Dangeruss & Tazer

Jonathan Toews and Russell Wilson drove down a few sideroads, looking for the connecting road to the warehouse’s road, which was called Kent Street or something. Jonathan was the driver, since he knew the area and pretty much where he was going. He had his glasses on his face, over his eyes once more.


Meanwhile,

Patrick Sharp came and put an encouraging hand on his temporary football partner’s shoulder, staying back just enough to ensure Jermaine had plenty of room to breathe. He could see the longing, flickering wildly in his eyes and his already prominent frown deepened.

Quietly the prankster shifted his weight and discreetly slid over a few inches cursing is gushy sympathetic side. His partner noticed the new gap and quickly took advantage and moved in to fill the void. His shaky hand came to rest on Jermaine's pallid face and he jerked back just ever so slightly at the feel of the heat emanating from the man in front of him.

"He's burning up!" It was a statement to the obvious, and he knew it, but he let it slip out all the same.

Mike nodded, "The bullet wound is infected, it's been hours since the shooting and those animals never treated his injury, not to mention they stabbed him in the fucking shoulder with a fucking knife! Can you believe they shot him in the leg AND stabbed him in the shoulder? Who does that? I'd honestly be surprised if he did NOT have a fever!" He huffed angrily, looking up into the prankster's worried face.

Was that love he saw mixed in with all the other emotions reflected in his eyes? He'd have to file that little gem of information into the back of his mind for later. He was a prankster after all, but he had respect and compassion and he wasn’t a dick.

Patrick shifted suddenly to pier off into the distance, a brief look of relief flitting across his face, "I can hear the sirens, the ambulance is almost here."

Mike sucked in a deep breath and placed a hand on his fellow Seahawk's cheek, stroking it lightly. He didn't care if the small gesture of affection was being witnessed by several sets of on looking eyes; he had almost lost his friend today. Seattle had almost lost their key and talented wide receiver.

Jermaine groaned and slid his hand upward slowly, before weakly clasping the hand that rested on his face. Two fever lit eyes opened and scanned the encroaching faces for his buddy.

"Dude…" he whispered "…totally ruining my rep with the PDA." Jermaine let a small smirk turn up the corners of his mouth ever so slightly, before it faded as quickly as it had come. His eyes squinted closed in an effort to block out the blinding sun above them.

For the sake of the game, Mike played along and responded with a "Yeah, well deal with it kid."

It wasn't until the medical personal and Mike pulled him from the back of the car, that Jermaine finally let himself breathe in a deep breath of relief. It seemed that all the adrenaline that had been raging through his body keeping him going just disappeared in one single instant, but the pain he had been feeling for hours appeared to increase exponentially.

Oblivious to what was going on around him; he just stumbled blindly in a circle for a little bit. His vision splitting into bursts of colors and shapes that reminded him of the kaleidoscope that his Uncle Jack had given him when he was eight years old.

Cool, he thought, that was of course until he started to lose his footing.

In an instant, strong arms were holding him upright, guiding him over to the new car that had arrived. He was loaded onto a stretcher, eased into place by Mike, Patrick and the ER people.

They were saying words to him, but everything that he could hear was jumbled up and distorted. He decided to let a few moments pass, allowing for things to come back into focus. Despite how he felt, a few small quips still managed to pass through his lips.

Mike let his attention wander back to the pulsing beat of the wound in his shoulder, God it hurt, worse than the time he crashed his bike, when he was eighteen. Worse than getting upended and thrown out of the field of play by an opponent in football.

The eerie feeling of his own blood running steadily down his abdomen and back was almost sickeningly disturbing. He was a football player and a man, but this was gross. And it was also caked with dried crimson too. He had definitely not finished bleeding out of the wound yet; of course running for your life, was bound to do that. He could almost feel the color draining from his face, as he fought down the nausea that was beginning to rise up in his esophagus.

'Don't throw up! Don't throw up!' became his internal mantra.

Lifting his heavy lids, he chanced a glance at his leg, which was also a grotesque sight and he instantly let his head drop back on the stretcher. He could feel nothing with pain and agony. And he could hear nothing but ringing and faint muffled sounds like poor Patrick Kane, bound and gagged in the cage, a prisoner to Sean Avery and Michael Crabtree. Mike was busy looming over the newly apprehended man in an intimidating manner, while proceeding to speak or one might say yell into his ear.

Noticing fully well that his friend had yet to let his hand go, as he had managed to grab it. Not to mention the young man's grip had tightened. He smiled briefly in return though the expression went unseen, and proceeded to give his hand a light, but reassuring squeeze back.

