The Crimson and The Gold

The adrenaline that had powered Elias through surgery had finally worn off, leaving him feeling like a wrung-out dishcloth—functional, but barely.

As he scrubbed out, exhaustion settled over him like an old, familiar coat, heavy yet oddly comforting. His mind, on the other hand, remained frustratingly awake, replaying the night's chaos like an unwelcome highlight reel.

Blood. Anger. Violence that not only broke bones, but also wrecked lives.

Sarah, a college student who grabbed her purse like a lifeline, scared of walking home alone.

Mr. Henderson had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he now had a bullet wound to show it.

The bar brawl had gone from drunken comments to full-fledged knife choreography.

And Maria.

He hadn't just bandaged her wounds; he'd walked her through her dread, softening the edges with soothing reassurances. It wasn't only the sutures that kept her together; it was knowing that someone saw her and cared that she survived the night.

Elias exhaled, staring at his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. "Maybe I should start charging for therapy," he muttered. "Or at least get a punch card. 'Save five lives, get one existential crisis free.'"

Elias strolled out of the hospital after his shift, the night air cool against his skin, but the weight on his mind was far greater than the exhaustion in his bones. His feet should've carried him straight home, where he could take a well-deserved shower and perhaps eat an entire pizza. Instead, they had other plans.

He strolled deeper onto the Upper East Side, past magnificent brownstones with lit windows that whispered of families sipping champagne and squabbling over takeaway orders. The streets were tranquil, a far cry from the bustle of the emergency room. But, something felt wrong tonight.

When he arrived at Carl Schurz Park, he noticed that the regular evening joggers and dog walkers were nearly gone. The trees rustled, and the branches threw restless shadows that were a bit too lengthy for comfort.

Even Gracie Mansion, the mayor's opulent home, was oddly quiet, as if it was holding its breath.

His footsteps echoed down East End Avenue, bouncing off the towering townhouses with immaculately manicured hedges and wrought-iron gates that seemed to say, "You don't belong here, peasant."

The darkened windows of Brearley School loomed ahead, empty and watchful, like a haunting dollhouse for the exceedingly wealthy.

Then, just as he was going to blame his discomfort on a lack of sleep, the world paused.

The harsh white illumination of a streetlamp shimmered, the hues flowing together like spilled oil, transforming into blues and greens—deep, limitless, oceanic. A salty breeze blew around him, carrying something old and vast. His stomach clenched.

Not this again.

Elias blinked hard. The streetlamp was just a streetlamp again, and the wind was nothing more than a random gust. Too much stress, insufficient sleep. He breathed, shrugging off the lingering dream-like sensation.

"Great," he said to himself as he walked forward. "Now I'm hallucinating in rich-people territory."

Elias kept walking down the dimly lit street, his head tangled in thoughts, when—

Thump. Scuffle. Muffled cry.

He stopped mid-step.

The sound came from a tight alleyway wedged between two buildings, the type of corridor that seemed ideal for either a shady deal or an overconfident raccoon confrontation. A glimpse of movement in the darkness, another choking sound—his spine stiffened.

Nope. Not your problem, Elias. He clinched his jaw. He'd seen enough trouble for a lifetime. Probably just two drunken fools fighting over a kebab. Probably nothing.

Then, a piercing, anguished cry rang through the air. The kind that made his stomach tighten. The kind that was not probably nothing.

Damn it.

A familiar voice in his head—the rational one that typically sounded like an irritated nurse—sighed, "Elias, don't be a hero."

But then Maria's face appeared in his head. Blood. Fear. Heplessness.

His fingers tightened into fists. He sighed deeply and slowly before turning toward the alley, staring into the inky blackness like a man about to make a terrible decision.

"Alright," he mumbled under his breath. "If I get stabbed tonight, I'm haunting my own hospital."

With that, he stepped into the darkness.

The alley was the type of setting that made Elias reconsider every life decision that had brought him here. Dimly lit, reeking of filth and something strangely metallic—blood. It hung to the air, heavy and distinct, curling in his nostrils as a warning.

His heart pounded as he moved deeper into the shadows, instincts screaming for him to turn back. Instead, he came just in time to witness a spectacle that typically ends with police tape and terrible news.

A teenager, little older than sixteen, was pinned against the dingy brick wall, his chest heaving and his eyes wide with fear.

A man in his mid-thirties pushed forward, his face twisted with wrath. a knife gleaming in his fingers like a promise of pain, embedded in the teen's belly.

"No!" Elias barked, his voice echoing off the alley walls like an action hero who hadn't prepared this far ahead.

The attacker froze. His head snapped up, and for an odd second, Elias thought he saw something—wrong. The man's eyes, usually hidden in the alley's dark shadows, flared red. Not the I've had too much to drink kind of red. No. This was deeper, unnatural, like embers glowing in a dying fire.

Elias barely had time to process before it vanished. Just a normal, rage-filled face glaring at him.

The man then sprinted, disappearing into the darkness like a low-budget horror villain who understood when to flee.

Elias did not waste time chasing him. That was for those with badges and poor judgment. Instead, he dashed to the teenager, who was falling down the wall like a deflated balloon.

"Hey, hey, stay with me!" Elias said, his voice firm yet calm. He knelt beside the youngster and examined the wound—a deep stab right below the ribs, gushing black, sticky blood. Fantastic. Just another night in NYC.

"I'm a doctor," he immediately added, hoping that the title conveyed enough authority to keep the boy from worrying any further. "I'm going to help you."

