"You idiot."
Knight lightly dabbed his brother's head wound with a cloth of medicinal alcohol. His gentleness was a stark contrast to the anger, the anguish, that stirred inside. Spade winced, and Knight nearly wanted to slap him.
"You cringe at medicine, but you're willing to go headfirst into a brawl," Knight chided. Spade rolled his eyes, and Knight was less careful when he pressed the cloth down again. "Are you stupid? Don't answer that. I already know."
"Thanks doc," Spade sneered, his response delayed, but did not push his brother away. He clearly wanted some help for his injuries, whether he said it or not. "I'll keep that in mind."
Knight dropped the red-stained rag into the metal bucket where the others sat. This last one had been more pink than red, a sign that they'd slowed the bleeding. Knight was ready to throttle his brother. Where was his common sense? His self-preservation? Had that all been beaten out of his brain, too?
"So, am I cured?" Spade slowly flexed his bruised knuckles and started to stand. Knight pressed a weak hand against his shoulder, urging him back down onto the stool.
"You think some bandages are going to fix this?" Knight huffed, but grabbed a fresh set of gauze and carefully wrapped it around his brother's head. "Norma wants to run some tests on you. See what injuries you've sustained. You'll need to rest, either way."
"Rest?" Spade looked aghast.
"Yes. Rest." Knight pinned the bandages together, ensuring they were secure before he stood. "You're not invincible. Stop acting like it."
Spade grumbled, but Knight didn't care to catch what he'd said. He gathered the first aid materials Norma had brought to him, cleaning up the mess he'd made in the laboratory.
Knight was no doctor, and neither was Norma, but they were as close to medicine as X was going to get. Many took advantage of that, unaware that their diagnoses were textbook guesses at best. Without someone trained in the medical field to guide them, there was only so much they could do.
Recruiting an actual doctor, of course, was easier said than done. Doctors were sparse in the Gate, and most of them worked under Lenore funding. The few that didn't were either intimidated by the Lenores or were brought in by the Blackhearts. Someone paid under the crown couldn't be trusted to treat criminals of the Gate without something in return, and the price was always higher than anyone was willing to give.
In the end, it was Norma, Sav, and now Knight that found themselves responsible for the rabble of X. The women took it with stride, but Knight couldn't dissuade the guilt that burrowed deep in his gut when he couldn't give a proper diagnosis.
Was this how Spade felt watching him grow sick all those years, never knowing what the real cause was? Did he wonder if his advice did more harm than good once it was given?
"How's the patient?" Norma asked, reentering the lab. Knight stepped out of her way, pushing his own thoughts aside as she moved to examine Spade up close.
"He's alive," Knight muttered. Norma pulled a small flashlight from her coat pocket and clicked it on. Spade squinted painfully against the light as she shined it in his eyes.
"Stop it." Spade batted at the flashlight, but his aim was off. Norma ignored him and jotted something down on her notepad.
Knight's brows pinched in concern as he watched Norma perform her tests. After a few moments, she clicked the flashlight off, and asked a familiar series of questions instead: the basics, ones so simple even Spade should know the answer. But his brother faltered, his responses delayed, avoidant, or entirely incorrect. Norma scribbled a few more notes down, but Knight knew her prognosis before she spoke.
"You've got a concussion," she said, already moving to the small medicine cabinet tucked in the corner of the room. She plucked a bottle of pills from one of the shelves and set them on the table. "Take this for the pain, no more than two a day, got it? Other than that, you're going to need some time off to rest."
Spade nearly jumped off of his chair, but staggered, grasping onto the side table for stability. "I can't take time off. I just started."
"Which is why you need to take better care of yourself," Norma quipped. "I'll talk to Crow, make sure you have the next couple of days off. Make sure to eat regularly and sleep. If your symptoms start to worsen, talk to me. Got it?"
Spade glared at her but took the pills. There was a stagger to his step as he stood, and Knight–for once, the energetic one between the two–stepped in to catch him.
"Think you're up to escorting him back to your room?" Norma asked. Knight nodded, pulling Spade's arm over his shoulder as he helped him out of the lab.
He must really feel like shit, Knight thought, noting that Spade had yet to push him away. Usually Spade insisted that he was too strong for such things, but Knight felt the uneven gait to Spade's steps as he hauled him back to their room. Even his brother's pride couldn't fight off a concussion.
Knight steered Spade toward the bottom bunk, moving his own things out of the way so his brother could settle down.
"I can sleep in my own bed," Spade grumbled, leaning against the bunk's ladder for support.
"And crack your head open trying to climb in and out of it? I'll pass," Knight said, shoving a set of sweatpants and t-shirt toward his brother. "I'd rather not get pieces of your skull stuck in my slippers."
He expected some kind of sarcastic remark, but Spade quietly glared at him instead before shimmying out of his bloody clothes. Knight hesitated, watching his brother's balance in case he needed help, but he wasn't sure Spade's dignity would allow it.
Knight changed the sheets of his bunk instead in an effort to make it comfortable, then fetched a fresh cup of water and some leftover soup Sav had in the fridge. After years of Spade and Coren taking care of him, Knight had memorized the small acts of love like a second language. Wet rags to ease a burning fever. Fresh linens, if they were available. Water and broths to keep hydrated.
Perhaps his brothers saw it as responsibility. An act of duty to a sick boy that wouldn't survive on his own.
To Knight, it was love.
When he returned to their room, Spade was tucked in bed, half-propped up on a pillow as he squinted against the bright overhead light. Knight was quick to flick it off.
"Hungry?" He offered the water and soup in darkness, a small crack under the door providing faint illumination. Spade accepted them both, practically chugging the water down. "Aroth, give yourself time to breathe."
Spade waited until the glass was empty before responding, "I have shit to do. I can't sit around here doing nothing."
"It's only for a few days," Knight reassured him, accepting the empty glass. "How do you think I felt at the orphanage all the time?"
Spade shook his head, his silhouette barely visible. "I think I'd kill myself."
The words came out quick, and even in the dark, Knight saw the regret on his brother's face. "Sorry. I didn't mean–"
"It's fine."
Knight sat in silence while his brother ate the soup. Those days in the orphanage, confined to the musty brick walls and even more often to his cot, lingered in the back of his mind. So did the heavy wind atop Hells Gate, staring down at the craggy waves underneath. The biting cold of the ocean. The rocks he'd missed.
Spade didn't know. He never would. But Knight would always remember. A secret confided to Coren alone, him and the old man that had pulled him from the sea.
"You should rest," Knight finally said when Spade had finished eating. He accepted the half-empty bowl and cup, rising from the bed. Spade sunk further into the mattress, yanking the covers up to his chest. "I'll bring another cup of water while you're sleeping. Try not to spill it."
Spade mumbled a response and, although Knight couldn't make it out, the tone indicated its sarcastic nature. Knight half-smiled, and left his brother to sleep.
It would only be a few days. They could manage that much.
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