The attention of the group was torn away from the injured man in front of them, to the other patrol cars that came screeching to a halt as they swarmed onto the scene. The ambulance arrived as well, to pick up the injured Seattle Seahawk, Jermaine Kearse. As the two cops had told them to, Patrick Sharp and Mike Rob, accompanied the wide receiver in his journey to the hospital, which was rather fast.

In seconds everything erupted in chaos. Paramedics were breaking the huddle, pushing the two friends back. Patrick stood and watched quietly horrified from the sidelines, as Mike removed his bloody hands from Jermaine's shoulder, and the paramedic that took his place began to prod the open wound causing a cry of pain to erupt from his best friend's mouth.

Mike was fighting to stay at his side, not letting go of the hand that now latched onto his like a lifeline.

"He's my best friend," he would protest each time they tried to pry them apart.

Jermaine looked at him with a look of fear and pain and Mike felt his heart constrict, the kid looked every bit of only 10 years old at that moment.

One last tug and their contact was broken, a young man with a medical kit pushed the older man out of the way blocking his view, while he was fixed to the stretcher and loaded into the vehicle. He heard Jermaine’s feeble voie, as he called out to him, sounding strangled as he did so.

Within seconds a bloodied hand emerged from the huddle of bodies blindly searching for its lost connection. Stepping forward, the older man grasped the fingers tightly, daring the surrounding people to make him let go again.

Almost instantaneously Jermaine Kearse settled down, visibly relaxing, and the paramedics who were just moments ago struggling to calm the young man breathed a collective sigh of relief. They allowed him to stay.

Mike followed alongside the train of people that began rushing towards the ambulance, speaking with terms he couldn't comprehend.

In seconds they were loaded, his hand never letting go of Jermaine’s during the transport. He felt himself being shoved into the back of the van on the stretcher and saw some people join him. Mike glanced out the back of the vehicle, just as he settled in his own seat, noticing for the first time the sea of cops that had arrived on scene, all of whom seemed to be staring back at him. Patrick Sharp climbed in after him, sitting on the opposite side, at the end, closest to the doors. Paramedics surrounded the injured Seahawk.

There was a sea of emotions rolling across their faces all at once: worry, fear, concern, anger. The latter was being directed at the men who had done this to a follow athlete and good man. He'd seen the same looks before when a football player or any athlete had been downed during a game from a dangerous hit. He sat staring, slightly awed, till the scene was cut off by the loud slamming of the ambulance doors.

The doors banged shut, as Jermaine rested back on the rather comfortable makeshift bed. He howled as a sharp sensation filled his body and he contracted in his spot. The people pinned him down at his arms and he eventually was revived. He calmed down, whimpering and felt on of his dirty, red stained hands being gripped and held by his follow offensive Seattle man.

He felt the vehicle lurch forward, the sirens wailed, echoing throughout the cramped compartment. It was almost over, they were on their way. Mike looked at Jermaine's unconscious face that was now covered by an oxygen mask and something deep inside him just snapped.

Recognizing the facial expression on Mike Rob's face, as pure unadulterated rage, he almost felt a pang of sympathy for the other man…almost. His mouth opened to make a comment on any death threats that were being made, but strangely no sound seemed to come out. Or was that just because his ears were ringing with no end?

When his teammate, friend, and the emergency personal looked up at him simultaneously both wearing strange looks on their faces, he was pretty sure he had said something; the question was, what?

Was it just him or was it getting really hot? He tilted his head to the side, in an almost quizzical manner, facing his friend. Small rivulets of sweat quickly trickled down the deepening creases in his forehead. The ground shifted beneath him or at least that's what it felt like, and his vision dulled almost darkening completely for a short instant.

Fate hated him; it had to, because Jermaine was cruelly aware of the ground suddenly coming up to meet him and the shouts of both his best friend, Mike and Patrick Sharp, the hockey player, following him on his descent.

This is gonna suck, he thought, and he was right it did totally suck. It wasn't like the movies, no one magically got there just in the nick of time to catch him. He felt more of the jarring pain, as he landed forcefully on his wounded shoulder and heard the sickening crack of his skull, against the compacted dirt.

Dude, did someone just scream like a girl?…Oh God that was me! Shit!

He felt hot tears, pricking at his eyes threatening to fall; rough hands were rolling him over gripping onto the sides of his ashen face. He was rolled back onto the stretcher, where he was safely confined to the carrying device like a mental patient.

"Chop Chop, look at me son," His bleary hazel eyes squinted up to meet Mike's concerned gaze.

"It…hurts…" he responded, barely believing the voice he heard utter those words was his own.

Mike could hear it to, the pain lacing every syllable ebbing away any humor that was meant by the statement. "Sure kid, sure."

