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I dunno. Seems pretty standard where I come from. Unless she was a mutant or something.

[He can't actually remember if he's ever heard of a mutant with vampiric powers (that poor Rogue girl notwithstanding), especially since actual flesh-and-blood vampires actually exist in his world, but stranger things have happened. In a world where DNA regularly gets rearranged and disassembled like a set of Tinker Toys, anything's possible. He lifts the gauze on Nate's neck for a split second to check, hastily replacing it as blood quickly wells out of the puncture wounds.]

Well, she certainly did a number on you, that's for sure. Any particular reason why she came after you or was it just one of those "wrong place, wrong time" type of deals?

Guess I just smell nice.

[ Nate sighs, the humor fading with his equally tiring energy levels. It wasn't premeditated, he thinks. Bad luck, is all, and an opportunistic dinner in a wide feeding ground. Nate being alone on his walk home made him an easy target, something he knows will continue to be a hazard in a place where darkened alleys stretch across the city like long, sinister fingers.

He twitches slightly as Wade's hand pulls back, and feels the ghost of another rivulet of blood slither down his throat and over his collar bone. It's deep. ]

There any celox powder in that kit?

[The mention of celox powder throws him, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion before he remembers what it is.]

Oh! Oh, sure! Lemme... y'know. Check and see.

[There's a small canister of coagulation powder underneath the swath of bandages inside the kit. Still pressing the gauze to Nate's neck with one hand, Wade rummages around somewhat blindly until his fingers grasp hold of it and tug it out.]

Sorry. Been a long time since I've been in the army. Here. Mind taking over for a bit?

[He indicates the wad of gauze against the wound with a tap of his fingers.]

[ He isn't exactly surprised by the news. Nate suspected as much after their first meeting; it's not hard to tell the difference between people who fight because they've been trained to kill others, or people who fight as a hobbyist sort of thing. Statistically, one has more scars. ]

Sure.

[ His hand is sticky and red but Nate has long since forgotten about it as anything other than a minor annoyance, reaching up to apply pressure while his first responder figures out how to open the little package.

Watching Wade he tries to parse an estimation of his skill set visually, ultimately caving to curiosity. ]

Where'd you serve? And in what branch?

[The response is immediate, even as he focuses on tearing open the package and unscrewing the cap of the little applicator within.]

CAF. Special forces. So pretty much all over. You know the drill-- travel to exotic locations, meet interesting people and then kill 'em.

[How many times are you gonna use that Full Metal Jacket line, Wade?]

Was a while ago, but I'm pretty sure I still remember the basics. Okay, peel that back just a little.

[Once Nate has given him some room, Wade begins to apply the coagulant to the small puncture wounds in the side of his neck. The blood instantly turns it a dirty red, but at least it's no longer flowing freely. Wade takes a few moments to inspect his work before drawing back, satisfied.]

Good. Just keep some pressure on that for a bit longer, okay? Gotta let it set.

[ Canadian. Definitely not what he expected. Spec ops tracks, though, and the cavalier delivery says he isn't bluffing or screwing around, not that Nate had any doubts after the way Wade decimated the guys in the bar. He huffs a laugh through his nose at the joke - it could easily describe his own lived experience, sans the military directive - and leans to one side as the ticklish trickle of powder starts clotting up the bite on his neck. ]

We had similar jobs.

[ He observes dryly, reapplying the gauze and straightening up with a muted grunt. Nate's mouth twitches in a brief, crooked smile, some internal joke about the fact that he's barely been here two months and he's already got new scars, already asking for help.

It fades as soon as it arrives. ]

She got me once or twice on my torso, but I don't think it's as bad. Probably won't need stitches.

[Wade cocks an incredulous eyebrow. It's not that he thinks Nate is lying-- the guy doesn't really seem to have a reason to-- but he can't really envision him in army fatigues. Then again, he guesses the same thing could be said about him. Those years of discipline and rigid schedules had been over and done with for a while, after all.

He utters a noncommittal grunt as Nate begins laying out his other injuries, shaking his head.]

Nuh-uh. Not gonna get out of a full examination that easy, bud. You gotta at least let me take a look.

