"Y-you want to... Go to your house? Now?" Jettie scrunched her face in confusion. "But you need... a doctor. That looks horrible! You need... medical attention from doctors and nurses and specialists!" She had gotten a good look when he lifted her shift, even gasped again at the sight of his marred skin that was covered in blood and somehow looked burnt as well. She was no doctor, but the gash was most definitely not an 'just but a band-aid on it' kind of wound. He would need stitches and antibiotics and for all she knew a tetanus shot.

When he wobbled and attempted to steady himself, she was quick to help him in any way possible. She was small and not the strongest, but managed to hold him up quite well. It was probably the adrenaline still pumping through her thanks to the scary situation. Since seeing the wound and judging from his sudden look of horror she felt a sense of control wash over her.

There was a hundred unanswered questions racing through her mind about what just happened and how and why Damian happened to be her rescuer, but those would have to wait. This man could die. The severity of that sank deep within her, waking something that sprung her into action.

"Okay," she said coolly, even giving him a smile in regards to his devil may care wit he slung at her despite being on the brink of disaster. Letting him go for just a moment, she pulled her sweater up and over her head explaining as she undressed, "We need to stop that blood, or at least try." When the sweater was off she worked deftly to wrap it around his waist. "Here, maybe this will add some pressure," she voiced her hope as she tied the arms into as tight a knot as possible. After that she grabbed her wallet and shoulder bag from the ground where she had dropped it earlier during the attack. Again she double checked the knot, tightening it as best she could while trying not to jostle him too much.

Once she was satisfied, Jettie resumed her position to help mobilize him. Each step brought on grimaces of pain and small sounds of pain from him. "I'm so sorry they did this to you," she whispered as they moved, her voice coming out stifled as if it pained her to see him hurting. It did pain her. The only reason he was even in this position was because of her. At that moment she didn't care if he had been stalking her, which is why he was so close by she assumed, he saved her. If he hadn't shown up, Jettie would be the one wounded or possibly dead or dying back in the ally.

Slowly they labored out onto the street. With the expertise of someone who had lived in Vegas for a while, she hailed a cab and soon was gently coaxing Damian into the back seat of a classic yellow sedan. She even went as far as the make sure he didn't bump his head. Once he was safely inside, she quickly crossed to the other and climbed in next to him.

Her lips parted, about to confidently inform the driver, who was shooting them both curious glances from his rear view, to take them to the closest hospital emergency room but then she looked over at Damian and to her surprise she said, "95 Hawk Ridge Drive. As fast as you can!"

"It's extra for the blood," the cabbie smoothly commented, pointedly not putting the car into gear yet, as if he'd seen this type of thing before.

"Fine, yeah. Whatever it costs. Just go. Please!" Jettie cast the rear view mirror a pleading look that seemed to work because suddenly the car was in motion. The sudden jolt knocked her backward into the seat and she immediately looked toward Damain who would have felt the movement way more than her at the moment.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern, yet knowing it was an idiotic question instantly. "I mean, I'm sorry. I know you're not okay. Just... What can I do?"

"Yea, my house is as good as any. I've a great bottle of a vintage Irish whiskey, late 1800's I think. Un-opened and very expensive. Fuck, if I'm going to die might as well be drinking ridiculously overpriced alcohol from the homeland." he managed to splutter out a laugh as Jettie tied the sweater tightly around his chest. It certainly helped. His arm was beginning to cramp from the pressure he was exerting on it. Now he could let it drop limply to his side.

The walk out to the street was difficult, he tried to carry as much of his own weight as he could manage to avoid crushing Jettie underneath him. Every step was a challenge. "Sorry for what? Don't be sorry about what happened. A badly injured me is certainly preferable to a definitely dead you. I'd hate to have got caught up in a police investigation if they found you dead. Would be a real downer on the rest of my evening. Really hard to pick up women at a police station you know"

Eventually they were on the street and no sooner had they emerged Damien found himself wrapped up in the back seat of a taxi. It was a nervous few seconds before Jettie gave the driver an address. He hoped that she would make the right choice. A hospital right now could be the end of him but a wave of relief washed through him when she finally uttered the words he wanted to hear. He might have a chance after all.

