It was hot.
The stray dogs of the city avoided this street for all they were worth, despite that it was shady. They gave the house a wide berth.
It stank.

To a sensitive canine nose, that house smelled sourly of fear...blood...sickness...despair. And, just barely detectable beneath all that was the faint, personal scent of Keye Tomlinson. It was him they smelled, him and all the torture he'd experienced this past week.

His leash was tied only loosely around the pole in the living room, but it didn't matter. He no longer had the strength to undo it.
Logan had taken him for a walk every day. Every day, at some point, Keye had lain down and not moved anymore. Every day, on there walk, the time between leaving the house and Keye laying down got shorter. Every night, he was brutalized.
He was laying now in a careless heap on the floor, burning with fever, his entire body throbbing with terrible pain. He was rake-thin, for he'd had hardly anything to eat, though Logan had given him water. His glassy eyes stared hopelessly at the door, waiting for Logan's return, for another night of pain and humiliation. If Logan didn't come back soon, he might be able to sleep...
Though, really, it was more like sliding into unconsciousness than sleeping. He didn't dream.
He shifted restlessly and whimpered at the pain of it, hoping for oblivion.

Wolves are capable of smelling blood up to a mile away - though it's far more difficult when the smell is mingled with car exhaust fumes, garbage, and the reek out of fast-food joints. The smell had caught Darcy some time ago, and he'd been running in circles in search of its source. It gave the wolf (the real wolf, which became a part of him whenever he put on the wolfskin) a thrill, to smell blood. It was giving Darcy pangs of fear. He didn't recognize the smell of the blood, but wherever he smelled it, he also detected a scent that he knew. Keye's scent. Nose to the pavement, he was tracking him down.

The smell grew stronger ... Finalement! I've got to be on the right track this time, he thought, looking up at the house. God, it was a lonely old place. It didn't only smell awful,... it felt awful. The fur on the back of his neck rose.

Bien - no stone unturned,, he thought, resolutely leaping up the steps. The door was a crack open, so he didn't have to force it. It took barely a moment's cautious sniffing before the large tan-grey wolf found his way into the living room.

Merde...
Darcy gave a sharp bark and bounded over, so fast that he actually skidded past Keye. Quickly recovering his balance, he pushed against the human, snuffling wildly about his face. Mon Dieu!... T'es vivant, ou quoi?! Repondez!

((trans:My god! Are you alive or what? Answer!))

Keye cried out, at first in fear. He hardly knew where he was...it might be Logan, coming to begin beating him about the face again.
Then he realized there was fur, a collar...
He nearly went limp with relief.
"D..."
He had no strength to greet his friend with joy, you see. I don't think he had any joy, either.
"Darcy...?"
His voice was hoarser than usual, nearly gone, faint...
Keye was alive. At least he was alive. But he was hardly more than that.

Ouais, c'est moi, Darcy thought, pulling back from the enthusiastic greeting he'd been giving, for fear of smothering him. He gave a long, miserable, sympathetic whine. His amber eyes suddenly caught sight of the collar, with a sudden surge of anger. He slipped his teeth under the thing and bit it off in one swift clench of his jaw.

We will get you help, he thought, lowering his head and flicking his tongue out to lick Keye's cheek. He could taste faint traces of tears.

Qu'est ce que je dois faire, en premier?

((trans:what do I have to do first?))

Collar.
Gone.
Forgive him for thinking in single halting words, please.
His hand found its way to the wolf's shoulder, clenching in the fur. He should not have had the strength to stand, but he did it anyway. He trembled and took one halting step, leaning on Darcy to keep from falling.
There was an empty sort of determination in his eyes. He was running almost entirely on autopilot.

Hey -what are you doing?! You are crazy?! Darcy thought worriedly. You will kill yourself.

He clenched his jaws, growling deep in his chest. You are not walking anywhere unless I can be sure you do not fall. He shifted to human form, refusing to make a sound as the fur separated from him. He stood up, looking worriedly at Keye and pulling his arm over his shoulders.
"We get you out of here. I will change back once we are outside, oui? 'Ang on."

Keye didn't nod. He was conserving his strength for other things, like leaning on Darcy and trying to walk.

They actually made it a fair distance. They were, in fact, well out of the block, crossing an empty lot (it was a shortcut to a more well-travelled road, and Keye was heading toward it with single-minded determination), when Keye just...lay down. Just lay down where he was and refused to move anymore.
His eyes were glassier now, less in this world and more in the next. His breathing was shallow and labored. He was not looking past Darcy, but through him, as if he wasn't there at all.

"Okay," Darcy sighed,"...Okay. C'est peut-etre,... you stay still now, I guess. I will,... I will call for 'elp."

He tugged the wolfskin over his head and shifted within ten seconds. He lay down next to Keye, close enough that - in case he should notice - he could know that Darcy was still there. Then Darcy threw back his head and howled, long and loud. Someone was bound to notice that.

