeding, but the stupid smarmy grin is still growing at the corners of his lips regardless. so whatever, right? everything's fine. )

Naw. What, you think you're gonna get the easy route? ( he huffs out a laugh, winces as it causes his chest to expand. both eyes look around the room they're in, and jason's--shifting a bit, leaning up a little. ) First aid kit. There's several 'round here. 've got tape, if you wanna go the easy route.

( he doesn't know how much training cain has and jason probably can't stitch himself up when he's got an open wound on one hand. but he can probably talk cain through it, if he'll take the time to listen. at the very least, he's nowhere near close to passing out. )

I don't care about the easy route.

[What he cares about is putting Jason back together so he doesn't die on him like this, knifed in a crowd, such a shitty and cowardly attempt. Someone has it out for him. Cain wishes he'd got a better look while they were out there, but the drive to act superseded everything else.

He lets go of Jason and automatically climbs to his feet to dig through the contents of the room. Still breathless, still bare-armed and dressed in the loose, flexible clothing of the fight, adrenaline keeps him focused. Once he locates a kit, he snatches it off a shelf and carries it back over to kneel.]

Lay down on your back. [He's done this in recent memory, only those were bullet holes and not the messy, gory wound of a knife. He needs to see how bad it is.] Why the fuck are you grinning, you psycho?

( lay back, and jason's down on the ground easy. keeps his hand pressed tight to the wound so there's. still the shirt as a barrier to get through but it's thin. easy to tear off. and despite not knowing jack shit about what cain can do, jason trusts him not to try something he shouldn't with this. )

Just thinkin' bout you rushing over to help lil' old me. ( how fucking dependable cain is. it's good. jason sure as hell appreciates it. ) Don't think it got too deep. Just--deep enough.

( palm still pressing tight to the wound and jason--tilts his head down to try and look at it. there's blood everywhere but he knows a wound that'd kill him from one a little less severe. ) 'f we can close it up enough for now, I'll call Dick to patch it after.

( and hate every moment of it, but he probably shouldn't be calling damian for this crap, and this one's a little too deep for markus. )

[The relief takes over everything else, at least reassured by the fact Jason's still running his mouth. Not deep enough to kill him. And that shouldn't surprise him, Jason wouldn't go down that easy. There's still a risk. Anyone would die taking a knife to a vital, vulnerable place in their body, right? His eyes lower then to the bloody state of Jason's hand.

Smart, but probably painful.]

Should've got there sooner. [There's a snarl on Cain's lips as he crouches and cracks open the first aid kit to an array of supplies. He pulls out a bundle of dressings and presses it to the wound, tearing open Jason's shirt to expose the area.] Want me to contact him?

( there's a hiss when cain moves fabric away from the wound, focuses on dressing the knife wound to his gut which--leaves his hand exposed, too. that's fine. his fingers still bend, nothing's damaged more than open skin and veins it's--fine. definitely. )

Alcohol. You're gonna need to pour some on. ( no one wants an infection that close to their liver. how's he supposed to drink booze without that? or like. anything. )

Sure. Have fun explaining this bullshit to 'em.

( he's already pissed off dick numerous times since getting here. they'd promised to communicate more--there wasn't. anything to communicate but jesus fuck. nobody likes to deal with stab wounds. )

I know, fuck, I know, just... trying to get it to stop bleeding.

[He applies more pressure with the bundle of fabric, all while his mind races over the last few minutes. It seems as though the moment's slowed down into a gradual tedious crawl.]

Hold this, okay? [It's a command, even as he lunges to his feet again. Alcohol. There isn't any in this room, is there? He's managed to haul Jason into what appears to be a shadowy storage closet, hence the first aid kit on a shelf.] I'm going out to the bar. Don't you dare fucking move.

[A hasty trip out of the room -- no one pays much mind to his secondhand bloody state, because why would they in a place designed for that? -- Cain shoves his way to the front of the crowd at the bar and quickly purchases a high-proof bottle from the tender. His barking demands get him space and rapid delivery. And then he dashes back, locking the door behind him, panting with exertion.]

Still alive?

( the bloodied hand presses back over the pile of fabric over his chest, hissing at the combination of both the cuts on his hand and the pressure against his chest. cain's doing his best, he's handling it, he's not freaking out and losing his shit over everything so that's--great. a great sign. jason closes his eyes but he's still very much awake, knows better than to let himself pass out if he can help it. )

Oh, sure. 'll just get up a run a goddamn marathon while you're gone. Sounds dandy.