The drive was unbearable. Bump after bump caused convulsions of pain as the blood began to weave it's way through the material on Jettie's fleece. He had lost a fair amount of blood since all this had taken place. Blood that would need to be replaced sooner rather than later. His head lolled to the side as a drowsiness overcame him before suddenly perking back up again. "Stay awake goddammit."

Before too long the familiar sight of his house pulled into view of his window. After a brief confusion with cash he saw Jettie just lump a pile of it into the taxi drivers hand which left him more than satisfied. When Jettie came around and helped him out of the car he was too weak to fully support his own weight. He drooped onto her shoulder and hoped she could bear the load just a few more metres, that was all it would take. Slowly they made their way to front door, thankfully it was dark enough that the neighbors would only be able to see what appeared to be a ridiculously drunk Damien being escorted home by a woman. The problem living in a rich area was that everyone seemed to be so snobby. Damien tried to avoid as much of it as he could but trouble often came and found him.

A few seconds of fumbling in his pant's pocket and the key was slotted into the front door and pushed open to reveal the inside. The lights turned on by themselves and lit up a route to the stars. Silently motioning to Jettie in the direction of the staircase they made their way up. Damien had never climbed to the top of a mountain before but he guessed it was similar. It was a slow and arduous effort. He felt awful for putting such a strain on Jettie. She had such a slender build in comparison to his she must have been feeling the burden by now.

Thankfully by the time they reached the top his bedroom was just a door away. Brushing the wooden frame aside Damien managed to build up some energy and make the push. Crumpling onto the pristine white sheets let out an audible cry of pain. Now he had to act fast. With one hand dangling off the side of the bed he probed below it. Moving his arm from left to right until he found what he was looking for. He revealed a large wooden box from underneath and threw the lid open. Inside was a plethora of medical supplies. Rummaging through he grabbed two syringes. One filled with morphine and the other a trace amount of a crimson liquid.

Damien reached into the beside locker and pulled out a flask of vodka. Demons couldn't get infected by anything but it might put Jettie's mind at ease, at least that's what he figured. Carefully removing the now blood soaked sweater he revealed a shirt that was now swimming in blood. With no time to unbutton it carefully he just pulled the shirt ripping it right down the middle. It revealed a chest littered with scars from injuries spanning centuries and inflicted by various kinds of weapons. He knew he'd probably have to explain that to Jettie at some point but now was not the time.

He pulled a large cotton pad from the wooden box and wiped away as much of the blood as he could from the laceration in his abdomen. Then he soaked a second pad in vodka and took a deep breath. The pain from the vodka meeting his skin was crippling. His fists closed tight as they clenched up around the sheets. The veins in his neck bulged and his face turned a bright red as he tried to contain a loud grimace.

Damien moved quickly after that, first picking up the syringe with the dark liquid he placed it just under the skin of the wound and injected it. The angels blood would stop the effects of the holy blade. Then he grabbed the second syringe and jabbed it into his forearm and pushed hard. The morphine pumped around his body immediately and the pain began to subside rapidly. Now for the last part. He reached into the box one final time and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and a suture kit and dropped them in front of Jettie. "I might need you to put those sewing skills to good use"

The cab ride ride went by quickly. Mostly she spent the trip facing Damian trying her best but failing at giving him some comfort with useless words of assurance that she hoped wasn't lies while the cab driver shot them both curious glances from his rear view mirror.

"You'll be alright... Just hang in there... We'll be there soon... Everything will be okay."

When they did finally arrive to the sizable house, Jettie couldn't help but be impressed as she assisted him into inside his home. This author seemed to be living pretty well. Her whole apartment could likely fit comfortably inside his main room. He's sold a lot of books, she realized, and then felt guilty and kind of stupid for having never heard of him or to never have read any of his work.

