the_vigilante | wake up or you'll wake up six feet down (rp for fortheportfolio)

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wake up or you'll wake up six feet down (rp for fortheportfolio)

"Yo, so you know that blackout, a couple of months back?" Aces starts. Aiden didn't catch his name, if it came up at all, but the guy's had more face cards show up in his hands than there are in the whole of the deck, so the moniker feels appropriate.

"Yeah, what about it?" Lamb asks, glancing up from where he's been frowning down at his cards. He's getting fleeced, but he hasn't noticed yet. No one at the table has, as far as Aiden can tell, but that's their problem, not his. He's not about to fill them in.

"Word on the street's dude who cause it is in the city, now," Aces answers, picking up neat stack of chips to add to the pot. "Call," he mutters, before, "Word is Blume's got it out for him, too. Fifty thousand to anyone who can bring him in -- or roll up with his head on a spike or some shit."

"This ain't TV," Blank puts in. Aiden hasn't been able to come up with a nickname for him, drawing a blank. The guy is, as far as he's concerned, completely unmemorable. "Blume's a tech company. You really think they're gonna post some bounty, like they suddenly the Club?"

"I'm just telling you what I heard, man," Aces protests, holding up a hand. Blank throws down his, folding, and Aces continues, "Ask any kid in the Yards. There's a fifty thousand dollar contract on the dude who caused the blackout."

"Guy was a desk jockey or something for them, wasn't he?" Lamb wonders, laying down the turn card. Aiden, more interested in the conversation than the game, barely glances at his own hand. Fifty thousand dollars would be nice, especially considering money's tight now that Nicky's had her baby, and as Lamb continues to point out, "Sounds like it'd be an easy job. Dude probably doesn't even own a gun."

If there's a price on his head, their guy has probably bought a gun since then, Aiden thinks, but the Lamb's assessment isn't far off, otherwise. Chances are he doesn't know how to use it, not like he does, so the hard part, then, becomes finding Blume's guy before another fixer, looking for an easy pay out, does -- or before he skips town. Aiden doesn't want to have to leave Chicago, easy paycheck or not, not when Nicky might need him.

"You in or you out, man?" Aces asks, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Aiden glances down at his cards, his attentions again cursory, then taps them into a pile on the edge of the table and sets them down. Without reaching for his share of the chips, he starts to stand. Fifty thousand dollars will make what he's leaving behind look like pocket change. "I'm out."

Behind him, a chorus of jeers start up as he heads for the door, but he ignores them. He's got bigger things to worry about now.

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It takes him too long to piece it all together -- who he's after, exactly, where he is -- but somehow, somehow it's still him who gets to Raymond Kenney first. While it should feel like a Godsend, however, the check all but in the bank, it puts Aiden on edge, instead. For all he knows, Ray's a hell of a lot more prepared than anyone's been lead to believe, and he's walking into a trap. For all he knows, this is some CPD set up, to see how many would-be murderers they can bait into catching, and it's still a trap, albeit one that ends up with him arrested, rather than with a bullet in his head. Maybe. It really depends on how the CPD is feeling today or if Lucky Quinn has them cleaning house.

Either way, he doesn't go in the front door and he doesn't let the cameras catch him. He hugs the building, instead, slipping from one blind spot to another, so that Ray or whoever's watching doesn't see him, and works his way around the back. From there, he finds a way up to a window on the second floor, climbing a stack of pallets high enough until he can pull himself up onto the catwalk under it, and pries it open just enough to slip inside. He takes the time to catch the window, once he is, and close it again quietly. He allows himself a breath out then (so far, so good), and on the inhale flinches, the smell of alcohol hitting home like a sucker punch. It takes him a minute to remember to breath through it, and when he does, he edges towards the railing of the walkway, and looks down into the warehouse.

Someone is definitely sleeping in the proverbial bed, here, and like Baby Bear, Aiden finds him still there, who he imagines to be Kenney sitting at a table in the center of the room, apparently unaware. He's also the source of the smell of booze, Aiden notes, a mostly empty bottle and glass at the table, too. Aiden makes a face, disapproving, getting drunk when half of Chicago's looking for you a terrible idea, but starts down the stairs all the same. Ray doesn't seem to notice him, doesn't move up until Aiden has the barrel of his gun pressed up against the back of his head, and even then, it's only a minute thing, just him stiffening, straightening.

"Ray Kenney?" Aiden breathes at his ear.

"Yeah," he answers dumbly.