( nah. he'll lay here instead. test how much pressure he can put on individual fingertips to make sure those are all still good. he definitely feels them. cain returns, and jason refocuses on the sound of his voice. )

Mm, maybe. Or maybe 'm dead.

Better take more than that to kill you, or I'm gonna kill you myself out of disappointment.

[He's just talking, saying shit, whatever comes into his head on the spur of the movement impulse, because it feels better than letting tense silence lapse between them separated only by Jason's ragged breaths. He drops to his knees, peels off gloves, wipes his hands on a scrap of towel, then rinses them in the alcohol before turning to the mess of red-drenched fabric that is Jason's chest. It makes his gut clench looking at it, but his hands are steady.]

Who did you piss off, anyway?

[Nudging Jason away from the wound -- any skin contact will reveal the electric thread of his focus, as well as those frayed nerves of real fear and worry (that he'll vehemently deny later) -- Cain sets on sanitizing the entry point. He douses a cloth and cleans it off, clearing through the flow of blood.]

( cain is focused. jason is doing his goddamn best not to pass out; every breath brings a fresh new wave of terrible, excruciating pain laced with exhaustion but he--manages to keep from showing it too much despite that. cain moves to clean it, and he's hissing through his teeth, jaw clenched tight. it hurts, of course it does. but jason doesn't flinch despite that.

the wound is--deep, but not as deep as it could be. it's likely nicked his liver a bit, but not enough to cause so much damage he'd need surgery to fix it. )

Dunno. Didn't recognize 'em. ( not the man who went after him, at least. there's only one person here he's really ticked off, but he can't imagine her connecting the recent string of robberies to him. jason's mildly involved, but--well. unless she knows his ties to the warlocks. ) You ever stitch someone up before?

[It's a jagged slash through flesh, looks like an bloody red mouth, makes Cain's lip curl with anger at whoever did it. That's a problem for later. He's past the threshold of thinking Jason's going to die, but that doesn't ease his nerves. He won't feel better until Jason's patched up and recovering and knocking him around as usual.]

... Yeah. I can do it.

[His gaze falls to the kit, where the supplies are ready and waiting for such an event. Lucky it happened here and not out on the street or somewhere less prepared. This place is meant for injuries. Better do it themselves than have to drag Jason to the hospital, or call someone else, all risky and dangerous options. He raises the alcohol and jostles the liquid inside.]

Want some?

[Considering he's going to have to bring needle to skin soon.]

( of course he wants some. would pour that whole goddamn bottle down his throat in an instant if he could. it'd feel better that way, too; enough alcohol to cause a nice, warm buzz. being drunk when dick shows up would be nice, too. help tune out all the nagging and lecturing. --but jason shakes his head instead of takes it.

doesn't want to add another lecture on top of the one he already knows he's going to get. )

Nah. 'm fine. ( he's not. but he'll be fine. as soon as this shit's closed up and dealt with, once he heals and finds whatever fucking asshole who decided to stab him in the middle of his goddamn workplace. he'll be fine. this isn't the kind of shit that keeps him down for long at all. )

You might need some though.

( cain's--handling it, very well. jason'll have to remember to thank him for it later. but for now, ) two swigs?

Fuck it.

[There's no hesitation as he brings the bottle to his own lips, pulls off it, two swings as Jason says. Then it's set aside as he digs out the clean needle and medical thread from the kit, pulls on sterile gloves (better not to feel what Jason's going through, in addition), laying one palm on Jason's chest outside the tender area where the wound rests. The blood, at least, has slowed from its earlier rush of fresh trauma. He uses a clean cloth to wipe away more of it, then sets the needle to skin to begin that first stitch.

His teeth are gritted together, set so hard his jaw aches with the effort of tension. It's never pretty -- worse when he's threading up a stab wound, messy already, flesh torn open in a messy hole. Cain narrows his attention on the work in favor of making sure he does it right. He's no medical doctor, but he's had exposure to this. More than he'd openly admit. Maybe he's not Jason's level of wild, crime-ridden upbringing, but he's experienced violence and fights and enough knife-wounds to know he never wants to be on the sharp end again.]

Gotta take care of your hand too, after this. Crazy asshole.

[He's not going to stop insulting Jason at this rate.]