Jettie was about to protest to climbing the stairs, honestly not thinking he could make it and maybe not having full confidence that she could make it without letting him drop, but when she saw the twisted look of determination across his features, she simply drew a breath and persevered. Though distracted with concentrating on getting him up the flight safely, she did have a few chances to further glance around this part of his home. It was clean and sharp, neat and flawless. A stark contrast to her own which was a cluttered mess from wall to wall.

His bedroom was a perfect compliment to the rest of the house. Clean and white; it barely looked lived in at all. The blood leaking from his wound brought a bright splash of color to the space. Jettie lingered by his bed not sure what to do to help. Instead she watched, almost hypnotized by his actions and motions. Curiously she peered into the box, examining it's odd contents. Not that the medical supplies were odd ones just the fact that they were stashed under his bed was a bit eccentric. What would an author need with such an arsenal of medical defenses? She imagined the most horrible thing to happen to a writer would be a paper cut. Wrist cramps, maybe.

But when Damian ripped off his shirt revealed a torso littered with old scars, she then imagined that perhaps he wasn't simply an average author. Jettie drew in a sharp breath, clenching her teeth as she watched him apply the liquor soaked pad to the wound. His cry of pain matched her cringe, "Are you sure this is... How you do this?"

Her voice was full of skepticism and doubt yet judging by the scars and supplies on hand, she figured that maybe this wasn't his first time dealing with this type of thing. Her features matched her emotions, worried and nervous as he pumped the various liquid filled syringes into his body. When he suggested that he would need her to give him stitches, her face went pale.

"Me?", she nearly squeaked. "I, I've never done that. I mean on a person. On skin. I wouldn't know how. What if I hurt you? What if I do it wrong?" She was protesting, yet found herself picking up the kit and gloves, looking from them and then over to his face as she stood before him. He was paler than normal and looked like he could possibly pass out any second. What could she do? The wound did need to be sewed up.

Jettie's mind worked quickly and then she was tugging the gloves over her shaking hands. "C-can you lay back? And maybe just scoot down a little." Damian complied with grunt of discomfort that made her shoot him apologetic looks. "Good, now... Just try and relax?"

Damian was laying longways on the bed, the wounded side closest to the edge. Jettie searched the room with her eyes for something to sit on. A white chair by what she assumed was a closet would have to do. Using her foot, she managed the chair over by the bed and sat down beside him. Clumsily she opened the kit, pulling out the impossibly small curved needle. Her brows pinched as she studied the kit and the surprisingly helpful pictograph.

"So... It's like tying little knots," she spoke, mostly to herself, as she read and examined the supplies. "Lots of little knots. You use these scissors thing to hold the curvy needle... Ohhh, okay. I think got it." The last part was said to Damian as she looked over to his face, meeting his eyes. "I can do this," she gave him a confident smile before adding, "I hope..."

Readying the equipment, she positioned herself slightly hovering over him and set out to work. Her facial features were hardened and extremely serious as she concentrated deeply on each and every move and motion with only the occasional widening of her eyes as she worked to correct a mistake and then followed by a quick satisfied squint before locking back into the stare of focus.

"Not the most effective way, but works all the same" Damien replied to Jettie's question about his method of disinfectant. He had picked up a number of tricks over the years. Some better than the others and ones that didn't hurt so much. He'd spent a lot of time with wounds like this back in the early 20th century.

Damien served in a British regiment during both World Wars. Enlisting each time with his respective wards. During the second world war he found himself in the Royal Army Medical Corps. His ward had also been sent there so he followed. Although albeit with very little modern medical knowledge at the time. The fields of France and Belgium was where he learned the trade. Following the various units across Europe and eventually back home again. He made it back with his ward alive, a rare situation given the time he lived in. "Well I hope you can do it, otherwise I'm shagged."

He knew Jettie would probably have questions though. It's not what one would qualify as a normal night. He did as he was told when asked to lie back and re-position. The fresh wound still oozing and the pain an ever present nuisance he couldn't help but grimace. Stab wounds always stung like hell. Eventually he was in position and he felt bad for Jettie as she gave him sincere looks of apology. Poor girl had been catapulted into a minefield. He had to tell her something.

