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[abrightboy]

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[conning]

"Good," Neal says thickly. "You deserve it."

[abrightboy]

"So do you," Malcolm tells him. "You deserve that."

[conning]

"Maybe I did," he says. It's unclear if he means before he ended up here, or before something else. "Am I done dying?"

He's so tired.

The bleeding has slowed. It's not stopped. But it has slowed.

[abrightboy]

“Almost there,” Malcolm tells him. “If you go back there, will you promise to find someone who’ll give you a real chance?”

[conning]

"How?" It's a mix of genuine question and slurred irony.

[abrightboy]

“By demanding it,” Malcolm tells him urgently. “By demanding no less than what you’re worth.”

[conning]

What if they say no, what if they leave, what if, what if, what if.

Neal closes his eyes, relieved to hear the approach of one of the medical people. Someone who can put him back together again enough for Malcolm to leave him alone, at least about this.

[abrightboy]

The medical attendant crowds Malcolm out of the way. The bleeding has slowed enough for them to control it. A hand over the faint seeping of his own wound, he finds a chair to wait it out.