Nothing Super [COMPLETED]

Chapter 28 - "You're going to be okay, Taylor."

They were in the Time Stop. Time was no longer moving forward. Everything frozen. Weston was stone. All except his eyes. Eyes that raced through shock, disbelief, denial, guilt, fear, anger. Taylor winced as he settled on the last one. The rage he radiated was a physical force, weakening her under its weight.

"Not now," she said, wearily.

The exhaustion in her voice snapped Weston out of his thoughts.

"I'm getting you to the hospital, we'll deal with mom and dad later."

Taylor shook her head but stopped as it made her too dizzy. She vaguely wondered how much blood she had lost.

"Taylor!" Weston said, anger and fear tangled in his voice.

Ignoring him, she took her phone, smearing blood on the front of it as she found Clint's number and called. The rings filled the tense air until a groggy voice stopped them.

"Hello?"

"Clint, I need...a picture...of your room."

Taylor dropped her head against the wall and closed her eyes, clinging to her waning strength.

"Taylor?" Clint still sounded half asleep and thoroughly confused. "What's going on?"

When Taylor didn't immediately reply, Weston snatched the phone from her hand, gripping it.

"Listen, this is Detective Weston Barnes, I need a photo of your room, now!"

There was no reply instead, Taylor's phone dinged with a message. Weston twisted the phone so Taylor could see a dark blue carpet, chocolate brown walls, punching bag, and desk. She nodded.

"Take me with you," Weston said.

"Hold...on."

He gently placed his hand on her shoulder, his eyes lock on her, worry brimming in them. Using all the energy she had left, Taylor teleported them out of his office.

The moment they appeared in Clint's room, Taylor slumped to the floor, barely able to remain conscious. There was a squeak of mattress springs and a thump of feet on the floor. Overhead, standing in a pair of sweatpants was Clint. When he saw Taylor's arm, he swore.

"What's going on? What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"She was shot in the arm, I don't know how bad it is," Weston said. "Why did she want to come here?"

There was a pause and Taylor closed her eyes, feeling the soft carpet pressed against her cheek. Her arm had a pulse of its own. Her sleeve soaked through.

"My sister," Clint said. "She can help."

The floor vibrated as Clint darted out of his room, the vibrations growing fainter each second. Weston sank to the ground and tugged Taylor closer to him, letting her use his leg as a pillow.

"You're going to be okay," he said, resting one hand on her forearm.

Taylor rolled her head and peered up at him. He looked at her, brow creased with concern and fear.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Weston swallowed hard and as Taylor closed her eyes again, she wasn't sure but she thought she saw tears in his eyes. The vibrations returned, this time stronger than before. A door opened and clicked shut.

"What the hell is going on?" Naomi said. "Clint, why is there a bleeding girl on your floor?"

Naomi looked from Clint to Weston and back for answers. Clint opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"I'm Detective Weston, I will answer your questions but first you have to help my sister."

With a huff of exasperation, Naomi crossed over to Taylor. As she knelt, Taylor felt the brush of a leg and the scent of lavender.

"This isn't going to work," Naomi said. "We need to get her on the bed."

Weston scooped Taylor up and she let out a cry as pain shuddered up her arm.

"We need to get her jacket off so sit her on the bed."

Weston set Taylor down and kept his arm on her shoulder, helping her remain upright. Without his support she knew there was no way she could have held the position, holding her eyes open at that moment was a battle.

When Naomi began to pry Taylor's jacket off, Taylor gritted her teeth, the edges of her vision darkening. Pain stabbed through her. She wanted to tell them to remove the arm and patch it up that way. Right then she didn't want to be associated with the limb anymore, she wanted it gone. By the time the jacket was tossed aside, Taylor was breathing hard, tears running down her face.

"We have to do her shirt as well," Naomi said since Taylor wore a long-sleeved shirt.

"Just rip it," Weston growled.

Naomi did as he said. "Lay her down."

As Weston aided Taylor down to Clint's pillows, she felt herself shaking the pain stripping her of everything. The soft pillow cushioned her head and it smelled like Clint, a winter's night. Something about it felt comforting. The bed dipped as Naomi perched on the edge.

"Clint, hand me my bag."

More tears came as Naomi cleaned away the blood. She sighed. "It's not as bad as it looks. It appears the bullet cut into the side of the arm instead of going through it. Still, I'll need to stitch it up." Naomi pulled out a bottle of pills and dumped two into her palm. "Taylor, I need you to swallow these, it will help with the pain."

With the help of Weston and Clint, Taylor was raised and able to swallow the pills.

"Now this next part is going to hurt," Naomi said looking at Taylor before cutting her eyes to Weston. "If you wanted anesthetics then you should have gone to the hospital."

Weston stared right back at her. "I said you will get your answers, just help her."

Shaking her head, Naomi rifled through her bag, taking out all the necessary items and laying them out.

"Clint, you're going to need to hold her arm still. Detective, give her your hand to hold onto. Taylor, you're going to have to be brave right now."

Clint climbed into the bed and placed his hands on either side of the wound, his face pale as he stared at the bleeding gash.

"You're going to be okay, Taylor," he said, but it sounded as if he was saying it more for himself.

Weston took Taylor's hand and she clung to it as if it were her anchor in the storm. She held his gaze, feeling a prick of guilt at the emotional pain written in his face.

"Here we go," Naomi said.

It was the only warning Taylor received before the needle dug into her skin. She screamed into her clenched teeth and gripped Weston's hand with what strength she had.

As the needle went in again, Taylor stopped fighting, she sagged into the mattress and let the blackness take her.

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