D'Artagnan has the Devil's Luck (devilsluck) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-11-18 11:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | d'artagnan |
Who: D’Artagnan & Remy LeBeau
When: November 18th, evening after work.
Where: A drive by the old house and a bar near the seedier parts of the OC.
What: D’Art gets himself into trouble! Remy helps.
Rating/Warnings: R - Trigger warnings, Language, Violence
Status: Complete
D’Artagnan was on his way home from work. The day itself had been fairly uneventful as most of them were. He supposed he ought to be grateful, but when you had dreams of musketeers as he did it made real life seem well-plain in comparison. He was a little annoyed about it if he was entirely honest. What could you do though?
On a whim he decided to stop by the old house, and as such he ended up near the bar he and Remy had gotten arrested the first time at. However he avoided it, he went to the Starbucks across the street instead, purchased a drink and intended to go back to the car. The old neighborhood itself wasn’t all that safe, but he really wasn’t worried. He wasn’t about to let one incident ruin it for him forever, that would just mean those men won. His pride wouldn’t allow it.
***
Maybe he should have rethought that. Because just as he made it to his car, he’d hear a little laugh from behind. “If it isn’t our friend the fag.” A surely familiar voice would proclaim. And when D’Artagnan turned back to look? Well, he’d find those three men from the bar. The tall, muscular one, the slightly overweight one, and the surprisingly average one.
They all looked smug.
“Come back for more, Spic?” One would demand, causing the other two to laugh along with him.
**
Smug and together. The one Athos had put away was there too. D’Artagnan’s dark eyes looked over the group in disgust as they caught his attention. He didn’t want to even acknowledge them, but he was surprised. “I thought you’d all still be in jail until judgement day.” Of course he recognized them even if he didn’t want to. Their voices sent chills down his spine but he tried not to let it show as he looked over at them defensively.
“Get lost.” He said with a frown as he finally turned to face them, he didn’t like the thought of those men behind him at all.
**
“Fuck you, Queer.” One would snap back, the tallest one laughing some as his friend gave that retort.
But then D’Art had to go on and say that about jail. He had to taunt them, didn’t he? The tallest one would stop laughing and step forward. “I’m back on probation, thanks to you, you piece of shit.” He’d say with a snap, then he’d nod some and the other two would step in to grab hold of the brunette’s arms, and the tallest man slammed a fist into his gut. Not once. Not twice. Once he was sure he’d knocked the wind from his lungs, he’d grab that long hair and haul his head down, bringing his knee up into his face just once. It’d surely be enough to daze him.
Then the other two men would drop him to the ground.
“Fucking fag.” One spat at him.
**
“Yes yes very clever.” That comment was beginning to wear thin. He didn’t care much about it anymore. It seemed it was the only insult these three knew. He’d managed to handle the three that assaulted Bee not to long ago, D’Artagnan figured he could do the same here. Nevermind these men were quite a bit larger and stronger..D’Artagnan wasn’t about to let that scare him off.
It probably should have. He really need to learn when to run. Figured it to be pride that didn’t allow running to be a thing but in this case he really ought to have ignored it.
He felt the men grab at him and attempted to twist away, but they were strong. He hadn’t forgotten that part. Really strong, his lungs wouldn’t be forgetting it either. He was left in a coughing fit trying to gasp for air that wouldn’t come. His ankles wanted to collapse, but being held didn’t allow them to. “That the only way you can take me? hands behind my back?” He managed between futile gasps for air, his vision swimming from pain.
***
His smart-mouth comment would earn a good, hard punch to his face, then another for good measure. “You gonna get what’s comin’ to you.” The fat one would declare, twisting the arm he was holding until he swore he heard something snap-- causing a satisfying look to come across his face.
But then the leader was pulling a gun from the small of his back and would gesture with it.
“Put him in the trunk. We’ll take him out to the woods and have a little fun before I put a bullet in his fuckin head.” It caused some laughter, but the trunk was soon popping open and the two men would wrestle with D’Artagnan to get him into the trunk of the old Caddy. The tallest man, his gun now loosely pointed at the brunette, would watch with a pleased expression.
**
What he wouldn’t give to be back with Bee’s tormentors right now. Really anyone he could deal with. He couldn’t help it, against everything that was in him he still released a sharp hiss of pain. Blood on his face didn’t help his current mental state. He was actually afraid. He always said he wasn’t afraid of anything, but that was a bold faced lie. He was afraid tomorrow he wouldn’t be waking up with Athos, instead he’d be found in a ditch somewhere at this point. If he woke up at all.
