warmeryouth | As sharp as any thorn. {Open; tw: violence, blood}

Bailey's beginning to feel overwhelmed, with the amount of work he's putting into his job at Siren Cove Middle School. He has the winter concert to think of, even though it's only October. He has several angry parents on his case for letting his students listen to a bit of Les Miserables, even though he made sure it was a song without curse words or overly adult themes; and the cherry on top of the pie (or however that metaphor goes), of course, is one Brian Darling, son of an executive vice president currently throwing a tantrum over the failing grade he received on his music theory test, with his dear father stomping his foot alongside him.

So now, as Bailey walks home in the growing dark from school, his head aches and he wants nothing more than to curl up with a bottle of Jack Daniels and some trashy reality television to take his mind off things. But he has papers to grade. And a Skype session with his sister to keep.

He lives in one of the worse off neighborhoods in town, but that fact never bothers him. Good people live there, and Bailey considers himself lucky to know them. So he isn't paying much attention when the man, dressed like he's come straight from the set of Sons of Anarchy, chains, tattoos, and all, falls into step behind him; he's concentrating on trying to will away his headache.

"Give me your wallet, you scrawny piece of shit," a low voice hisses in his left ear before Bailey can even so much as respond. He tenses immediately, cursing internally. It's times like this that he wishes he had more use with his powers of influence.

"And what if I don't?" It's stupid as shit to talk back to the jerk, but Bailey's a New Yorker at heart, and frankly, after the day he's had, he doesn't have it in him to be polite.

"I'll give you points for trying," the man, whose shaggy, blonde hair falls in front of his ice colored eyes like a torn up carpet, flashes him a devil's grin before Bailey feels a sudden, sharp pain in his left side.

"Fuck," he hisses, making to clutch at the new knife wound as the man kicks him to the pavement, reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet before stabbing him once more for good measure.

All Bailey can do is bleed and groan into the sidewalk.

Find Bailey on the ground in between his apartment and the Siren Cove Middle School, bleeding from his wounds. The attacker is just some vague NPC who can totally be used for other plots if you have a mind to. Bailey could do with some help, though!

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He sees what happens, but it all happens so fast and he barely has time to react, barely has time to choose which way to run. The guy on the ground looks in pretty bad shape, so that's the choice that Gabe makes, dropping down onto his knees at his side.

"How're you doing, man?" he asks, faking casual, frowning as he scans the guy over, already fumbling for his phone.

"I think an ambulance might come in handy," Bailey breathes out, still clutching at his stab wounds as he tries to keep himself up on his elbows. Any movement requiring greater effort seems out of grasp for the time being. Pain radiates throughout him, sharp and throbbing, and his thoughts are beginning to swirl as if part of a fog. Still. He clenches his teeth and attempts a smile. Like hell is he letting this shitty day get the best of him."I've had better days, what can I say."

"Where are you hurt, man?" asks Gabe, dragging his sweater over his head, wadding it in his hands, his phone tucked between cheek and shouler.

"Here," he breathes out, trying to point to his left side where the wound throbs and blood continues spilling onto the sidewalk. "And I think he knicked me in the back, to." He tries to point behind him, where he last felt the knife close to the first wound. The night seems to grow colder around him, as a chill settles into his bones and he struggles not to vomit.

Gabe keeps his hands on him while he places the call to 911. The woman on the end of the line tells him to keep pressure on the wounds and so that's what he does. Firm as he can.

"You stay with me okay? Keep talking."

Davin has finally closed up shop for the night and he's heading home, ready to finally relax. It's not until halfway to his apartment that he realizes that he's carrying the clipboard with the paperwork on the Ford he was working on last, the one he meant to set down on his desk before heading out. He sighs and shrugs, figuring he can just bring it back in with him tomorrow. He keeps walking and turns his head when he hears a commotion, jogging ahead in time to see someone running away from a body on pavement.

