Sui Generis – 34

 

Mag tried to smile. "I've been better." Then his glance lit on Brand's arm. "Holy shit." He called out, "Someone come help him."

Dante, who at the moment wasn't involved with caring for the injuries of the others, came over. "Looks bad," he said, eying the deep punctures in Brand's bicep. "But he'll live to fight another day." With that, he hurried away, going to check on Ulrik, whose wounds were worse than those of any of the others. 

"Now that's what I call compassion," Brand muttered. "He's right though. I'm already healing."

Mag studied the punctures and had to agree. They were starting to close and the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. He wished his battered body would heal even half as fast. Fedor had seemed to take great delight in pounding on him as he forced him into the cage, tethering his hands so he couldn't fight back.

He jumped, coming back to the present, when Brand said, "We need to get you home or better yet, to a hospital. Who knows what damage he did to you that's not showing."

Mag took a deep breath, felt his ribs protest and nodded. "I don't think he broke anything but…"

"Come," Randulf said, joining them. He turned to the others, announcing he was taking Mag and Brand back to their house.

"The hospital," Brand protested when Randulf took their hands.

"How will you explain what happened to him?" Randulf asked, releasing his hold on them to expertly run his hands over Mag's torso. "He's right, Brand, nothing broken, and no internal injuries. Fedor was punishing him, not trying to kill him. That would have been counterproductive." With that said, he took their hands again.

Almost instantly, they were in Mag's bedroom.

"Now into bed with you," Randulf ordered Mag.

"Who made you my father," Mag grumbled in response. Still, he did sit on the edge of the bed, wincing in pain when he bent over to take off his shoes.

Brand immediately knelt in front of him, telling him to lie back, even as he unlaced Mag's shoes and pulled them off of him.

Mag looked down at Brand, grinning weakly. "If I felt better…"

"I'd be doing more than just helping you undress," Brand replied with a chuckle. "You're already halfway there as it is."

"And quite capable of finishing on my own," Mag told him when Brand reached for the closure on his jeans.

Randulf shook his head. "That would be my cue to leave, I suspect."

"Not before I thank you for all you've done." Brand stood, holding out his hand. "So—thank you."

"You're more than welcome. It was actually fun in a strange way. I haven't been in a battle royal in a long time." He smiled wryly. "I suppose I should be happy about that."

"If I'm never in another one, it'll be too soon," Brand replied with a shudder.

Randulf nodded. "I suspect you won't be. On the other hand," he said thoughtfully, "you might make a good Enforcer with a bit more training."

Brands eyes widened with surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Quite. I'll talk with Antton and see what he thinks about it. Anyway, for now, I bid you both good evening." With that said, Randulf vanished.

Brand turned to look at Mag and smiled softly. His friend and lover was sound asleep, his legs still hanging off the edge of the mattress. Gently, he moved him so he was he was properly on the bed then pulled the covers over him, deciding he could sleep in his jeans with no harm done. "Not like you haven't before, many times," he whispered. Bending over him, he brushed a kiss over Mag's forehead. Then he left, heading to his own bedroom and some well-earned rest.