That man broke something, he felt it. He wasn’t exactly weak either, but he was broken under his vice grip like pasta noodles. It brought a pained expression to his eyes, but he bit his lip to silence the sound it tried to force out.
“Gotta be kidding me..” He spoke in a ragged tone, spitting out blood from the corner of his mouth as he did. A foot went straight into one of their groins as he was forced into a car trunk. This was getting ridiculous. And at the same time, could be his chance to call someone. And yet his damn pride didn’t like the idea, but the pain that spread through the rest of his body was overriding that. He was dazed as arms over powered and pushed him in, exhaustion was overwhelming as was the need to pass out.
***
Once forced into the back of the car, stuffed into the trunk like luggage, the fat man (who took the hit to the groin) would jerk the tire-iron from the trunk and would bring it down once, twice, three times-- five times against the brunette, his shoulder, his abdomen, his hip, his arm when he tried to curl up, then against his back. The hit to his hip would crunch his cell phone
So much for that hope, D’Artagnan. Then he spit at him, and slammed the trunk. Laughter could be heard, and the doors on the car opening and closing, then it started up, and they were moving.
It’d be ten minutes of driving before the car slowed down and came to a stop.. but then it began to move again-- and there was a sudden jolt, metal slamming into metal, another car had clearly impacted them.
There would be shouting, some gunfire, clearly plenty of commotion, and then silence.
The trunk would pop open a minute later. It would certainly be a surprise to find the red-headed Billionaire standing there.
***
He just lie there. The only thing he could think to do was turn the other way. And there was the cracking of the only hope he’d been holding onto and his heart sank along with it. He wondered if he was going to die then and there. D’Artagnan could barely get enough air in his lungs to convince himself he wasn’t. The tire iron had done it. That was his final moment of conscious awareness for a good while.
This was a new low. At least when the trunk was shut it was comfortable. Very comfortable. In that moment enough to sleep by. It was nice and dark. The driver sucked, and he felt queasy but he couldn’t really tell which pain was worse right now. They were all sort of melting together. Dark hair matted against his face, sticking to the blood he couldn’t even wipe away. There was too much of it. He had too little energy to bother caring.
His eyes remained shut even at the commotion and as he was lurched forward, his body only reacting now like a rag doll. He could barely hear what was going on outside, like it was a far away dream. Even as the trunk opened he couldn’t find the energy to lift his head. He must have barely even looked human at that point. A pool of blood had begun to gather near his face, staining that trunk. Jokes on you assholes, now you were going to need to get that redone. Yeah. Bleeding on things would make them care enough to stop, sure. His breathing was labored and he coughed now and then but beyond that he really didn’t make any effort to show he was still there mentally.
***
“Hey kid.” Would be Remy’s reaction to seeing the state of his friend, a little smile coming to his lips. “You owe me a quarter million dollars.” That said, he was leaning in and carefully tugging D’Artagnan forward, then scooping him up into his arms like a bride-- gentle as he could, but he’d surely cause pain. There was no way around it.
Then he’d be carrying him back to his car-- well, not so much back as over, because at the present moment, the two cars were connected.
Yes, he’d rammed their car with his own as a distraction. At least the motor was still running and he could get them the Hell out of there. D’Art would be set into the passenger seat, and Remy buckled him in (for safety’s sake-- like he could get much worse off, but hey!), then walked around the back of his car and would get in the driver’s side.
Backing out, the sick sound of twisted metal made him wince, but he’d soon have them driving swiftly down the road.
“Stay awake kid.” A quiet demand.
**
D’Artagnan was barely conscious to feel that pain at least. He hadn’t quite registered Remy’s voice either, but whether this was a friend or not he couldn’t do much of anything in the state he was in. The only thing he could manage was to keep attempting breathing. It hurt like fire. Just simple breathing shouldn’t cause that much pain, but it had. The embrace of the Cajun didn’t help either. A sound of discomfort escaped him and his body fell limp against him for a moment. It was almost hard to tell if he was breathing at all now, the coughing had stopped. For the time being he was, just barely.
Being placed upright in a car was difficult now. He wasn’t able to register the words, they fell to the wayside as he lost consciousness again. This time it was heavy, not the light pained kind he felt before. He heard nothing. He no longer felt the pain either. Conscious thought had left him, and his skin-what could be seen in any case was a sickly pale color.
