#demigod756

“Mercutio, if you’re in there, I’m coming it,” Romeo announced loudly as his quickly diminishing patience reached its end. He could only be thankful that Mercutio had given him a copy of his key a long time before because otherwise he would have been forced to break into the apartment some way. He couldn’t just walk away; he had to find Mercutio, find out what was wrong. Because he was convinced now that something was wrong, and with what he knew of Mercutio’s varying moods the feeling left him cold.

Inside the apartment was, as usual, shoes to the side and Mercutio’s favorite jacket carelessly thrown on top of them. He often threw it to the side if he had things on his mind when he got home, which Romeo knew by experience was most of the days. Closing the door behind him Romeo removed his own shoes quickly—Mercutio had nagged at him enough times that it was pure instinct by now—and walked into the apartment proper.

“Mercutio?” he called, waiting a moment for an answer. When none came he went to the bedroom, checking into the kitchen and bathroom quickly as he passed, just in case. He was already certain that he wouldn’t find Mercutio in either of them, but Benvolio had drilled it into him that it never hurt to look take a look.

The bedroom door was open, but inside it was dark, too dark for Romeo to see clearly. Mercutio had made sure to get curtains that would keep any and all sun out for when he wanted to sleep. Romeo had been there often enough, however, that he didn’t hesitate in reaching out and pressing the light switch, immediately bringing the whole room into focus.

“Oh,” Romeo breathed out, his heart aching as he slowly walked over to the bed. “Mercutio.”

Mercutio didn’t react at first when Romeo touched him, just stared at some undefinable point by his hand with an empty look, but when Romeo sat down he closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. He didn’t move from the curled up position he lied in, but he did move one of his arms to allow more room for Romeo.

“How long have you been like this?” Romeo asked gently, rubbing the back of Mercutio’s hand.

“I don’t know,” Mercutio murmured back, his voice hoarse. “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Then two days. I think.” Mercutio breathed out slowly, his voice coming a little stronger as he spoke again. “It hasn’t been like this the whole time. I only lied down sometime last night.”

“It’s in the afternoon now.” Romeo leaned forward and stroked some of Mercutio’s hair behind his ear. “When did you last eat?” A shrug. “Okay. Do you think you can move? Can you sit up if I help you?”

It turned out that Mercutio did need help to sit up, most of his body having fallen asleep after lying in one position for so long, but once he was up on his feet he could stand and walk on his own, albeit Romeo still kept one hand around his waist as they slowly made their way into the bathroom.

“Take off your clothes, and I’ll turn on the bath,” Romeo said as he let go. He knew Mercutio wasn’t capable of making jokes right then, but a part of him still ached when no amused retort came his way from Mercutio about trying to get him naked. 

The relieved sigh that escaped Mercutio’s lips as he sank down into the water, however, alleviated whatever ache Romeo was feeling. For just a moment he stayed crouched next to the bathtub, watching Mercutio simply enjoy the warmth. It seemed like he could feel the warmth seep into his own body simply by watching.

“Hey, Mercutio?”

“Mm?” Mercutio turned half-open eyes to Romeo, though he closed them again when Romeo pressed their lips together. The kiss was soft, gentle, full of affection, and he leaned into Romeo’s hand when it cupped his cheek.

“I love you, you know,” Romeo said when he pulled back, only to rest their foreheads together. He didn’t expect a reply, didn’t need one, but Mercutio’s small smile—however short-lived—warmed his heart. For a long moment they stayed there, their breaths mingling, Mercutio’s skin warm and alive beneath Romeo’s hand, then Romeo moved away and stood up. “I’ll go make something to eat. Don’t worry about getting up, I’ll bring it here for you. You okay with that?”

Mercutio nodded slightly, leaning back his head against the wall. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” Before he walked away Romeo bent down quickly, pressing his lips against Mercutio’s temple. “I’ll be out in the kitchen if you need anything.”

