Rabid Love

Fixing things up.

Algon walked towards his underground treehouse, down the stairs, and laid Pix's near corpse on his bed. Algon examined his beloved husband. Pix's clothes were almost torn to shred. There were bruises of almost every color all over Pix's body, including a large black one on his waist. It was absolutely horrifying to look at. Luckily but unfortunately, Algon has seen worse.

Pix's favorite sweatshirt was absolutely destroyed. Algon decided that since there was no way it could be fixed, he was going to take it to Suzie, the town grandma who sews. She's known for expertly making exact copies of clothes, among other things. Instead of struggling to take the garment off of Pix while he's sleeping, he just cut it off with scissors. He organized the parts and stacked them inside a shoe box.

Algon left to get some medicine for wounds and drop off the sweatshirt pieces.

"You can do it right, make this exact sweatshirt again?" Algon handed Suzie the shoebox. She opened it.

"Oh dearie, is this for Pixel? Of course I could! How is he doing?" Suzie smiled warmly

"Not good, to be honest, he is bruised and scarred everywhere. And extremely malnourished." Algon answered.

"Oh my! Here's some cookies I made this afternoon, I believe they are actually Pixel's favorite." She spun around in her swivel chair to grab a plate of cookies, and handed it to Algon.

"Oatmeal chocolate?" Algon looked at the plate.

"Yep! You go now, I'll finish this by the end of the week." Suzie put her hand on the box.

"Alright, thank you so much Suzie for doing this." Algon started to walk out.

"It's no problem! Bye-bye Algon." Suzie returned to her desk and began working.

"See you later!"

. He returned to his home with ten different medicines, and a collection of wash cloths. He quietly read the directions on how to apply. Algon started washing Pix's legs of any excess dirt that could affect his open wounds. Algon also noticed that Pix's legs were slightly bent in the wrong place, he gasped.

"Both of his legs are fucking broken. That's why he couldn't walk. But then how could he run??" Algon was skeptical, but wrapped both legs in a surgical bandage until he could get casts and a wheelchair.

He then continued with wiping blood on Pix's arms, and then lastly, washed Pix's face. He needed to be careful, otherwise he could wake Pix up or possibly hurt him. He pressed the warm cloth on the swollen eye for a moment, and then worked his way around Pix's lips to get the rest of his face.

Next, he took a few cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide and dabbed them over all the scars that was all over Pix's body. Using the same tactic with vinegar, he daubed on all the bruises.

Finally, he lifted Pix a little to wrap his waist in bandage. So much was going on under Pix's sweatshirt for a week without any washing, or acknowledging of injuries that his waist reeked. He pinched his nose and washed his husband's waist, cleaned with peroxide and dried it with a new towel, before he finally wrapped Pix's abdomen in surgical bandage. He put Pix back down, placed a heating pad on Pix's waist, and an extra warm towel on his forehead. He threw a warm blanket that just came out of his personal dryer over Pix, and made sure to tuck him in snug.

He heard a knock on his stair walls. Someone came in.

"No one is allowed in here right now, please leave." There was a small chuckle.

"Not even me? How is he doing?" Mac stepped down fully at the edge of the steps.

Algon glanced at Mac and turned to stare at Pix's body again. Mac stood by Algon.

"Not well. He's bruised and broken everywhere." Algon looked sad.

"I'm glad he's still alive. I wasn't sure he'd make it." Mac also looked down at Pix.

"Mac, sis, what do you mean?" Algon stared at Mac, worried.

"Well, before you called me, I already knew something was wrong. The connection I have to him was slipping. That only happens if one of two things happen. A) Pix and I weren't friends anymore and we never will be again, or B) one of us is just two steps away from death. I knew we didn't fight recently, and we've had pretty good contact so-." Mac made direct eye contact with Algon, whispering.

"Oh my god." Algon was bewildered and even angrier now.

"I had trouble reaching him too. His soul and hope was disappearing." Mac, disheartened, told all of this to Algon.

"Do you know who did this?" Algon looked at the floor, balling his fists.

"Yeah I caught him. He's in my basement right now."

"What's his name?" Algon turned red out of intense rage.

"Kenny Michaels. I never personally met him, but I know who he is. He went to high school with me and Pix." Mac explained calmly.

"Is he..?"

"Yeah." Mac glanced over at Pix again.

"Bring him to me." Algon demanded shortly.

"Not right now. I've got a couple things to teach him, and then you are free to do whatever you want." Mac smirked, and then started to leave.

"Thanks Mac, by the way for helping." Algon turned his head where Mac was leaving.

"You're welcome, anything for you." Mac waved.

Algon turned back to look at Pix one last time, and held his hand.

"Don't die on me moron." Algon kissed the hand and dropped it so he could climb in bed.