Waiting was the worst. As a detective and registered contact, Reed had gotten a few more details than usual for someone who wasn't blood related. Stan had been shot three times. Two of them were superficial, but one was potentially life threatening. They couldn't confirm anything, but they'd assumed it to be gang related. That was usually the case with young men from that neighbourhood who came in with gunshot wounds. Reed didn't confirm or deny it, but of course he knew. There had been multiple other fatalities at the scene, and Stan had been the only survivor. He'd been in poor condition on arrival. They couldn't give any guarantees or reassurances.

So far, he was the only guardian there. The hospital had tried multiple times to contact Mrs Lent, but there had been no response. They'd called Reed because he'd been listed as a secondary contact. It was something he'd agreed to years ago for a lot of the kids on his street. If they ended up in the hospital, they'd want someone familiar to be there, so if their mums were unreachable, he'd agreed to being listed second. This was the first time he'd ever been called on. Suddenly, he could relate to Jack, Tina, and Elijah a little more. Sitting in the waiting room, not knowing if Stan was alive or dead, sucked big time. Sitting still was impossible, so he took to pacing. He'd really have to thank Tina the next time he saw her. He couldn't even count the times he'd done this to her over the years.

Nines stood rigid by the wall, watching as he stalked back and forth. There were a few others in the small room. A middle-aged woman and a small child, an older man who seemed to have come directly from a construction site, a middle-aged couple who seemed quite shaken up. Such anxiety was to be expected in the waiting room for emergency cases, but the atmosphere wasn't helping any of them to calm down. Nines watched as nurses came and went over the next five hours, the occupants of the room slowly changing. A young man and his son came in, an old lady and her daughter or carer. Each time the nurse entered, all heads raised hopefully before dropping in disappointment if they weren't the ones called. Conversations were often taken into the hall outside. Cries of grief were heard as bad news was delivered, or sobs of relief if the news was good.

"Detective Reed?" It was the same young nurse calling, after almost six hours of waiting. Six hours in which he'd paced restlessly and tried to contact Mrs Lent on multiple occasions. She was probably working. He didn't know where she worked these days and it wasn't listed in the database, so Nines couldn't find out. Reed paused upon hearing his name and stepped out into the corridor with Nines following at a polite distance. "The surgery was a success. The bullet tore through his intestines in multiple areas, but all the tears have been found and sealed. He was extremely lucky," the young woman recounted through her own fatigue. By Nines' estimation, she was coming towards the end of a twelve-hour shift. She had dark rings beneath her eyes and her mousy hair was coming loose from its low tail. Her green scrubs looked somewhat crumpled from hours of rushing around the ER, though they were mercifully unstained.

"So he's going to be alright?" Reed finally breathed in relief as the nurse nodded her agreement. After a few final words, he was given permission to visit the ward. Nines reflected upon how different it was visiting this young man to the way it had been coming in with Reed not so long ago. It wasn't that the ward was dirty, but it lacked the gleaming, pristine whiteness of the private wards. The lights were a little dimmer, with a darker yellow hue. The room was loud and open, with six beds all spaced out with their own long yellow curtains that could be pulled round. Most of the curtains were open and a few of the occupants were talking loudly between their beds. Three of them were awake, all of them older men approaching their sixties or seventies. Two of them were sleeping and seemed extremely frail. It did not seem promising that someone so young and vulnerable had been placed in such a gloomy setting. The men didn't seem unkind, however, their physical conditions did not seem ideal, or encouraging. There were various tubes and breathing apparatus in use, suggesting they were extremely unwell.

The curtains around Mr Lent's bed were drawn, giving him privacy as he slept off the anaesthesia. He'd only just returned from surgery, so he wouldn't be waking up just yet. One of his arms was in a sling, a quick scan revealing a bullet wound through his biceps. Beneath the loose gown, his torso had been bound tightly in a corset. He wouldn't be moving around much for a while. The final injury was in his right thigh, though Nines only learned that from reading the medical chart at the end of his bed. The details allowed him to preconstruct part of the scene.

