Injured

the not so nice

O'Chunks took one look at the man and sighed.

"Sit down at the table, and I'll go get the first aid kit." O'Chunks instructed. Mr. L, scowling, sat stiffly in the wooden chair at the card table and glowered at the table. O'Chunks turned towards the rec room bathroom, shaking his head at the thought he'd have to get water too, for the man's still smoking clothes.

He had gone off to fight the heroes, O'Chunks remembered, only a short few hours ago. From the state he was in, O'Chunks guessed it hadn't gone too well.

Balancing the first aid kit and a bowl of water and rag in the other, the Irishman carefully made his way back to the table. He set the gathered supplies on the table and turned to Mr. L, looking him over.

"Yeh'll need an ice pack for that eye. " he said.

"I'll get it later," Mr. L muttered, not looking up.

With a sigh, O'Chunks pulled out a chair, and sat down beside the man. "Fine then, "he said, dipping the rag in the water, and opening the medical kit. "Take off your shirt and tell me where it hurts. "

Still glaring, Mr. L ripped off his bandana and threw it on the floor. When he tried to pull off his shirt, he stopped half-way, his face screwing up. O'Chunks silently helped him pull it off, and assessed the man's appearance again.

A black and blue pattern spread across his ribs like a belt, and several of the ones higher on his torso were blotchy and round. Made by a fist, O'Chunks thought. The most serious injury was the gash on the man's shoulder, gaping open like a shrieking mouth. The blood had run all down his chest, but seemed to have mostly clotted.

"What in the devils name happened to yer shoulder?" O'Chunks said, picking up the rag.

Mr. L hissed at the first touch of the cloth, his muscles tensing as he forced himself to still. "I fought the heroes," He bit out, "What else?"

"An' I guess yeh got whipped like the rest of us."

"I wasn't supposed to!" Mr. L cried, just below a shout. " I was supposed to win! I was supposed to show..." Mr. L faltered, and looked down again. "Nevermind."

O'Chunks went on cleaning the gash, silently rubbing at the dried blood that surrounded the wound. As it bled into the rag, taking some of the dirt that had accumulated as well, O'Chunks got out the bandages and tape with one hand.

"Those bruises look mighty bad," He commented.

"Well, they aren't," Mr. L snapped. "Bro-bot started to malfunction, for whatever reason- he's perfect, but I... had... "He looked away, a grimace twisting his lips. "I was supposed to win." He muttered.

O'Chunks placed gauze over the wound, and then a large flat bandage over it. Tape secured it on all sides. "I'm through," He murmured. Mr. L leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over to hug his sides. He made no move to leave or pick up his shirt, and so O'Chunks waited.

"I was supposed to win," He whispered. " I was supposed to prove to Count Bleck that I was... That I'm worth something. That he didn't spend all that time on me for nothing. I wanted to win, and show Count Bleck that he was right about me. I'm perfect, just like he said. " His eyes closed, and his head tilted back. "Now, though? All I can think about is how disappointed he's going to be. He's going to kill me where I stand, and I know I deserve it."

O'Chunks watched him carefully, and spotted a tremor in his shoulders, one that he knew wasn't from the pain. After a moment, Mr. L tilted his head back forward, his eyes slightly wet. "I should go..." He muttered.

"I felt the same way when I first lost," he admitted. Mr. L's sharp grey eyes darted up to stare at him. "I don't- I mean, I didn't think life's worth living if I'ma goin' tah fail the count like that. But there's one thing that keeps meh going," O'Chunks said, matching the man's eyes evenly. "Count Bleck believes in yeh. I believe in yeh. I mean, the count wouldn't have picked ya up if he hadn't seen somethin' in yah, right?"

Leaning down, he picked up Mr. L's shirt and bandana and handed it to him. Mr. L began to put them back on silently, never taking his gaze away. "Te' Count gives out a lot of second chances. Yeh can come train wit' me sometimes, if yah'd like. It takes away some of the sting, knowing yer working to make yerself better."

With a sharp tug, Mr. L tied the bandana securely around his neck and finally broke gazes. "Yeah," He muttered hoarsely, and then cleared his throat. "Yeah, sounds good I guess." His tone was back to its cool, confident state. "But I need to go see Nastasia, right?"

O'Chunks nodded. "See her first, and then she'll tell yah to go see the count." At Mr. L's cringe, he added, "It makes it easier to see her first. Yeh'll get through it. "

"Yeah, "he mumbled, "Yeah, I'll get through it. " Without a single glance to O'Chunks, he heaved himself off the chair, picking and pulling at his tattered clothes. A jagged hole near his sleeve showed a peek of the stark white bandage underneath.

"L-ater Chunks," He said, sounding bored.

He strode to the doorway then paused, looking over his shoulder and fixing O'Chunks with a strange look. Before O'Chunks could say anything, the expression disappeared, and Mr. L left without another word.

O'Chunks sighed and began to clear the table. Maybe he would see Mr. L later, and they could talk again.

ugh, still couldn't think of a good way to end it. also, if anyone knows of something that could be good cover art- feel free to send it to me.