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“Can’t I just like, swear on a Bible?” Kid Danger struggles, but there are two Wall Dogs holding his arm tight, and then a third, so he tries to keep talking, keep making time. “Or—or—if I—” Just keep making time, ‘til Ray gets here, and nothing bad can—
Van Del grips his wrist and presses the fire hot iron on his skin.
And then it’s just pain, more pain than he’s ever felt before, and he screams. He’s pretty sure Veronika squeezes his hand, but he doesn’t want her to, didn’t want her kissing him earlier, doesn’t want her touching him now, doesn’t want any of this—
It seems like it goes on and on and doesn’t stop, why doesn’t it stop, but at some point it does. He’s vaguely aware of them rolling his sleeve back down as his head slowly stops spinning. For a moment, nothing else exists except the sound of his heavy breathing. The next moment, a leg goes through the door and the world comes back all at once.
His arm aches all the way throughout the fight.
--
For the next three weeks, everything’s fine. He goes to school, he goes to work, he goes out with Ray when there’s an emergency and on patrol.
He wears long sleeves and doesn’t look at it much.
(Sometimes, when he’s kissing Veronika, her hand brushes close to it. It makes him feel a bit sick.)
Until one night they’re up late working on a case. Usually it’s Charlotte’s job to figure out this kind of stuff, but she’s long gone home and to bed by now. So it’s up to him and Ray to try and make any sort of progress.
Though it seems Ray has given up on that by now, just pretending to check the files by fiddling around with the papers every now and then (why do they even still have paper files? Everything’s on the computer). Henry shifts around his own useless paper files, searching for a fact, or some criminal’s name, or something else he’s too tired to remember.
“What’s that?”
It takes him couple of seconds to register Ray’s question, and another couple to look to where Ray’s concerned gaze is pointing.
And when he does, he freezes. He’s been here for hours, and he’s tired, and careless, and he hasn’t picked up the habit of rolling his sleeve down when it comes up yet.
He must say nothing for too long, because Ray grips his arm forcefully and with urgency. Henry tries to pull away, but Ray’s too strong, stronger than him, and he feels helpless again, and he doesn’t want this—
“When did this happen?” Ray sounds more serious than he’s ever heard him.
Henry’s mouth is dry. He opens it, but nothing seems to come out at first. Ray waits. “I—right before you showed up.” Henry realizes that doesn’t clear up much. “At the Old Maple Grill.”
And then everything comes out at once. “I swear I didn’t—it’s just that—I couldn’t—couldn’t.” Couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop her and God, he hopes Ray isn’t mad, and he hopes he doesn’t think he did it willingly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Henry’s panic fades away, and is quickly replaced by annoyance. Ray looks different, too. He’s always been fun, more a friend than a boss. Right now, he feels like a parent.
“It’s not a big deal,” Henry pulls away with just a bit more force than necessary. Ray lets him.
“How is it not a big deal?” Ray says, and Henry notices something else behind his eyes now—he just can’t quite put his finger on it.
“It’s—it’s just part of the job. It’s kind of like a battle scar.”
“Oh, kid,” Ray brings his hand to his temple and Henry hates how he feels like a child confessing to having broken a vase in front of his mother. He just doesn’t get why Ray’s reacting like this.
Ray stays like that for a while, and every second of silence makes Henry more—nervous? Guilty? Luckily, it’s short lived. “Henry, I don’t think you’re aware of what this means.”
“What does it mean? That I have a cool scar?” and he doesn’t know why he’s reacting like this, defiant and proud, but he just is.
“You have a permanent scar that you’ll have to hide for the rest of your life!” Ray exclaims and Henry almost jumps from it. “Unless you want people to think you’re a Wall Dog, or worse, see the same mark on you and Kid Danger and put two and two together.”
Henry only has a moment to wonder why exactly is that worse, before Ray’s words settle in.
It feels like a slap to the face.
Oh.
He’ll have the scar forever. Van Del’s mark will be on his skin until the day he dies.
He feels the blood drain from his face.
He suddenly realizes he’ll have to keep wearing long sleeves into summer. And into the next summer. And the next.
Had he been in what people called denial?
“And,” Ray’s voice brings him somewhat back to reality. He notices it’s trembling a bit. “you got hurt. You’re not indestructible, and I let you get hurt.”
Henry doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t.
After a minute, Ray speaks again, “Have you been taking care of it, at least? Bandaging, disinfecting?”
“Should I have been?” The expression on Ray’s face gives him his answer.
“Wait here,” he sighs and disappears into the snack machine door.
Only when Henry’s heart starts going back to normal does he realize how quickly it’d been beating. He knows he could get up and leave now, go up the elevator and home. Still, he stays until Ray comes back with a washcloth, bandages, and what he guesses is antibiotic.
He sits back on the chair. The computer screens are still on, showing various reports, photos and documents of the case, but long forgotten by now. Ray motions with the washcloth. He’s asking him to extend his arm, instead of taking it himself. Henry appreciates it.
He does it, rolling up his sleeve. Ray stares at it carefully, and so does he. He’s never looked at it this long. It’s a bit gross.
Ray sets the washcloth on top of it. It’s damp. Henry kinda wishes he could just do this himself, but he gets the feeling Ray won’t let him. “Does it hurt?” he asks.
“No,” Henry replies. It can’t. Veronika had explained to him how his nerves were probably damaged or even burned off. He doesn’t tell Ray that part.
Henry sits there as Ray washes the area, then dries it by patting lightly with the other part of the cloth. Then he applies the antibiotic cream with his fingers, so lightly he barely feels the touch. Like he’s afraid he’ll break him. Like it hurts.
Then the bandages. All around the area, tight but not tight enough to hurt. Henry’s weirdly glad there’s something physical in the way of the scar, blocking the view—if that makes any sense. It takes longer than anything else.
As Ray’s finishing up, Henry rushes to speak his mind, “You’re not going to fire me, right?”
“Of course not,” Ray’s quick to answer. “I need you. I’m too old to fight crime by myself.” Ray smiles, and Henry gives a light chuckle. Really, to have Ray saying anything close to admitting he’s not capable of everything, let alone call himself old, is a rare sight.
The very end of the bandage wraps around his wrist, and Ray lets his arm go.
“Go home,” he says as he turns back to the screens, though he’s not looking at anything in particular. “We’ll have Charlotte deal with this tomorrow.”
Henry replies with a small “Alright,” as he gets up. He stops, just a second, to stare at Ray.
Inside the elevator, his arm itches.