( at the very least--it already hurts like hell, so the needle doesn't seem to hurt him any more. it's slowed, but there's still a steady stream of blood leaking from the open wound. jason's--a little more pale, but awake. functional--or as close to it as he's going to get. and he stays as still as possible; there's the slow rise and fall of his chest with each breath, expression pinching when that causes more pain but he's--quiet. doesn't flinch or squirm much at all.

being full of holes isn't anything new, even if getting patched up by cain himself is. but this? this jason can handle. he keeps eyes focused down towards the wound, watches cain's fingers work at it. he's handling it fine, his sutures are good enough to work and that's really all that matters, isn't it? there's no complaints from jason, at least. as long as it's enough to close it up for now, to help stop the bleeding, that's all he gives a shit about. )

Thanks. ( it's low, gruff. for all of cain's bitching he's still working at it. he still jumped in the moment he heard something, still dragged jason away from the crowd to try and fix him up. and jason--definitely appreciates it. )

[Jason is a better patient than most. Still, almost resigned to the immobility of his wound, and that's necessary as Cain continues the delicate process of stitching him up. It's not a permanent job. It'll be enough to hold the wound closed for now, but it may need to be redone -- or at least maintained, cleaned -- in the future as Jason goes through recovery. That's fine. He'll live. Cain's hands are decidedly steadier with that knowledge fixed into his mind.

Falling to silence through the tedious process, his concentration carries him through to the end of the task until he can tie off the end of the medical thread. A healing gel is applied on top of angry red skin to help soothe lingering pain. One of the medical wonders of this new future. He's also seen autonomous handheld machines that suture wounds with only a guiding hand, but evidently the underground can't quite afford it. That's fine, this worked.

Cain leans back on his heels and lets out a harsh breath, peeling off bloodied gloves.] Don't thank me yet. Maybe that bastard'll come back and try to finish the job. It's not safe here.

( it's less patience and more--knowing. knowing struggling would be pointless, knowing that movement is only going to make it harder, that if he sits here, shuts up, and bears with it at least cain will have the space to finish his stitches. he's not going anywhere any time soon, jason is well aware of that; with his wounds? he doubts he'll be moving on his own for the next couple days at least.

it's not deep enough to cause lasting damage, but it's deep enough that agitating it might. cain finishes up, and jason lets out the breath he'd been holding. closes his eyes and lets himself relax into the ground. it's not comfortable, but it's better than the alternative. )

You called Dickie, right? We'll be fine. ( dick's a lot of things--but he won't leave jason to die on the ground in an underground fight ring. jason believes that, at the very least. ) Bet he's rushing to get here now, that idiot.

Dickie?

[It comes out a sharp, shaky laugh as Cain takes care of putting everything in the kit away, all the soiled items to be cleaned or disposed. He takes another swig from the alcohol, too, because whatever, he bought it. May as well drink it.]

Yeah, sent him a message. He knows. [Not while he was stitching Jason up, but in the interim before.] So what's the story with you two? Why not the little brother?

( it's not a story he wants to get into. the--overly complicated relationship he and dick have, here. back home, they'd straightened a lot of shit out. here--dick is years behind jason, he's used to jason being fucked up and crazy and pulling weird shit and not trying, not like he does now. it pisses him off. but. )

Hafid'll try and find some way to blame himself. An' if he can't, he'll go push for revenge. ( a low grunt, raising the bloodied hand up to inspect the damage. not too bad at all, for something he used as a quick fix. ) Dick'll just get pissed at me for not being more careful.

Sounds like a complicated family relationship.

[Maybe it never is anything less than complex. Cain won't pry into what the history is between these brothers, but he can tell they play their cards close to their chest from the briefer interactions he's shared with Dick and Hafid both. All three have that in common, not that Cain's dissimilar. Just different cards.]

Gonna stay here until he shows up. Okay?

[There's no room for argument. He reaches for a metal stool tucked into the corner of the room, drags it closer, and perches on it.]

I'm here.

[It didn't take as long as he'd expected, to navigate the space- not between Cain's helpful directives and his thunderous expression. He's not sure it would have gone quite so well, if they'd all known the two in this room had invited a member of the NAPD into their midst.

There's a beat longer that he stands in the doorway, fingers curled around the knob until his knuckles have gone white and bloodless. Asses the room, Cain, the attempt at piecing Jason back together and the little brother in question. The one who couldn't just seem to stop getting into trouble no matter what circumstances they were under.