The boy's wide, pain-glazed eyes fixed on his. "Hurts..." he whispered, scarcely audible.

"Yeah, I bet," Elias said, pressing hard on the wound with both hands. "But you're going to be fine." Worst case scenario, you'll have a cool scar. Chicks dig those, right?"

The kid let out a feeble, wheezy chuckle—or perhaps it was just his lungs protesting. Either way, Elias grabbed his jacket, balled it up, and pressed it on the wound.

"What's your name?" he asked, trying to keep the kid talking.

"A...Alex," the boy stuttered.

"Okay, Alex. I need you to hold this tight, as if it owed you money." He directed the boy's unsteady hands to the makeshift bandage, making sure to keep pressure on it.

Now it's time for the cavalry. Elias scrambled for his phone, his fingers covered in blood. He jabbed at the screen, almost FaceTiming his mother instead of calling 911.

"Come on, come on—yes, operator, hi!" He barely allowed the dispatcher to finish their welcome before blurting out, "I need an ambulance, alleyway off East End Avenue, near 83rd Street! Male teenager with a stab wound to the lower abdomen, bleeding profusely, and losing consciousness. I'm a doctor, and I'm applying pressure, but we need to move like yesterday!!!"

He barely registered the dispatcher's confirmation before turning back to face Alex, whose grip on the jacket was slipping.

"Hey, kid," Elias said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Stay with me. You don't want to pass out in the alley. Trust me, it's gross."

Alex agreed softly, either with a chuckle or a death rattle. Elias opted to be positive.

Elias needed to move right now. Standing around like a bewildered intern on their first shift was not an option. His gaze darted across the alley, but unless he intended to patch the kid up with a pile of rotting takeaway containers and a very judgmental-looking rat, he had nothing useful.

Think, Elias, think!

His mind raced through years of training before settling on a desperate, last-ditch tactic: pressure points. Risky as hell with an abdominal wound, but at this point, danger was just another term for essential.

"Alex," he whispered, his voice firm even as his heart pumped. "I'm gonna press down on a spot near your groin, okay?"

The kid, pale and barely holding on, looked at him. "Dude... what?"

"It's not weird, I swear." Elias placed his fingertips over the femoral artery. "It will slow the bleeding. But it's going to hurt—let's just say you're not going to like it."

He pressed down hard, searching for the telltale pulse. Alex let out a short gasp as his entire body tensed.

"Yep, I know, that sucks," Elias muttered, his voice falling into the same tone he used with anxious interns. "But you're doing well. Okay, just a little longer. Ambulance is on its way. Think about something else—puppies, pizza, anything but this."

Alex let out a shaky, half-delirious laugh. "Puppies and pizza…"

Elias swallowed hard, felt the boy's pulse slow beneath his fingers—an unsettling change. His stomach twisted.

No. Not today.

"Come on, Alex," he said, more to himself than to the boy. "Don't give up. Fight. I am not telling your mother that you walked out in an alley near to a dumpster!"

Alex's pulse was slipping between Elias' fingers, weakening with each beat. His skin was losing warmth, and his little chest hardly rose. Elias felt a chilly feeling of dread wash over him.

Not again. Not another one. Not on my damn watch!

"Don't do this to me, kid!" Elias growled and pressed down harder. His arms hurt and his fingers cramped, but he wasn't concerned. He was running out of time, and this was not the way the story would end.

"You got this, Alex," he said softly, his voice tight. "Come on, buddy... Just make it a bit easy for me, okay?" His vision clouded. Damn that. He was too stubborn to cry.

Then, something shifted.

His hands were wrapped in a different type of warmth—not the sticky, sweaty, bloody kind. But comforting. Strong. A steady, warm, and luminous hand clasped over his own.

Elias froze. His breath hitched.

Well. That was abnormal, for sure.

Like morning sunshine slipping through curtains, the golden light curled over Alex's wound and pulsed softly. Slowly but steadily, it spread, mending ripped flesh and bringing order to the chaos beneath Elias's hands.

His brain screeched to a halt.

Did I finally snap? Is this a stress-induced hallucination? Did I forget to eat?

The wound hadn't healed—Elias wasn't so fortunate—but it wasn't the gaping, life-threatening disaster it had been seconds before. The bleeding had ceased. The kid was stable.

Elias's head snapped around so fast that he nearly got whiplash; his heart pounded in his ears, yet nothing—nothing—could explain what he was witnessing.

Leo crouched alongside him, his palm still placed to the wound, fingers steady and warm. A golden glow pulsed beneath his palm, flickering like the final embers of a dying fire.

Elias blinked... Once... Twice.

"Leo…?" His own words was barely audible in his ears, a frantic whisper of bewilderment. "What the—how—?"

Leo just smiled. That same frustrating, enigmatic smile, which had no right to be so calm after breaking every medical and physical law in front of him.

The glow faded as Leo took his palm away, and the wound beneath magically healed.

"He'll live," Leo said, his voice calm and almost delighted, as if healing fatal injuries was simply a normal Tuesday pastime. "The ambulance will be here soon."

Elias gawked at the fully intact patient, then back at Leo. His brain shut down halfway between holy crap and do I need a CT scan?

"You..." He pointed an accusing, somewhat unsteady finger toward Leo. "That... That was not normal."

Leo tilted his head with genuine interest. "Neither is your diet, but I don't question it."

Elias groaned. "Oh, great. A miracle worker and a smartass."

Leo just chuckled.

The world was officially upside down.