The Glen was always silent in the smallest hours of the night in the dead of winter. Cicadas didn?t sing anymore, and the snow dampened the sound of creatures moving. Walking onto the balcony the moonlight beating off of the snow made it almost look like it was broad daylight. Every withered and writhing tree, stripped of leaves by the harsh autumn, was visible. The form of brush under the snow was all too apparent. Much as if it was midday.

The Carpathian knew better of course, because he was on the balcony, and he wasn?t burning alive. Coffee in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Somewhere in the house the TV was on playing some random news station, a pleasant woman was telling him about the weather for the coming days and how midweek it seemed they would get some sun. Sun, pretty sure he wasn?t getting any of that, no matter if it came or not, he?d have no idea. Mason sipped while he watched the water under the thick layer of ice move to the whims of the moon. The river had been frozen over for days in this little enchanted piece of the Glen. It was in the trance of the waters struggle that he froze.

?The counter movement to Humanity First, Humility First, has suffered a tremendous hit, a vicious car bombing has left Humility First?s founder in critical condition. A cryptic video left on Ms. Winter?s blog has been repeatedly added and removed, it is currently not there, but we are working tirelessly to find it again so we may share it with you.? Mason has rushed into the house to the tv and tossed around everything to try and find the remote. He didn?t need the TV turned up, it was instinct. A man beside the woman was making comment about the story and how now perhaps the commutes to work would be less troublesome with less traffic. It boiled Mason?s blood but something caught his attention. There was a video from the scene, of an ambulance. Things began to click in his mind.

She was going to be in ICU, after a car bombing, in a city where people were put into ICU every day. Hundreds of them he?d venture to guess. All of those people, in all of that pain. The thought caused his breath to shorten and he paused the television and opened his laptop. It wasn?t hard to find where she was, reporters who didn?t have an entire story tended to pad it with unimportant details.

It wasn?t long after that Mason was at the hospital. These places were a plethora of death, even with his deadened telepathy and empathy, he could smell the reek of rotting mortals, the rott of a living person was much more frightening than that of a dead one. There was a finality to death but the struggle of a dying human? It was more than his stomach could take and he had to stop several times to regain his bearings.

When he made it to the ICU he was stopped by a nurse and he smiled. Hands dipped into the front pocket of his hoodie and he quickly removed the leather cuff on his wrist. ?You can?t be here, visiting hours are only until 5. You?ll have to come back tomorrow morning, any time after nine is fine. Also, only immediate family is allowed to...? He hadn?t heard a word she said, he had been accosted by every emotion, every thought, every searing scream of internal agony, all at once. A hand was held up to the woman as if to ask her to stop for a moment. Instead he carefully composed himself.

?My name is Mason Travis, I am Daphne Winter?s husband, ya called me earlier to come see my wife and sign some paperwork.? When Mason nodded the nurse nodded in agreement. ?Ya lost that paperwork, and yer terribly sorry.?

?I am terribly sorry I lost your paperwork Mister Travis, I could have sworn I put it down right here.? She was looking at an empty chart in her hand as if the paperwork had been there just a moment ago.

?Now, ya go find that paperwork for me okay? I am going to see my wife, when I return, you will have her medical report for me so I can take a look and we will talk again.? A smile from the Carpathian.

?Oh of course, her intake papers, yes, I?ll have them for you in?? He didn?t hear the rest because he?d already left her there scrambling on a hunt for something she wasn?t authorized to get in the first place. That should at least keep her busy in the meantime.

It wasn?t hard to find any single person, he knew her scent and the fact that she had fresh wounds meant that it probably smelt as if they?d painted the walls with her. At least to his delicate nose. The lights in the room were off save a single bar above the bed. It made the scene before him even more haunting than he could have imagined.

Daphne was there, as he knew she would be, bandaged as was to be expected, and hooked up to about every machine there was in the damn place. ?If ya knew you were Bionic right now,? he choked on the words. ?You?d be pretty damn impressed by yerself.? Hey, that?s how they were, he made bad jokes, and well, she laughed because she was too nice to tell him that he was a total dork.

Closing the space between them he carefully removed his hat and set it on the chair next to the bed. Fingers raked through his hair and he leaned to press an ear to her chest and listen. Everything in there seemed working right, and he couldn?t smell any apparent infection. Wondering for a moment if he needed to give her blood, he thought against it and wished he?d bottled it so he could have left it there for her. Foolish, but he was in such a panic he didn?t think. At that moment somewhere down the hall someone was coding and the feeling that reached the center of his chest had him staggering back from her to not share it with her.