Yes, someone noticed that.

Alex had parked his car underneath a tree, some blocks away, and dozed off. (Can you blame him? He hasn't had a good night's rest in nearly a week.) The howling woke him, he started, sat bolt upright, and actually got out of his car in order to run in the direction of the sound.

Yes, run.

Stranger things have happened.

Keye. Keyekeyekeyekeye--

"Keye!"

There's the wolf, there's his boy, what the hell happened to his son!?

He skidded to a stop and knelt next to Keye, ignoring the wolf.

Perhaps Keye heard his name. Whatever it was, he stirred ever so slightly, blinking and moaning.
Was that...?
No, couldn't be.

It hurt like hell, but he shifted so as to get a better look at Alexander through his blurred vision.

Told you he would come.

Darcy eyed the newcomer with something akin to suspicion. His ears gave a flick. That was real worry, real concern in the man's tone, he thought. Still, Darcy didn't move. He wasn't leaving until he was sure his friend would be safe,... in fact, he pressed closer to Keye, just in case this stranger had any ideas.

Ideas besides helping the boy, yes? Because Alexander has plenty of ideas, but none that would bring harm to his boy...

"What happened to you, Keye?" he whispered hoarsely. He would ask 'where have you been?' too, but it doesn't matter anymore. What matters is taking care of his boy and getting Keye back home where he belongs.

Thank heavens it's nearly the weekend.

Does he dare scoop Keye up into his arms and carry him to his car...?

"'s okay, Darcy..."
His voice was slurred badly, and he sounded lethargic.
It was no wonder Alexander was worried; his son, paper-white, skin-and-bones, was lying on the ground, obviously in a bad way.

His hand brushed ever so lightly across Alexander's knee, and he smiled weakly.
"Knew...you'd come..."
He felt himself slipping, and he let himself slide into unconsciousness. Alexander and Darcy would take care of things.

Darcy relaxed. It's okay? Bien, if you say so. It wasn't too terribly difficult to believe, either, which was good. He glanced between the stranger, and Keye. So it was okay,... well, didn't mean he couldn't offer his help. He hesitated to shift again - not just because it hurt, but because Alexander was a stranger.

There are more important things now, Darcy. Do not be foolish, he scolded himself. He backed away a little, lowering his head and letting the disguise peel away. He was getting better at keeping himself quiet during the transformations, with all the practice he'd had.

He paused a moment once it had detached, and lifted the hood/head to look at Alexander.
"You need a 'and?" he offered.

... well, that was vaguely surprising.

"Yes, that would be appreciated. I don't think I can carry him alone, right now." He's done it before, but that doesn't mean it was easy, you know. Also, then he had Keye clinging to him and making it hard to drop him. This time, Keye's unconscious.

"Don't let me drop him."

Looks like he'll have to pick Keye up. What is he going to do when they get to his home, though? Call a doctor? Call Douglas? Neither option is terribly appealing...

He slid his arms underneath Keye's prone body and started to stagger to his feet.

Keye was much, much lighter than the last time Alexander had carried him...but this time he was a deadweight.
Things were shifting when Alexander's arms contacted them, in an upsetting and unnatural way; the left side of Keye's ribcage was practically caving in, in fact. The boy whimpered in his sleep but did not stir.
Something had changed in his breathing, too...the short, shallow breaths had been replaced by longer, deeper ones, with a strangely desperate sort of gasping, clawing-for-air kind of sound to them.
It might remind one of the sound of a dying man, fighting for his last few moments of life.

Long, torturous inhale...
Exhale, air was too easy to let go of.

Inhale...
Exhale.

Inhale...
Exhale.



Nothing.

Darcy had been happy to help carry Keye, when he could help. A worried frown creased his face as Keye's breathing changed. His frown darkened and his amber eyes went wide, as the gasping breaths came to a halt. He tapped Keye on the face - not hard, but none too gently either.

"Hey. Hey!" he said loudly, then blinked up at Alexander, adding urgently, "'E's not breathing."

I could do CPR,... but,... but at this point it might do more harm than good. Oh shit,... he thought, feeling nearly frantic. He kept his gaze on Alexander, as if he expected him to have the answer, and said again," 'E's not breathing..."

"I can see that he's not breathing!"

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alexander in a panic. What is it about Keye that affects him so deeply, so often? And why does Keye end up in life or death situations so much?

Alexander would like to know.

He knelt again, only not shaking because he was forcing himself not to, and looked at his boy with an expression of naked terror in his dark eyes. (And maybe they were a little darker, from fear.)

"Don't you dare die on me, boy! You can't!" That's begging, by the by, not a demand. To Darcy: "There's a cell phone in my car" He gestured with his head "Go, get it, call emergency. NOW!"

