Ilya shook his head, mouth pinching downwards in a frown. It would be nice to take some painkillers every once in a while, but he disliked the woozy feeling he got from the ones Damian kept in the medicine cabinet. Almost as much as he disliked the way Damian raged at him for wasting medicine. "Damian says they make me more stupid than I already am, so I try not to take them."
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Now Vaughn had scowled a tad at the mention of the verbal abuse. “Most pain medicine doesn’t do that. He must keep the high strength things.” Possible addiction to pain meds? Maybe. He needed to learn more about the man. “If you would like, I have normal ones on me. In the container- it’s just Tylenol. My old foster parents gave them to me last week when i got hurt on the job,” he said, dropping back down to sit criss cross on the pavement. He dug into his inside suit jacket pocket, taking out the bottle. It was true, he had been hurt. There was a decent sized gash on the left side of his waist at the moment that he had to stitch and bandage.
Ilya perked up at the mention of Tylenol, the mere thought of some kind of relief enough to bring a smile to his face. The smile quickly flickered out as he heard about Vaughn getting hurt, lips slicking into a sympathetic grimace, but he still held out his hands to accept the medicine. "Are you alright now? I don't want to take your meds if you need them." His hands curled inward into loose fists.
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Vaughn reached over and dropped the bottle into Ilya’s open palm. “I’ll be ok. I just got a bit scraped up last week. The man was much bigger than me,” he gave a dry, small laugh that was very brief, and he rubbed at his face. “It was good practice for my stitching. But I’m ok. I have a bit more back where I’m staying.”
Ilya stared at the bottle in disbelief for a few seconds before he opened it, struggling a bit with the childproof cap. The pills were small and bad tasting and he swallowed four dry before he handed them back to Vaughn. "Damian'll be bigger than you too." Ilya's face contorted as he spoke, grim and haggard in the afternoon sunlight. "And strong. He knows how to fight properly."
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Vaughn took the pills back, stuffing them away in the same pocket as before. “How big of a man is he?” he asked, arching a brow. “It’s better to use their own weight against them. I’ve done this 12 times now.. That’s good enough practice. I’ll have a blade.. Maybe a gun. I should be fine if I catch him by surprise.”
Ilya pursed his lips at the number, concern evident as he tucked his knees into his chest to form a makeshift barrier between Vaughn and himself. It was so easy to forget he was a killer. Ilya needed to keep reminding himself of that. "You'll want a gun. Damian's… a couple inches taller than you, I think. And meaner." He shivered, pressing down on the bitemark again. "Much meaner."
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Vaughn listened to Ilya, propping his chin up against his palm. He would take the advice. Ilya obviously knew him much better. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish the job, you’ll be safe, and I’ll be out of your hair.” He couldn’t did just yet. He was only 21. He had so much to do still. Still had so many people to help save.
Ilya nodded, letting himself hope for the first time in years. Maybe Damian would die, and then Ilya could do what he wanted, and visit all the places he wanted to see, and never have to worry about flying fists. It brought a wavering smile to his face and he grabbed one of Vaughn's hands, holding it against his chest. He wondered if Vaughn could feel the wavering tempo of his heartbeat. "Thank you."
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Vaughn tensed in the slightest when his hand was grabbed. He didn’t like to make much physical contact with his clients, or strangers in general for that matter. He however just let it happen, biting his tongue for a short moment. “It’s my pleasure,” he responded, the figure resting it’s cold, large hands on his shoulders.
Ilya dropped the hand quickly once Vaughn replied, a small smile still tugging the corners of his lips. It died quickly when he checked his watch, an instinctive flicker of eyes over the screen that returned an overwhelming storm of panic. Damian was home! He'd probably been there for ten minutes- maybe twenty if traffic was good. And Ilya had a fifteen-minute walk to the house on top of all that. "I have to go! I'll be back tomorro-" he cut himself off, anticipating Damian's reaction. In all likelyhood, he'd be in too much pain to walk tomorrow. "Friday. I'll be here Friday."
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Vaughn noticed the obvious fear on Ilya’s face. He knew it had to be something to do with Damian. He stood quickly, taking his jacket up as he did so. “If he asks, say you were with that new friend. Tell him her name is Veronica and she is a 20 year old studying marine biology. Anything else just make up and I could let her know.” He paused before he spoke up again. “And stay safe. I’ll be here on Friday.”
"Friday," Ilya repeated with a nod. He rose to his feet, carefully running over the information Vaughn had given him in his head. Veronica. 20. Marine biology. Then, before he could so much as process Vaughn's goodbye, he paced through the garden paths and onto the sidewalk. If he got home fast enough, it would seem like he just went out to get some air and Damian would be mad and not pissed.
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Vaughn watched Ilya walk away as he shrugged back on his coat. He looked over his shoulder at the figure. “See? I handled it,” he murmured to it, moving to leave the park and walk to the street. ’Barely. This is new. Finley. You’ll be a cop killer now too,’ It reminded him. “He shouldn’t be a cop when he does this. It doesn’t matter.”
Ilya reached the door to the apartment in record time, out of breath and trembling. His hands shook as he opened the door but at first, the panic seemed unwarranted. The entry hall was dark and silent, lights off with no sound echoing in from the rest of the house. Was Damian home late? He took a shaky step into the kitchen, breath punching out as he saw Damian sitting at the table with a beer in his hand and a glare on his face. "And where have you been, Sweetheart?"