From the reported injuries, Nines could discern that the leg wound had come first. All the shots had entered from the rear. Conclusion? Mr Lent had been running away from the shooter. The shot to his thigh had caused him to fall, preventing his escape. The next shot had been to his right arm. Whether that was the original target was unclear, however, it would significantly lower the chances of him defending himself with his own firearm if he had one. The final bullet had entered his lower back. Not the usual kill shot chosen by gangs. Conclusion? Unclear. Possibilities? One, the shootout was interrupted by a third party and they didn't have time to finish him. Two, Mr Lent was not the intended target and his potential survival had been deemed unimportant. Three, they believed the wound would eventually be fatal and left him to suffer slowly. Four, he was left alive deliberately in order to deliver a message. Five, Mr Lent somehow managed to play dead and was overlooked as a result.

While Nines was busy running scans and preconstructions, Reed took his expected place on the cheap chair beside the bed. He didn't have Nines' scanning abilities, but he knew enough to say Stan looked like shit. He'd lost a lot of blood and he was white as a fucking sheet. A beeping machine was recording his heart rate and blood pressure. A few bags linked to an IV provided him with fluids and medication, probably to prevent infection. He reached out slowly to take Stan's limp hand, the one not hooked up to anything. It was cold. He squeezed assuringly, biting his lip as he waited.

"Phck, where's Connie? She's never usually this hard to get hold of!" He sighed in agitation as he sat back and looked at the cheap ceiling. It looked like squares of polystyrene had been used to cover it, or something similar and less flammable. His phone remained silent, and no matter how many times he called the house, she hadn't picked up. It was getting on for six in the evening, and if she'd been at work earlier, then she should have been home by now. He'd left about a dozen messages, so she'd definitely know that he'd called when she got back.

"Would any of the other residents know her place of work?" Nines' suggestion resulted in a flurry of phone calls and quiet conversations. A nurse came in to check on Mr Lent's vitals and medication, eyeing Nines with some surprise. It wasn't common to see androids in human hospitals, not unless they were nurses. Nines held up his badge in silent explanation as Reed continued talking to one of the other women that lived on his old street. It seemed he hadn't had much luck as he hung up, keeping an eye on the sleeping boy as he crossed his legs.

"Hey..." Reed murmured as he watched Stan's eyes move beneath the lids. He slowly blinked them open, whimpering a little as he took in the unfamiliar space and the pain of his wounds. Nines didn't need to scan him to know he was scared and confused, but he took comfort in seeing Reed at his side. Reed squeezed his hand assuringly as he leaned on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair. Pained hazel eyes watched him needily. Stan's eyes were a few shades lighter than Connor's, with more flecks of honey and amber than chocolate. "What the phck have you gotten yourself into, Stan?" Reed sighed, remaining soft and sympathetic despite his quiet frustration.

"...Was an accident..." Stan choked the words in a pathetically cracked, wheezing tone. His gaze dropped as Reed gave him a look that said, are you phcking shitting me? He held back from raising his voice, but he scoffed as he eyed Stan doubtfully.

"You got shot three times and a bunch of other guys were found dead! That doesn't sound like a phcking accident!" He kept his voice down despite its sharp edge. He didn't want their voices to carry. It was a fucking miracle that no one had arrived to talk to him yet. It wouldn't take long. The moment word got out that he was awake, there'd be an officer there to question him. "Look kid, gang crime is not my area, so if you don't level with me here, I can't help you...I don't want to see you going to jail Stan, but I can't just magically make this shit disappear!" Reed knew he was walking one hell of a thin line, especially with Nines within earshot. Nines was duty bound to uphold the law, so he wasn't sure how much he'd be willing to bend his programming for him.

"What do you want to know?" Stan asked meekly, leaning forward as he fell into a coughing fit. It looked painful, likely putting pressure on his internal injuries. Reed was sensitive to it as he poured out some water and helped him drink. Stan was trembling in silent agony as he sat back, despite the morphine he had available to ease the discomfort. Nines monitored their surroundings, well aware of the two officers who'd turned up and were currently arguing with a nurse at the ward's counter. She was not yet aware of Mr Lent's wakeful state and was insisting he was not to be disturbed. The portly man that Nines assumed to be a detective seemed less than sympathetic as he tried to bully her compliance. His younger partner seemed far more understanding of the rules as he tried to persuade his partner to wait. The older of the two seemed to think this whole situation was an inconvenience.

