Continued.....

I pull the extra jacket I have tied around my waist up higher, feeling incredibly naked without my camera hanging on my shoulder. But alas, what I'm planning on doing means I'll need to travel as light as possible. And that means no camera.

Ugh. Kill me now why don't you?

I wrap the jacket I'm currently wearing tighter around my torso as a cool gust of wind hits me, a shiver running up and down my spine.

Yeah, maybe I should've worn my heavier one. Yada, yada, yada.

I glance down at my watch: 10:07 A.M. A whole grand thirty-seven minutes since I left a baffled Mom and a curious Michael standing at the dining room table.

It had taken me less than twenty minutes to throw myself together and come up with a lame excuse, that she obviously didn't buy, for mom about me leaving so abruptly. Though I think she knows it has something to do with what we saw on the news. And her knowing I'm too stubborn and curious for my own good, or for her to stop, she simply let me go.

I'm sixteen now. I can handle myself. Oh yeah, because getting kidnapped a couple weeks ago really proved that Heavyn. Way to go.

I feel a twist of unease in my gut that makes me walk faster, this whole predicament making me feel nauseas.

  What if he's already dead?

I've been keeping tabs on the news using my iphone as I walk, and so far there hasn't been a single sighting of MidKnight. Though something doesn't quite add up.

What was he doing out in broad daylight - the morning?

He's never been seen doing anything except from dusk to dawn. Never in the late morning.

Though then there's the other question: why am I so worried about him in the first place?

He's gone through tough times like this I'm sure. He doesn't need me. Besides why should I help him even if he does save innocents, not including if he's been the one causing trouble?

He may save people, or cause trouble, but that doesn't make up for his attitude outside of being a super. He's a arrogant, selfish, jerk.

I don't know what to think anymore!

All I know is I'm currently walking down a street one or two blocks away from Grand Central Terminal, freezing my butt off and dealing with a growling stomach because I for some reason just had to rush out before finishing my lovely breakfast.

Insert dreamy sigh.

"Darn stupid Celestials and their inability to stay alive." I mutter under my breath as I kick a stone along with each step, head angled to the ground as my eyes scan the surroundings.

He obviously wouldn't be in the middle of a busy street, or anywhere connected with a population above maybe a cat. So.....a alley?

Isn't that where all the hero's go when they get hurt?

I try to make myself look as inconspicuous as possible as a sudden NYPD patrol car drives past me, the woman officer sitting passenger obviously scanning the surrounding much like me.

Alright, think Heavyn. What would you do if you were hurt and you were a possible rouge Celestial that currently has all of Manhattan looking for you?

I'd obviously try to get back to a safe place where I know I can safely change back into my alter ego.

"I hope he gets back to his secret hideout fast."

Michael's voice drifts through my head, and I bite my lip thoughtfully as I go over the possibilities. Every hero has a hideout. It's mandatory, duh.

Okay, so he could have his hideout at his house. In that case, I know exactly where it would be. But on the off chance it's not....then I'm screwed.

So I need to look around in places between Grand Central Terminal and his place. Easier said than done.

*Time Skip*

I step into a alley, walking a few yards in before I practically collapse against the brick wall. I run a hand across my sweaty forehead, my light jacket suddenly feeling way too hot.

Glancing down at my watch, I realize I've only been walking for a little over an hour.

Groaning, I tilt my head back against the wall. I'm either in worse shape than I thought, or missing out on half my breakfast did more damage to me than I thought it would.....

I'll blame it on breakfast.

Come on Heavyn, it hasn't been that incredibly long. Think of all those people that've climbed Mount Everest. Granted they probably were in much, much better shape than you will, or ever, be in. But-

I clamp my mental rambling off mid-sentence as I suddenly catch the sound of a bottle eerily rolling across the cement floor like it was unexpectedly disturbed, the dark atmosphere making me feel like I'm suddenly in a horror film.

Um, okay.

I scan the corridor of the alley that seems to come to a dead-end somewhere up yonder, goosebumps forming across my arms and back.

So it's either a rat or some alley cat toying with me, some drunk or addict, or a possible someone accidentally brushing up against the bottle which would than make it roll like it just did.

Okay, not too bad of odds here.

I grind my teeth a full minute before glancing back at the opening I walked through to get here, watching as a few pedestrians walk by without even a glance this way.

I'm so stupid. If I ever live along enough, or find the right partner, to have kids, I'll have a buttload of crazy stories to tell that can outmatch any parent.

