For Just A Second

T wasn't sure what was going to happen to him, but whatever it was had to be preferable to what this twisted version of himself intended to do if he stepped out of line. T was ready to hand over the gun when he noticed Isaac and Jacob nearby, and they looked like they were planning something. T looked over and felt his blood run cold as his clone met his eyes.

"Whachu looking at, huh?!" He shouted, before turning and pointing the gun at the two twins, who had now begun to charge him. There was a click as he squeezed the trigger, but nothing else.

"Wait, what-" Was all he managed before they were upon him, and their combined force was enough to send the evil clone off of his feet. Hoodie T crashed to the ground with a thud, and now the two were upon him in an attempt to subdue him. He let out a growl, and then guttural screams as he began to enter a raged panic. But T could feel it, the slashes on his hands and legs, injuries from their fight earlier, the headache the window had caused, he had to be far too out of it to effectively fight back, and that was without the disadvantage of having two people on top of him.

"GET OFF! GET THE FUCK OFF!" He shouted, squirming and bucking and flailing in a desperate attempt to get them off, he felt his fists and arms land a couple of good blows, but it wasn't enough to deter the two. All of a sudden, the clone felt something cold and metallic wrap around his wrist and instantly recognized the feeling from when he and his brother would lock each other in toy cuffs as children. But these were real. And dreadfully final. Eyes wide with rage, he continued his struggle even though it was entirely fruitless at this point. Isaac planted his knee into the clone's back, and all of his mobility and stamina drained from him. He finally stopped, sweating and seething, unable to do much else but keep breathing.

T fell to a knee, and with a swipe sent the gun to the other side of the room. He too was out of breath now and seemed to have lost the strength to stand on his two feet. He was staring at the ground, equal parts ashamed and traumatized, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Dillon, his face full of worry and concern.

Here I am again. Was the first thing that came to T's mind, as Dillon went to work expertly treating his wounds. He heard something about a concussion, damn, he had barely even registered just how much damage had been done to him until just now. He ached all over, allowing himself to lie against the floor with no more resistance. And there his was Dillon, treating his injuries, worrying over him. Why? What had he done to deserve this, besides, get himself hurt over his stupidity and ineptitude? He wanted to protest but didn't have the strength for it, and besides, he knew Dillon well enough by now to know that he wouldn't stand for it.

He watched Dillon take an ice pack, wrap it in a towel, and proceeded to gently touch it to T's forehead. He took T's uninjured hand and guided it up to have him hold the ice pack. He took his other hand and pulled the sleeve up, before grabbing a little spray bottle.

"It's not the kind that hurts, I swear," he said as he sprayed it over the wounds. T himself had hardly registered it, he felt in a daze from all the excitement that had just transpired.

Dillon then started expertly bandaging the cuts, his hands shaking in worry, and his heart pounding with adrenaline. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" T looked up at him, and he could feel his hands feverishly and nervously move over his other cuts and scrapes. T could see that tinge of fear in his eyes, and he wanted to tell him that everything was fine. But instead of speaking, he reached out.

"Bastard hit you..." He said listlessly, as he brushed his hand against the bruise on Dillon's cheek. He was so occupied with making sure T was okay he hadn't even noticed his own injury. Though, in truth, T just wanted an excuse to touch him, as weird as that felt to think about. In this particular moment, he didn't care, and in spite of how the boy might react, he allowed his hand to linger there for just a second, before letting it fall back to the floor.

"I'm gonna kill that sonuvabitch..." T muttered, lacking all of the enthusiasm from earlier, and just lied there, sprawled out on the floor. His breathing had calmed down, and now more than anything he just seemed incredibly tired.

"I'm good....Thank you, Dillon."

Oh yeah, and I know you're the real one, T almost wanted to add, but he supposed just saying his name would be enough. Besides, in comparison to his own clone, Isaac had so far proven to be incredibly tame.

"Ya know, eventually you'll be saying that to me, " He decided to add instead, and he meant it too, he had no intention of sitting around hurt and beat down all the time. He couldn't rely on Dillon forever after all.

T exhaled, before forcing himself up. Dillon freaked out, of course, urging him not to move so fast, but T stood anyway, "I'm good, I'm good, let me just..." only to take a few steps and collapse onto the nearby couch. After lying there for a moment and allowing himself to sink into the cushions, T pointed at the stairs.

"I decided we might need to contain the fake you, so I turned my room into a cell while I was down here, or at least I hope I did. Either way, I think putting him in there would be a better idea now," he said, motioning towards the false T, who upon hearing himself mentioned and the prospect of containment, began to struggle once more for freedom. Alas, that fight had been lost a long time ago.

T finally looked towards Isaac, waving a finger half-heartedly in his general direction. Even as he spoke, T's eyes were already beginning to close, and he looked to be settling now.

"And you, I don't know about you...but just don't do nothing good...until I wake up...''

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