Collecting Legends

by Shadowy Star

Legend Fourteen

Damien stumbled and it probably saved his life because another bullet whooshed past them exactly where the auburn head would've been a split second ago.

"You alright?" Gerald asked, taking the other's hand in his right, trying to pull him to a stop. Which was a lot like trying to stop an avalanche even now, without the bulk of the Damien he used to know.

The other man sharply freed his hand. "Run!"

And they ran, Gerald slightly ahead, showing the way and realizing they were running exactly in the wrong direction, straight toward the area reserved for storing large amounts of goods before or after their transport to or from various locations across the continent. An area perfectly suited for a trap.

As another shot missed them only by inches, he first didn't connect it to a sudden and sharp pain in his right shoulder and the hot wetness painting the sleeve of his fine white shirt crimson.

"Damn! Ricochets!" the auburn-haired man cursed. "Gerald?" Worried jewels the color of green, green jade met his own black eyes.

"I'm fine," Gerald lied as convincingly as possible under the circumstances which earned him an assessing look, then a raised eyebrow and a snort but thankfully no verbal comment. He ignored his increasingly unsteady legs, refusing to faint and silently cursing his new body's lower pain threshold. How much blood could he afford to lose before he collapsed and became completely useless to his other? Now, with fire arms functioning perfectly and increasing criminality rate in the wake of Taming the fae, the once peaceful city had stopped to resemble the Jaggonath of before and grown dangerous even to those who knew how to avoid its darker areas.

The shots ceased as they ran, probably because their attacker had run out of ammunition, and after a sharp turn to the right Damien slowed them to a stop.

Gerald resisted. "We need to bring more distance between them and us," he insisted, trying to catch his breath and pressing his hand to his right shoulder.

The other man placed a hand onto his left forearm and he tried to get free, he needed to get his other out of here, he needed him to be safe... His body, however, refused his sluggish brain's order, and he sagged against the nearby wall of a large building and a second arm was suddenly there, steadying him.

"Gerald," his other said. "Gerald, stop. We've made it. They're no longer following us." He unsuccessfully tried to avoid the emeraldine gaze. "Let me see your wound."

He looked down at himself and this was the moment when his knees chose to give in and the gray pull of moderate blood loss threatened his vision.

Damien caught him before he could fall – so perfectly mirroring themselves back then in the Rakh Lands as the other man had been nearly insensible with cold after the river – and carefully guided him into a sitting position, kneeling himself, sure and gentle hands already removing his crimson-stained sleeve.

He fought the other man weakly because they really needed to be on their way...

"Gerald, stop fighting," the auburn-haired man commanded and the jade-colored jewels turned a deeper shade of green in anger at Gerald's continued resistance.

"I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself," he tried again.

"Yes," the other nodded, that very familiar stubbornness entering those eyes. "If you don't bleed to death first." Damien bent forward, focusing on the profusely bleeding wound. His face was set, a look of deep concentration upon it and it reminded Gerald of something... if he only could remember... The thought swiftly escaped his brain's tired grip. Ah, well, at least he had enough energy left to come up with a suitable reply.

"I most surely don't intend to bleed to death, don't be melodramatic."

"That from the master of melodrama," a prompt retort came, and Gerald realized then what his other was doing.

"You're distracting me!" How kind of Damien, to keep him from concentrating on the pain, that kindness obviously hadn't changed... he mused distantly, something warm and soft and fluffy like finest down filling his heart. Typically Damien to do exactly this.

Wait. There was something fundamentally wrong with that line of thought! The Damien he knew would be fully aware that he could endure this, it was nothing compared to the Master of Souls' fire, after all, so why would he try to distract him? Thinking was difficult right now but he needed to figure this one out... Damn it... Right now would be great timing... A burning sense of urgency finally kicked his brain into an attempt at cooperation. What was it again? Oh yes … he was thinking of Damien, nothing new here... his beautiful warm light … but Damien was right here, was touching him even... but either this was some stranger who didn't know him at all or Damien was trying to –!

Cold, cold horror swept through him, mercilessly tearing away the gray veil of exhaustion, and his eyes snapped open, and he tried to move and break the connection but by then, it was far too late.