[ Would that Nate could hear the joke himself. Army fatigues, uniforms and medals, orders and discipline. These were always going to be things that would never suit him, no matter how familiar he is with squeezing a trigger.

He gives Wade a long-suffering expression, tight with desperation and exhaustion alike. At worst he thinks he could get away with slapping a couple very large Band-Aids on his side and chest, and call it a day. It's his fault the new employee is staying late, however, and his fault that Wade has Nate's blood on his hands. The very least he can do is be a half-decent patient. ]

Fine, fine. When you're done with this one I'll get my shirt off.

[Wade clucks his tongue in mock sympathy.]

Poor baby. I'm asking so much of you, making sure you're not gonna die of blood loss. Bad Doctor Wilson.

[Now that the immediate problem of Nate's neck is more or less taken care of, he has a chance to inspect him a little more. The skin surrounding the puncture wounds is a dark, angry red, and Wade's brow furrows in confusion and concern. That doesn't seem like irritation brought on by a bite. He taps the reddened skin gently with a finger.]

What the hell happened here? She take a lighter to your neck or something?

[ The humor helps. He appreciates having a nursemaid with wry and pithy observations, calling him on his bullshit.

Nate makes a small sound in his throat at the contact, one side of his mouth pulling. Nothing dramatic, just uncomfortable - Wade's assessment isn't wrong, whatever happened must have irritated his body more intently than he anticipated. ]

I dunno. When she touched me, it burned. Just- like...shooting agony, like someone getting into a nerve with a hot knife.

Tch. Yeah. I know what that feels like. No bueno.

[Despite looking like it hurts like hell, the burn doesn't look all that serious. Nothing that a little cream couldn't fix. Speaking of which...

Wade once again digs around in the first aid kit until he finds what he's looking for, a small tube of burn ointment. Applying a small dab to a clean finger, he begins to lightly administer it to the skin around Nate's puncture wounds.]

Sorry if this hurts you, pal. I don't even know if this is gonna help, but we probably should put something on it. You said she did it just by touchin' you?

[ Nate's eyes, which by this point had fluttered shut to just absorb the sensation of experience, to let his blood cool both inside his chest and on his skin, flicker open the barest crack. He watches Wade in the periphery, turning to retrieve the whatever salve or ointment in the kit handles burns. It doesn't sting - it smells faintly like menthol, actually, reminding him of cigarettes and his brother - but the pressure doesn't feel good. As soon as it lets up he'll be grateful. ]

I've had worse, don't worry.

[ They're hollow words that people rarely believe until they see him, until they know. Compared to other experiences this only rates fairly high-up for the foot chase that preceded it. ]

And yeah, it was weird. Would've expected to get hit with that empathy crap, 'cause I know she's Displaced. It just stung.

[ His face scrumples in an amused smile. ]

Never a dull moment.

[Wade wrinkles his nose at that dismissive comparison of his current injuries. He remembers Nate saying something similar when they were facing off against the gang of ruffians in the bar, that he'd "had worse odds". He doesn't say it in the cocksure way of someone trying his hardest to come across as a badass, but Wade feels the urge to put his hands up in that memetic Neil Degrasse Tyson pose nonetheless.]

All right there, tough guy. Wanna dial back on the machismo a tad until I getcha properly greased up?

[Once the burn cream has been applied, Wade sets to work on wrapping a bandage around Nate's neck. There's a few seconds of silence while he concentrates on his work, but eventually he pipes up again.]

...what did you mean about "that empathy crap", by the way? Don't tell me she fucked around with your brain, too. I've heard of emotional vampires, but... I always thought that kinda thing was a metaphor.

[ Machismo earns a slightly-confused look, Nate being someone who rarely indulges in that kind of thing. It's a natural consequence of his former profession: if something has the ability to go wrong, it will. Like Murphy's Law, but with more explosives.

He lifts his chin in silence, quiet as Wade wraps the wound and quieter still when he continues. One of Nate's eyebrows crawls toward his hairline and he has to wonder how many people he's run into thus far without getting this particular song and dance about the way these things work. The first person Nate even talked to on arrival slammed him with the information right off the bat. ]

...no, it- when you touch people - other Displaced, like us - without a barrier, it shares how you feel through contact. Apparently. [ His shoulders rise and fall. ] Haven't personally experienced it yet, but the burning was uncomfortable.

