Page 72 of Katya and the Young God

Stepan sticks his nose in Pieter’s face, licking his cheek, and Pieter doesn’t react.

“Move over a bit, boy,” Katya mutters. Blood drips down from the wound, splattering all over the ugly floral couch, vivid and dark against the pastels.

And, carefully, she peels back the gauze, and the wound bleeds, sluggish. Still unconscious, Pieter makes a guttural sound at the back of his throat when the air hits the wound.

“This is going to hurt,” she informs him, before she sluices disinfectant over the wound. He jerks, his eyes flying open for a split second, before he passes out again.

“I bet,” she mutters, irrigating the disinfectant over the skin. The edges of the wound are clean, not ragged, like he stopped fighting the moment he was stabbed. Like no struggle happened.

Making a split-second decision, Katya pulls out the butterfly bandages and sutures the wound shut instead of traditional stitches, before replacing the gauze fresh again and taping it back down.

It wouldn’t solve the problem of any poisoning, of any possible organs nicked, but it would stop him from bleeding out.

There would still be the problem of if his heart gave out from the teleporting, if what he told her was true.

After a few tense minutes, his breathing evens out, his heartbeat settling, his pulse no longer jumping and faint, and Katya sits back on her heels.

She’s covered in blood, absolutely drenched, her pajamas sticking to her skin. Her hands shake, her pulse pounds, and...

And she can see the rise and fall of Pieter’s breathing.

She allows herself a spare minute of despair, of wondering what the hell she can do, what the hell she’s gotten herself into, how the hell she can go after Selene, before she pushes herself up and strips off the gloves.

“Don’t die before I’m out of the shower,” she tells him, to no response, before she peels off the bloody pajamas and throws them right in the trash.

* * *

He’s still peacefully asleep,his chest rising and falling, when she steps out of the shower, the IV slowly draining. His face is still paler than it should be, even with her memories from under the mountain coloring her recollection.

Stepan lays next to the bloody couch, fast asleep, like this is no big deal.

Katya watches them for a bit, her chest uncomfortably tight, before she crawls into her own bed and attempts to get some rest.

* * *

K (11:58 PM):I don’t know what time zone you are in, but any tips for dealing with a Demigod who’s been stabbed with copper?

K (11:58 PM): Lower gut wound, stopped bleeding, stabilized heart rate. Worried about poisoning.

AIMES (1:44 AM): Iakov said he should be fine.

K (1:45 AM): He said before he can barely self-heal.

AIMES (1:47 AM): Iakov says he should be fine.

AIMES (1:48 AM): We’re leaving signal. I think he’s avoiding the issue.

A bubble of bitterness in the back of her throat, before she turns off her phone, putting it on the little bedside table.

Because she really can’t blame Iakov if he doesn’t want to save his brother’s life.

* * *

She gets very little sleep,waking at every little sound, at every small creak of the cabin, at every strike of thunder, but at some point she falls into the sleep of someone who’s spent too much energy on adrenaline.

She wakes suddenly, her heart in her throat, at the unmistakable sound of someone moving in her cabin.

Footsteps, heavy, moving around, but taking care to be silent, shuffling in the main room, and she breathes out, quiet.

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