justonetruth | [for pansbox and police

That much blood always leaves a trail.

Kaito almost completely missed it. After all, his attentions were focused on something else at the moment (namely the argument over whether two months of rest after a bullet wound is enough recovery time for him to heist again, and yes it is Aoko I feel fine and don't give me that look I'm not going to hurt myself). But as the duo passed by the infirmary door, the smallest splash of red caught his eye.

He stopped, his gaze flickering from Aoko to the ground, then up to the door that he knew from experience was the first aid room

No small wound would leave that much blood.

"Aoko, someone's in here," he interrupted her, having tuned her out minutes ago to focus on the new problem at hand.

Without waiting for her response, he leaned forward and grabbed the doorknob, giving it an experimental twist-- only to find it was locked. Warning sign number two. Who would lock the door to the infirmary, anyway?

With a frown, he plunged a hand into the pocket of his jeans as he fished for a paperclip, or something that would let him open the lock and check inside. If someone was that hurt, he couldn't just leave them there to fend for themselves.

Edited 2010-02-02 06:17 (UTC)

Aoko stopped as well as soon as Kaito drew her attention to the blood. It had escaped her notice at first (she'd been too busy glaring angrily at Kaito's face, not looking at the floor), but when she saw it, she fell silent and immediately paled.

Now she can see the blood, warm against her fingers, and her eyes go wide at just how much of it there is, slicking his jacket and dripping on the floor--

Aoko shook her head, sharply -- it's over now, he's all right! -- and peered over Kaito's shoulder at the door, clinging to the back of his shirt. Her formerly splinted wrist was pale, but bare and moving just fine on its own again, testament to how long it had been since the two had been inside the Dressing Room -- several months, though barely a fortnight had passed for the mansion's inhabitants.

Clearwater Cove was funny like that.

(Aoko was still trying to figure out if that meant she was going to wind up old before her time.)

"Is it locked?" she asked, all thoughts of arguing dropped as she tried to see without getting in the way.

Rattling at the door. Person. 1412's quiet muttering dropped off into silence, head cocked towards the door. Voices. People, not person.

Hah. Couldn't get at him, he'd locked the door. He stuck his tongue out, and went back to wrapping his bandages.

....locked the door, no way in....... no way out...

1412 froze.

No way out.

He'd trapped himself.

Caught like a rabbit in the headlights, he stared at the door, willing them to go away. If he moved, he'd make noise, and he couldn't make noise to let them know he was here maybe if he was very very quiet they'd go away go away and leave him alone...?

A few more moments of digging around in his pockets, and Kaito produced a small, slightly bent paperclip that had obviously been used for the sole purpose of releasing locks several times in the past. "Yeah," he answered Aoko's question as he rattled the doorknob again, "Give me a minute." And then, even louder, so whoever was inside could hear him (if they were capable), "Hey! Is anyone in there?"

His voice was surprisingly even for the situation, though Kaito had never been the type to panic. Someone could be hurt, dying, or even dead on the other side, but worrying about what they might find across the threshold would just slow them down. They'd tackle that problem once they encountered it. For now, he had to open this locked door as quickly as possible, so if someone was dying they could get there in time and--

-- there.

One telling click later, the doorknob moved freely underneath his palm, enough for him to turn it and swing the door open in front of them. The line of blood continued from the outside hallway and into the room, trailing across the floor and stopping at the counter where the source sat.

The source that wore a very familiar face, only because he shared it with Kaito.

The thief froze, hand still clutching the doorknob.

Aoko froze right behind him, also staring. For a moment all she see was the blood and the half-discarded Kid outfit, and there was a wild feeling of double vision. But it couldn't be her Kaito -- he was right there in front of her, her hand firmly clutching at his sleeve. Then which Kaito was...?

...Wait. Those eyes. She knew those eyes.

Aoko let go of her Kaito and took another step forward without thinking, putting herself between them. Her wrist throbbed as a dull reminder of what had happened the last time she had approached this particular Kaito, but she ignored it. She'd survived that encounter. Besides, she had her Kaito with her now.

"Kai--" She cut herself off, remembering too late that he hated being called that name. Not that she was willing to call him 1412, either.

Aoko quickly took another step forward, trying her best to appear nonthreatening and hoping beyond all hope that Kaito would have enough sense to stay behind her. "What happened?"

There was so much blood... Her stomach clenched.

1412's first instinct is to flee, and is already crouched on the counter when the door opens, nevermind that his wounds are reopening, trousers that were clotted to wounds tearing away and letting blood flow again, nevermind the bandages fallen down and slowly unwinding from his bared chest.

Thoughts of fleeing vanish when he sees the face of the person in the doorway, and he snarls, teeth bared. The stupid boy is back, the Kaito that everyone thinks is him the stupid boy that did this. His trousers don't carrying many things, but he has something, doesn't he? Always something.