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After a brief walk, Vaughn made his way into the gas station. The windows were cracked in some places and the shelves and floor was a bit messy. No one had been running it in at least 5 years. It was where he was living now. It was close enough to home. He walked around the counter to sink into a desk chair that was there, kicking his feet up on the counter. Taking out his phone, he sent his old step sister a message explaining what was happening and how she was involved. She didn’t mind it, of course. She’s always wanted to help him, though he never let her.
Ilya tried his best to explain to Damian what had happened, stumbling through an explanation about Veronica and friend and the park, but he was cut off halfway by a gruff growl and a harsh hand on the back of his neck. Damian slammed his head into the table, sneering in disgust as Ilya collapsed to the floor. The blow made him lightheaded and he attempted to scurry away only for Damian to kick him in the stomach. Air rushed from his lungs and the world spun dizzily. "I'm sorry," he wheezed, submissive and scared. "I'm so sorry, please stop."
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Vaughn set his phone aside once he was done, letting out a sharp breath. He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves again. He was worried for Ilya. He had a strong feeling he would see the boy with more bruises on Friday. He wished he could get this done sooner, but he couldn’t. As soon as he got all he needed from Ilya, he could go and end it.
(should we skip to friday?)
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(Yeah we can do that. I’ll start)
Vaughn was at the park that morning. He had no clue when Ilya would show, but he could wait if needed. His knee was bouncing anxiously. He sipped the coffee from a cup in his hand. There was another sitting on the bench next to him. He had no idea if Ilya liked coffee, but thought that it would be a nice gesture either way.
Ilya left the house as soon as Damian left for work, unable to stand the fear that crept into his body every time he heard so much as a squeak. It was cooler today, something Ilya was grateful for as he adjusted the hem of his turtleneck nervously. It didn't completely cover the black-blue bruise sitting high on his neck, but it was the best he could manage. When he arrived at the bench, he was surprised to see Vaughn there. Waiting. "Good morning."
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Vaughn’s head quickly moved to look up at Ilya when he heard the male’s voice. He stood up to greet him, taking notice of his clothing. “Morning,” he greeted in response, not seeming too focused. His eyes were trained on the bruise. “Are you ok?” he asked, voice a tad softer now.
"No worse than usual," Ilya replied, voice raspy and cracked. He brushed some hair out of his eyes, accidentally revealing an angry cut across his forehead. There didn't seem to be much more to say, so Ilya perched on the bench, cautious and ready to flee at the barest sign of violence. His head throbbed. A cup of coffee sat next to him, untouched and too far from Vaughn to be his. "Is this for me?"
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Vaughn’s eyes widened in the very slightest at the sight of the gash. It looked like it could have used stitches and disinfectant. His attention was distracted at the mention of the coffee and he reached to pick it up. “Right- yes, it’s for you. I didn’t know what kind you liked- I just got a caramel flavored one, I think,” he said quickly, holding out the cup. He was dressed different today, this time in a loose fitting maroon hoodie, a pair of grey sweats, and sneakers.
Ilya winced when he realized the cut was exposed but he didn't move to cover it. There was no point in hiding what was already out in the open. He picked up the coffee and took a sip, moaning quietly as the taste hit his tongue. He hadn't had good coffee in… years. Especially not good sugary coffee. Damian rarely let him have junk food, so the sweetness was a rare treat. "It's very good! Thank you."
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Vaughn was surprised at how much Ilya seemed to enjoy the coffee. He moved to slowly sit back down on the bench, tugging a bit at his sleeves. “I’m glad you like it, you’re welcome,” he responded. He was silent for a moment before reaching into his hoodie pocket, taking out the same pill bottle as before. “Do you need any of these?”
Ilya's eyes widened at the bottle, not quite believing the offer was real. It wasn't every day he got a treat like coffee and now Vaughn was offering relief on top of that. "Yes please!" He snatched the painkillers quickly, struggling with the childproof cap and grimacing when his shaky fingers couldn't open it. His eyebrows drew together as he tried and failed, freely displaying his distress.
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Vaughn smiled softly at the way Ilya seemed to light up. It wasn’t often that he had a genuine smile. It was a usual half fake polite smile he managed around clients, but this was real. But it faded when he saw how Ilya struggled. “Here, let me show you,” he offered, taking it from Ilya gently. “You just press down and twist,” he said, showing him how to do it, setting the cap aside when it popped off. He then tipped the bottle, dropping two pills into Ilya’s hands before shutting it again.
Ilya clenched the pills in his fist for a second, momentarily stunned by Vaughn's helpfulness. It was strange to be treated so well and some soft small thing fluttered inside him at Vaughn's gentle help and quiet voice. Thinking about it made something stir in Ilya's heart, so he swallowed down the pills with a swig of coffee and tried to turn his mind elsewhere. "Thank you, Vaughn. For… for everything."
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Vaughn met Ilya’s gaze for just a moment before he looked away. His eyes trained at the figure which was standing on the path. ’You seem interested,’ it said ij a hissing bit of laughter. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ilya was a client. Couldn’t be anything more. “It’s my pleasure. I take pride in my work, and it helps to relieve built up things. Relief of anxiety and helping people in your situation- it’s a win-win for me.”