Humming, Aiden cocks the gun and -- well, he's not sure what makes him hesitate, really. Maybe it's how easy this all seems, even for what's supposed to be an easy contract. Either way, however, he's pretty sure he hears Kenney hiss, "Just fuckin' do it, man," and then, for whatever reason, he can't. He fucking can't. He bites out a swear of his own, then at a loss for anything better to do, decocks the gun and brings the butt of it down on Kenney's temple, instead. Mercifully, Kenney slumps into the table, and Aiden watches him for a moment, frowning, before willing himself to move, to head for the door.

He's fucking himself, he knows he's fucking himself, but he can't do this. He can't be someone's apparent suicide. He'll leave that to someone else.

► ►
Aiden's not sure what makes him go back any more than he's sure what made him leave, but the next night, he's back at the warehouse he found Kenney at. He goes in the back again, this time hoping not to be seen from the street rather than by the cameras, it still smells like booze when he lets himself in, and Kenney is still unconscious -- or is unconscious again, considering the bottle and glass have been swapped out for what looks like two empty six packs. Either way, Aiden wonders if Kenney isn't trying to kill himself, either by drinking himself to death or waiting here for someone else to find him, when someone already did, and that disgusts him more than the smell of booze did, last night.

He's tempted for a minute, then, to just fucking leave Kenney here, to the suicide he's too much of a coward to even do himself, and he turns to head back towards the stairs. He stops when his eyes fall on a nearby drum, filled with what looks like water, and all at once, he has a better idea. Marching back to Kenney, he fists a hand in his hair and pulls, trying to drag him back to consciousness or at least out of his seat. No matter his reaction, though, one thing is sure -- Ray's about to get a nice bath in the form of Aiden dunking him.

"Get up," he hisses, regardless, belatedly.

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"Hold still, kid," Ray tells him seriously but not unkindly, moving away again to pick up a box from under one of the tables. He brings it with him, kicking a crate along in front of him as he returns to Aiden's side.

Out of the first aid kit - since that's what the box is - he comes up with a pair of medical scissors. "Just hold still," he says again - and he's just going to cut the fabric away from the wound, so he can get a look at what he's dealing with. "This jacket's shit anyway."

"Fuck you," Aiden hisses, never mind the fact that he does, in fact, sit still beyond taking his hand away so Ray can actually get at the wound. He's very proud of this coat, old and worn as it is. It's a shame he'll have to replace it, now, with or without Ray, for all that the bullet went through it, too.

"Yeah, fuck me," Ray grumbles back at him as he pulls most of the fabric back from the wound. "Alright," he says, once he can see it. "Yeah, this ain't nothing, but it's gonna suck while it heals up."

It's clear that Ray has done this before, considering what happens next. It's a very well-stocked first aid kit, and he cleans the wound with first a wash bottle, picking away any remaining bits of fabric he can see from Aiden's clothing, and then alcohol after a quick word of warning. It's still bleeding sluggishly, and he packs both sides of the wound with gauze and tapes more in place. "Don't move that," he says finally and gruffly.

If the bleeding insists on continuing on, he'll look into other options for stopping it, but for now, he doesn't really want to inflict anymore trauma on him than he has to.

He comes back from disposing of the bloody cloth and gauze, picking up a bottle of water on the way that he opens in front of him so he can hear the seal breaking and holds out to Aiden. "Drink that."

Warning or no, Aiden still hisses a string of swears at him, bloodied fingers tightening on the arm of the chair hard enough that it creaks in protest. He only relaxes again when Ray moves away, slumping down over his knees as he struggles to catch his breath and keep a handle on his stomach, the dizziness and the nausea it bears still lingering. After a beat and in spite of it, he forces himself to sit up just enough to rub at the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand, swatting away tears that fell -- at some point.

Thankfully, he's mostly recovered from that, at least, by the time Ray returns with the water. Without hesitation (though with still trembling fingers), he reaches out to take it, and immediately takes a sip. He'd like more, a mouthful, suddenly aware of how thirsty he is, but he also doesn't want to antagonize his stomach, whether or not he ends up losing the lunch he had beforehand still very much up in the air.

"Thanks," he breathes belatedly, sagging into himself again.

If Ray noticed the tears, he's not about to say anything. The kid's been shot, and despite all outward appearances, he is not actually a heartless bastard.

"You're welcome," Ray agrees easily. "I've got some pain meds once you stop looking like you'd just throw them up again." He pauses a beat. "You wanna get horizontal?" He nods past Aiden to his bed where it's tucked into the space under the stairs that spiral down from above.

