~Gerard/Party Poison's POV~
If I had known the kid was gonna cough up his own blood and pass out, I wouldn't have wasted time fighting the midget. I mean, the way he was talking, I thought he was perfectly okay. Then again, his filthy BL/Ind clothes told me different. Now that they were covered in his blood-he'd fallen in it, the idiot- and more dirt, he could almost pass for a Killjoy. Minus the colors and the mask and the raygun. He had the 'poor-starving-homeless-killjoy' look down pat other than that.
"Kobra, step on it! We gotta get him back to the diner before it gets dark. We don't have much time before it's dark and they're out again." He nods and the moment he and Jet are secured up front and the midget and I are okay back here, they're driving faster than normally-which is saying a lot.
"Hey, midget kid, stay the fuck awake. No one's dying on my watch." His head rolls to the side and I can see a thin trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Somethin isn't right. I press two fingers against his neck and that's when I realize that he's not breathing. "Shit!" I yell, laying him onto his back and putting the CPR I'd never used before into use. I pump his chest with the heels of my palms. When that doesn't work, I pinch his nose and press my mouth to his, forcing air into his lungs.
I can taste his blood on my lips as we come to a halt. I can't stop, though, that could mean his death and I don't want anyone to die. Too many people already have.
I slap him a few times. Despite having only been an ass to me, the midget had a fire about him, something defiant that I felt we were lacking nowadays. Something about him just screamed, "Killjoy in the making". I wasn't about to lose an asset.
"Fuck.... You...." He turns his head and coughs again. Luckily it's not quite as much blood as spit this time. I rub his back and lift him up. He's not looking good, even by Killjoy standards. We needed to get him inside pronto. He'd been exposed to too much sun with probably no water or food. Even we were better off than that.
"Sorry sugar, you're not my type, exactly." I glance at his hand which is weakly flipping me off. "I think, sugar, you're gonna fit in just fine here."