The knife stills in his hand as the little miss pushes her way forwards... and.... is it her? No name, she hasn't said it, has she? Nearly, but she knows not to.

But what is she doing with him?

His eyes flick between the two, not answering, not just yet, knife still held in his hand warily. His expression is blank, but the querying note he puts into his voice is more fragile than he ever would like.

"....little miss Aoko...?"

It didn't take him long to put two and two together. Not with the way the other went straight for a knife. Not with the way Aoko pushed past him, placing her form between his and 1412's almost protectively (but protecting whom, he doesn't know). Not with the way she started to say his real name, only to cut herself off and choose to use no name at all.

Kaito hadn't had the chance to meet this version of himself yet, the version that allowed himself to spiral so far off the edge, but he had heard about him. Not only from Aoko, either. His name was whispered all throughout the mansion hallways by those who had crossed paths with him before, each conversation carrying a solemn and ominous tone and making Kaito grateful that he had come to be referred to as 'Kid' and not '1412.'

Unfortunately for Aoko, her Kaito wasn't about to stand back and let things happen as they would without his interference. When she stepped forward, he did too, though he had the decency to know not to walk out in front of her. Sometime during the movement, he had grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and was now holding onto it tightly, though his gaze remained trained on the glimmering weapon in 1412's hand. He was injured, and badly, but Kaito wasn't about to let down his guard just because of that.

He was tense, poised, all of his masks up in full force and his own expression unreadable as he watched for any sudden movements on the part of the assassin. He didn't speak, he merely observed.

This Kaito had tangoed with dangerous enemies before, and even if he preferred not to fight (not to hurt, not to kill), he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself (or Aoko) if necessary.

Aoko relaxed just a hair at being recognized, a weak smile crossing her lips before it flickered into a frown. "Get down from there before you make that worse."

It was half-demand, half-scold, all worry. The wounds looked awful, and Aoko was trying very hard not to think of how 1412 had gotten them. Not yet, anyway. He was still able to move, but that could change at any moment, especially if the spreading stains on his clothes were any indication.

Seeing one Kaito nearly bleeding to death under her hands had been more than enough.

Aoko glanced over her shoulder at her best friend, then the door, silently asking if he'd close it. She wasn't going to leave 1412 here to fend for himself, and she had no illusions about what could happen if someone else in the mansion found them. Better to do what they could to stop that from happening.

(And not think about the fact that she was locking them in a room with an assassin.)

(He's Kaito. Still Kaito. And he's hurt.)

It was his little miss. His Aoko. The one who'd... yes, he'd broken her wrist, hadn't he? All pretty and painful.

1412 slipped off of the counter gracefu-- ungracefully, feet stumbling as he hit the floor, but straightening almost immediately and not holding onto the counter for balance. He wasn't getting off because she'd asked, he was getting off because he wanted to.

"Who is that?"

He smiled, head tilting to one side, expression perfectly cheerful. And dangerous, if you'd had any experience with him.

"Is it the Kaito?"

-the boy that did this the bastard with his face and his dear rival's face and he couldn't let that go unpunished stealing facies wasn't nice now was it-

The sudden change in demeanor (from guarded to cheerful in a matter of seconds) wasn't surprising-- the motion was entirely too familiar. How many times had Kaito himself slipped seamlessly from emotion to emotion, wearing each one like a throw-away mask? It was a similarity, at least--

No.

Don't compare yourself to him.

He's not you. You're not him.

"Kaito Kuroba," he answered for Aoko calmly, and as he spoke he notably didn't move to heed Aoko's request about closing the door. There was no way he was locking them both alone in a room with an assassin. Not to mention... he had no idea how 1412 would react if he thought they were trapping purposely him.

"He's my Kaito," Aoko added hurriedly, not liking the way the assassin had used 'the' in his sentence. Who was 'the' Kaito?

But while they were talking, he was still bleeding, and door or no door, Aoko was going to do something about that. She began slowly approaching 1412, worried but calm but cautious. "You need to get those bandaged."

Hopefully he'd let her help.

Her Kaito.

Her Kaito.

1412 is moving away from her without realising it, turning a shift of his feet into a step back, not letting her get close.

"...not." He wants to rage at her, drag her away from him, but it's the Kaito-child, and he did this and he could hurt him again... He did this? There. He can use that, can't he? Steal her back. People are always saying he should be stealing.

"Kaito did this to me." His eyes are fixed on Kaito, and his tone is accusing - gaze flicking to Aoko briefly to gauge her reaction.

"What?"

His expression turns flat and annoyed at the false accusation, his grip on Aoko's shirt tightening as he steps forward with her.

"I didn't do anything to you."

He couldn't. Not only was inflicting this kind of bodily injury on someone beyond him, but he had been incapacitated for nearly two months.

So what was 1412 trying to do by accusing him....? Unless...

