[March 23]

[sicparvasmagna]

Nate's been hit before. Nate's been hit a thousand goddamn times but this time he's pretty sure his entire face is broken. He'd known the guy was tall, he's not a complete moron, but there's a difference between tall and apparently made of fucking stone. He'd been impulsive and stupid and Sully would probably chew his ear off if he were here, but Nate doesn't need a verbal lashing because the physical one has been lesson enough.

His hand is broken. He can't move his fingers and the pain shoots up through his wrist and to his shoulder, throbbing harshly. He's broken bones before but this is somehow made worse by the embarrassment of it all, by the fact that he was put down quickly and without preamble, his ego as bruised as his fucking face. Which, is also broken. Nate's broken his nose before, been punched by enough steroid-loaded goons that it was just about inevitable, but this is worse. His cheekbone is fractured, swollen up around his eye so that he can hardly see out of it. Breathing hurts, talking hurts worse, and Nate's spat enough blood out onto the sidewalk to draw stares.

He needs to get off the street. That's the first point of call. He should probably go to the hospital, but he's nursing a hurt ego and a chip on his shoulder that steers him in the opposite direction instead. He just wants to go home. He wants to go home, cover his face in ice packs and then drink until he passes out, probably. He should text Sam, but his right fucking hand is broken and Nate's always been pretty useless with his left. The thought of trying to type anything legible is a lost cause, so he doesn't bother.

Instead, he picks himself up off the ground, blinks blood out of his eye and starts walking. At least his goddamn legs aren't broken.

Comments

[sicparvasmagna]

Nate hasn't met the Musketeers. What the fuck has he been doing in this city for a year if he hasn't met the goddamn Musketeers? He makes a note to ask Marcus more about that later, determined to track them down himself and find some obscure reason to talk to them. Maybe he'll just follow them and accidentally bump into them on the street, that always seems to go down a treat in this city. People here are way nicer than anyone Nate ever knew back home.

He doesn't ask for detail about who Lila is, for which Nate is grateful. He could lie, but it's pretty debatable whether he's any good at that, and it feels wrong to lie to a priest.

Nate glances up at Candlewood in front of them and nods. "Home sweet home," he says, and maybe it's just a shoebox of a bare apartment but it is more home than he's ever had before. And getting sweeter by the minute with Marcus's offer to pour him a drink.

He leads him upstairs, fumbles for the key in his pocket and eventually gets the door open, letting Marcus in. "Make yourself at home."

[pushbackthedarkness]

"Sit," Marcus says, more than happy to do exactly what Nate has just suggested so long as it means his new friend manages to relax just a little. Despite most of the injuries being healed, he has to still be in a bit of pain and Marcus goes into the kitchen to root around in some of the cupboards, coming back a few minutes later with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Maybe he shouldn't be encouraging Nate to drink, but he has a feeling he's going to do it one way or the other, and as long as he's here to keep an eye on him, it shouldn't be too dangerous.

He uses the nearby table to pour them both a drink, then heads toward Nate, passing him one of the glasses before he sinks down on the couch.

"Still wanting that ice bath?" he asks with a lifted brow, trying not to look too amused before he takes a sip of the whiskey. For a man who's not particularly used to drinking, he's gotten fairly good at it over the past several months and is more than happy to engage in the activity whenever it presents itself.