Who: Will Scarlet, Robin Hood, and a nefarious intruder. What: John's revenge is a bit inept, much like himself. Where: Robin's apartment When: forward-dated: around midnight, Friday night, 16th Dec '11 Warnings: swearings and poorly attempted murder
The assassin was stealthy, but he wasn't experienced. He'd only really taken up this job because it paid so brilliantly and he had a thing for getting away with murder. The apartment he'd broken into for this job was not fabulous, but the locks on the door were hard enough to pick. What kind of man needed five locks and a chain anyway?
Anyway, he moved silently, having memorised the floor plan. The target's bedroom was straight ahead. The killer stretched a piece of wire between his gloved hands, preparing himself for the moment when he'd strangle the sleeping man to death.
Then he kicked a teaspoon that he hadn't seen. The clatter was loud, and he froze with his foot in the air, holding his breath. Nothing happened. He breathed out a sigh and put his foot down.
The problem of being a wily thief was that you tended to be a light sleeper, always alert for someone sneaking up on you. The threat of revenge from John was a real one, and especially after both St George and Marian warned Robin against interfering with him. Like Robin, Will didn't fear John, but it didn't hurt to be vigilant. Will decided to sleep on the sofa, wary of attack, and so woke the instant there was a noise. He vaulted the sofa and barreled into the masked intruder, grappling with him, trying to get his hands on the wrists of the intruder who- was holding wire?? He was stronger than he looked too. Will tried to pull the wire out of his hands, and swore when it cut into his skin. A mug got knocked in the struggle and fell off the bench with a crash.
As soon as Will bellowed Robin hopped out of bed, bat ready in hand. He flipped on all the lights looking around for this 'intruder' John had sent their way. Surely, the old brat king didn't think this plan would actually work? Robin had outsmarted him many times, this threat was nothing more than hot air.
Yet, there in his tiny living room was Will and a man in black. He could see the blood and decided to distract. "Aren't you looking for me?" Robin said in a smug voice, motioning with his hand for the intruder to make a mad dash. Robin was actually kind of bouncy, this kind of fun didn't happen anymore.
This wasn't supposed to happen. It was meant to be an in and out job: get in, garrote the guy, get out. Instead there was a guy with a bat and another guy grappling with him on the floor the the intruder was kind of starting to panic. He abandoned the wire and tried to struggle out of Will's grip, pulling a dagger from his belt as he did so. He did make a valiant effort to fulfill his contract and stab his target.
Robin tackled the man behind as he tried to force the dagger at Will. "I said wrong guy, mate," Robin managed to break the contact. Now the intruder was on top of him with the dagger pointed at his gut. Robin wasn't afraid of a little blood, and it gave Will a chance to get to his feet.
They knocked over various tables, chairs and objects as they rolled around on the floor. There was a grunt, a slice and the vision of blood on the floor, but the source was uncertain at the moment.
Will tried to see what was going on, but it was difficult in the mess of flailing arms. All he was was the assassin going in for a stab, and he leapt forward and tackled him off.
"Robin! Oh god-" Will pinned the attacker with his knees and peered at Robin, looking for the source of the bleeding. There seemed to be so much blood. This man was clearly here to murder one or both of them, and playing possum seemed to be a good plan all of a sudden. When the man jabbed Will and threw him off, Will let him, and cried out in anger as the knife appeared to disappear into Robin once more. "No- no!" He stooped over him, blocking Robin's body from view of their attacker and cradling him, while giving him a look that said, Make this a good one.
The wound stung, it was a lot deeper than Robin had expected. The blood glazed over his side as he staggered to his feet. He fell again just as Will rushed to his side. It was all too easy to just lay there limp like a rag doll. It felt better to flop on his back. The wound was painful, deeper than he wanted but he'd live.
Letting his eyes roll back, Robin played up the injury complete with gurgling noices and heavy breathing. Even Will would question his true state, especially when his head rolled on its side.
Will shook Robin slightly. "No, stay with me, come on," he said, "That's a lotta blood, buddy, you gotta stay with me-" He was starting to get a bit worried, what with the odd lighting making Robin look so pallid, and the gurgling, and the floppy neck. "No come on! Robin!" Will looked over his shoulder. The assassin was standing there, out of breath, but when Will started to rise, he cut his losses and ran, certain that the man couldn't have survived. It was more than his rep was worth to tell his client that he'd failed.
As soon as he was gone, Will bent back over Robin, genuine concern starting to grip him. "I'm gonna call an ambulance if you don't stay with me," he threatened, shaking him gently again.
Even with the promise that the intruder had skipped out like a clattering thief, Robin still lay there in Will's arms limp.
"Stop shaking, mate," he said in a whispered breath. It was almost too much effort to speak. He was tired. He could barely open his eyes even now.