***
When the poor kid woke again, it would be to smelling salts, and he’d be in a t-shirt and sleeping pants, settled in a comfortable bed, in surprisingly familiar surroundings.
He’d stayed in this room a few nights.
“Hey there.” The Southern drawl from the Cajun would be the first thing he’d hear. “Need to check and make sure you don’t have a concussion or something.” He sounded so non-chalant about the entire thing. Maybe he was hoping it would be comforting. “I just shot Athos a text, asked him to stop by.” He hadn’t told him what was going on, he didn’t want him to panic.
“He’ll take you down to the hospital, get you all patched up proper.” Remy had done everything he could-- a few stitches, he’d cleaned up the blood, a few bandaids.. and he’d splinted that broken bone. He didn’t want it jostling around too much on the way to the hospital.
“Just relax.”
***
The salts startled him awake as they were supposed to. Now wide eyes focused in on things around him. This was not the crappy car he’d been forced into before. Something had changed, but he was still having a hard time placing where he was for a moment. He was confused.
Remy’s voice placed a solid foundation as to where he was, and he took a painful breath in of relief. It sent him into an equally hard coughing fit. Breathing was difficult, moving was worse. “Where’d they go?” His voice was hard to make out considering he could hardly get enough energy together to speak.
He was being so-Remy about everything, maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He started to push himself up and ended up in pain all over again. “Don’t want to-” His hand reached to touch his face, it ached too. That wasn’t his best plan. He moved the hand away from his face and ended up laying right back down. Sitting up was not going to be a thing. Got it.
***
“They went away.” His answer to where those men had gone. “And it’s not really my decision,” He’d let Athos demand it, he didn’t want to be the bad guy here. D’Art would forgive Athos hauling him to the hospital. “Your Dashing Knight will be the one who gets to choose if you stay under the care of Dr. LeBeau, or if you head out to a real medical facility.” They just had to wait for Athos to get here. Remy guessed it’d be a good half hour. He had asked him on a whim, after all.
“How many fingers?” He’d hold up three.
***
The only thing the hospital had right now that he was interested in was strong pain killers. Every movement caused him to hurt. It was likely that tire iron had caused some issue with his ribs. His brows knit in concern, he didn’t want Athos seeing him like this. He’d been trying to be careful lately. Even stayed out of fights since the altercation with Bee’s bullies. He didn’t want Athos to worry anymore if he could help it.
Apparently he couldn’t. D’Artagnan was quiet. He had noticed his clothes had changed, but he didn’t care much. He looked down at the blanket that covered him for a moment before back up at the fingers. “Six?” He was still woozy.
***
“Good try. But that’s going to be a failing grade, kiddo.” He seemed pleased about it, though. Really, he was glad D’Artagnan wasn’t dead. He could have been. Easily.
“I’ve got some pain meds I can give you, but you need to be awake enough to swallow them.” He had them ready at the bedside, with a glass of water. “Think you could swallow them down without choking?” His voice was cool, but he was concerned. He didn’t want to hurt D’Artagnan anymore than he had been, after all.
“I cleaned you up, you looked pretty fucking awful.” He didn’t want Athos seeing him that way, either.
***
“I can manage.” He really didn’t want to feel anything right now. Especially if Athos was coming. D’Artagnan didn’t want to worry him. Every day was a struggle with that. Trouble was attracted to him. But this time at least he’d avoided asking what ‘away’ meant. He didn’t even remember why all this had happened, or what he’d been doing in that area before this. Those memories were still a foggy mess.
“You did?” He looked up at him, the lights on the ceiling were harsh though. He grit his teeth and looked away. “I can’t move my arm.” He was trying to shift it some but it hurt too much to move. In fact he wasn’t sure if he was able beyond what little movement he’d accomplished already.
D’Artagnan hadn’t really come to terms with the fact just yet that he had nearly died. “These aren’t my clothes.” He said out loud, they felt different than his.
***
“I did.” He replied with a smile. Like it was totally normal. “I stitched up what needed stitching, I splinted your arm, don’t move it around, it still needs to be set.” He wasn’t a real doctor, after all. “And those are my clothes. Yours were covered in blood. I tossed them.” He didn’t want Athos seeing D’Artagnan wearing blood-soaked clothing.
