turps

D doesn't really know what the hell he's doing or why. There are surely other people who could've taken care of this problem better.
The thing that got in the way of that was the problem itself and Chibi.
D is sure as fuck Chibi only left the kid here because she thinks he's going to go mad out here all on his own. But what the hell does Chibi know anyway?
Doctor D. supposes he should give the problem a name, now that it's his problem and all.
The problem, the boy (he needs to come up with a name fast, you can't call a boy 'boy' for all his life), sniffs and doesn't look up from the ground. D's seen a lot of really severe wounds out here and that – that being a scrapped knee in this case – really doesn't count as severe.

He knees down, so he's on eye-level with the boy. “Okay, that doesn't look too bad. You'll live,” he says. It's gruff and not really reassuring, but well.
He's giving the boy back as soon as she crosses his freaking path again he decides, but before that he's giving him a name. A really awful showy one.
The boy sniffs once more, a big tear running down his face.
D doesn't think he can stand this much longer. There is only one thing to do here. A drastic measure he doesn't really like to think about. He sighs, grabs the boy's leg, who's still sitting on the sand, and kisses around the small wound carefully, tasting chopper and sand and dirty boy skin. The boy's breath hitches and the sniffing and crying stops.

“There, doesn't that help?” D asks.
The boy looks up then, for the first time since he fell on his ass, and smiles nodding. D smiles back.
Well, fuck, he thinks.

~end~