The eldest, however, was at his side, all huge eyes and shaking hands, staring down at him in fear. The youth had dashed to his help as soon as he saw trouble — but the attacker was faster. One moment, uncle and nephew were walking along the well-lit street, engrossed in conversation – now that Mercutio had moved out, they had much to discuss whenever they met – and the next moment, Escalus was sprawled on the wet pavement, clutching at his side where an angry, agonizing pain was pooling like melted iron. The assailant had instantly fled into the maze of narrow alleys, mercifully having caused no harm to Mercutio – apparently, Escalus had been his only target.

"I would think... my position as judge... called for hiring a sniper, not a brute with a shank," Bartolomeo tried to smile at the panicked boy who was kneeling beside him, but gave up the attempt as soon as he felt a coppery, metallic tang in his mouth.

The situation was not looking good at all.

But if there was one thing Escalus was not planning to do… then it was dying and leaving his nephew alone, shocked and frightened. He owed it to his sister, if not to the boy himself. If he had to die, if that wound was going to be the cause of his death — so be it, but the least he could — and had to — do was stay alive and conscious until they got to the hospital and make sure Mercutio was alright. He knew his nephew better than anyone else did, Valentine and Tybalt, Mercutio’s partner, left aside; and was well aware that behind his brave and bright trickster façade, the boy was vulnerable – much like himself. Very few things could strip off the protective layers and strike home… but watching someone close to you unexpectedly die in the street was definitely part of the list. And Escalus did not want to think what it would do to his nephew.

Blacking out right there in the empty street was not an option.

“M-maybe they can’t afford a sniper,” Mercutio chuckled nervously, pulling his uncle’s hand away from his side and rucking up his shirt to take a look. The wound looked deceptively small and innocuous, but neither the uncle nor the nephew were misled by its seeming harmlessness and the lack of visible bleeding.

Escalus tried to pull himself up, but the movement caused the sharp pain in his side to flare up with renewed force, and Bartolomeo fell back down, biting on his lip to stifle his groan as best as he could to avoid frightening the youth even further.

The burning sensation of red-hot iron in his stomach was all-consuming, and the blood loss left him dizzy and disoriented; but Escalus pushed through the haze that was threatening to swallow him and focused on his nephew’s pale, worried face above him.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay, do you hear me? I’ve got you, just let me call the ambulance,” Mercutio’s lips quivered as he spoke, but he was otherwise keeping his panic in check. Desperately trying to smile, he dug out his mobile from the pocket of his jeans and hurriedly dialed the emergency number. Bartolomeo nodded.

“It’s not… that bad,” whom was he trying to fool? “But a… an ambulance is a… good… idea,” he tasted blood on his tongue again and instantly knew he was not getting out of this one – at least not easily. But certainly he could endure until the hospital, could he not?.. Keep it together, Escalus, damn you!..

A wave of nausea hit him, and the coppery tang in his mouth mixed with sour bitterness. His eyes teared up, his throat was burning; violent coughs wracked his entire body, jostling the wound and magnifying the pain until it became almost unbearable. Bartolomeo tried to inhale but failed, choking on blood and bile, there was not enough air, he was going to suffocate…

…but then there were firm hands on his shoulders, and he was being pulled up and pressed against something warm and solid, and the rhythmical sound of a familiar voice was guiding him to calm down and breathe in – breathe out – breathe in – breathe out…

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, just relax and breathe, breathe now, here we go, here we go...” chanted Mercutio, and though it was evident from the strain in his voice that the boy was scared, he still was holding up well. His words were helping, too – soon enough Bartolomeo’s lungs and throat began to obey him once more, bringing back the much-needed control over his injured body. He kept breathing steadily, slowly, following the monotonous rhythm of Mercutio’s voice.

