Dead On Arrival [Peterick]

I'd Appreciate It If You Kept Your Blood To Yourself

Pete isn't entirely sure it's wise to have dragged a random homeless kid into his nice clean apartment, but he's also not entirely sure he cares.

The kid looks pretty dazed, and his foot's bleeding like hell, so Pete helps him up the steps to his place, eyeing the blood dripping to the floor and trying not to think about what that's gonna do to his lounge carpet. A shower is definitely in order him, his sweater smells like a bacterial breeding ground, and Pete worries that if he can't get the kid cleaned up soon, it might just disintegrate off his body and start a species of its own.

Pete guides him through the door, a twinge of guilt making him wish his apartment wasn't quite this large and flashy, suddenly aware of the 75-inch TV on the wall and the gleam of kitchen appliances across the room.

"I'll just, uh, put you on the couch," he says awkwardly, trying not to squirm at the thought of this smelly kid on his creamy white sofas, trying desperately to push back his built-in stereotypes and not act like the spoilt rich boy he is in front of Patrick.

But Pete thinks Patrick already has him sussed; the look on his face is one that can only be described as awe, his eyes wide in the soft lighting, taking in everything from the double-doored monster fridge to the squishy carpet beneath his one bare foot. Pete can't help but smile inwardly, though, when he sees the boy's toes wriggle, burying themselves in the softness, and - oh god he's dripping blood everywhere, holy crap quick sit him down sit him down!

He coaxes Patrick as quickly as he can - without causing him to topple over - towards the couch and down onto it, taking a slippery hold of his injured foot and placing it on the coffee table after nearly screeching at the boy not to sit cross-legged under any circumstances. Glass, he can clean.

Patrick hisses through gritted teeth when Pete touches him; his face screws up so tight, Pete's worried it might collapse in on itself, and he has to say something just to make the boy open his eyes.

"I, uh, I'll just get some, uh...stuff," he frowns, pointing at Patrick's foot as if he needs reminding what the issue is. And, oh brilliant, his hands are now spotted with blood, too. This is going great, so far.

He hops over to the kitchen, his eyes on his hands, grabbing the nearest piece of anything that has liquid absorbing capabilities, which happens to be kitchen roll. Wiping his hands off as if there was something a lot nastier than blood on them, he pinches the very edge of the tissue and flicks it gingerly into the bin.

As he roots through his cupboards in search of bandages, he wonders what on earth he's got himself into, and why on earth he's got himself into it. There is a homeless kid on my couch who stole fifty quid from me earlier today. What the hell is he doing? This isn't the type of person he is.

But the thing is, that's exactly why he did it. This isn't him, this is the quirky millionaire philanthropist he wants to be; he's like Iron Man, only without, like...well, everything that Iron Man has. Despite everything, though, he can't help but feel a little bit proud, like on the grand scale of goodness, he's gone up a few points. Daring, that's what this is.

Armed with an arsenal of objects possessing various healing properties, he pads back over to the kid, who's hovering his hands around his foot as if it's some kind of crystal ball.

"Do you mind if I, uh..." Pete gestures weakly at the blood-smudged coffee table, his attempt at channelling Iron Man promptly falling flat on its face. Tony Stark would know what to do.

Patrick looks at Pete, but doesn't quite focus on him, nodding slowly, a permanent wince in his face.

With a damp flannel and no idea what he's doing, Pete carefully gets to his knees and stares at the kid's foot, raising the towel and very gently wiping the blood where it's smeared on his ankle and around his toes. He gets as close to the sole of his foot as Patrick will allow; he keeps swatting Pete away, making Pete jump with sharp gasps and wild flinches.