I wrote this to fill in my wordcount for today on NaNoWriMo :D It's kinda short because A. I couldn't think of anything more than this and B. I'd be going over my wordcount and I'm too lazy to do that. They never gave a name for the woman who helped Jim at the rat lab, so I made one up (she looked like a Tracey). Unless they did give her a name and I just didn't listen. If they did either ignore my idiocy or tell me!

I own nothing (Jon Snow)

"Jim, look at me," someone was talking to him from near his head. "Stay awake, man." It was the detective. Jim's mind was groggy and for some reason the only name he could think of was 'Christmas'. He tried to squint through his blurry vision at the man. "It's me, Crispus Allen. The detective, remember? With Montoya?"

It all came rushing back along with his vision. He remembered being shot by Victor, escaping, getting shot again, and then these two coming to save him. At some point Crispus had climbed into the back to painfully press on Jim's wounds, but his efforts were nearly in vain as the blood spilled over his hands and onto the seat next to him.

"What-" he paused to sift through the onslaught of questions in his mind. "Where are you taking me?"

"Relax," Crispus said. "We're taking you to someone who can help. Montoya, how long?"

Montoya was driving the car, probably well over the speed limit. "'Bout a half hour. Hang in there, okay?"

Jim groaned as Crispus changed his grip on the wound on his side, letting go and then pushing back onto it with renewed strength.

Montoya looked in the rearview mirror at Jim. "You should probably lay him down," she told Crispus. "Feet elevated above the heart, and all that."

Crispus looked over at her, then back to Jim, deciding. "Yeah," he said in agreement. Jim was currently sitting normally, leaning heavily on the door but still normally. Crispus gripped Jim's shoulder to keep him steady then, when he realised that Jim was barely strong enough to stay conscious, nevermind actually moving about, put his other hand on his back. He slowly tugged him forwards and to the right, letting go of his shoulder to lift his legs onto the seat. Jim let out a muffled groan of pain and struggled against his instincts to defend himself and push Crispus away.

When Crispus had him lying down with his feet resting on the other door, he took off his jacket and wadded it up before firmly pressing it onto Jim's side, ignoring his sudden frantic cry of pain. He used his free hand to push on Jim's leg wound, blood still pouring from it disobediently. Crispus looked around frantically for something to staunch the flow, but found nothing.

He lunged for the unhelpful first aid kit that had had its supplies exhausted a long time ago, and grabbed the scissors out of it. He carefully cut straight up from the bottom of the shirt to the collar, tugging it open and pulling it gently from where it had stuck to the blood, apologising profusely when Jim cried out. Crispus cut the sleeves and then slightly lifted Jim's back so he could slip the shirt out from under him. He immediately wadded it up like the jacket and pressed it onto his leg.

Now that his shirt was gone there was no cushion between the force Crispus was exerting with the jacket and the wound, making it hurt much worse. Jim heaved in a breath, looking up out of the window, watching the buildings go past and trying to ignore the pain and Crispus' fidgety hands.

"Come ON!" Montoya yelled suddenly, bashing the steering wheel. Apparently they were stuck in traffic. Jim hadn't even noticed they had stopped.

He blinked to bring himself out of his daze, trying to get more aware of his surroundings. "The woman..." he mumbled, attempting to grab Crispus' wrist to get his attention, only to find that his hand wouldn't cooperate.

"What?" Crispus asked, turning round to face him again.

"There was... A woman. An officer." he struggled to get his words out. "Shot."

Montoya and Crispus shared a grim look. "Just relax Jim, don't speak." Crispus said, as though he knew something Jim didn't. Normally Jim would have argued, but he stayed silent as he began to really struggle to stay conscious.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and he swore it was getting slower, making him panic slightly and try desperately not to pass out, but the darkness was creeping around the edge of his vision, and Crispus' face was blurred and he very briefly felt like he was floating before his eyes slipped shut and his head lolled to the side.

"Shit." Crispus muttered. "Gordon?" he checked Jim's pulse and resumed his job of staunching the blood flow. "He passed out. How much longer?"

Montoya answered just after she took a right turn into the university. "Around five seconds." she sped round to the back of the building and stopped the car quickly. She jumped out and opened the back door to check on Jim.

"I've got him, you go ahead and tell Tracey." Crispus clambered out of the car and pulled Jim into his arms, lifting him by his shoulders and the back of his knees. He ignored some concerned expressions from passersby and hurried to follow Montoya into the building.

She had already ran and fetched Tracey by the time Crispus got there with Jim. "Where do you want him?" he asked, straining slightly from carrying him.

She thought for a moment, flustered. "Dissection lab, this way." she led the way to a room two corridors down, where there were a lot of rats and, in the middle of it all, a medical-looking table that he gently lay Jim on. Tracey took over, ordering Montoya to guard the door and getting Crispus to help her.

"What the hell happened?" she asked, grabbing bandages and other supplies from a cabinet. "Who is he?"

"He got mixed up in some mob stuff," he said vaguely, wincing in sympathy as she roughly removed Jim's trousers, unsticking them from the blood. Honestly, he was glad Jim was unconscious.

So now I can either just leave it like this or I can do the next chapter depending on if you peeps even want one or not? Idk. Tell me if you liked it and if you want another chapter!