"Shit." Will gritted his teeth and got up, running for the bathroom and anything useful Robin might have in there. He came back with a towel, which he pressed on the wound, and took Robin's hand to hold it in place. "You need pressure on it, okay? Where's your first aid kit?" He rolled up a second towel to use as a cushion under Robin's head. "Talk to me Rob, where's your bandages?"
Will's voice was so loud against his ears that it made his eyes flutter a time or two. The light flashing around them, bright and unnerving. This had happened before but he'd been an old man.
He held down the towel, applying as much pressure as he was able with shaky hands. "Under the sink," he managed to say just wanted to rest. Rest was good? Except usually when he slept he wasn't covered in his own blood.
Will made the trip in two shakes, finding the rest of Robin's first aid kit there too. He brought back a bottle of water too, and gently began treating the wound, trying to wipe away the blood so the gauze would stay down. "You're supposed to be faking it," he said, recalling distant memories of missions gone wrong and trying not to get his hands shake. "Do you remember the time we ambushed that coach, and Little John got a spear through his arm? He bled all over the place." He wondered if Robin would need stitches. He probably would. Will just needed to keep Robin with him until the supernatural forces that kept them going started to heal Robin up a bit. "Do you remember?" he repeated, wanting Robin to focus on his voice while he applied pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding. He doubted that anything vital had been cut, but the bleeding was bad enough on its own.
It stung, the pressure and Will's meddling. It made Robin wince from the pain, feeling his head go dizzy.
"I just need to close my eyes," he said weakly, he could feel all his limbs go numb. Will's story was loud in his weakened ears, keeping him awake which was probably a good thing. He tiredly looked up, trying to comprehend the story, digging deep in his memory for the answer Will was looking for.
"I think so." He'd been in worse scrapes than this before. He'd come out of them. This would be a walk in the park.
"Friar Tuck patched him up then. Now we don't have Tuck here now, but you do have me, and I'm pretty nifty with a needle," Will said with a wink. "A couple of stitches to keep your guts from falling out and you'll be fine. Now-" He tilted his head, peering under the sofa nearby to see if the flask of alcohol he had put there was in reach. If he tipped his foot under a bit, he could scoop it out. It took a bit of effort, holding the pressure and getting the flash, and he nearly lost it, but he soon had it in hand.
"Now you may be wondering why I keep bourbon under the sofa," he said, unscrewing the top with one hand. "Or you may not. Either way-" he paused to take a gulp of it, and then tipped it to Robin's lips, "-you'll be glad of it."
"I don't know if I trust your trick finger," Robin said in the attempt to laugh, but it only hurt. Robin gratefully took a few good gulps of that bourbon. It would numb the pain. He pulled the flask from Will's hand, downing even more before he handed it over and gritted his teeth.
"Alright, mate. I'm ready." As ready as he'd ever be.
Will nodded and got out the needle and thread, then lifted the pad from Robin's wound. He sloshed alcohol over it to clean it without warning Robin that the pain was coming, then started sewing.
"It's been proving that swearing can help cope with pain," he said conversationally, cutting off the first stitch and moving to the second. Luckily, there wouldn't be need for many. "But overuse blunts the effectiveness. If that helps?"
There was a lot to swear about, and a sting that nearly made him smack Will across the face. "It's skin, remember, not fabric." His teeth gritted. He didn't remember it feeling this sharp.
"It's not taking long. The bleeding is already slowing," Will said, pushing the curved needle through the edges of Robin's skin and tying off the second stitch. He only needed to do 7 stitches over both wounds in the end, but Robin was squirming about in pain which made it trickier. Will had to ply him with bourbon every now and then to keep him quiet.
"Done," he said at last. "Now I'm going to bandage this and then help you back to bed and you're not going to move."
To Will it may be a short passing, to Robin this felt like his skin was being pulled off. Not even the heavy amounts of bourbon could make the pain dull, it did make his limbs go numb.
Robin exhaled with a grunt, reaching for what was left in that bottle. After a moment he started to laugh. It gradually grew louder, a grin so wide it could pierce his earlobes. "What are we going to do about that old conker, John? You know that was his right hand man." If he hadn't been so incompetent he would have thought it Gisborne. But Gisborne was a much tougher play than that.
Will shook his head, just relieved that Robin was actually laughing, and started to relax. "Let him think he got away with it. We'll plot something to surprise him later," he said with a grin, taking the bottle back to give the wound one last slosh with alcohol before he bandaged it up. Robin's blood was under his fingernails. He was going to have to shower. He found a couple of painkillers and gave Robin back the bottle and the pills, indicating he should take them.
Robin sat up with strained effort, roping his arm around Will's shoulders for the proper balance. Getting to the bed was going to be a lot tougher than it seemed. What was about ten feet away or less was going to feel like hundreds of yards.
"He's going to be a wee pissed when he finds out otherwise. Jolly good."