Requiem [COMPLETED]

Sven Declares Modern Medicine an Unnecessary Luxury

The pistol slug had gone clean through Sven's right shoulder. He refused to go to the hospital. "I don't have the money. Just slap some antiseptic on it and wrap me up." In the end Charlie gave in; he knew Sven didn't have insurance and the debt might be crippling. So he gave Sven some whiskey he had in his freezer for special occasions and tried to shove some antiseptic in the wound. He made stitches with a sewing kit he'd bought at Walmart for sewing buttons back on and wrapped him up with some gause left over from when Charlie had burned himself in the kitchen one day. Then he started to clean up the stray lead pellet tracks that had ripped open the skin across Sven's back.

"You realize you could have been dead by now, if either of these shots had ended up anywhere else? I mean, you could be dead in three days from septic shock. You could die because you're too stubborn to get proper medical attention!"

His rush of fight or flight hormones had washed away, leaving him drained and saddened. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly.

"I can't believe that that actually happened," said Charlie, for the hundredth time. He shook his head. "I really... I guess I just didn't get what you always told me. I mean, I believed you, but... I guess you can't comprehend that kind of evil in a person unless you really experience it somehow."

Sven was still drinking whiskey and he didn't reply. He'd gone through a quarter of the bottle. "Sven, I think you better lay off; too much alcohol is gonna make your body act like you're a hemophiliac and you're just going to bleed all over and not stop."

"And I'll get your furniture all messed up," he sighed, closing the bottle and setting it aside. He slouched over. "Are you exhausted too?"

"Understatement alert. Hey, what's wrong?"

Sven lifted his head enough to give Charlie a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, okay, stupid question." He bit his lip.

Sven sighed again, his head resting on his bent knees. "Charlie, can I stay with you tonight?"

"Of course," he replied instantly, pleased and relieved that Sven wasn't disappearing into the night. He'd seen him that way--depressed and alone-- way too many times. "My roommate has people staying over, so you'll have to stay in my room."

"Where is your roommate?" The apartment had been totally silent, indicating the absense of the theater major.

"Hannah took her cousins to a party somewhere."

"On a Sunday night?"

"That's theater people." He finished with the salve and and tossed it on the coffeetable. "Okay, you're set. Let's eat something."

"I'm not really hungry."

"You haven't had supper. And you've been through a traumatic experience; low blood sugar will make you go into shock."

"Fine, whatever. Toast."

Charlie pulled him along behind. "Come on, keep me company. I'm pissed at you, you know."

Sven pulled his brows together. "Why?"

"Do you want it in alphabetical order or can I just start at 1 and go?" Charlie replied tartly. "I don't think 26 letters will be thorough enough for what all I feel the need to say."

Sven tried to cross his arms but then felt his injury twinge and just turned his whole body slightly away from Charlie instead, as if shielding himself. "I was prepared to die to save you. What the hell. What can I possibly have done that's not compensated somehow by risking my life?"

"Are you listening to yourself? And you didn't die, luckily."

"Yes, but I meant to. I tried to be a hero, and therefore no one should criticize me."