Blowing a long breath out, I walk forward further down the alley that only grows stinkier and darker. Dumpsters line the graffiti colored brick walls, loose trash littering the ground like so many other alleys I've seen of late. And that was definitely a rat I just saw. Fire escapes cling up along the tall buildings on each side of me, casting odd shadows over the ground.

Alright, this is wonderful. I've seen another alley, I don't see who I'm looking for, and I think it was that rat that-

I once again cut my thoughts off, something I sadly do way too much, as my eyes suddenly scan over a small puddle of a suspiciously dark liquid.

No way.

Crouching down next to the puddle roughly the size of a tennis ball, I quickly swipe my right index finger along the corner, feeling the rough cement ground, along with the odd warmth the liquid seems to have, scrape against my skin.

I bring my finger up to eye level, only to have my suspicions confirmed: blood. I hang my right arm off my right knee, quirking my lips to the side as I look the blood puddle back over.

A few separate drops around the main puddle, nothing horribly odd about all of it except that there's blood in the middle of a alley.

It could be anybodies.....And I touched it.

I get the urge to wipe my finger off on something, only to realize I don't have anything unless I want to use my clothes.

No thanks.

My eyes suddenly latch on to a dark object that seems to have been dropped next to the corner of a dumpster, and I almost can't breathe as I realize what it is.

No way.

I move forward, crouching down next to the sleek, pitch black helmet that blends pretty well into its surroundings. I reach out with shaky hands, picking it up to hold it before me.

My thumb moves to trace over a large, rough dent on the side, the color so scratched off it's almost to the point it looks rusty in that specific spot. Like it was hit against the ground and dragged across. I blink as I find an odd, round hole in one part of the thick plastic, or whatever it is, my fingers running over it.

And that's when I realize it's a bullet hole. And there isn't just one.

Horror fills me as I count six decent sized bullet holes in the helmet, a scuff even on the dark tinted visor, like a bullet sliding across it.

Though a quick check on the inside instantly quiets the horror as I find none of them passed completely through the helmet.

Alright mister. Where are you?

It seems my silent question is answered as I catch a small, barely perceptible, scuffing sound up above me. And that's when a drop of something falls through the cracks of the fire escape above me and splashes down into the blood puddle next to me, creating a small ripple.

Ohhhhhhh.

I look up, and I can instantly tell there's a dark shape up above me, through the cracks, by the way light shines thought the rest of the cracks, yet not there.

Slowly standing up, I keep my eyes focused above as I nervously swallow. I better be right.

"MidKnight?" I softly call up, hearing my voice slightly crack. From fear? Or in anticipation?

I glance back over towards the entrance as there's no answer, shifting my stance before looking back up.

"Dravin?"

Silence reaches me, and I get a sinking feeling in my gut. Maybe he's just ignoring me?....Or he's dead.

But then what was the shuffling noise I heard, the glass bottle? Though if he's up there, I don't think he was the one to hit the bottle. Rat?

I jump back as something large abruptly falls off from the side of the fire escape, ten feet up, and I watch motionless as a body hits the cement ground with a thump seven feet from where I stand, the only other sound being a muffled grunt.

That had to hurt.

And once again, I stare, shock ridden at the sight before me, barely registering what it is I'm looking at.

MidKnight - Dravin? - lays on his right side, hood over his head, his body curled up as his chest moves in noticeably large gulps of air, a ragged breathing evident from where I stand.

I slowly move forward, feeling like I'm approaching a skittish lion that may either lick me or eat me alive deciding on how I approach it.

Horrible analogy, I know.

I crouch down in front of his chest. "Dravin?" I whisper, my throat dry and sandpapery from both nerves and the fact I haven't exactly drank anything today.

There's a tense silence where I just continue to stare at the leather clad figure in front of me, while he keeps his head angled down towards his chest. Then, he slowly moves his left hand up to his head before flipping the hood back from his face.

I'm left staring into familiar blue eyes, yet a foreign emotion lurks inside: pain. His usual tan skin has a pale tinge to it while his face gives off a certain strain to it, sweat matting his messy hair to his forehead to the point it's sticking up like an untamed mane.

His eyes pierce mine with a hint of hesitation and distrust, his jaw locked tightly in place.

"West." Dravin mutters, obviously trying to sound like he doesn't care a fickle about me being here. But something tells me it's the complete opposite.

I just simply continue to stare, my mind seeming to still be catching up with everything. Which in turn just seems to make him more irritated than he already appeared to be.