"How deep are you? Are you just running? Did you pass the beat down? Initiation?" He didn't notice any ink markings yet. That was something. You only got inked once you'd officially joined up and passed initiation. Stan was clearly reluctant to answer, anxious gaze flicking around the small space evasively. "I've been there, kid...I started out running with a gang. I saw and did shit I'm not proud of, but I got out early and I never looked back. Whatever you say, I won't be surprised and I won't tell anyone." Something in his steady green eyes reassured Stan enough for him to nod timidly. Detective Reed had never let him down before, and he'd never refused his help when needed. He licked his lips nervously before looking up vulnerably.

"I've been doing deliveries...Guns mostly...I passed the beat down, and this was supposed to be part of my initiation, but it...Shit went south." Reed nodded thoughtfully. That wasn't so bad. He could do damage control. So long as no one had his prints on anything, or hard evidence that proved he was a runner, those crimes could slip by unnoticed. The beat down wasn't even reportable. He'd clearly healed from it, and it was basically voluntary. No crime committed. The initiation had gone south, but whatever happened was still likely illegal. Big time illegal.

"Alright, what was the initiation? What made it go south?" It almost seemed as if he could sense the detectives outside as he tried to hurry things along. He leaned closer, knowing Stan wouldn't want to speak too loudly. You never knew who might be listening. Luckily, he knew Nines would have his back and signal if they had any eavesdroppers.

"Was a raid...Should have been easy...House was supposed to be empty, but...when we got outside, they were waiting for us...Someone must have tipped them off! There was too many of them, so we tried to run." Stan was quiet as he spoke, straining against the pain and the dryness of his throat. Reed listened patiently, slowly helping him drink a little more water. Stan was shivering. The thin gown wasn't much help in the large open room, despite the privacy curtain. He was cold and likely still suffering from shock. Nines stepped across to the bedside cabinet and opened it to find the expected thin woollen blanket inside. It wasn't much, but it should help a little. He handed it to Reed, who gently wrapped it around Stan's smaller shoulders. He wasn't small like a child, but he was quite lanky for a teen. There was still some growing and filling out left for him to do. He certainly hadn't been the muscle of the group, that's for sure. Nines couldn't help looking at Reed in comparison and wondering if he'd been small at that age, too.

"What were you raiding for?" Reed asked gently as he tucked the pale green wool around Stan's shoulders, rubbing his back as he huddled into the material with a shiver. Neither of them drew attention to it, but Stan had moved to lean heavily against his chest. Reed kept his arm looped around his shoulder as he perched on the edge of the bed, holding him close and gently ruffling his hair.

"Red ice. They had a huge stash of it. Would have gotten a lot for it...We were told it would be easy, a quick in and out. No one was supposed to be there!" He was likely thinking about the others in his team. They'd probably all been new recruits, with maybe one more seasoned member as a guide and witness. It's how things usually went down. They'd been given a chance to prove themselves, to show they could be more than simple runners, to earn a real place in the family. He wouldn't have needed that if I'd been around more...

"You were the only one found alive...Did any of your boys shoot back?" Stan didn't seem surprised at all. He'd probably seen the others go down. His survival was clearly an accident. A stroke of sheer dumb luck. He nodded timidly, glancing warily at Reed as if he expected a reproach. Reed couldn't blame him for that. If someone took a shot at you, it was instinctual to shoot back.

"Yeah, but...I don't know if we hit anyone. It's all a blur...Once we got out, it was just...shouting, and shooting. Someone yelled run, so we bolted and..." Stan trailed off as he gestured to his leg in explanation. Reed nodded his understanding, chewing his lip as he thought about what could have happened. If Stan hadn't hit anyone, then it was fine, but if a bullet from his gun had killed one of those bodies then-

"Gavin," Nines interrupted firmly, a small tilt of his head alerting him to an impending interruption. Reed cursed quietly as he got to his feet, knowing from Nines' serious expression that it had to be someone from gang-related crimes. He didn't have much time left as he leaned down to look Stan in the eye.

"Alright, you listen to me. No matter what they ask, you say no comment. No matter what shit they say you've done, or what they claim to know, or how big the file they show you is, don't say a phcking word! Even if they get you mum in here and she tries to pressure you, don't tell them shit until I speak to you again. Do you understand? Do you trust me?" He was deadly serious as he gripped Stan's shoulders. Stan nodded timidly and Reed gave him a proud and somewhat reassuring smile. He looked up as the two officers entered. Detectives...Reed corrected internally as his eyes dropped to their badges. He almost scowled as he realised he knew one of them. He hadn't seen him in person for almost two decades, but he'd recognise that prick anywhere.

