Who knows how long it took the boy to walk here? It's far from the heart of the city where he lives all the way to the outskirts, to the big, creaky old house.
It seemed like the place to go.
It's cold out, and Mortimer is bent and shivering. He has no coat; he left that behind. He's wearing a black button-up shirt, rumpled and filthy, and his black jeans have a tear in one knee. One hand is pressed to his side, and his hands and face are a mess of black smears and blood and perhaps tears as well, though his glasses are perfectly straight.
He stumbles up the stairs and onto the porch, standing on tiptoe with his teeth gritted to reach the large brass knocker.

It takes a few moments, during which the sound of footsteps can be heard as Norm, the house's only living human occupant, comes to the door. He's clad in a t-shirt with a faded soft-drink logo, and navy pyjama pants - obviously he's not expecting company.
He pulls the door partway open. Seeing as the figure on the doorstep is one he recognizes, he then opens it all the way. He's taken to leaving a few more lights on at night, and the glow spills out onto the doorstep and picks out details he missed only a second ago.
Norm's eyes widen behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

"Holy shit."

Mort smiles oddly, his teeth chattering and offers a 'well, what can you do?' sort of shrug with one shoulder.
"Can I come in?"

Norm stares mutely for a fraction of a second longer, then seems to come back to himself and gives a quick nod.

"I - yes. Of course," he replies shortly. There's another moment of silent staring, followed by his placing a hand on Mort's shoulder to steer him inside.
"What happened?"

"The building." He shuffles in, favoring the side to which his hand is pressed. "The building is on fire."
Once inside, he stands still, rather dazed. He only thought to come here. What happens now?
He swallows, brushing a hand through his hair in a reflexive movement to cover his antennae, though it's useless, because they're standing up and trembling slightly.
"It's my fault."

"Excuse me? Again?" Norm says stupidly.
And then he understands, and Mort is the recipient of a long, searching sort of look. He sets his other hand on the boy's shoulder and attempts to direct him to the room that passes at once for living room and office.
"Come on, you ought to sit down. You look like you're about to fall over."
He would very much like to start exclaiming and swearing and demanding explanations. Thankfully, he has enough self-control not to.
"How did it happen? ...Are you okay?" he asks gently.
See? They have all the time in the world.

Mort is staring at Norm, because Norm is being unprecedentedly calm.
Calm?
Okay. He can do that too.
(He's probably in shock.)

"It's burning from the basement up." he states matter-of-factly. "I think everyone got out. I got...upset, and everything went black. Next thing I knew, alarms were going off."

"I... see."
Norm nudges him onto the futon and begins rummaging underneath it for blankets.
"Why were you upset?" He tugs out a rather fuzzy blue one and drapes it over Mort's shoulders, tucking it loosely around him. "Does it have something to do with the,...well, you're all...bloody. Or did that happen after?"

One harsh, audible breath between his teeth and he's back to his former flat quietness.
"She had a knife."

"Who did? ... Your sister?"
He has very little doubt that it was anyone but her.
That girl is terrifying.

Unintentionally, he allows a touch of alarm to creep into his voice.
"Did she hurt you?"

"Yeah, Cassie. She cut me in a couple places, just a little bit."
Only because he was fast.

Norm clenches his jaw and counts to ten.
Miraculously, that trick actually works and when he next speaks, he's able to do so calmly.

"And why did she do that?" he asks.
No, he doesn't care about the apartment building burning down. Maybe he'll spare a thought for it in a minute, but not now.

"I told her I wanted to move out, and I was tired of her pushing me around."
He sighs heavily, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, which is slightly shiny with sweat.
"So she..."
Truth or lies? Defend your sister one last time, or throw yourself on the mercy of your friend?
"Tried to kill me."

Norm crosses his arms - he's standing in front of Mort, still - and gives a nod.
It could be interpreted as a nod of approval, or encouragement.
Or it could mean, 'Go on, please.'

"That's all." he bows his head.

He nods again and wordlessly presses the back of his hand to Mort's forehead, checking his temperature.

"What did you do afterwards?"
Were the authorities involved?

He's still cold.

"I went out with everyone else, because the building was on fire. There were trucks. I came here."