"Fuck." Davin barely stops to think before he throws the clipboard through the air, keeping his hand extended as he uses his power to send it hurtling towards the attacker. He flips it at the last moment so the back of it crashes into the guy's head, making him drop to the pavement. "Ohhhh, holy shit."

He knows that he didn't use enough force to do anything but knock the guy out, so he leaves him and runs towards the person on the ground. There's blood seeping out onto the asphalt and Davin doesn't hesitate before he drops to his knees, reaching out to put his hand on the guy's shoulder to roll him onto his back. His breath catches when he realizes that he knows this guy, and his hand is shaking as he fumbles his phone out of his pocket.

"Bailey? Jesus. Stay with me, man? Alright? Bailey, look at me!"

"Davin?" Bailey breathes out, looking up at his friend from the corners of his eyes that are still somewhat coherent. He feels utterly grateful to have a friend right now; the pain spirals into an intensity bordering on unbearable. "Is that you?"

He keeps trying to keep himself steady, leaning on his elbows for support; against the pavement, he keeps slipping and cursing under his breath.

"Fuck, those guys just came out of nowhere," he wheezes. "I've got so much I have to do, ugh."

He winces as another bolt of pain sears through him.

Davin can't help but to laugh at Bailey's reaction, because Davin's first thought after being stabbed definitely wouldn't be used to worry about his to-do list. "Yeah, it's me. Just relax, I've got ya."

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials 911 as he gestures off to the side. "It was just the one guy, an' he's taking a forced nap on the pavement over there. He's goin' t'jail, and you're gettin' a ride to the hospital. Maybe if you're good, they'll let ya play with the siren."

He's only wearing a long-sleeved flannel over an old white tee-shirt, and he shrugs out of it as he brings the phone to his ear. He's careful as he presses the fabric to Bailey's wound, applying enough pressure to quell the bleeding.

"Yeah, hey," Davin says into the phone, going straight into rattling off the intersection. "My friend's been stabbed. Mugger's subdued, but I need an ambulance and the police."

"Siren." He snorts, shaking his head back and forth. In his fog of a mind, he can't help but appreciate the irony. He winces at the initial pressure of Davin applying his flannel to his wounds. "Sorry for bleeding on your shirt man."

He wishes he could do more than lay bleeding on the pavement.

"Some night."

"It's just a shirt, dude. I can get another one." He keeps a hand on Bailey's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Yeah, ya sure know how t'party."

Davin hears sirens in the distance and looks over at the mugger, still snoozing into the pavement. He'll probably have to give a statement to the police, and he barely knows Bailey, but he knows that he wouldn't want to be alone in his position. "D'ya want me t'come with ya to the hospital? I wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, but still," he offers up a weak grin, trying to keep the pain in his lower side at bay. He doesn't want to worry Davin further, not when he's already doing so much for him. He appreciates the squeeze, though; an affirmation that he's still awake and alive.

"That would be really fantastic," he winces, knowing how desperate he must sound. Still, he cannot deny himself company, especially someone like Davin, who appears to be really swell to have in your corner in a tight pinch.

"But still, don't worry about it. I'm not. Jus' worried about you." The ambulance pulls up and Davin squints against the lights, keeping one hand on Bailey. "'course I'll come."

He hears, and understands, the desperation in Bailey's voice, the desire to not be alone. He wouldn't want to be alone either. He only lets go of Bailey so that the paramedics can load him onto a stretcher, and by that point the police have arrived.

"I saw everythin'," Davin says when they approach him. "I saw that guy muggin' my friend and he stabbed him before I could get to him, and I hit him with my clipboard and called all you guys."

The cops nod and a pair of them collect the unconscious mugger off of the pavement while another set takes all of Davin's information, asking him to come in later. "I will. Ya have my number an' I'll come in tomorrow, but I gotta go."

The cops wave him off and he sighs in relief, running over and hopping into the ambulance just before they close the doors. There's some protest but Davin sits down and puts his hand on Bailey's ankle. "Try an' stop me. I'm not leavin' him."

As sharp as any thorn. {Open; tw: violence, blood}

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