The youth kept speaking – partly because of the calming effect it seemed to have on the wounded man, partly because he had to keep his own growing panic at bay. Incessant talking and chattering was what Mercutio had always been good it, so he clung to it as his best chance to keep his composure. “The ambulance is on the way, and I called Paris, too, thought he should know, he says he will come directly, I only hope he won’t tell Val anything, but well, Paris is not stupid, he won’t… Hey, you with me?” he unconsciously grabbed Bartolomeo’s hand, squeezing it, shaking it slightly. “Uncle! Hey! Don’t you dare faint on me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” groaned the elder Scaliger, pretending to be disgruntled but squeezing back. “You and Valentine never let me rest quietly even in my own home, what chances do I have here in the street? Besides…” his speech was slurred, and his skin felt cold and clammy – a bad sign – but he stubbornly continued, “besides, this doesn’t really look… like my favourite couch, right?”

Mercutio chuckled gratefully at his feeble attempt at humour, and Bartolomeo felt him shift. His own body was sore, the pain still coiled in his side, deep and dangerous, hot and heavy but slowly morphing into a numbing weariness… he blinked, and his nephew’s face swam into his field of vision, blocking the bright street lamp, unruly curls falling forward and almost brushing against Bartolomeo’s own forehead. It was getting dark, and the light of the lantern above them was creating a bright halo around the youth’s head. Bartolomeo smiled at his own sentimental thought – angelic attributes definitely were at odds with Mercutio’s trickster image, yet at that moment the halo seemed somehow… fitting.

“Stay with me,” whispered Mercutio, starting at him intently. “You hear me?”

The siren of the ambulance howled faintly in the distance.

“Stay with me.”

Mercutio’s eyes, shaded by his long hair, were dark and bright at the same time. Was the boy crying?.. Escalus smiled again and reached up to clasp his nephew’s shoulder reassuringly.

“I am not going anywhere. Hey…” the siren was growing louder, closer. “No need to worry Valentine for now. You will…”

“I will inform Val myself later, don’t worry,” Mercutio nodded, smiling through tears. “Paris is about as gentle as a brick to the teeth, I know, with that eternal formality of his.”

“He’s my employee; of course he is formal with you. Besides, haven’t you yourself just used ‘inform’ instead of ‘tell’ not a moment ago?” teased Bartolomeo, pushing through the grey haze of nothingness once more. “Pot and kettle…”

“Uncle! Are you saying I sound like an office rat?” Mercutio’s indignation would have sounded almost convincing if not for the tears in his voice. “I’ll have you know that I am nothing of the kind!”

Escalus chuckled, genuinely amused.

“Now you sound bookish, nephew mine. I…”

But he did not get to finish the thought, because the pain came back all of a sudden, and then he was coughing violently again, his whole body convulsing, and then there was a siren, and another siren, and people, and many voices, and one of them seemed familiar – was that Paris? Good, he would take care of everything – and about the boys, too – and then the coughing finally subsided, and he was being picked up and placed on the stretcher and carried somewhere – to the ambulance, you old fool, where else? – and Mercutio was at his side again, huge dark eyes full of tears, and Paris was next to him, as stern and thin-lipped as ever, and he was pulling Mercutio away, saying something insistently – but Mercutio wasn’t having it.

“Promise me you’ll be okay!” and Bartolomeo felt nephew’s cold fingers grasp his hand, the panic in his voice now painfully obvious. “Promise me! You’ve got to be okay! Uncle, please, you must promise!..”

Forcing his eyes open – when had he closed them? – Escalus looked into his nephew’s fear-stricken face and smiled.

He couldn’t make such a promise, because there was a strong possibility it would end up broken; for all he knew, his wound could turn out to be very much deadly. But his nephew was asking him to stay alive, his nephew needed him, needed his comfort and reassurance – and Escalus could not deny him that.

“I promise.”

And as the doors of the ambulance slammed shut and the world around him began to descend into a whirlpool of pain and darkness, Bartolomeo della Scala closed his eyes with a peaceful sigh, secure in the knowledge that he would open them once again.