"What? No questions? No, 'I was right' speeches?" He shifts himself up slightly so he's leaning on his right elbow, wincing at just that small movement. "I bet you already have a whole paper written about this back at your house on your computer, just waiting for you to send it off to some news letter." He blows a long, ragged breath out, grimacing the whole way.

My eyes scan over his body, the dark material of his clothes keeping me from fully realizing the damage that's been dealt.

"Can you stand?" I question, cutting him off before he could continue, eyes finding his again. His face flushes with confusion, his mouth snapping shut. "What?"

I roll my eyes. "Can. You. Stand?" I repeat, annunciating each word clearly. He frowns in annoyance, replacing the pained look in his facial features a few seconds as his mind occupies him with something else.

"I mean....probably." He hesitates, leading me to believe he's really not sure.

He must be hurt bad.

"But what about your report-" I cut him off again, giving him a hard stare. "You mean the report I currently have sitting in my computer with two sentences?" Surprise flickers in his eyes, and I shake my head. "I'm not here to get a story - surprisingly." I meet his gaze again, unwavering. "I'm here to help." 

He blinks a few times, and I run my hands over my thighs. "Now do you want my help or not? Someone's bound to come walking in at any minute. You have a manhunt-" Now Dravin cuts me off, sounding more than upset.

"I know." He snaps, a fire kindling in his eyes seconds before he closes them shut. He takes a few deep breaths through his nose, his left fist opening and closing multiple times as an obvious struggle rages inside him.

His eyes snap back open, and I almost do a double take as they suddenly look twice as bright as they did earlier. His jaw tightens as he slowly shuffles himself up into a sitting position, a grimace on his lips as his eyes clinch together.

He holds his left arm up to his chest as he positions himself around like he's on all fours, and he stares at the ground a few seconds before he pushes off the ground with another grunt using his right hand, his feet scraping the ground as they shuffle to hold himself up.

I step closer to him as he practically collapses against the brick wall, standing with a obvious slouch in his posture. He holds his right hand up above his head as his left stays firmly tucked to his chest, holding his head down while taking deep breaths, forehead creased in pain.

"So...." He takes a breath. "You're just helping me....from...the goodness of your....heart?" His words come out slightly dragging, breathing only turning more ragged.

I chuckle. "You may not know it, but I do have one. So yes, yes I am." I truthfully answer, gauging his reaction.

His eyes seem to flicker over my face as I tell him, examining every small detail like he's looking for some evidence of a lie, head tilting just slightly to the side. He takes a deep breath in, shuffling his right leg closer to his left.

"Alright." He grunts, not looking particularly pleased nor upset at the moment. More like.....content. He looks down at himself, than back out at the scenery.

I know what he's thinking before he even has a chance to say anything. "How are you supposed to go walking out of this alley while dressed like that?" I suggest, earning a slightly annoyed look from him.

He nods after a second, shuffling his stance again like something's bothering him. "I need to get back to....my apartment building." His voice trails off, and he grimaces before continuing. "I was using the rooftops, but that obviously isn't going to work for me right now." He dryly observes with a frown.

I look his drawn and weary face over again, then his leather clad body I can just make out the few areas that appear darker than the rest of the black material.

I cross my arms. "I think you need a Doctor." I deadpan, raising an eyebrow up at him. He immediately shakes his head with a grimace, gritting his teeth. "I'll be fine once I get back." He bites out, suddenly sounding more rushed and anxious.

I frown, but bite my lip to keep my argument to myself. "Okay. Well at least I was thoughtful and brought an extra jacket." I pat the large jacket tied around my waist, and his eyes immediately go down to look at it.

I motion over to him. "So take off your jacket, throw it in a dumpster, than put mine on and we'll head on out."

He looks like he's about to argue before he chokes it down, his hands slowly coming up to unzip the jacket at the front with hands that I now notice lack his usual leather gloves.

I shrug. "Hey, at least it's not pink." I joke, and he rolls his eyes, clearly not appreciating my joke like I'd hoped. My attention falls back down on the puddle of blood near my feet, the fresh drops that are now sitting around him.

How's he even still standing after loosing that much?

"So uh, can they like use your blood to match your DNA with your alter ego?" I curiously ask, honestly not sure how that works for Celestials.

Is there something in their blood that's different than a normal human? Does it depend on the person? And oh gee, I've actually been speaking and doing stuff with a real live Celestial!

This just got real.

He makes a noise like he just attempted a chuckle that backfired, jaw tightening in pain as he winces. "They can do what they want with it," he answers with as much spunk as a depressed donkey. "it doesn't have any relation to Dravin Smith." He uses his right arm to carefully tug his left arm out from the sleeve, his face full of pain as he does it.