That was why he was here. Collecting himself again he pulled the cuff from his pocket and looked at her tiny frail wrists. No, they?d take it off, he knew they would. In changing IVs and attaching monitors and the likes it would probably just get in the way. Carefully he pulled the blanket up over her foot and pulled down that atrocious brown sock with the white rubber grips on the bottom. Fastening it to her ankle, it was more snug than the wrist ever would be. A deep breath taken and he spoke softly. ?There ya go kiddo, that should help ya some, I reckon ya can?t heal if you?re trying to find your pain in the sea of everyone elses shit yeah? I am...leaving ya some cbd candy and a coupla power brownies so, whenever yer ready, ya just gimme a call.? He spoke softly and pulled them from his pocket and dropped them on the table by her bed. It was about then that the nurse returned.

?Mister Travis?? Mason turned and shook his head, that same hand lifted up as he wiggled his way into the woman's mind. It was like a puzzle of the last couple moments. But he found every piece that had anything to do with himself and carefully he plucked every single one from her head. She?d never remember his name, or his face, or even that someone had come to see the leader of the Humility First movement at all. He was careful to leave all else intact, but, no remembrance of him whatsoever. It was almost disgusting how easily humans could be manipulated and it made Mason hate himself just that much more. What was done was done though and after another look to Daphne, he choked on a breath and cleared his throat. He couldn?t stay here with her looking like this. With the pain coming from all sides, he could do nothing short of run, and he did. Right to the truck and right back to the Glen. Where he?d hideout, because if Milosh had any idea what he?d just done? He would have been dead meat.

Here You Go, You Filthy Animals

It hadn't been long since she'd shown signs that she didn't need half the machines she was hooked up to. The dreadhead would soon begin to stir. Her head was wrapped up, the back of which had been shaved for access-purposes. Thankfully the thick amount of dreads would at least cover it. Otherwise she might've had a panic attack and need to be sedated until that shit grew back. Maybe...maybe not. She did love her dreads, though. That was no secret. The Sleeping Beauty had been out for a while, the bruises on her face began to slowly fade, and the burns on her hands began to heal. Thankfully, Mason had provided her with his cuff (not that she knew) to block out the feelings of the other patients. She'd probably have a panic attack about that too, thinking the blast knocked the gift right out of her brain. Her hand twitched slightly as her eyelids scrunched tightly. A little groan left her lips as she began to stir. God damn, everything hurt.

Billy had gotten the texts and about a dozen missed calls from Tessa a few days ago when he finally decided to turn his phone on. What prompted him to do so was the news that managed to reach his ears along the grapevine about what had happened Saturday night. Sure, he knew about the protests but his pill cocktail kept him from caring much about showing up. He'd promised to get in touch with Tess according to the note on Christmas, but he hadn't exactly said when. With good reason. Billy was never one to keeping his promises these days if he set a time, as he never really knew what that day would have in store for him. Predicting or anticipating his upcoming moves were a waste of time. If he promised something.. he kept it vague on exactly when that would be happening.

When he read the texts and listened to the voicemails Tess left, panicking and crying over most of them, he'd driven back to the city at his own leisurely pace. Tess didn't know he'd left town, and she didn't know he was back from his.. "trip" either.

So there he was. The Rich Prick himself. He'd walked into the hospital in his own zombified stupor, his clothes looking a lot less finesse than when he'd put them on. They were wrinkled, like he'd slept in them for a few days. Jeans that were torn on one knee, a t-shirt that was a bit dirty and covered by a leather jacket that had been brandnew about three weeks ago but already looked like he'd had it for years. There was a bruise above his left brow, a healing cut on his bottom lip that was still red and had a spider-web like bruise coming from the wound. His eyes were bloodshot and red from the pill cocktail he'd swallowed a few hours ago, lids heavy like they were threatening to close on him. He looked like common street rat trash yet the atmosphere around him screamed I've got money and might sue you for fun.

