Work Text:
"You know what the Old Man's gonna say about this, don't you."
It wasn't really a question, in the same way the huffed breath he got back wasn't an answer.
Dusk was falling under the cover of the trees and this whole 'escape' thing wasn't going to get any easier as darkness fell, especially not with Guerrero fumbling around like a wounded stag and him trying to keep his arm immobilised while they walked.
Junior yelped as Guerrero stumbled on the uneven ground and knocked into his injured (probably broken, but he can't worry about that yet) arm. The move pulled Guerrero's hand away from the wound on his cheek and it started bleeding again, adding another sluggish layer on the thick coating across his face and neck. He wasn't a tanned guy, but he was getting pretty damn pale.
"OK, stop," Junior wheezed when the white-hot pain had subsided a little.
"Dude, what?" Guerrero ground out, wringing out the sodden compression strip and shoving it back against his face.
Junior hadn't realised quite how useless his part-time playmate was without his glasses until today, he couldn't even focus on his face; squinting and leaning in close, like getting in his personal space was going to help any.
The offending articles were currently in a shattered mess in Guerrero's shirt pocket, missing most of the glass. A good part of that glass was still embedded in the guy's cheek.
"We're clear of the search perimeter," Junior pointed out, "Let's take a minute here, take stock."
"Not a lot to take stock of, dude. We're down most of our gear, our transport and a couple of pints of blood each." Guerrero stepped to one side and carefully spat on the ground. Junior grimaced at the blood and the glint of shards of glass.
Probably more than a couple, Junior was inclined to think. "Yeah, that pretty much covers it."
"I figure we've walked about six miles, got maybe ten before we reach civilisation or somewhere we can steal a car." He made a motion with a distinct, 'so let's go' to it. Junior picked a tree to lean back against, making his own silent objection.
"Why don't you wear contacts?" he asked, truly curious. "I know the old man tells you to every time you work contract for him."
Guerrero gave him a long look, that was really lacking in its usual force. "You really bust up bad enough you need to do this to buy you time?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
"Do what?" Junior sank into the tree and slid to the moss-covered floor with a sigh of relief.
"Personal talk, dude. You know my feelings on the matter and is that a yes? 'Cause I need you fit enough to drive us out of here."
Junior blanched. He'd not thought about who'd be driving when they finally found transport. He'd been imagining himself asleep on the back seat. "I'm fine," he said firmly. He'd driven one handed before, they'd be fine. He'd just have to make sure they found an automatic.
"Yeah, well, get off your ass and prove it. We need to get out of here."
Standing, Junior briefly debated before deciding he couldn't go any further like this. "I need a hand to sling my arm."
Guerrero glanced over, "Your T-shirt in enough pieces, dude? First aid kit was with all the gear."
"Yeah, I know, T-shirt'll be fine." He was lucky that no one had come at him with a knife - apart from a very close miss with a bullet that had torn up his shirt and scuffed the very edge of his ribs, the rest of his clothes were intact.
"Which arm?"
Junior glanced down at himself, at the arm he was quite obviously holding immobile with the other, then looked back up at Guerrero. "My left. How much can you see without your glasses?"
"Ugh, enough," Guerrero grunted in response, and moved in close.
Junior would never know how Guerrero made every movement so self-assured. He expected some hesitation or fumbling, but it was firm efficient hands that pulled the bottom of his T-shirt up to shoulder height, encasing the injured arm in a make-shift sling and tying it tight at his back.
"Any movement?" Guerrero asked, adjusting and tidying.
"Nah, that's good," Junior breathed as the sharp pain of the manoeuvre eased back again.
"Can we get out of here now, dude? Or you got any other hurts you need mothering?"
Without replying, he started heading North again, letting Guerrero fall into step behind him before he answered, "The concept of you showing any kind of parental affection is truly horrifying, man. But since you asked..."
"Finish that sentence and I'll find my way home alone."
Junior chuckled before falling into a companionable silence. It wasn't long though, before curiosity started to niggle. "So..."
"You bring up contacts again, dude, and I won't be held accountable."
"Seems you threaten a lot around me, but never follow through," he observed. "I'm gonna stop believing your hype."
Guerrero made a disgusted sound. "You're the only one of the Old Man's kids I've successfully broken in, killing you now would be wasteful."
"At least not until I've gotten you out of this forest and driven you home," Junior added, suppressing a grin.
"Yeah, dude. At least until then."