And while Jason certainly looks out of it, worse than he's seen him in a long time- he also doesn't look like he's going to drop dead at any moment. Whatever work Cain did to tide him over- it seems to have done the job, and something eases about his shoulders just slightly. He steps into the room and swings the door shut behind him, at least a temporary barrier in the event that anyone did want to follow them in.

It's short work to bridge the distance between them, though he only spares Cain a pointed, cool glance that brings the message that he should stay put across loud and clear, and then he's crouching down by Jason, reaching out to skim his fingers along his cheek. The first time he's initiated the bond with this particular brother, for no discernible reason at all. Concern comes across clearest, with the anger rolling thick and heavy beneath it, though he's trying to alleviate it by thinking of something good, something sweet- anything to keep Jason focused off how he feels]

What the hell happened?

( it's quiet, for several moments. there's nothing for jason to say to cain's response, nothing for him to give back. cain's been more than enough, but he doesn't--know how to put words to that. definitely doesn't want to either, not here. these aren't the circumstances one should be giving praise in, not like that. so jason takes a breath, steadying. closes his eyes and lays there. doesn't move, because like hell does he really want to pull on fresh stitches over a wound that's still killing him.

dick's voice rings true, loud and right outside the door and jason opens an eye, watches the door swing open. watches it slam shut before dick's getting up close and personal, putting a hand against his cheek and jason hates it. turns his head away with a hiss, but it's a little too late for that. his skin's--overly cold to the touch, he's much more pale than he should be, and while jason's always a creature of too many tumultuous emotions all that bleeds through the empathy bond is pain. it throbs to the beat of his heart, to each breath and it's fucking terrible. he doesn't like it. especially doesn't like that dick's touching him and feeling it with him.

but it's strong enough he barely notices dick's own emotions. )

Got stabbed 's what. ( gruff, low. the barriers that had gone down when it was just him and cain are right back up. his shoulders stiffen, before that too has him hissing in pain. ) I was just having a nice conversation. Didn't do jack shit, Cain saw it.

( don't yell at him, this wasn't something he went out of his way to cause. )

[As soon as Dick is through the door, Cain sits up more rigid astride the stool, hands in his lap and curled into tight bloodless fists. It's not his business to get involved between the two of them, but dark eyes follow Dick across the room like a watchful guard dog nonetheless. Trusts Jason more than anything to have picked someone he can trust -- family, it seems, which is a decent indicator -- but he's uneasy through this whole ordeal.

The words that call him out just make him relive the worst of that experience as he'd watched Jason go down, the assailant's shadow lost in the crowd. How adrenaline of fear kicked into his body. It's draining out of him now and he feels exhausted for it, but that pales in comparison to the pain he knows Jason is experiencing. But he's alive. That's the crucial fact.]

Guy came at him out of nowhere, used the crowd to stay anonymous and secure a quick getaway. Bastard's a coward.

[Cain had wanted to go after him, but the priority of getting Jason somewhere safe while he bled came first.]

Might wanna wrap your hand, uh. [Since he'd used his fingers to guard against a fucking blade.] There's some more bandages in the kit.

Don't start.

[If it were any other situation, any other protestation of innocence- Dick would have rolled his eyes hard enough to strain something. As it is, he settles for checking over Cain's work himself. Takes note of the healing gel carefully layered over top of the stitchwork. It's not a perfect job- but the stitches are neat and well enough to survive the wear and tear of transporting Jason somewhere safer.

Satisfied, he shifts his attention back to the conversation at hand. The little details are important, need to be given once, twice, and again- need to happen when they're as fresh in the mind as possible. Jason knows this, and while he can't rule out that Cain has a similar skillset to their own, given that he's a largely unknown variable, he's certain that Jason knows exactly what to look for, what to process even when he's largely occupied with something else]

Coward's not the word I'd use. [If the assailant was someone Jason was familiar with, someone who'd done it out of some perceived slight- who'd realized what he'd done just after the initial act and bolted- sure, that's apt. As it is- the word Dick would use is professional]

You fight in an illegal ring, where large sums of money are being placed on a certain outcome. People rig these things on much less cash. They also take out the competition outside of the ring, if they have a lot to lose.

Has anything like this ever happened before?