Getting into the hospital wasn't easy. The moment he'd stepped in, he was bombarded by a nurse that only received a blank expression. "Sir, do you need some help?" He stood there, blinking slowly at the woman. "You can tell me where Daphne Winters' room is." The monotone drone that spilled properly from his tongue had her looking at him strangely. "Daphne Winters.. I believe her room is only accepting family and close friends.." There was a slow sigh that extinguished from his nostrils, his brows as slow as his blinking had been as they rose. His sluggish movements had him reaching into his back pocket. The nurse stiffened and took a step back like he was going to pull out a gun, but relaxed when she saw a wallet in his hands instead. Only to become confused by it. "Sir, that's not.." He only held up his hand, palm toward her in a shut the fuck up motion before he pulled out a wad of bills and reached out shamelessly to tuck it into the breast pocket of her nurse's scrubs. "Necessary? Apparently it fucking is." Words that would otherwise sound harsh were only bland and monotone in nature as he stared at her with a bored expression. Safe to say, with the amount he put into her pocket, he got in.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, but he was far too numb to count the minutes. Or even the hours. The nurse had come in a few times, seeming to be concerned on checking in on Daphne more with the strange man that was sitting next to her bed in one of the hospital chairs. Slumped until his ass was on the edge of the seat, the bend of his neck pressed against the back top of the chair, legs sprawled until they were tucked beneath Daph's hospital bed. His arms were resting on the armrests, pulled up to where it shrugged his shoulders and his hands dangled over toward his torso. He'd lit up a cigarette a few times, only to get bitched at by the nurse until he put it out. Yet, she never actually kicked him out. He just watched her with that blank expression from his seemingly uncomfortable post and stubbed it out on the wooden part of the chair. And lit another when she'd left. He only got up from his post to go to Brady's morphine drip to up his dosage, keeping the bastard from waking up. He didn't want to deal with the guy's rage, which would've been a sure fire thing in his presence. Then he'd promptly gone right back to that very same position beside Daphne's bed.

It wasn't until she started stirring that he shifted a bit, lifting his head from where he'd been smoking and looking up at the ceiling until his chin met his chest and he just... stared at her with that heavy-lidded dazed expression. Waiting, as he'd been for god knows how long since he'd gotten there, until she opened her eyes and noticed he was sitting there.

Tubes and wires were connected to the arm that moved first to take a swipe at her face. No contacts, no glasses. The world would be blurry with, or without a head injury at this point. A little groan had left her, as her fingers wiped almost aggressively at her twitching lids. A deep breath was taken as if it was her first in a year,and she swallowed hard. Her lips were dry as they'd ever been, and her tongue didn't seem that much better as it lashed out at them, practically sticking. It left a bad taste in her mouth as she slowly became aware. Her nose scrunched up, hand fell away and those gold-dusted eyes finally surfaced to the world around her. It took her a moment, to become fully aware of his presence, but when she did, she seemed to jolt. She looked vulnerable, pulling the covers over her gown and propping herself up on an elbow. "Who..?" that's all she could get out. Her voice was a raspy mess.

Whether it would only make her more uncomfortable or cut him clearer into view, he didn't seem to care. His movements were slow as he pushed himself into a more direct sitting position, rolling his head until a few vertebrae popped like his neck was stiff. He watched her for a moment, lifting the filter of his cigarette to his lips for a drag that burned out the rest of the white on the stick. There was an intake of air that hissed through his teeth, one eye squeezed shut against the wisp of smoke that threatened his lashes and had him peering at her with one Christmas colored eye; mint green and bloodshot red. He finally pulled it away from her to stab the filter out on the wooden armrest, tossing it into a nearby trashcan when it was out. Girl didn't need anymore fires, that was for sure.

Just as she croaked that single word, he was rising from the chair. He leaned to that wobbly hospital mobile tray and picked up a white foam cup that was sitting there, holding it out to her. "...You're all a bunch of fucking idiots." Harsh words met with a drone voice that would be all too familiar to the dreadhead. He'd put the cup to her palm, wait for her to take it, and without any word himself and ignoring anything else from her, he'd be walking out of that room.

Though before he'd made it out of the hospital, he would send a single text to a particular hippy unicorn: Daphne's awake.

Just to turn his phone off and be gone without a trace.

Poor Daphne was just..so confused. There was a stranger calling her a fucking idiot, and it was unclear on if she could even remember why she was there in the first place. Her lips parted just as he put the cup in her hand. She squinted at it for a moment and brought it up to her nose to sniff it. Then he was gone, "Uh.." Who in the world was that? She brought the cup to her lips and drained it in a matter of seconds. Her throat was raw, it hurt to swallow, but damn did she need that.

(Thanks to Daph for the short scene clip!)