𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 - the blood in the water

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𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐃.

It could have been the rain; the harsh droplets were hammering down and slicing their way through the cold and bitter air of the night.

It could have been the rain, but it wasn't.

The small and weak thud that had just barely made itself known was the sound of a heart trying desperately to continue beating behind the fractured cage that held it.

With each sloppy beat, a body twitched. With each pathetic thud, pain erupted like a volcano and spread like a virus, coating the woman's veins.

The tiny breaths that escaped the body were hoarse and hurt their dry throat; small chokes and splutters forced their way out of split and bloodied lips.

Her eyes slowly cracked open and focused on the night sky above her. Pain and confusion were all she could feel.

As hard as she tried, she couldn't lift her head without an agonizing amount of pain erupting in her lower back; something was broken, severely.

With a small, hoarse huff their head lolled to the side. Chilling raindrops smacked at her face and blurred their eyes for a moment before finally, a face came into view.

Like a freight train, everything hit her at once.

The fight against the Hand and Elektra. Danny was safe, Jessica Jones was safe, and Luke Cage was safe. They had saved New York.

How did she get out... and more importantly; why was she alive? If the pain in her back was anything to go by, she should have been crushed and dead.

And yet here she was, alive and breathing. She wasn't okay by any means; her spine was almost certainly crushed by the rocks that were still embedded within her flesh, her ribs were shattered, her arm was broken and her vision refused to focus.

As the sight in front of her slowly became clearer, her breath hitched. Matthew laid there, almost entirely unmoving. She had to focus in order to hear the faintest thump of his heart and her senses were invaded by the smell of murky water and metallic blood that was rolling off of him in waves.

She wanted to move and force herself up, get the man somewhere that could help him. But she couldn't. She was utterly helpless and exhausted.

Her healing seemed to be doing nothing, giving up on her like the rest of her body as blood slowly trickled from her skin and trailed it's way to the river before them.

As a few seconds rolled by she could feel her eyes become heavier, her body becoming numb and she wasn't entirely sure whether it was by the bitter night and cold rain or the lack of blood.

Ever so slowly her breathing slowed and her heartbeat followed. The night sky slowly became darker fading from a deep navy to black.

⋆⋆⋆

Hours had passed and the two battered bodies still laid unmoving.

And to say the sight of a man and woman that looked like they had crawled up from hell itself befuddled the fifty-four-year-old Brian was most certainly an understatement.

It had been a normal day by all accounts; Brain comfortably seated within his vibrant yellow taxi, perusing the streets and getting strangers to their destinations with utmost speed and efficiency.

But when his sunny little vehicle rolled across the uneven road, close to the river, he had to stop.

His brows furrowed before his eyes widened comically at the sight to the side of him and without hesitation, he hopped out of his taxi and raced over to the bodies that laid on their fronts, head's twisted to the side.

The sight was gruesome; blood coated their faces, cuts and bruises littered the skin that wasn't covered, and the state of the woman almost made him gag. Sharp stones were lodged in the woman's back and the shape of her back alone made him mutter a silent prayer; it was skewed, almost as if her spine had decided to become a zig-zag.

Brian rose back to his feet and took a moment to swallow the bile in his throat. He had to help them.

Regaining himself, Brian crouched beside the man and reached out a shaking hand to move a piece of plastic that laid next to his face.

Brian's heart almost stopped when the man who looked like death himself shot out his arm and latched onto his hand. His grip was weak and the fifty-year-old would have had no trouble pulling away.

But he didn't; Brain considered himself a good, kind man. After all, he had to set an example for his two-year-old granddaughter, didn't he?

Doing the poor, disheveled man a favor, Brain leaned closer.

The man covered in blood struggled to speak and his voice was hard to hear. "Father Lantom. Clinton Church. Take us."

Without a second thought, Brain rushed back to his car and opened the back doors before pumping his legs back over to the battered duo. As he slowly brought himself back to the man's level, he heard him utter just two words before falling unconscious. "Her first."

Brain nodded to himself and quickly made his way to the woman's side; he carefully scooped her up and forced his mind to bat away the thoughts of how much pain she must have been in and quickly, but carefully, took her to the taxi.

He placed her down as softly as he could, entirely unbothered by the blood falling onto his pristine seats and rushed to do the same for the man.

⋆⋆⋆

It hadn't taken Brian long to find the Church; his tires came to a slow stop as he tried to make the journey as comfortable as possible for his... passengers.

He threw his door open and hurried towards the entrance of the large building, almost tripping once or twice.

His hand pounded at the door before it fell to his side as the wooden doors opened, a concerned face appearing before him.

She was an older woman dressed fully in her habit; she had kind features that soften as she spoke. "Are you alright, sir?"

She had gotten a good look at the pure worry and slight panic that settled over his features and she definitely didn't miss the way his eyes kept darting back to his car.

Brian shook his head, gulping as he stole quick glances at his vibrant vehicle, his mind filled with the gruesome sight of his new and bloody acquaintances. "I think- I think Father Lantom should see this.

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05-07-2020