[Even if they didn't succeed? That's the problem with the lack of transparency they've had before. Dick has to ask- because Jason would never have told him before. And while Dick is certain that Jason is smart enough to throw the occasional fight or pick one against an opponent with enough mods that he knows he could never win against, to avoid drawing all the wrong kinds of attention- he's also insanely reckless, with a hair trigger temper that sometimes blinds him to what he knows the right move is.

It's possible that this is nothing. That this is someone who wanted to take him out to win the next few fights and recoup their losses while Jason was out healing. It's also possible that this is so, so much bigger.

There's a pause, when Cain draws attention to Jason's hand and Dick's leaning for the kit even as he's using his other to grab at Jason's hand, turning it to look at the damage. There's the press of the tongue against the back of his teeth, before he looks at their companion]

I don't know what you're doing here- [if he fights, if he comes to hang out with Jason between the rounds-] but I know there's a bar full of people who just saw you get involved in this. Who saw that you were invested. Start finding somewhere else to hang out.

[It's firm, authoritative without meaning to be- the same sort of lecturing he'd give to any of his other brothers and expect them to listen. If Cain doesn't- if he gets snagged in the crossfire of whatever this is- he might not get as lucky as Jason, to have one of their own there.

Time to get real legal jobs, kids]

( dick's taking charge again and jason--well. dick's right, jason can't say shit about this. he called for him, in a way. he asked for this himself, and jason sure as hell can't take charge right now. he's colder than he should be, woozy after losing so much fucking blood and everything hurts. trying to navigate his way through anything that isn't finding the next best place to hide is going to be near impossible.

so he doesn't. he grits his teeth, lets dick grab hold of his hand. the cut there's deep enough that it's definitely still bleeding, goes across his palm and through a few fingers where he gripped tight but it's--not damage enough to cause anything permanent. jason knew he needed to protect his internal organs. also knew he needs his fucking hands.

even if he doesn't like being manhandled like this, thanks. )

Haven't fought for a bit--usually only for show. ( he's moved up in his circle, there's no need to impress the local gangs anymore and he doesn't pay much in rent. the money he gets from favors is usually enough to sustain himself. that, and the other shenanigans he gets into when no one's looking. ) Guy knew who he was coming for, but I don't think it had jack shit to do with, ( hold on, he needs a breath. slow in, slow out. ) the crowd here. 'm respected.

( he's working his way up through the metaphorical food chain. only someone drunk or high would be stupid enough to come for him in front of the warlocks. this guy was neither. )

Cain's fine. ( a beat. low, ) Probably.

[Cain's eyes drift between the two brothers, watching the exchange, fine to sit it out as much as he needs to. He did what he intended: got Jason somewhere marginally safer than an open crowd and kept him alive until help could come and fill in the gaps. That's what Dick represents here, and regardless of the brief exchange they'd had what feels like ages ago now, Cain's neutral to that. He just wanted to keep Jason in one piece.]

I'm fine. [Echoing Jason.] Doesn't matter.

[While he does have a real, legal job in the outside world to pay most of the bills, this place is an outlet for him. It's also potentially useful in the event of underground rumors. That said, Cain's been coming here less since the arrival of Abel and the progression of his and Prompto's "friendship" with Hideki Maeda -- too much occupying his time and attention. Dick isn't wrong that there were other witnesses. He doesn't care, so long as it won't impact his position with Hideki.]

Besides, I helped him because I was here. [One boot lifts, hooking the heel into the stool's lower rungs.] You guys want me to stick around, or what?

[Maybe they need private time... to yell at each other... or whatever brothers do.]

Edited 2019-05-29 06:50 (UTC)

[He's pressing gauze to the wound of Jason's hand first thing, pressing down sharply in a way that he knows is going to hurt, fingers wrapped around his palm in the mockery of a loose hold. He's aiming to stem the blood flow, only temporarily, enough that he can wipe it clean and see just how bad the wound is, without more coming out on top.

While he waits, he listens, and his mouth thins- there's plenty he could say to that- a whole tirade that's been formed of bits and pieces of others over the years, that gaining respect amongst the crowd here is something that Jason aimed for, that of all the possible angles to work in this city, this is the one he picked. But he's not here to start anything he doesn't intend to finish, in the face of his brothers injuries, he says nothing. Just rolls his shoulders to release the tension, lifts the gauze slightly and wipes it down the length of the wound. It's a clean edge, deep- but not enough to cut through his tendons, not deep enough to hit bone. It's all he manages before it fills in again- but it's more than enough. He makes quick work from there of cleaning it out, putting more gauze beneath for padding, and then wrapping it tightly. Enough to discourage some mobility, knowing Jason- he needs it.

