fic: Outlaws (ficuary)

[csi_sanders1129]

Title: Outlaws
Chapters: 1/1?
Author:csi_sanders1129
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Ratings: T
Word Count: 907
Pairings/Characters: Jason Morgan, Damian Spinelli
Synopsis: In which Jason and Spinelli are on the run.
Comments: Written for Ficuary 2021, Prompt: Sickness. Set probably ~2008-ish? Might add to this at some point. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!

Spinelli's curled up in a tight ball on a shitty bed in an equally shitty motel room somewhere very, very far away from Port Charles. He's cold and clammy and hot and sweaty all at once, and would very much like to sleep, but the pain from the wound on his side keeps him from doing so.

"You're okay," Jason promises, rifling through the meager bag of supplies he's managed to get hold of without drawing any undue attention their way. He offers Spinelli some pills obtained from some less than reputable sources, one to help with the pain and the other an antibiotic meant to treat the budding infection. Spinelli fights down the pills and some water along with them.

"Surely Stone Cold is well aware that we can't stay here much longer," Spinelli manages, fevered and miserable. They've been here too long already, sooner or later someone will notice them if they linger here – this isn't the sort of place people ever stay for long. They need to keep moving.

"As soon as we get you taken care of," Jason assures him, laying out the rest of his supplies on the nightstand. He sits on the bed next to Spinelli. "Then we'll get going. You can sleep in the back of the car."

The shitty television drones on in the background. They are states away from New York, but they're both still wary that some special new bulletin will pop up alerting them that they've been trailed here, that they'll look up and see grainy security video or traffic cam stills amidst the requests for observant citizens to call in to some tip line for a not insubstantial reward should their information lead to an arrest. It hasn't happened yet, but they'd be kidding themselves if they thought it wouldn't happen sooner or later.

Jason pulls an old bandage away from Spinelli's skin, revealing a red and tender wound where the bullet had penetrated in the fight that sent them running. Luckily, it had hit nothing more than the flesh just above his left hip. It could have been worse, any lower and it would have hit bone, any further in and it could have punctured some vital organ. In either case, their escape would have ended before it began.

"This is gonna hurt," Jason warns, a pocket knife sterilized to the best of his ability bared against the wound. He needs to open it to let the scabbed over wound drain. Then, a terse reminder, as Jason eyes the thin walls the separate them from the neighboring rooms, "But you have to be quiet."

Spinelli braces himself, mumbles out a quiet, "I know," and bites down hard on his lip to keep from calling out in pain as the blade sinks into his flesh. Blood and pus ooze from the wound and Jason's quick to irrigate it with a saline wash, flushing out as much as he can. They'd cleaned the wound as best they could as soon as they'd gotten clear of the manhunt for them in Port Charles, and Jason had, with some difficulty, managed to get the bullet out while Spinelli was passed out from the pain, but evidently it hadn't been enough to stave off infection.

Jason sprays a generous amount of antiseptic spray, pats the wound dry once he's sure it's as clean as it's going to get. He applies a layer of antibiotic ointment and covers with it a fresh dressing, taped securely in place.

Spinelli slumps back on the bed, glad that the ordeal is over for now. They'll have to do it again later, he knows, and the thought is just as exhausting as the fever.

Jason seems to know as much. He drags a hand through Spinelli's sweat-damp hair, offering whatever comfort he can to the younger man. "Rest for a few minutes while I clean up," Jason tells him, already gathering up the trash and the remaining supplies, clearing away any trace of evidence that could lead the cops after them. They'll ditch the trash somewhere less suspect than the motel, somewhere along the way.

It doesn't take long to pack up their limited provisions – some food, some clothes, a burner cell, the wound care supplies – into the ancient car they managed to obtain. That done, he coaxes Spinelli out to it, settles him in backseat with a pillow and blanket, gives the room once last look over to make sure he hasn't missed anything that could get them caught, and sets off.

His eyes fall on Spinelli's form in the rear view mirror as he drives, thinking of the mess that got them here.

It should have been a simple meeting at the docks. Spinelli shouldn't have even been there, but he'd been in the car with Jason when he'd gotten the call from Sonny about it. It should have been simple, but it had turned into a firefight. A rival mobster, an undercover cop, too many bullets flying in too small a space. Jason had been disarmed, the other mobster had taken advantage of his moment of vulnerability, taken aim and pulled the trigger. Spinelli had picked up his discarded gun and the shot had gone wide, taking out the officer; surprised, the mobster's bullet had hit Spinelli instead. Spinelli had saved his life. There'd been no other option – they'd run. They've been running since.

They still have so far to go.