"I was a combat medic in Afghanistan a few yeas back. British Army, Medical Corps. It's where I learned all of this stuff. Hell of a place. Was nice when we first arrived. Then it got all fucked up. Should never have been there, but that's a different story." He stopped briefly as the pain caused him to grimace. He didn't lift his head to see how the stitching was going. He didn't want to break her concentration so he lay there still as he could.

"I remember a really warm day. You could see the heat rising off the sand in front of ya. No place for a pasty white Irishman, or pasty white Brits for that matter. Anyway. We got call from command to head out on a routine patrol. Typical crap to make our presence 'known' to the insurgents. Sure Jesus how could the forget we were there, invading them. Anyway, my buddy a sergeant in the infantry unit I'm attached to tells me were moving out so i grab my gear and go. Now there's a couple of kilometres between us and the nearest town. A totally barren road in between."

"That day though, it was eerie. More so than usual but we didn't really cop on. You spend months out there so high on alert that you find it hard to differentiate between real tension and your own mind playing tricks on you. Sure as hell we found out soon enough. I don't remember much of it but there was a flash and just silence. I could see the blue skies but I couldn't move and I couldn't hear anything. It's hard to explain those few moments. For a while I felt absolutely nothing at all. I didn't feal the heat beating off of my face or the wind whipping off of my cheeks. Nothing. After that I must have blacked out. I woke up in the camp hospital. The convoy was hit. An IED took out the front vehicle that I was in. Everyone in it but me was killed, including my buddy. I got lucky as hell came out with shrapnel wounds from my neck down. How I survived, beyond me. No man would. Anyway, I ended up here, in Vegas writing my books. Not a bad life in the end."

As he finished he looked down, the wound was closed, and the stitching work came out better than he had expected. "Got some talent there, maybe your calling life is in the medical field." Damien left out a measured laugh so as not to cause too much pain. Slowly he heaved his body upwards, pushing off the bed with his hands. Grabbing a bandage he wrapped it around his torso as he stood up and tied it off with a knot.

"I could use a good stiff drink after that, what about you?"

Jettie didn't speak as she worked, but she did listen. His voice and the words of story about his past worked as a distraction from thinking too much about what she was really doing. it was calming and thankfully helped her relax enough to keep her hands from shaking which allowed her to get a better grip on the small curved needle. Though he would have likely still felt small trembles from her fingertips when she placed them on his torso to steady her movements.

The contents of his story was not soothing, but more so his voice and the accent on the familiar words. She had actually finished stitching before he brought the summary to an end. When Damian looked down to the wound he would have seen her looking back at him, her eyes wet with traces of forming tears. Jettie didn't usual get so emotional, but she could not even imagine what that would have been like; witnessing and surviving such a tragic incident.

"I'm sorry," was all she could muster and it came out barely above a whisper, "That's so horrible. I'm so sorry that happened to you." She was looking at him like one would a wounded animal, with pity and the desire to aid it. His compliment almost didn't even register but she smiled and shook her head. "I think you are just being nice."

"Hey," she then protested, her smile fading into a disapproving frown as he started to move and before she knew it was up and off the bed. "No, no. You need to lie back down and rest." She stood also, already close to him, she looked up giving him a very serious and demanding look. "I agreed to no hospital and to no police, but this I'm not caving on. Back in bed."

Jettie reached out and placed one hand on his forearm and the other in the middle of the back as if she was going to help him lie back down. As she done so, she arched her brow that that the small wound above it and gave him a pointed look, "I'm serious Mister."

Compared to his tall frame she almost looked like a child ordering him around and about as least threatening and serious as anything could ever be. When she realized this, she threw in, "I'll make you something to drink, but only if you lay down and rest." She also glanced to the blood soaked sheets, "And I'll get you some fresh blankets too. And maybe some pajamas."