There's really not much I can say for Keye at the moment, mainly because he's half-dead...

That ever-present trembling in his hands was slowing down. It didn't seem possible for the boy to become paler, but his lips and eyelids were beginning to show a faint greyish-blue tinge. If he didn't get air soon, his heart would stop.

Darcy didn't need to be told twice. He bolted for the car and retrieved the phone, making a hurried 9-1-1 call, talking as he returned to Alexander and his boy.

"I can - ....Oui, we'll - we'll stay on the line," he said, as he came back to them. He gave Alexander a determined look, kneeling down and shoving the phone at him. "They will be 'ere soon. You 'old the damn phone - je ne peux pas jaser et puis essayer de le faire respirer, tout en meme temps!... Peut pas simplement s'asseoir sans rien faire..."

More stress = more slips into his first language.

He leaned over Keye, slipping one hand below his head and tilting it back. C'est un risque, mais c'est un risque necessaire, he told himself, beginning CPR, and paying no attention at all to anything except the task at hand.

((trans:
-I can't keep chatting and try to get him breathing, all at once
-Can't just sit around and do nothing
-It's a risk, but it's a necessary risk)
((OOC - Darcy's going to take off once the ambulance gets there, unless you guys think he should stay. 'Kay?))

Alexander doesn't speak French. (It's on his to-do-eventually-when-life-slows-down-like-maybe-when-I-retire list.) But he knows what Darcy is doing, having seen that sort of thing before, and so he doesn't argue with the boy as he begins CPR.

He just sits there, staring, silent, holding the phone but not really listening to the calm voice on the other end, wishing that he believed in one of those gods that actually helped with this kind of thing.

He would be praying, if he thought it would do any good.

What he did do, though, was form a protective shield around that side of Keye's chest that looked like that, trying to keep it from collapsing further and hurting the boy even more, if possible.

And wait.

And for what seemed like a longer time that it probably was in reality, there was no change.
The sound of sirens in the distance...it had been nearly four minutes, which is a long time if you aren't breathing.

And Keye coughed violently, flecking his lips (and probably Darcy's) with blood, and began to breathe on his own again. He didn't wake, and he didn't sound good...but he was breathing.

Darcy pulled back, with a dazedly relieved expression, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Okay,... c'est bien mieux, ca..." he muttered, turning Keye's head to one side in case he should start throwing up. He looked to Alexander, giving a nod that should have been accompanied by some kind of reassurance, but wasn't. He couldn't be certain that everything was going to be alright, just yet.

"Damnit, when will they get 'ere..." he growled softly.

((trans: that's much better.))

"Soon," answered Alexander distantly. "I can hear them." A pause. "Keye is going to be furious that I took him to the hospital again."

He wonders if maybe he should call Bo. He's also not exactly thinking in the clearest terms possible; his mind is going in about fifty directions at once, and none of them are really related to each other.

"Where did you find him? What happened? Who did this to him?"

And there he goes interrogating Darcy like he interrogated Violet. Anyone see a pattern here?

Keye continued to...breathe, raggedly and coughing weakly at odd intervals. He stirred slightly now, too moaning. Some of the color had returned to his face.

And then the ambulance arrived.

The pattern is somewhat similiar, except Darcy didn't cringe at Alexander's questions.

"Found 'im in some 'ouse over there," he waved vaguely in the direction they'd come from, "I don't know what 'appened. I don't know who did it."

He blinked at the ambulance as it pulled up, a relieved smile forming on his lips. Then he looked back at Alexander, the smile fading. "I should - I should go..." he said, grabbing the wolfskin which he had let drop nearby. "They do not let anyone but family stick around... if he is alright, tell 'im to call me. 'E 'as my number. Do not forget."
By this point Darcy had assumed that there was some sort of family connection between Keye and Alex. He hadn't thought what, exactly - it was just sort of an assumption he'd made, from what he'd seen. He had no reason to think otherwise.

He sneaked away to slip on his disguise, and if anyone had noticed, they would have seen a large grey-tan wolf slipping away, occasionally glancing over its shoulder.

"Mm." That might have been agreement. It would help his memory if Darcy had told him his name, of course, but oh well.

Thank the powers that be that Bo gave Alexander visitation rights. The professor would be furious now if the angel-incubus hadn't done that. Especially considering that Alexander wasn't going to let them take Keye to the hospital alone...

He waited impatiently for them to load his boy into the ambulance and made them let him sit down inside as they drove off.

Please, please, let him be all right...