Turning to take up the two pills, he’d bring them forward. “Open.” He didn’t trust the kid to be able to find his own mouth with his hand. Not right now. So when that mouth opened, he’d drop the pills in, then hold up the water (equipped with straw) and would let him sip and get those pills down.
“Okay?” He’d ask once the pills were swallowed.
***
D’Artagnan never would have pegged Remy as a caretaker, and yet there he was all cleaned up. Far from feeling like new, but at least looking a bit less like death itself. Maybe Athos wouldn’t freak out, and if pigs could fly that might be a reality. “Liked that shirt.” He tried to lighten the mood with a strained smirk, but it looked rather pathetic more than anything else. Breathing felt like a thousand tiny needles stabbing at his chest. Talking wasn’t much easier.
He opened his mouth but grimaced at the movement again. His jaw was forming a nasty bruise. It really wasn’t a big surprise that even the simplest movements caused him pain in the condition he was in when Remy had found him. “Yeah.” At least he. was mildly coherent now.
“How’d you find me?” He hadn’t been expecting anyone to save him. As far as anyone knew he was just on his way home.
***
“I was just driving past. I saw them shove you in the truck, and I followed them.” Then, you know, he’d rammed them with his multi-million dollar car. To save you, D’Art. “Just relax. The Dashing Knight will be here soon to take you away.” To somewhere he could get real medical treatment.
Pushing up to his feet, he’d go to the closet to grab another blanket, so he could lay it carefully over the younger man. “You might have a concussion, I think it’s best if you stay awake.” He’d sit down on the side of the bed, turning to lean against the headboard in a lazy fashion.
“You look like death warmed over.” He was trying to make light, trying not to make the other think of exactly what he’d been through.
***
Had he known about the car he might have felt bad, but his brain wasn’t exactly thinking on that level. Most of Remy’s cars were expensive though, he probably should have figured it was one. He really was only thinking about trying to breathe properly every time he shifted so pain didn’t shoot through him as badly.
D’Artagnan was tired. He just wanted to sleep, but those pills Remy had given him were slowly starting to kick in. He felt strangely numb. Numb was nice compare to what he was feeling before.
Numb was good.
“Gee thanks.” He was trying not to talk much now, but that was only making him groggy. When Remy joined him however, he leaned against the Cajun the best he could. “You’re the one who dressed me. Who’s fault is that?” He sassed in return, but it only ended in coughing. Something was broken or damaged internally. The tire iron didn’t help.
***
Numb was fucking awesome. Remy had loved those pills after he’d been shot, but he didn’t need them anymore and he’d weened off early. He had plenty of extras. He was more than willing to share.
“It’s your fault.” He insisted, lifting an arm and putting it carefully around the kid’s shoulders to keep him settled close and hopefully offer a little comfort. “I always look good, even when I’m beaten bloody. You look like roadkill. It’s just good genes.” Joked lightly.
***
D’Artagnan fortunately for both of them was far too tired to even think what had actually happened beyond the fact that his injuries had numbed. Remy was warm, he got comfortable as he could there. His eyes sliding shut against the harsh light of the bedroom. It felt like the sun was literally on top of them, though it probably wasn’t all that bright at all in reality.
“Yeah sure.” He yawned midway through those words, exhausted from the entire ordeal. All he wanted to do was sleep again now that he couldn’t feel his aching muscles anymore. “You looked pretty fantastic in the hospital.” He laughed and regretted it. His hand pressing up against his chest as if physically holding it there would make the shortness of breath stop He was glad for the pain medicine, it didn’t feel like his body was threatening to explode anymore at least. “Laughing hurts.”
***
“I look fantastic all the time, even with tubes sticking out of my arm and a catheter.” That had been the worst part about being in the hospital. He certainly hadn’t been able to move around, so.. well. It hadn’t been pleasant.
Though, it had been convenient.
“Don’t laugh then, idiot.” He chided with a smile and rubbed his hand over D’Artanan’s arm gently, almost in a soothing manner. “Just rest. Athos will be here soon.” It was the first time, in a very long time, he’d called the other man by his name.
**
“Uh huh. Super fantastic.” If he wasn’t so tired he’d have rolled his eyes at that, but all he could do was shut them until the discomfort settled again. Remy’s warmth was comforting, he settled against the older man. He wanted to forget today had even happened. He was exhausted again just from being talkative.
***