Aiden turns his head, following Ray's gesture to the bed. He considers it for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he should sleep, all things considered, and then decides it's probably fine. He feels a little faint, maybe, but he thinks that's more the pain than anything else, his nausea the more pressing issue, now, and Ray never invited him to actually sleep. He just asked him if he wanted to lay down. He'll just -- curl up for a few minutes, then, just until that queasiness fades and he an take whatever meds Ray has on hand, then he'll be fine.

That in mind, as he looks back to Ray, he hums, nods. "If you don't mind."

"Wouldn't've offered if I did," Ray returns. "You wanna get that jacket off?" The left sleeve isn't actually attached to the rest anymore, so it won't be a problem to slip it off. His shirt's ruined, too, but putting another one on will probably be more trouble than it's worth, but he can at least lose the remains of his coat.

"Yeah," Aiden breathes, acknowledging both the idea that Ray doesn't mind and that he should take off his coat. A long moment of pause follows, either way, as he scrapes the bottom of his barrel for the will to get to his feet, and then on another heavy breath, he stands, a little unsteady, still, but managing. He waits unitl he's a little surer of his balance before he starts trying to worm out of his coat.

It takes a little bit of effort, not attached anymore or otherwise, as he finds he can't really move that shoulder without the world greying out, but he manages. His breathing is a little ragged, then, as he lets it drop to the floor and as he all but falls into Ray's bed. He takes another moment, trying to catch it again, before he finally shifts, settles, trying to get comfortable. That's a little harder than getting the coat off, but -- but fuck it, he's too tired and hurting and weak to really care. He doesn't really care how childish he might look, all but burying his face in Ray's pillow, either. Maybe tomorrow, he'll have the presence of mind for embarrassment, but not right now. Right now, while he can't quite manage sleep through the earthquake of pain that rumbles through his shoulder and arm on every heartbeat, he at least manages to doze, manages to tune out the world for all but the pain and the thought of what he's going to tell Nicky tomorrow.

Edited 2020-08-26 15:28 (UTC)

Ray does what he can - and what Aiden will let him do - to help him shed the remains of his jacket, tossing it into a corner once it's off. He helps him over to the bed and then turns away, coming back with a bottle of pills. "Take these, first," he instructs, holding out the pills and the same water bottle.

Once Aiden's taken the meds and settled down, Ray backs off. "You need me, just yell," he tells him, and then he'll start back toward the door he came in through.

He'll keep an eye on Aiden through the monitors, though he does return later when it's obvious Aiden has actually fallen asleep. It's obvious like this just how young the kid is, and Ray huffs out a breath. "Stupid, Kenney. Really goddamn stupid," he mutters at himself.

He had no intention of getting attached to the kid, but he'd be stupid now not to realize that, despite all his best efforts, he has.

With another sigh, he settles into a chair to keep an eye on things.

Aiden sleeps as long as the pain meds will let him.

Sooner rather than later, however, they start to wear off and the pain starts to slip back in through the cracks, for how light his sleep is. He rolls over, as he comes awake, remembering the unhappiness of his shoulder in earnest and with a soft sound, and lays there for a moment, staring at the underside of the stairs. When he feels more ready, he pulls himself into carefully into a sit and reaches for what remains of his water.

He has no idea what time it is, no idea where Ray went, and no idea where the bathroom he'll inevitably need, if only to clean up, might be. He probably should have asked about -- any of this shit, before he passed out.

Ray's no longer in his chair, content that Aiden wasn't going to slip farther into shock from his injury. There's the sound of working from deeper into the silo, metal on metal and the flare of a welding torch - and the slightly muted sounds of thrash metal turned down low.

If Aiden goes looking, it's pretty clear where he is. If he doesn't feel up to getting up, Ray will probably realize shortly that he's awake.

Aiden's not sure he does feel like getting up, to be perfectly honest, but he does anyway, drifting towards the sound of the music, while keeping an eye out for any traps. He may not remember Ray arming his defenses, earlier, but he remembers what happened last time he wandered around here, unprepared, and getting electrocuted is the last thing he needs, right now.

Thankfully, he manages to get to him without incident, and when he finds him, he props himself against something, content to just watch Ray until he notices him. It's not like he has anything better to do, really.

It doesn't take Ray long to look up from the piece he's bending over - and he startles when he sees Aiden, flipping up his welding mask. "Shit, kid, you startled me." He sets the torch down, reaching up to pull the mask off entirely. "How you feeling?"