Then one of the ER people's face moved into his line of sight and the sudden unwelcome sensation of fingers pulling at the tattered remains of his shirt, probing at the irritated skin caused his eyes to widen with panic. It didn't take a psychic to know what the man was about to do.

"Don't!" he hissed, shifting wildly away.

"Don't touch me!"

"Jermaine, you've busted open the wound and you're bleeding out all over the place, just sit still and let me do my job, by keeping you alive long enough so you can survive."

The older man pressed his rumpled coat to the hot skin before any defiant objection could be made. A pain-filled cry, followed by a shuttering gasp of air, made everyone there visibly cringe. Jermaine arched his back and twisted from within his friend's steady grasp, squeezing and clamped his fingers tightly around the hand of Mike, who held him once more. Both of his legs shuffling futilely, in a desire for escape.

Several seconds passed, before another pain filled hiss passed through the younger man’s clenched teeth, as he turned his head into the solid form of his friend, briefly. He buried himself as deep as he could, letting the familiar smell of Mike Rob's after shave sooth him, bringing back memories from a time when he didn't hurt so much, maybe even when he was happy. Like when he was in the locker room on the camera, rapping for his Mix Tape for the Real Rob Report.

Patrick Sharp could see the pain in the elder man's eyes at seeing his Seahawk teammate lying injured, clinging to him in a way that spoke oceans of Jermaine’s despair. It made him hope that Dangeruss and Tazer could find Patrick Kane and rescue him. And in one piece. It was a look of sheer helplessness that seemed to grow in intensity with every shuddering breath the kid took.

He had to get into the hospital now!

"It's alright kid, it's gonna be alright. You’ll make it Chop Chop," the Blackhawks’ prankster whispered gruffly, running his hand gently through the sweat soaked strands of the man's short hair. "Just…hang in there a bit longer."

Mike winced noticeably when his fingers skimmed the swollen knot that rested on the side of Jermaine's leg. Gosh, he wanted to kill the bastards that had done this to his boy, his best friend and teammate.

Patrick Sharp was the first to notice the younger man's face slowly roll out of its hiding place, as his body visibly relaxed and ceased it's sporadic movements, the sounds of protest were gone, leaving behind nothing but complete and utter silence.

Hesitantly, he lifted two of the blood slicked fingers of his right hand and brought them up to press firmly against the wide receiver's neck. The action brought him back from wherever his mind had escaped to, and the prankster swore he saw a momentary flash of fear pass over the bigger man’s haggard face.

"He's just unconscious," Patrick croaked.

“He is just unconscious, sir,” one of the professionals confirmed, earning a brief nod that said the older man had come to the same conclusion.

“Let’s get him inside the hospital now! He must be tended to immediately!”

They began to wheel the stretcher and Jermaine Kearse into the hospital at a sure, rapid pace. Mike and Patrick followed. Patrick put his arm around his upset media friend.

"Oh my God, is he…" Mike fretted, forgetting what he was just told.

"Unconscious," Patrick interrupted.

"Is he gonna be ok?" the Seattle Seahawk asked, slowly lowering himself next to Jermaine, obviously rattled by the sight of all the blood, but unwilling to let this keep him from his best friends side.

"He'll be fine Mike," Patrick sighed. "He'll be…he'll be fine. He’s going to make it!"

The comment was directed toward Jermaine's loyal sidekick, but to his trained ears it sounded more like the prankster was trying to convince himself that this man would indeed be alright. It didn’t exactly help out the situation any, but they had to have hope.

Inside of the hospital, Jermaine was rushed out of the ambulance and into the building, where nurses wheeled him, quickly into an open room, down the corridor, screaming and shouting, like a real emergency scene in a movie. They instantly set to work on him, mending his wounds and stopping the bleeding, while Jermaine remained with his eyes close, unconscious and near death. Patrick and Mike were told to wait outside of the room, while the Seahawk was tended to with his wounds. They paced nervously outside.

Michael Robinson finally felt an overflow of emotions about to erupt, feelings he had been holding back for the last eighteen long hours. Unnoticed, he sat down in one of the chair, leaning against the wall and window on the emergency room. Patrick sat down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly and comfortingly. Sitting in the back corner of the small enclosure, he quietly began to weep, wishing he was inside or still clutching to the limp hand of the Seattle Seahawks’ and his friend.

Notes

Oh nooooooossssss!!!!!!! Poor Chop Chop and Mike Rob.

Now time's ticking for Kaner, cause next up, it's time for Kaner's final showdown, before the extreme Car Chase. I'm so excited and eager to get to that, because I don't think it has ever been like how I am going to have it in a novel before!! :DDDDD

Kaner's torture will be on Monday or Tuesday and the Car Chase begins on Thursday!! :)

Let me know if you catch any issues or problems??!! Thanks!!