Keye wasn't all right, not by a long shot, but he was alive. And that was about all the ressurance that the medics could realistically give Alexander.
In fact, just judging by appearance, the most experienced medic in the ambulance expected that Keye would linger for a few days, then die.
He was underestimating Keye's tenacity, though. See, Keye, unconscious though he was, knew now that Alexander was out there in the waking world, waiting for him...and he'd go through any kind of hell to get back to his father.
Already, impossibly, he was struggling to wake up. At this point it would have done more harm than good, so someone gave him a mild sedative, which was enough to keep him under.
And oxygen, and all of that other fun stuff. Also, someone had taken note of the small silver bracelet on his wrist (it was usually hidden beneath his sleeve) that said that he was epileptic.
In fact, only the greenest of the medics (the only one who still paled slightly at the sight of blood) found the time to put a hand on Alexander's shoulder, trying to make him feel better.

Alexander ignored the hand. He was watching his son, and no power on earth or off of it would keep him from getting Keye back... even if the boy did die.

If that happened, when he has Azrael in his power, he will make the god bring back his boy, and he'll give up his own life to do it if he has to. Can we say obsessed?

Alex is probably the closest to sanity of the three conspirators and farthest from sanity in comparison to the rest of the world.

That's rather scary.

The young medic, not being unfamiliar with this sort of behavior, did not seem offended. He leaned down, murmuring in Alexander's ear:
"We'll be taking him to the OR immediately. It's already very late, and you probably won't be able to see him immediately after he gets out of surgery, so you might want to look into getting a hotel room..."
Most of the time, people chose to sleep uncomfortably in one of the waiting areas, but he always suggested a hotel anyway.

"I'll wait."

You think Alexander is going to sleep with his boy near death in one of the operating rooms in the hospital.

He should warn them that Keye is very nervous in hospitals, and that the boy is likely to have a panic attack of some kind when Alexander is not immediately within his line of sight. He isn't sure he wants to say something like that, though...

"You will tell me as soon as he gets out of surgery."

And that is a magic powered command.

Someone will let you know, but probably not me....
He'd been about to say that.
"Yes. Yes of course I will." he said instead.
He blinked, feeling that something had been odd about the conversation, but was unable to recall what.
"Well...if you have any questions...let me know."
That was odd too, probably. Mentally, the man shrugged.

"Good. Immediately, you understand. Let the doctor in charge of the OR know as well."

It's a contagious command, actually. It'll be passed from the medic to the doctor, because Alexander is under no illusions that the medic is guaranteed to still be in the hospital when Keye is through surgery.

Are they there yet?

Yes, they're here. The young medic (well, as young as one can be after all those years of school) found himself strangely eager to get out of the ambulance and away from the intense, dark-eyed man.

And Alexander was left alone, practically abandoned on a tasteless couch for several hours, with some forms, a pen, and a mug of coffee (though I'm not sure who gave it to him).
It was almost four in the morning when a doctor, who looked as if he might be on the verge of collapse himself, tapped Alexander on the shoulder and told him that Keye was out of surgery (though the boy would have to have another tomorrow).

"Thank you. Where is his room?"

The forms were filled out and turned in hours ago. Alex has spent the remainder of the time staring at nothing in particular and/or pacing.

I'm sure he made anyone who happened to come into that waiting room very nervous.

The doctor told him. He also told him, pointedly, that Keye was asleep and should not be disturbed.

Alexander didn't bother answering. He simply went looking for Keye's room, because, one, he didn't want to go without seeing for himself that Keye was (relatively) all right, and two, he wanted to be sure that Keye wouldn't have any bad dreams.

That could really screw things up, especially if it were one of the 'real' ones.

When he arrived in the room, he looked at his boy in silence for a moment, then cast a quick spell to keep Keye's sleep dreamless and refreshing. Then he sat down in a convenient chair and fell asleep himself.

Keye was (relatively) all right. A sort of 'tent' had been rigged up to keep even the slight weight of the blankets off his shattered chest, and he had what seemed like a dozen tubes attached to him, but his breathing was quiet, even, and easy. He was clean now, no longer smeared with blood, tears, and vomit. The only thing that still stood out was his thinness: his cheeks and eyes were sunken in, and his bones stood out, seeming too near the surface of his almost-translucent skin.

He slept through the rest of the night, and most of the next day, and only light anaesthesia was needed to keep him under during his second surgery.
It was early afternoon when he woke, his eyes flickering open. A little sound of dismay issued from his dry lips, when he recognized the sterile, white surroundings of a hospital room.

"Shh, son, I'm here. I had to take you here; I can't do anything for the sorts of things that happened to you, and I won't have Douglas touch you again. I'm here." He touched Keye's forehead gently.

I think it's safe to say that Alexander hasn't been spending much time sleeping. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes at a time, maximum.

"You'll be all right now."

He flinched at the touch, although there wasn't really anywhere he could go to get away from it.
He was receiving conflicting signals:
Alexander's voice. Good. Comfort. Safety.
Touch. Hurt. Fear. BAD.
His breathing accelerated and he began to tremble very slightly.