Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 20. The battle is lost and Wilkins' squad comes to rescue

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James heard somebody screaming outside only because he had woken up sweating from a sharp pain in his chest and belly rolling all over his body. It took him a moment to be able to breath again and stop gaping into the darkness. He was not sure which James he was for these couple of moments, it might have been both of them.

But the moment he knew he was him - without much difference  who exactly 'him' referred to - he knew something was wrong. And he was not able to help. He could just watch while she was tortured and fighting. Of course, she was...and she still continued to fight.

She was stronger than Gregory. It took James a moment to realise she'd take him forever if she wanted, and it made cold sweat crawl back his spine.

There were footsteps outside, then something broke. James blinked and finally jumped from the bed and rushed downstairs.

It was him, of course.
No...it was her. Fighting a shadow, hitting the long shape over the walls.

James called out for Gregory with no effect - and tried to stop his hands, but the only thing he got was a lot of Scottish hissing and cursing mixed with tears, and then a porcelain candelabra - well, rather a tasteless one, - in his hands hit the wall slicing his palm severely.

James cursed under his breath and grabbed Gregory's  hands making him drop the shards and stop wounding himself. The young man, his eyes black and greyish,  pressed into James' shoulders soaking the pyjamas fabric in blood and pushing him away weakly. 

And suddenly began blinking as if after the deepest sleep.

James placed the palm on his shoulder hoping to calm his down while gently taking the porcelain shard away. Blood was awfully sleazy and warm to touch.  "Gregory, are you back?"

"You are hurt." This hoarse whisper most definitely belonged to Gregory's. And the sob.

"I am not. You are. It is your blood. Lord, please, don't move." James pulled the pyjama jacket from his shoulders to press into Gregory's palm to stop bleeding. "Can you try and stand up for me, dear Gregory?"

Greg nodded, still relatively connected to reality.

"Sir, what happened? Are you fine?" The light in the main hall  made both of them squint.  Amina the maid appeared in the corridor looking upon both night owls and blood everywhere. She was perfectly dressed except of the sleep mask with pink cat ears on her forehead. "I'll call the ambulance and inform mister Wilkins!"

Greg half-sobbed, half-chuckled and tried to pull his t-shirt lower. His Batman underwear concerned his more than injuries, since he knew James was fine. "No, don't call anyone, it's nothing..."

James frowned. "Excuse me, but it's not for you to decide. Miss Amina..."

"I took a first aid course. I'll bring the kit and band mister Bay's cuts. Let me take him to the bathroom, the cut needs to be cleaned up at first." She sounded almost too excited for the situation.

"I'm a lucky lad...to get a nurse around." Greg didn't want to but blabbing just started to come out when he was helped on his legs and had to lean on James. His knees were weak for some reason, and it was pitiful.

"It's no luck, sir! Mister Wilkins stressed it in the requirements to a position that we must be ready for everything."

"Can you make a pie?" Greg chuckled. The stupid 'Anything you can do' song stuck in his ears. . 

"I took a basic culinary course." Wilkins' squad seemed flawless indeed. "Lord Blacke, I will help mister Bay..."

"I can walk, I'm okay, really." With shock finally leaving him, pain began burning his palm and another issue came up. 

James would probably not take him to his aunt after this. 

Sounds childish even for a 5 years old. Shite.

James shook the head holding Greg's shoulders firmly. "Please, fetch the first aid kit, miss Amina. I will take Mr Bay to his room, kindly meet us there." She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and disappeared. 

"You have a great pyjamas." Greg informed his rescuer watching the crumpled fabric strained with blood. "Um. Had." 

"Thank you. That was my least favourite one anyway."

James was fit. Greg was peeking at him secretly on their way upstairs. A good distraction, it was. He tried to keep some distance from the man's bare torso, then gave up. 

James was the kindest person he knew. And the most easy going. Pity he saw Batman underwear.