"Detective Reed...What's homicide doing here? This crime was gang related. It's not your jurisdiction," the older man almost grumbled, sharp grey eyes falling to the hand that was still gripping Stan's shoulder. Nines examined this new human. Reed's vitals seethed with dislike, and his warning to Stan hadn't passed him by either. The man was worn and rugged, much like Hank, only rounder and clean shaven. He'd clearly spent many years sitting at a desk and took just enough pride in his appearance to pass as an average detective. The man beside him was younger and fresher, but somewhat tired in a way that suggested he disliked his work. Or at least his workplace...

"Keep your phcking pants on, old man! I'm here as his next of kin, and as a minor, I believe you need permission to question him." There was something almost smug in Reed's tone as he straightened up, green eyes daring the older man to challenge him. The older man, Detective Roger Yates from his badge, was clearly displeased by Reed's presence and defiance.

"Come on Reed, you don't want Fowler to know you're interfering with gang-related crimes," Yates objected with a vaguely threatening undertone. It wasn't a tone that Nines cared for, particularly not when it was directed at his partner. Reed didn't have time to retort as Nines stepped smartly to his side, putting his silvery eyes to expert use as his brow furrowed with his intimidation protocols. His hands rested smartly behind his back, shoulders rigid as he glared at the newcomers.

"Detective Reed is well within his rights as Mr Lent's guardian to act in the interests of his physical and mental wellbeing. Mr Lent is a minor who has experienced an extremely traumatic event. He should be fully assessed and rested before any formal interview takes place." Yates lost a little of his confident gusto as he realised that Nines wasn't simply an android there for show. "It would be in your best interests to return to the precinct and review the current evidence for your case." Nines' neck cracked loudly as he tilted his head. The detectives both flinched at the loud mechanical sound.

"You're fifteen, son. You can still do the right thing and agree to speak to us," Yates appealed finally as he turned to look at Stan's timid figure with an almost fatherly tone. Stan glanced at Reed guardedly before dropping his head. He shuffled a little closer, almost huddling in his shadow for protection. Unfortunately for Yates, Stan already had a father figure, so his act to gain his trust and wheedle out a confession wouldn't work.

"No comment," Stan murmured quietly, taking Reed's advice to heart. Nines watched with some curiosity as Yates' face flushed a shade or two darker. He was clearly displeased. Nines stepped a little closer, silently encouraging the detectives to leave. Both humans relaxed once they were alone again. Reed took on a determined expression as he clapped a proud hand on Stan's shoulder. He knew what it was like, trying to stand up to people like Yates. Hell, he'd been there himself once.

"Alright. Remember, you keep saying that. Yates is a nasty piece of work, and he'll make shit up if he has to for the result he wants. He'll get you alone at some point...threaten you, try to convince you he has all the dirt he needs, and your mum might fall for that shit. Don't trust him! Don't trust anyone except me or the lawyer I'm going to get for you, alright?" Reed made absolutely sure that Stan understood before he stepped back. From his serious tone, Nines suspected he'd once been on the receiving end of such poor treatment. "They won't be back tonight...at least, they shouldn't be...I'll talk to the nurse at the station. Make sure you get some sleep, alright?" he added in a softer tone as he ruffled Stan's short hair.

"Thanks Detective G..." Stan was still trembling as he leaned back against the pillows. Reed helped him settle, wrapping the woollen blanket securely and tugging the thin sheet right up to his chin. He gave Stan a lingering look and watched him close his eyes, leading the way out soon after and pulling the curtain behind them to give him some privacy. Nines waited as he stepped across to the nurses' station to give a quiet warning about any police officers coming in to question Stan. They didn't have permission, and they were to be kept away at all costs. The young nurse agreed and made a note of it before he led the way to the elevator, clearly on edge from the experience.

"What will you do?" Nines asked curiously as the lift headed down to the ground floor.

"Whatever it takes to make sure that kid doesn't end up behind bars." His sharp eyes left no room for arguments. He'd do whatever it took. Stan was a kid who'd made a dumb mistake and gotten himself in over his head. He wasn't about to let Yates toss him under the bus for an easy ride. Fowler had taken a chance on him once, given him the opportunity to change and do better. Stan deserved that much.