It was another Kaito who had hurt him.

And of course, Aoko knew that as well as Kaito. She'd been with him for the entirety of those two months. It couldn't have been him.

She was more concerned with how 1412 was backing away. She remembered that from her last encounter with him, how he'd kept drawing away from her like a wary animal. Now, like then, she cautiously pursued him and kept trying to catch his hands. He needed to stay still, not make the bleeding worse-!

And the way Kaito kept holding onto her shirt and restricting her movement wasn't helping.

"Which Kaito?" she finally managed, doing her best not to sound frustrated. What kind of Kaito would do this to him? He looked like he was cut all over with knives... "Please, just let me help!"

Wary animal was right. 1412 moved a little faster, and put the counter between him and them, hissing under his breath. And the stupid Kaito was still holding onto her. Mine.

"Kaito. Which Kaito. Maybe not this Kaito, but a Kaito. Stupid Kaito-people." 1412's words were coming out fast and choppy, flicking from one set of meaning to another. Door was over there, they were there, and he was injured - can't run can't hide, I'm going to get you - and they were between him and his way out.

A sudden, sharp grin, directed at Kaito.

"Might have been you, how do I know it wasn't, hmn? Might be lying, like the little chibi who twists the world around him and makes people think he's so good."

Kaito didn't like that grin.

"I'm not lying," he stated again, firmly, "Aoko knows that." For the first time since they entered the room, his gaze shifted from the bloody figure hiding behind the counter to Aoko, then back again.

"She wants to help you. I'm not going to stop her." But I'm not going to let go, either.

Aoko stopped advancing -- 1412 was only running away from her, and he needed to stop moving. "Kaito's been with me since we went home. It couldn't have been him."

Dammit, she needed to convince him before he bled any more! But how?

"We aren't going to hurt you," she insisted. The words sounded painfully inadequate, but they were all she could think of. "I promise."

"So sure," he murmurs in response, but the words are half-automatic, his gaze fixed on Kaito.

Maybe it wasn't him. But it was still a thief of faces, stealing his and his rival's. Still a stupid Kaito.

1412's expression is considering, one corner of his mouth quirking up in an odd smile.

"Little miss is lying." His words are casual, gaze fixed on Kaito as he speaks, searching for a reaction.

"No she's not," his response was automatic, without hesitation and without reaction (not anything beyond a twinge of annoyance, anyway). Aoko wasn't a liar. If either of the two were, it was definitely him.

"You're wasting time, y'know. Do you want to bleed out over the counter?"

Aoko flinched ever so slightly at that statement, not needing the mental image. "I'm not lying!" she snapped. "Just sit down! We'll help you get bandaged and then we'll go, if that's what you want."

Much as she disliked the idea.

"Don't. Need. Your. Help."

1412's words are steady, but he puts one hand on the table as he glares at them both. He's paler than he should be - his cuts are trying to clot, but everytime he moves, they break open again, making him lose more blood.

"Doesn't need it, and most certainly doesn't want it."

At this rate, 1412 was going to pass out from blood loss before they could help him with his injuries. They couldn't play this avoidance game forever. Something had to give, and Kaito really didn't want to have to leave 1412 to himself in this condition (even if he didn't like him).

Unwillingly, Kaito released his grip on Aoko's shirt sleeve, allowing her to move freely so she could get the assassin to comply with her requests. Once she did, the next thing they would need was bandages. With half his attention still focused on 1412 and Aoko (just in case) he moved quickly to the cabinets to fish for bandages of his own.

He would have picked up the ones 1412 had been using, but he wasn't sure he could without moving toward the other and startling him even more.

Aoko shot Kaito a grateful look, then took another measured step towards 1412.

"You're getting it anyway, even if you don't need it," she said firmly, crouching to the floor to pick up the trailing end of the gauze still wrapped around the assassin's chest. He'd been trampling on it as he pulled away from them, and Aoko could see half-clotted cuts breaking open again as the gauze was torn away.

She started rolling up the dirty end, drawing closer to him as she did so. It was going to have to be cut away and then continued with a clean roll.

"Did you disinfect any of those?"

1412 gives the Kaito a wary look, then edges towards Aoko. He tugs on the bandage with a sharp movement, taking it out of her hands. His.

"...No..." he mutters, acting like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"Don't need your help," he repeats, then sticks his wrist in his mouth, watching her suspiciously over his arm as he sucks at the cut across the outside of his arm. Disinfected was clean. He was cleaning. He could cope fine by himself, thank you.

Thankfully, the search for clean, non-trampled on bandages and antiseptic didn't take long. He pulled them out of the cabinets and shut the doors with his elbow, turning back to 1412 and Aoko and taking a step forward.

"... look," he started as he watched the assassin move, "We can do this the easy way, where you sit still and let us help you before we leave. Or we could do this the hard way."

He didn't elaborate on what the hard way was.

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