Well, I guess that answers that then.

He leans his weight against the brick wall as he slowly pulls his right arm out of the last sleeve before dropping it on the ground, leaving him in a black short sleeve T-shirt.

My face almost contorts to one of horror as my eyes lock on to the large blue-ish purple bruise that runs up the length of his left arm, my stomach twisting worse as I spot a bloody gash on his upper arm.

  I slowly look over his clothed torso, taking in both the way his chest rises and falls quickly and uneven and the multiple dark spots that only seem to be growing wider outwards from them.

Unwrapping the jacket from around my waist, I hold it up for him to slide into. He gives me a unreadable stare before slowly complying by pushing his right arm through the sleeve.

Good thing this jacket is large, or else I don't think they would've fit his arms much less the rest of him.

He takes extra care while pushing his bruised and bleeding left arm through the last sleeve. He then zips it up a quarter of the way in the front. I bend down, grabbing the leather jacket up off the ground by the neckline, the weight feeling heavier than I thought it would. Moving forward a few steps, I then pick up the helmet, looking it over once more.

"Good thing you were wearing this," I wave the helmet between us. "or else I don't think you'd have made it out period."

He simply grunts in reply, pulling his left arm up to his chest as he cradles it with his right. I toss both objects into the nearest dumpster, vaguely wondering if someone might find them, and then they show up in tomorrow's newspaper like what happened in one of the original Spider-Man movies.

Eh.

I walk back over to Dravin, who's currently leaning heavily against the wall like he might collapse at any given moment, his eyes glued tightly shut as his jaw grinds back and forth.

Well, at least he doesn't look too suspicious now.

I walk up next to him, and he tenses, eyes flashing back open, as I place my arm around his back. He stays quiet as I pull his right arm around the back of my neck, and I get the feeling he's not used to excepting help from others.

Though he is a Celestial. I'm sure it's not a daily activity.

"Alright, come on." I tell him, gripping his lean torso tighter as I pull him off from the wall. "It's not too far away." I almost stumble as what feels like his full weight falls against me, and I catch Dravin's face flushing in pain before he rights himself next to me.

Alright, deep breaths. We can do this.

We pause by the opening that leads to the sidewalk, and I lean around the wall to peek outside. Finding it mostly deserted at the moment, I readjust my grip on Dravin before practically pulling him out onto the sidewalk.

No one looks our way as we amble slowly down the side of the road, probably looking like a couple of hobos supporting each other to the next bus stop. 

Dravin keeps his head angled down towards the ground as we walk along, his left arm tucked to his chest as his right continues to rest on my shoulders. I bite my lip again to hold in my concerns as his breathing only turns more ragged, an obvious limp growing in his steps while that sheen of sweat on his forehead only grows thicker.

"Do you need to rest?" I question as we reach the final block to our destination, looking up at his face. He shakes his head, locking his jaw in place as his eyes grow with determination. Stubbornness is more like it, I just thought determination sounded better.

I do a half roll of my eyes, only for them to lock on something as I glance back. There, just barely perceptible, is a small trail of blood following us. A surge of panic hits me, and I look directly where Dravin's standing.

With the speed of a leaky faucet, drops of crimson blood drip down from somewhere on Dravin, leaving a connect the dot right to us.

"You're dropping blood everywhere." I point out, trying to keep my voice down as as someone walks by. "You're going to lead a trail right to us."

He pulls slightly away from me, as if he was irritated. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's not like I'm trying to bleed all over the place. It's simply a natural reaction when one's been shot, multiple times." He sarcastically replies, making me frown.

Blood loss must make him a bit loopy. I don't think in the whole span of weeks I've known him he's talked as much as he is now.

"Okay, geez. Don't get your panties in a bunch." I amend, pulling Sassy closer as I feel him slip. "Someone's getting a little cranky."

He doesn't comment, which surprises me, and that's when I look up at his face, only to realize he looks like he's about ready to puke.

"And please don't-" I cut myself off as someone abruptly walks past us, and not without sending us a glance. "Puke on me." I finish once he's out out earshot, tightening my hold on Dravin as I spot our apartments looming in the distance.

It's never felt so good to see it.

"We're almost there."

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A/N

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

Thanks for reading, and I hope it's beginning to get a little more interesting for you? I've got a lot up my sleeve that's soon to come. 😉

So stick with me!

Sorry if it lags in the description prospect. I'm lacking in both time and imagination at the moment.

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