That's always been a problem for him, a place where Diego could edge him out, where Five ran circles around him. Too fucking slow, even before he became a giant ape man. So one minute he's walking next to Klaus, sipping a large frothy iced drink, and the next, he feels the warm spray of arterial blood on his face.
"Klaus," he's pretty sure he says in surprise, dropping his drink, somewhat aware that it rolls away to join what's left of his brother's. The sight of all that red, blooming up like a hothouse rose, finally hits him, and even if Luther's too slow, he runs the bases. "Call 911," he roars, "is there anyone, anyone with medical training, we need help. My brother needs help--"
Klaus on the ground, with more blood pooling around him than should be possible. How does Klaus have so much blood? Pressure on the word, that's right. Luther moves too slow, getting on his knees and slapping his thick dumb slab-hands where he thinks the worst bleeding is. An apology, from Klaus, and Luther tries very hard not to be too slow.
"No no no, you're okay. Hey, buddy, you're okay. I don't know where the, uh, the ambulance is, but we're gonna get going." An arm under Klaus's back, one under his knees. "Where, where the fuck is the nearest hospital," and he knows he's so, so stupid. They're too far away. "Klaus, stay with me, come on, we're gonna go. I've got you. Let's go to the hospital."
Someone draws near but it's not anyone that Luther knows.
"No, he's my brother, I'm taking him, it's okay. It's okay. Klaus? Hey, tell them where we're going."
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That's always been a problem for him, a place where Diego could edge him out, where Five ran circles around him. Too fucking slow, even before he became a giant ape man. So one minute he's walking next to Klaus, sipping a large frothy iced drink, and the next, he feels the warm spray of arterial blood on his face.
"Klaus," he's pretty sure he says in surprise, dropping his drink, somewhat aware that it rolls away to join what's left of his brother's. The sight of all that red, blooming up like a hothouse rose, finally hits him, and even if Luther's too slow, he runs the bases. "Call 911," he roars, "is there anyone, anyone with medical training, we need help. My brother needs help--"
Klaus on the ground, with more blood pooling around him than should be possible. How does Klaus have so much blood? Pressure on the word, that's right. Luther moves too slow, getting on his knees and slapping his thick dumb slab-hands where he thinks the worst bleeding is. An apology, from Klaus, and Luther tries very hard not to be too slow.
"No no no, you're okay. Hey, buddy, you're okay. I don't know where the, uh, the ambulance is, but we're gonna get going." An arm under Klaus's back, one under his knees. "Where, where the fuck is the nearest hospital," and he knows he's so, so stupid. They're too far away. "Klaus, stay with me, come on, we're gonna go. I've got you. Let's go to the hospital."
Someone draws near but it's not anyone that Luther knows.
"No, he's my brother, I'm taking him, it's okay. It's okay. Klaus? Hey, tell them where we're going."