Finally:]

And you didn't know him. [It's said more for confirmation, for the act of processing it out loud, however frustrating, than it is because he couldn't have guessed it. If Jason had known him, he'd have tacked that onto the end of his initial information. There's a pointed look there, for his brother. He has to have an inkling of what that means. That the reasons Dick had to be angry after their initial arrival in New Tokyo were completely vindicated, all in one well placed knife. He's not sure how much Cain does, or doesn't know- so the look is where he leaves it]

You think this doesn't matter? [It's entirely the wrong thing to say Cain, and there's a sharp gesture at Jason's midsection] I'm sure you've met quite a few people here who'd disagree with you, if you were on the receiving end. It might have benefited him that you were here, I won't argue that- but you can't always be.

People like this will root out any weakness you have and exploit it. [That's part of what he meant- when he said they saw him get invested. That he cared what happened to Jason, that he called in backup. Moved them to this room and waited to make sure no one could come in. That's one weakness right there, a means to get to Jason. Cain has those too] If I can't talk you out of coming back, be more careful. Pay attention to the people around you. Try to wear something hard to stab through, under your shirt. Make sure you have back up.

[That should be easy enough. He knows the 'probably' that Jason gives could be true too, but Dick isn't going to run with anything but 'definitely fine'. As for the other question] It'd be easier to move him with you, but I don't need you, no.

[He'll leave that up to Cain. He's already been sufficiently grounded by proxy.]

( there's no point in bitching or fighting against dick, so jason skips all that bullshit. winces and clenches his jaw tight when dick digs his fingers into the wound on his hand, but--it's fine. he's had worse. he can handle this bit. and he's careful to keep fingers slack, lets dick manhandle him around because he's going to anyway. not resisting only makes it easier, right? )

No, I didn't recognize 'em. It wasn't personal, he must've been following orders. ( confirming what he and dick both already know: that this is about someone up the foodchain that jason's pissed off. dick was right all along, and jason fucking hates it. especially that he had to find out like this. and then he starts--going off on cain. that's enough to really piss him off, enough that jason's focusing eyes up onto dick and shifting his weight onto his (noninjured side) forearm to try and sit himself up. it hurts, it's definitely causing the stitches on his midsection to sting a little more, but jason's nothing if not stubborn. too stubborn to give up just because something hurts. )

Fuck off, Cain's not your responsibility. ( he's jason's, and jason knows damn well better than to start giving cain orders. it doesn't go well. cain isn't an idiot, either; he's seen shit go down within the walls of the fight club, he's betting cain'll at least try to be a little more careful.

there's a glance over towards him, too. jason's expression pinches tight, before he's transferring temporary ownership of his hoverbike over to cain. not a word about it, just a text stating where it's been left. driving shit like that's not smart when he's full of holes, and he's not asking dick to move it. )

Just--help me to Loki's? And 'll be fine from there. Swear.

[There's a reply burning on the tip of his tongue as Dick reels those words off him -- That's not what I said -- and maybe Dick's sentiment comes from a place of knowledge and genuine concern, but he doesn't know this guy. It feels like he's being lectured. Of course he knows what happened to Jason matters, he got fucking stabbed, but Cain didn't. So his own well-being is secondary right now. If someone's going to make a big deal out of this, then it can't be avoided now. It already happened.

Still, even after Jason's done, even after he's transferred the hoverbike neural key to him with a quick message, Cain's temper flares into defiance.]

What the fuck was I supposed to do? Just watch it happen from a safe distance, pretending I don't give a shit? [He gestures toward Jason, still prone on the ground.] Let him bleed out, let that other bastard get another stab in? Fuck that. Someone wants to come after me too, let 'em. I'll deal with it. I know how, I'm not a moron who's never seen this shit before.

[And if it's something he can't handle, then he has no business being here in the underground or hanging anywhere near Jason. It's as much as he deserves for not being prepared for that outcome. Still, that this has happened at all is a shock. Maybe there was a false sense of security; he's not going to let that happen again, if he can avoid it.

Dick says he doesn't need him, Jason's passed over temporary ownership of the bike, so that's that. He whips toward the door...]

Call me if something else happens.

[... and slams it on the way out.]

Edited 2019-06-03 07:16 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

would you break before you twist the knife?

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/busts in like the kool aid man

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