Cal's legs burned as he carried Ryan through the quiet streets of New York, the first light of dawn beginning to creep over the horizon. The fight had left him battered and exhausted, his body aching with every step. Ryan's breathing was slow and steady now, a small mercy after the ordeal they'd been through. Cal knew he had to find a place to lay low, somewhere out of sight until they could regroup.
He spotted a parking garage, its entrance dark and unassuming. The perfect place to disappear for a while. As he made his way inside, the dim light from the barrels burning in the corners cast eerie shadows on the walls. The faint murmur of voices reached his ears, and he realized the place wasn't as empty as he'd hoped.
A few heads turned as he entered, the small group of homeless people gathered around their makeshift fires watching him warily. One of the men, a grizzled figure with a scruffy beard and worn-out clothes, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Cal carrying Ryan.
"Hey, this ain't a place for you," the man said, his voice rough. "Get out of here."
Cal adjusted his grip on Ryan, his eyes scanning the dimly lit garage. He was too tired to argue, his mind racing as he tried to think of somewhere else they could go. But there was nowhere. He needed a place now.
"Look," Cal said, his voice strained but calm. "I just need somewhere to rest. My friend here is hurt. Is there a bed we could borrow?"
The man looked ready to argue, his lips pulling back in a sneer, but before he could speak, a woman stepped forward from the shadows, her eyes widening as she took in Cal's torn outfit and the mask hanging loosely around his neck.
"Wait a minute," she said, her voice soft but urgent. "I know you. You're the guy who stopped those bastards from taking me a few weeks back."
Cal blinked, trying to place her face, but his mind was a blur of exhaustion and pain. The woman turned to the others, her expression firm.
"This is him," she insisted. "The one who stopped those thugs down by the docks. If it weren't for him, I'd be..."
Her words hung in the air, unspoken but understood. The group exchanged glances, the hostility in their eyes softening. The woman stepped closer, her gaze shifting to Ryan, who lay limp in Cal's arms.
"What happened to him?" she asked gently.
Cal swallowed hard, his throat dry. "He got shot, it's bad. I just... I need a place for him to rest, to heal."
The woman nodded, her face set in determination. "There's an old mattress over there, not much but... it's clean." She gestured to a corner of the garage, where a makeshift bed had been set up with some blankets and a pillow.
"Thank you," Cal breathed, his relief palpable. He moved carefully to the mattress, laying Ryan down as gently as he could. He stirred, his eyes fluttering but not opening.
Cal pulled the torn mask from his face, feeling the cold air bite at his skin. He pulled his hood up, keeping his identity hidden as best he could. The woman watched him, her eyes kind but curious.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked, her voice low.
Cal shook his head, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. "Just... let us stay here for a while. Until he's able to be moved again, please."
She nodded again, stepping back to give him space. The others settled down, the tension in the air easing as they returned to their fires. Cal sank down next to Ryan, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been clawing at him. He glanced at the woman, her face soft in the flickering firelight.
"Thank you," he said again, his voice barely a whisper.
She gave him a small, sad smile. "You've helped a lot of people. It's the least we can do."
Cal nodded, his eyes drifting back to Ryan. He had to get him out of here soon, get him somewhere safe. But for now, this would have to do. He let out a shaky breath, his hand resting gently on Ryan's arm.