[Sunnydale AU]

[tofightinjustice]

When you say LA, people think Hollywood, stars, beaches.

This is not that part of LA.

This is the part of LA that the tour books recommend you stay out of, the part of LA where you probably don't want to be a pedestrian at this hour of the night unless you have some kind of business. Usually the kind of business you don't want the police to know about.

Bryce has been patrolling rooftops and alleyways for hours, but it seems to be a quiet night.

Comments

NONCON WARNING FROM HELL

[edgeofyourseat]

The scene unfolding in this particular alley is a pretty unremarkable transaction, from a distance. Two men, the younger on his knees and backed against a wall, the older holding him there.

But there are a few things that might stand out about it. First, that face is familiar, if Bryce can catch a glimpse of it; second, he has his mouth wrapped around the barrel of a gun.

And third, not surprisingly under the circumstances, he is shaking with terror.

[tofightinjustice]

She always keeps an eye on that kind of transaction, when she spots them going down. They've got a lot of potential for turning bad quickly. Her footsteps are nearly silent on the roof as she moves closer to see how this one is going.

--Not well, apparently.

[edgeofyourseat]

Neither participant notices her there; both are too preoccupied, although in rather different ways.

(The odds that this guy plans to let him live are... not high. He knew that the minute he saw the gun, and oh, wasn't that a surprise. But he's not gonna go down without a fight.

Not that thinking that helped him much the last time.)

The sounds they make—a soft laugh, a softer whimper—don't carry to the roof. But the emotional content is probably still clear.

[tofightinjustice]

One second to check that the ski mask is covering her face; three seconds to calculate trajectory and strategy; one second to vault over the wall and one second to drop.

She lands heavily, knees first, on the gunman's shoulders.

[edgeofyourseat]

The gunman yelps, staggering.

Laney jerks to the side as fast as he can.

He isn't quite fast enough.

When the gun goes off, the bullet tears a hole in his cheek and the barrel rips free. For a moment, all he can think about is how much it hurts.

[tofightinjustice]

Bryce twists, headed for the ground and for his gun hand. The gun itself is too hot to deal with just yet, but there's no such problem with his wrist.

Crack.

[edgeofyourseat]

If you'd asked him yesterday, Laney would've told you he doesn't believe in angels.

He presses a hand to the side of his face, which only makes it hurt worse. Fuck, fuck.

[tofightinjustice]

The gunman lets out a high yelp of pain.

Bryce punches him in the face, hard enough to unbalance him, and tackles him to the ground. In a minute he'll be too dazed to get up.

Once she's sure he's not going anywhere any time soon, she takes the gun and turns to Delaney.

[edgeofyourseat]

He looks up at her.

The uncovered side of his face, the whole side, is grinning.

"Thanks," he says with remarkable clarity.

[tofightinjustice]

"You need a doctor."

Her voice is deeper than normal and almost entirely flat.

[edgeofyourseat]

"Yeah, probably," he says (it comes out yeah, 'rol'ly), and braces his free hand on the wall behind him as he tries to get to his feet.

...key word: tries.

[tofightinjustice]

She grabs him by the shoulder.

"Don't move. And stop talking. I'll get help."

[edgeofyourseat]

Warily: "Yeah? What kind?"

At least he does quit trying to haul himself up the wall.

[tofightinjustice]

"The police," she says, standing.

The gunman stirs. Scowling under her mask, she kicks him over onto his stomach, digs in one of her pouches, and pulls out a zip-tie to secure his hands.

[edgeofyourseat]

"Nuh-uh."

He goes back to trying to pick himself up. It's slow and shaky, but he's getting there.

[tofightinjustice]

She gives him a sharp look.

"Sit. Down."

[edgeofyourseat]

"No."

He shakes his head.

"Look—thank you. Really, thank you. But" ('ut) "no – hhfucking – cops."

[tofightinjustice]

"He shot you."

[edgeofyourseat]

"Sure he did," Laney agrees. "What an asshole. Now I wanna go home."

[tofightinjustice]

. . . What an idiot.

"Fine. Stop moving."

She rummages in another pouch and pulls out a wad of gauze and a tiny roll of tape.

[edgeofyourseat]

He lifts his hands in surrender and settles back against the wall.

[tofightinjustice]

First aid is something she's good at, although she's never had to deal with an injury this severe. Her hands would be defter if she took off her gloves, but like hell is she exposing herself to his blood.

After a few minutes, he's bandaged up, although blood is already soaking through the gauze.

"You need stitches as soon as possible. Can you get to a hospital? Don't talk. Just nod."

[edgeofyourseat]

He looks down at his hands, looks up at Bryce, looks to the mouth of the alley...

...and shrugs. Hell if he knows.

[tofightinjustice]

"Can you get a cab?"

[edgeofyourseat]

Despite the pain, he quirks a smile, tipping his head forward and raising his eyebrows.

He is more than capable of sitting in a cab. Hell, he can even pay for one, and he'd be glad to because he has some cash he needs to get rid of before he goes home. But if she doesn't want him talking, he can't exactly call one, can he?

[tofightinjustice]

She rolls her eyes.

"I'll call it for you."

[edgeofyourseat]

Grinning now—which she should probably also forbid him to do—he nods.

[tofightinjustice]

"Fine. Stop making it worse."

She gives the gunman one more glance to make sure he's not going anywhere, then moves towards the mouth of the alley. It's LA, and there are bars in the area; she ought to be able to flag down a taxi.

[edgeofyourseat]

He follows her, not quite staggering but definitely unsteady, holding one hand to his face with his fingertips just resting against the bandage.

[tofightinjustice]

She glances at him, checks her mask again, and pulls up her hood. A cabbie is slightly less likely to drive by someone in a hoodie than someone in a full-face mask.

[edgeofyourseat]

Obedient to her wishes, he's stopped grinning, but the remaining corner of his mouth quirks up slightly.

[tofightinjustice]

It's a few minutes.

She doesn't talk.

When she finally spots a cab, she puts up an arm to flag it down.

"You can tell him where to go," she says, as the cab starts to slow. "Just try not to make that worse. You ought to go to a hospital."

[edgeofyourseat]

"Will do," he promises.

As he gets in the cab, there is a pause before he closes the door. He looks back at her with a smile in his eyes, presses bloodstained fingers to bloodstained lips, and tips that hand toward her.

[tofightinjustice]

. . . Weird.