"Okay," Norm nods, frowning. He lets his hand drop, and gives Mort a gentle push. "...Here, maybe you'd better lie down."
What to do, what to do...?
"I'm going to go make some phone calls," he says firmly, pulling a second, not-so-fuzzy blanket from under the couch and tuckng it over Mortimer. "I won't be long."

Mort lies back obediently, but lifts his head in protest.
"Why? Who are you calling?"

"Social services," he replies, forcing his expression to remain neutral - until he adds sternly, "And lie down."
It's not likely the main office is open at this hour, but he can at least leave a message.

"No, don't do that..." he pulls the cover up to his nose, twisting it. "Don't. It's fine, everything is fine."

"I wouldn't categorize your sister trying to kill you as 'fine'."

Without waiting for a reply, Norm disappears into another room - presumably one with a phone, where he has a short and very one-sided conversation (the office is, in fact, closed).

Grimacing slightly, he turns onto his side, his face twisted. He's fairly pouring sweat, though he doesn't feel hot at all.
There's a cut on his side, and while it isn't pouring blood or anything, it is leaking, and it is quite deep.

"I had to leave a message," Norm sighs, as he reenters the room. "They weren't open. They'll probably call back in the morning."

He pads over and leans over Mort, frowning worriedly.
"... You don't look so good."

"I'll be okay." he forces a sickly smile. "It's just this cut. It hurts a lot."

"Yeah, they tend to do that, don't they..."
He touches Mort's forehead again, lightly. He doesn't get this. The kid's still somewhat cool to the touch, yet he's sweating at the same time...?
"Maybe you ought to let me have a look at it," Norm says cautiously. "I might have something to...to put on it, or something. Make it hurt less."

"Nn..."
Mort thinks he might throw up.
He sits up, lifting his hand, the palm coated in blood, away from the wound and lifts his shirt.
"There."

"That looks bad." Norm winces in sympathy.
Blood can make a even tiny cut look a lot worse than it is, but he's not sure that's the case here.
"That looks really bad," he reiterates. "I think you might need to get that stitched up."

"I don't..."
It's clotting fairly well, but stitches might be helpful.
"I don't feel good, Norman. I think I'm going to throw up. Where's the bathroom?"

"Uh - it's-"
Directions might not be suitable - it's easy to get lost in this house.
"I'll show you. C'mon."

He stands wobblingly.
"Sorry about all this. I know it's a lot...I just couldn't think of anything else to do."

"No, no. Don't be sorry. I'm glad you came here."
He hurriedly leads the way to the bathroom, flicking the light switch as they enter and then getting out of the way.

And Mort does what he came there to do.

When he's done, he rocks back, or intends to-he actually ends up falling, somewhat sprawled. Slowly, he begins to pick himself back up.
"I...I think...would you take me to a doctor? My antennae, I don't know..."

"Yeah... I think I'd better."
Norm kneels and, in a hesitant sort of way, tries to help Mort up off the floor.
"What about your anten -- oh. Uh... I've probably got a hat you could borrow, would that work?"

"A hat, yes, that should work." He holds on to Norm's arm once he's on his feet, not leaning but still clutching at it just in case.

Norm holds his arm stiffly at his side, just in case the kid needs the support after all.
"Okay," he nods, adding in a more musing tone, "Probably ought to find you something warmer to wear, too."
...The blankets are probably a tad messy already, one of those would conceivably do the trick.
"Do you feel like you're going to be sick again, or is it past?"

"I'm okay for now." He feels a bit better, actually, which can sometimes happen. "I'm a little bit lightheaded."

"Alright, then."
Norm leads him back into the office/living room, and guides him onto the couch. Then he stands up straight, giving a small sigh.
"Just... lie down, now." His voice is low, even soothing. "I'm just going to go call a cab. Oh, and find you a hat. I'll be right back."

"Okay."
He lays back and closes his eyes, wishing vaguely that Violet was there to offer him her teddy bear.

Norm goes about finding a hat - the only one he can find quickly is a knitted hunter-orange hat, with which they'll just have to make do. And then he calls a cab, taking five or so minutes to find one that's running at this hour.
Finally, he returns.

"Cab should be here in ten, fifteen minutes or so." He leans over and touches Mort lightly on the shoulder, to check that he's awake and listening. "I hope that's not too long for you..?"