Time drips by at an urchin's pace.
Gideon lies on his side inside the den, eyes half-lidded, breath uneven. Brandon curls beside him.
A low grunt escapes Gideon.
Brandon jolts. "G-Gid? You okay, big guy?"
"I'm fine." Gideon swallows hard. "I just… need to get out of here."
He forces himself up, pressing his palms into his eyes.
"Fuck…"
I can't do it in front of Bran. Not here.
His stomach lurches violently, threatening to empty itself.
He checks his watch.
7:23.
"Let's find meds."
Brandon blinks. "We're… going out?"
"Yeah. Stay low. Find something to cover up."
"Hey, Gid… I can't open the door."
Gideon exhales sharply. "Of course you can't."
Brandon flinches. Embers flicker faintly. "Sorry I wasn't born strong."
Gideon doesn't respond. He just steps forward—and shoves the boulder aside.
Brandon follows, grabbing a filthy blanket. "This good?"
"I don't care. Just cover up."
Brandon pulls it over his head, covering as much of his ash as possible. "Ready." He gives a small smile.
Gideon doesn't return it. "Let's go."
Brandon nods, eyes lowering as he trails behind his protector.
They squeeze out of the combs through a tight opening. Gideon groans again, his breathing turning ragged.
Through the creaky door that hung too loosely for its own good, Brandon saw the street. Opening it with exaggerated pizzazz.
They arrive at a slum-level pharmacy. The worst of the worst.
At least they have the pills I need.
Brandon drifts toward a rack of third-rate candy while Gideon gathers what he needs.
The place is nearly empty. At this hour, most are asleep—or planning their next job off the slumboard.
"Bran. Follow."
Gideon trudges to the counter. Brandon sets a small chocolate bar beside the items.
"Just one bar, please? I love the caramel ones."
Gideon growls. "Make it fast."
Brandon flinches again. The clerk raises an eyebrow.
"Rough night?"
Gideon says nothing. He pays what little he has and leaves as quickly as he came.