The pain vanished like it had never existed and his eyes fell shut despite his best efforts to keep them open, and something hot yet gentle like a summer wind in the plains of Jahanna enveloped him, calming his mind, taking away the panic, the heat growing and growing, flowing all around and through him, concentrating on a particular spot in his shoulder. He felt fragmented bone mending and torn muscle and skin knitting. A prickling sensation ran down his arm to the fingertips along a freshly restored nerve. Damien's Healing power was rushing softly through his veins, oh so familiar. First time, he'd felt it back then on Mount Shaitan, when Damien was Healing his heart. Now he felt it coursing through him again. And exactly like back then he couldn't See it, couldn't follow it with his own mind because that, too, belonged into the past – yet still, he could feel it and his imagination supplied him with pictures of top layers of skin closing without leaving a scar, blood cells restored, severed ligament replaced.

And then it left as quickly as it came, leaving him with a sense of comfort and peace he'd rarely felt in all his long years of life and unlife both. The beautiful man next to him was its source, radiated it like the sun radiated light and solar fae, and Gerald smiled weakly, basking in it. His other's answering smile was like a blanket of something utterly incredible being wrapped around him. A strong, long-fingered hand touched his face and how was it possible to feel such bliss from such a simple gesture? Something uncoiled within his heart. If only he could keep the owner of that hand close...

At that thought, panic rose again, cut through his lethargy and left him wide awake and aware. Aware of Damien's retreating hands, of his own sleeve, clean and rewoven, of blue sky and white cumulus clouds above them, earth and solar Fae around them and thousand other things that flooded his brain with useless information. Right along with all the reasons Healing should've been impossible –and, icily cold, bitingly sharp– the only way for Healing to work left to mankind. Utterly unable to move, no longer caring about what could be read on his face, he stared at his other.

"Gerald," a warm, no longer unfamiliar voice called. "Gerald, you're going into shock. Try to answer me because if you don't I'll slap you."

He tried to put his thoughts into a semblance of order and very nearly succeeded. Enough to seamlessly turn panic into anger, anyway. "You're an idiot!" he hissed and shoved the other man away with his newly healed arm.

Or it was what he'd tried to do. Damien's hand shot forwards with incredible speed and intercepted the movement, long fingers –more slender than before yet just as strong– closing around his wrist.

For a moment, they stood like that, their eyes locked. Then, the auburn-haired man let go of his hand, as if burned to the bone. Those jade green jewels grew darker and Gerald bit back another opinion on the other man's intelligence.

"Are you completely insane? What on Erna possessed you to try a Healing?!"

"The projectile smashed your shoulder blade and one of the bone fragments opened the axillary artery," the other man said. "What was I supposed to do? Let you die?"

He ignored the question. "In case it escaped your attention, I'm not a damsel in distress for you to save!"

At that, his other grinned as if given an opening he'd been waiting for. "I don't know about the damsel part, with all that hair, but your ability to attract distress seems to fit right into the 'legendary' category. And I wasn't trying," Damien drawled, his voice alone enough to make Gerald shiver regardless of what was being said, and he belatedly realized he was being insulted. Then, a very familiar smile curled those perfect lips. "Shouldn't we be getting out of here?"

Resolutely ignoring the distraction of jade green eyes, he summoned his trademark Hunter smirk. "That was what I was planning to do when you, in your typical fashion, decided to play hero."

"Oh, if I'm not much mistaken it was actually that ugly hole in your shoulder from which this thick mixture of various cells and plasma was leaking. It's also called blood, you know?" Something hard and unyielding and also endlessly familiar entered the bright pools of jade. And what did it matter they were no longer hazel brown? Something within Gerald's chest relaxed. Whatever else had changed, Damien was still as stubborn as ever. Forming a reply proved difficult as he was busy watching coppery highlights in his other's hair which on the whole was rather unfair because the other man appeared thoroughly unaffected. Damn! He should've remembered just how good his other was at the fine art of distraction. That, obviously, hadn't changed either.

The other man raised a brow and smiled, as if guessing his thoughts. "How about getting somewhere safe first and talking later?"

Approaching steps, sounding heavy as if made by armored and armed men, reached them then. A deep voice rumbled a loud, ear-withering curse.

Damien rose fluidly and brought himself between Gerald and the possible attackers, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The green-eyed man had apparently picked up his pistol when they were leaving their ambushers and it was tucked in his belt, useless.

Gerald stood, one hand on the wall for support. He felt weak despite the replenished blood in his veins but he'd rather face the Undying Prince again than admit that. He turned his head and met his other's beautiful eyes. His hand rose on its own volition and before he had time to process it, his fingers touched the back of Damien's hand.

Four armed men walked around the corner.

TBC...