Danplan Shorts

Hiding his stumbles

I was reading good ol' Jekyll and Hyde earlier, it's giving me a lot of random inspiration.
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Stephen stumbled into his apartment, bruised and littered with cuts of various severities. His right arm hung crippled at his side, swinging with the clumsy steps of his feet like a broken puppet.

A night on patrol, regardless the day, was always a struggle. But tonight especially, with injuries to prove it.

Being a superhero wasn't easy after all. Stephen didn't particularly consider himself one; he didn't have any powers or special abilities. But to stop crime was to stop crime, and to save people was to save people. So in a sense of the word, he was.

He stumbled to his couch, breathing heavily through the pain and dizziness, and collapsed into the sofa cushions, sinking down into them without any energy to pull himself upright.

Nothing felt comfortable, clawing along with cuts and scrapes. The sofa brought a sense of peace to the hectic evening, like a safe haven for a mere minute, companioned with peaceful silence. Stephen basked in it for a while.

But no matter how wrecked he was, another patrol was called for the next night. And the night after, and the night after that until the was no more nights to patrol. And so, after a deep stuttering inhale, he stood up, heading towards the shower.

The walls followed him however, closing in on him as he tilted from side to side. His eyes fluttered closed, and his legs gave out at the weight of his head on his shoulders. He collapsed, gasping breathlessly at the sharp pain that rippled across his shoulder, and groaned feverishly at the pulsing agony that followed.

He sat there, just for a moment, trying to capture his thoughts, before someone knocked on the door.

He jumped, hissing in pain, turning his head as much as he could to stare at his front door.
"Stephen?" A voice called, "it's me and Dan, you home?"

Tonight wasn't his night apparently. Being thrown into a wall gave him enough of an ache, not to mention a knife precariously missing his eye. His friends turning up just had to be the icing on the metaphorical cake of inconveniences.

He chose to stay quiet, instead putting his effort into standing up again. But despite his quiet ignorance, they kept on knocking.
"Stephen?" A familiar voice called, "we know you're in there, you okay?"

He startled at the question, loosing his footing and falling back into the unforgivingly hard floor. They knocked harder.
"Stephen?!"
"What was that noise?"
"Are you okay?!"

He huffed out a silent laugh, of course he couldn't get out of this one forever. Excuses trailed through his head on how to convince them it was a silly accident, how he would open the door and laugh at his past predicaments.

That is, if he made it to the door standing. It seemed he would only make it crawling across the floor with silent screams of pain. By the time he got to his old friend the sofa once again, his friends had had enough.

A loud bang erupted from the door, the poor thing breaking from its hinges as Daniel kicked it down. He stomped, angry, with an apologetic Hosuh trailing behind. At the sight of him, they both went blank.

"What happened?!" Hosuh gasped, rushing forward to grab his friend by the shoulders, they both winced when the younger yelped a little.

Daniel rushed forward also, his past aggression gone as he looked into the younger's eyes with concern. Their irises looked a tad glassy, like a film that couldn't be blinked away.

And looking back into the gentleness of his friends eyes, filled with worry and unadulterated love, he gave up, and fell forward onto Hosuh's shoulder with a weary sigh.

"Who did this to you?" Dan asked, his voice dipped in fragility as the situation called for. Hosuh sat back silently, srcatching Stephens scalp with his fingers.

"There was this, guy. With a knife." He uttered, phrasing his sentences carefully.
The other two looked between each other in a silent conversation,
"A knife? Did you call the police?"
"Didn't get the chance to, didn't see his face."

"Why did he have a knife?"
Stephen shrugged the best he could, instead settling on a slurred "d'nno." When the message didn't get across.

"Stephen come on bud." He lifted his gaze to see a conflicted brown staring back, the man's green hair falling into his face.
"Why were you even outside at this time of night?"

He stared for a moment before answering.
"How did you even know I was out this time of night?" He questioned, drawing back from them the best he could in his fractured state. Hosuh answered him.

"We saw you, walking into your apartment." He punctuated slowly, watching their face, "there's blood on the floor outside."

They shivered, giving out a great sigh. He'd been caught.
"I was, trying to stop them." He muttered.
"Stop them from doing what?
"Hurting this lady."

For a brief second, they looked hurt for him. As if all his cuts and bruises had spread onto them like some disease.
"Stephen I know you was trying to help, but that's not your responsibility."
"Yes it is!"

The paused, watching with unease as Stephen glared and gasped in front of them. Hosuh squeezed his arms around them a little in a form of reassurance, and their face fell with their shoulders.
"Yes it is." He reiterated.

And somehow, without anymore words between them, with a bleeding and bruised Stephen curled up in front of them. They nodded.
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This chapter sort of goes back to my roots, when I used to write a lot poetically. It's kinda nice :) tbh, I had no idea how to finish this. It's already too long, so forgive the rushed ending ^_^;