Yes, Mr. Demon Boy? (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Dallas

Caspian had been slumped in the chair for six hours before he started stirring again. I wasn't surprised, either. Even though the sedative was supposed to last up to twelve hours, there was no way Casp's body would let that happen. He was in a state of complete and utter panic and I didn't blame him.

Seeing him ruthlessly force himself past the bodies of our pack members, even pushing people down and fighting off nurses just to get a glimpse of Mason. A glimpse. And then when they tried to take Casp away from him, oh man. I had never heard someone scream that loud in my life. He thrashed and thrashed against the nurses, kicking and yelling and crying and pleading for Mason. It was amazing.

Which is why we had to shoot him up with a shit ton of morphine before he seriously hurt someone. And now, six hours later, he's twitching against the soft plush clinic chair that sat outside of Mason's room.

I had drawn up another chair across from him about an hour ago to monitor his breathing and all that. So when his eyes began to flutter open, my bright hazel-eyed stare was the first thing he saw.

"Dallas?" he mumbled, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes, gingerly sitting up from his slumped position.

"Hey dude," I replied softly, reaching a hand out to ruffle his already strewn about hair. He attempted a smile and began to look around the room, his eyes doubling in size when he took in the white walls and floors, the nurse sitting at the small circulation desk, and of course the "Mason Steele" file laying in the cubby attached to his door.

"Where is he?!" he demanded, jumping up out of his chair and staring down at me fiery eyed. Casp was still dressed in a pair of gray Lakeview Football sweatpants from two nights ago-ones Mason had gotten him (they had his jersey number on the side)-and an oversized t-shirt absolutely soaked in blood. The only part that was still white was the back of it. His hair stood on all ends, very unlike Caspian, and dark circles encompassed his eyes. I stood up carefully to meet him, holding my hands out in an act of submission.

"Hey, it's okay Casp, he's in his room but-" I didn't get a chance to finish my explanation because Casp was already sprinting down the short hallway and throwing open the door to Mason's hospital room. I sighed, then jogged after him.

"What-what the hell are you doing to him?! Stop it! Stop!" Casp was shouting at our head doctor named Parish who had a needle in the underside of Mason's elbow. Mason lay on the table in the center of the room, still unconscious with a very hefty bandage across the left side of his neck. The room was quaint, jars of special herbs and spices dusting the shelves of the back part of the room. Mason's bed lay dead center in the room, a few chairs across from it.

"Casp, it's okay bud, he's a healer!" I assured him, quickly placing a calming hand on his shoulder. Casp opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly closed it and settled on biting his nails nervously instead.

"W-what is that stuff?" Caspian asked, referring to the light purple liquid Parish was in the process of pulsing through Mason's veins.

Parish smiled soothingly, diffusing his peaceful aura around the room. Parish was a very levelheaded and Gandhi-esque middle-aged black guy who always had a secret grin on his face. At 45 years old, he was our youngest elder and honestly the wisest. He was probably the only reason Casp wasn't going full-blown mental right now.

"This, Caspian, is an antidote. Do you know what that is?"

Casp swallowed, then nodded hesitantly as he reached down and grabbed Mason's hand subconsciously. Parish smiled again.