Small, curious whispers led to action as running footsteps could be heard off in the distance, getting further and further away, while the disturbance of leaves crumbling and a bush being disturbed by violent movement increased; a fairly tall, hoodied man flung himself with a clenched fist at the assaultee's head, hitting him square in the temple as he spat the words "Get the fuck off'a him!" in a devilish and fury filled voice.
Still lying on the ground in a teary and minor bloody mess remained Abel, sobbing and shaking even after the pissed off drunk had been knocked off of him by his rescuer. Whoever it was had clearly strong considering that he'd taken out the alcohol ridden bastard with one blow. He dared to open an eye, just enough to get a glimpse of the taller man. Sure, he looked equally as shady, but atleast he wasn't staking him too. Speaking of staking, now that he was no longer being molested, or pinned down, he may as well take the split second of time to inspect the now dripping wound in his side.
"Fuck…!" Abel exclaimed, suddenly feeling light headed and shocked once his eyes caught sight of the blue ball point pen on the ground beside him. He could tell that it had blue ink due to the few blue lines along his rips where the office tool hadn't been pressure enough to break the skin. He felt nauseous and the thought of getting up and escaping was swiftly being taken over by "If I get up, I might vomit".
The second hoodied man seemed just as violent as the first, even when the drunk had landed on the ground and appeared to be down for the rest of the night after the blow, the man swiftly kicked the drunk's mouth in. The shattering of teeth tearing from gums with the veins snapping off them as they greedily tried to hold on could be heard. An uttered "motherfucker" rose from Abel's rescuers throat, and before too long he turned and looked at the Polish boy who laid on the ground—he was frowning at him in displeasure, he just had to save his life—and snarled a bit that he had lost a customer, obviously scared off by the trouble.
"Can you walk? Are you hurt?" Lightly squinting, the larger of the two knelt down in front of him and leaned in.
Abel stared, dumb founded and still clearly shocked; his shirt resting on his higher abdomen with the upset streaks of red running down in full view. His face was abnormally pale and he looked like he were about to pass out from both shock and exhaustion. "I... I'm not… I don't know." He finally managed after choking back his sobs and struggling to get up atleast on his elbows.
Looking down at the boys stomach, he lightly grimaced and muttered a "shit" before reaching forward and instantly burrowing his arms underneath Abel's legs and back, lifting him up with ease as if he were to weigh nothing, and instantly began to move carefully and slyly out of the dark area, but at the same time trying to reach the streets where he could sit the boy down and call for help. He himself knew what it was like to be hurt, especially stabbed. A miracle he even survived half of the shit he did—scars riddled his torso and legs and upper arms—and he knew what the boy was going through.
Laying him down on a public bench out on the street finally, after catching sight of another bystander, he commanded one of them to call an ambulance; he had his own phone but if they were going to attract more attention and poke their nose into his business, he might as well helped the attacker.
"P-please don't go."
Abel whimpered down from the bench where he lay, using the backrest of the wooden bars to pull himself up to a sitting position. For being in a situation like he'd just experienced, he certainly was handling it better than most. Some people wouldn't even be able to speak.
"You saved me… who are you?" he asked in a raspy whisper as he trailed his eyes from the man's knees up to his face.
"Don't talk," the man commanded in a whisper, pressing a warm hand to the wound to stop the blood from flowing out, keeping his hood on still, thinking it would be best if he remained anonymous for the time being. He could visit the boy later on his own time to see how he was doing if he wanted to. If anyone described him in any way, especially this boy, it could be interest in the cops, and the fact that most of his income came in as a drug dealer and a man used as muscle for a gang wouldn't appeal to the cops. Cocking his head off to the side, he yapped at the crowd. "Did anyone call a fuckin' ambulance yet?" he called; his raised voice showed that he was alarmed and annoyed. When he finally got back a 'yes', he let out a breath of relief.
Sirens blared in the distance, coming out on top of the other constant ruckus from the city.
He was safe now, the crazy man was probably still out cold, and he got out with his body and dignity still intact. His lips were dry and turning a light shade of blue along with his bare forearms. He had had a coat earlier; it was purple and lined with a furry inside. But it was still in that little clearing after being wrenched from his shoulders and tossed in a direction which he couldn't recall. Well atleast now some homeless person would be fashionable.
When he heard the sirens he immediately pressed his hoodie against the boys wound to smear any DNA he might have left behind on the boy, knowing that he'd have to burn the piece of clothing as soon as he got the chance, unfortunate seeing that it was the one he was always wearing. He'd take losing a hoodie than going to prison any time though; the bitching wouldn't be too bad.
With that he swiftly turned around and sprinted off, not wanting to be anywhere near that scene once the paramedics arrived. The fact he still had cocaine in his pocket in a ziplock baggy would have made it awkward for him to be anywhere near a hospital.
Hours had passed since the incident and since he'd been cleaned up and tucked into bed, surrounded by the safety of the hospital. The doctor would be keeping him overnight since he was in no shape to walk home in the current weather, not to mention alone. Nobody would blame him for not getting any sleep, but not for the same reasons anyone would assume. Normally someone would be afraid due to the attacker, but he actually couldn't stop thinking about his rescuer. He sounded cute… And he was tall, but why did he run?
Where had he come from?