"Sorry," Aiden offers, softly but genuinely. A moment of pause follows, and then, a little louder, he answers, "And like shit. I'd ask if you got the license plate of that truck, but ... "

Again with the part where it's at the bottom of the river now, hopefully. Not that it was a truck in the first place. He shrugs, either way. He really owes Ray an apology, his gratitude, but sharing his feelings has never really been his thing.

Ray snorts. "Yeah, I figured. You don't look much better. I've got more pain meds upstairs if you want 'em." He squints toward Aiden's shoulder. "Might wanna take a look at that wound, too, see how the bleeding's doing."

If Aiden wants to ask about getting cleaned up in some capacity, now might be a good time before they get into all that.

"Maybe." The pain's -- not really what he would consider manageable, right now, to be honest, but he and his brass balls are determined to just deal with it. He's not sure what Ray offered him, last night, but he's afraid of that loss of control, Ray someone he just might trust or otherwise. He's afraid of becoming an addict, for all that he's taken great pains not to get into drugs in any capacity, not like some of the people he runs with.

"I wouldn't say no to having you take a look, though." A beat. "I also wouldn't mind you telling me where you keep the bathroom, here." He holds up a hand then, that said, his fingers flaked with dried blood, now. He didn't really have the chance or the energy to try and clean up, before he passed out.

Ray watches him, still looking concerned, because yeah, Aiden looks like shit.

"Oh, yeah, c'mon," he returns easily, moving away from his work. "Easier if I just show you."

He passes Aiden, heading back toward the front room, though he detours before he actually gets there, turning down a side hallway that leads to a bathroom. It's more like a locker room, with toilets and sinks and then another area where some cubicles are visible. It also doesn't look particularly spotless, as run down as the rest of the building, but, "I promise I've cleaned in here since I took over the place."

Humming, Aiden falls in step behind him, and as they come upon the locker room, he frowns. It's not that he doesn't trust whether or not Ray's made sure this place isn't a case of tetanus or Hep waiting to happen, however, it's more, "What is this place?"

It never occurred to him to wonder what the Silo used to be, before, until just now. It doesn't occur to him now to think that that's probably going to earn him a smart assed answer, for how tired he still is.

"Some kind of processing station and warehouse for Tidis. I don't think it ever got a lotta use," Ray says over his shoulder. "I did some magic and took custody when I found out it'd been abandoned due to some kinda zoning shit." He waves a hand. "You know how red tape is."

The explanation earns Ray another soft sound of acknowledgement. He continues to peer into the locker room for another moment after that before, finally, he asks, "I don't suppose you've got a spare shirt I can borrow?"

He might not put it on until after Ray's patched him back up, but his is absolutely fucked.

"Oh, yeah," Ray agrees immediately. "I'm sure there's at least one clean shirt laying around here somewhere."

That's not entirely a joke, either. Keeping up with laundry isn't really something he's pulled himself together enough for, yet, but he'll find Aiden something.

"I'll gather up the first aid kit, too, and take a look at your shoulder."

"Thanks," he answers. Despite that, though, he hesitates for a moment, before finally starting forward, into the locker room -- not that he's sure what that's all about, himself. Maybe it's the fact that he's feeling vulnerable here, now, and it's not that he doesn't trust Ray, it's just -- well, he sort of trusts Ray. Shit.

Maybe cleaning up a little will help him get his head back on straight.

Ray watches him for a moment, making sure he's steady and not going to keel over on his way into the room - and then turns away, heading off to find the promised change of shirt and new bandages. He also brings with him another water bottle.

"Let me know if you need any help," he calls in when he returns. Otherwise, he'll be out here waiting.

"I'm fine," Aiden calls back, a little more strain in his voice, a little more Irish than there was before. He's managing to get cleaned up on his own, but it's not an easy thing. Still, his pride won't allow for him to ask for help.

It takes him several more minutes, then, that in mind, but eventually, he come back into view, shirtless and toweling at his hair with the clean parts of his ruined shirt. When he seems satisfied it's as good as it's going to get, he drops the shirt away, rakes his fingers through his hair, and stops in front of Ray, looking young, still, almost in spite of himself. He shoulder, at least, doesn't look any worse than it did, last night.

Ray makes a noise back at him that says he's not quite sure he believes that, but he's also not going to actively argue with him about it, their relationship not to that point.

"Well, that looked worse last night," Ray says in return, referring to his shoulder. "You wanna sit?" He gestures back over his shoulder, away from the locker room, to where there's probably a chair somewhere nearby.

wake up or you'll wake up six feet down (rp for fortheportfolio)

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