[Admittedly, Wade was only half-paying attention to the infodumps he'd been receiving upon his arrival, too motivated by the needs of his stomach to think about anything else. An unfortunate side-effect of being knocked out by drugs for god knows how long, no doubt.

But Nate has his full attention now, and as he finishes dressing Nate's wound there's a contemplative and troubled look in his eyes. It was pretty obvious from the outset that the head honchos here were using people like him as guinea pigs-- his newly reacquired good looks were a perfect indication of that-- but he'd never really thought about the specifics of it. To what extent he'd changed. Chalk it up to bad memories that he didn't really want to relive.]

You sure whoever told you wasn't just spinning a yarn? I mean, you said yourself that you've never experienced it, right?

I have, just not here.

[ He clarifies, catching onto the change in tone, the shifting in Wade's frame as his shoulders tense and his brow wrinkles in Nate's periphery. Thoughtful, but concerned. Someone who either has a little experience in this, or just really doesn't like the idea of having his thoughts expressed to strangers.

Or both, Nate adds belatedly, chewing his lip. ]

Sort of inclined to give people the benefit of the doubt.

...well, shit.

[Not exactly the most eloquent response, but probably the most honest. Wade's quiet for a few seconds, busying himself with tying off the bandage wrapped around Nate's neck before withdrawing to peel off the stained gloves.]

Okay, I think we're done! Did the best I could, but I'd still get that looked at by a professional if I were you. Might wanna invest in some collared shirts while you're at it, too-- that ain't a very good look for you.

[ Tentatively he feels at the bandage around his throat, finding the knot and the gauze, swallowing to make sure it isn't uncomfortable. It's a light sort of pressure and one he hopes will graduate to normal plaster bandages quickly, if only because he doesn't really want to wear a turtleneck in this weather.

An ironic train of thought he finds completely derailed when Wade tells him that his shirt is effectively too low. Nate grimaces without bothering to hide his disgust at the idea of wearing anything higher than a crew-neck. ]

Pass. [ He thumbs at the collar of his Henley briefly, the fabric tacky with drying blood. ] I'll wear a turtleneck when I'm dead.

[ Nate turns to get up and winces, feeling his sides sting and his palm immediately shifts to soothe the spot in question. He settles back in the chair again with a dense sigh. ]

...How much of a raise do I need to give you to look at my side?

[The strong argument against collared shirts earns Nate a bemused look from Wade's end, which shifts to something a bit more concerned when he sees the man wince and press a hand to his side.]

I dunno-- depends on how much bitchin' I have to endure while I'm doin' it, I guess.

[The jab is lighthearted at most-- aside from a few flinches, Nate's proven himself to be a model patient under the circumstances. Wade begins to pluck and peel the shirt away from the affected area, wincing in sympathy as the cloth sticks a bit to the bloody wound underneath.]

Sorry. Tryin' to be gentle. S'like a band-aid-- I never know whether to do it quick or slow.

Just cut it off.

[ He doesn't hesitate, nodding toward the kit and the fabric scissors tucked away next to the triangular bandage. It's valiant to want to prevent any more pain and suffering, but Nate doesn't fully have healthcare figured out in this new world and to that end he'd rather just hedge his bets. ]

I can always get a new shirt.

...yeah, fair enough.

[Wade grabs the scissors from inside the kit, holding the edge of the shirt taut while he snips away at the fabric.]

That shirt was pretty much on its way out anyway. Hard to get bloodstains outta clothes. Believe me, I'd know. Went through quite a few shirts before I decided to just give up and wear red.

[He gingerly peels the strips of fabric away from the wound and is relieved to find that, while messy, it doesn't seem to warrant any stitches. With a small sound of affirmation, Wade tears open a packet of disinfectant wipes and begins to clean away the blood.]

This's probably gonna sting too, sorry about that.

[It's interesting how his medical training-- sparse as it was-- comes back to him in a situation like this. He still thinks Nate would be better off with an actual professional, but so far he hasn't fucked things up too badly. Not to his knowledge, anyway.]

[inbox] - meadowlark

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