Author's Notes: Written for hc_bingo, the prompt "old school medical treatment". WHICH WAS REALLY HARD, OKAY, DON'T LOOK AT ME.

Salt Onto the Wound

"So, warning you now – this will fucking suck," Duncan says, nervously biting his lip. Logan just shrugs.

"Whatever. Can't be much worse, right?" he says flippantly. Duncan can't help but wince, even though it's hardly the first time this has happened – it's funny, that whenever Logan shows up with Aaron Echolls' Wound of the Week, Logan never acts like he cares, but Duncan can't help but flinch. It just seems sort of counterintuitive.

Then again, Duncan's pretty sure most of Logan's act is bullshit, so fair's fair.

"Dude. Not funny," Duncan says. "And remind me again why we're not just using a proper disinfectant, like, you know, sane people?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "Don't wanna 'cause undue suspicion, right? 'Sides, you think Daddy Dearest's never done this to me on his own? I'd rather be prepared."

Duncan shakes his head. "Could you never make that comparison again, please?"

Logan smiles. "Done."

Duncan swallows hard. "I still think you should–"



"Nothing would happen, DK. Christ you're naive. It'd just fuck everything up more, I promise you," Logan said, disturbingly calm.

Duncan wants to call bullshit, but he doesn't, because Logan's probably right – and what would he know about any of this anyway? Instead, he just sighs. "Fine. Lay on your stomach."

Logan blinks at him, smirking. "Why sir, would you try to take advantage of my vulnerable state?"

Duncan rolls his eyes. "Ha ha. You know the way Lilly gets; keep that down, or I will tear you a new one."

Logan laughs and finally follows the instruction. Duncan is left with no choice than to just stare at the long welts running down Logan's back; red, sore, and bleeding. Logan is currently asking him to make it worse, which is fucking with his head in all kinds of ways. But he's going to do it, just because Logan asked.

And one of these days, when he stops being a fucking coward, he is so going to rip Aaron Echolls' head from his spine.

"Dude. Earth to DK," Logan says, bringing Duncan back to reality. "Get on with it, man."

"Just so you know, I still think this is fucking insane," Duncan says, reluctantly pouring some of the salt onto hid hand.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know. But you'll do it anyway, because you're a pussy."

"Shut up," says Duncan, using his clean hand to shove Logan on the shoulder – lightly, because he doesn't want to hurt Logan any more than is absolutely necessary (aka more than Logan is telling him to). "Well. Here goes."

He brings his hand down, and watches as bits of salt drip into the wound. "Ow!" Logan screams.

Duncan automatically recoils. "Sorry!" he says. There's blood on his hand now, and it makes him want to be sick.

Logan twists his head at an awkward angle. "It's okay. Seriously. What we expected, right? Come on, they did this all the time like, last century to disinfect prisoners that had been flogged or whatever."

"Yes, but they predominantly hated those prisoners," Duncan points out. "As much motivation as you give me sometimes, I don't hate you. So..."

"You know if you keep stalling I'll just piss you off until you do it out of spite, right?" Logan points out, smiling sweetly. Duncan is so fucked right now.

"You're fucking insane, you know that?" says Duncan, before he brings his hand down again. This time, Logan doesn't cry out, although he can see from the look on Logan's face that it still really fucking hurts – he doesn't want to ask how much. Logan winces whenever Duncan moves his hand, and Duncan kind of follows, his hand withdrawing from what he's doing.

He gets it over with as soon as possible. "There. All done. And I swear I will punch your lights out in the morning."

Logan laughs, and sits back up. "Alright cowboy."

Duncan looks at him. "You need one of my shirts to borrow? Because, you know..."

Logan shakes his head. "Nah, I don't think I've healed enough for... besides, if we're going with the not-pissing-Lilly-off thing, maybe me walking around in your clothing wouldn't be the best first step."

Duncan nods and smiles. "Alright," he says. "Are you staying...?"

"Um, what do you think?" Logan asks, and yeah, stupid question. "Just find me my golden pillowcase and ruby-encrusted toothbrush."

"You realize my family's even richer than yours, right?" Duncan asks.

Logan shrugs. Then his eyes fall on the packet of salt, still on the bedside table. "You know, you really didn't have to do that. There are actual, left painful disinfectants out there; I was more expecting you to tell me to pull my head out of my ass and stop being a psycho. Because seriously, ow."

Duncan shrugs. "I know. Wanted to. But didn't."

Logan blinks. "Why not? I mean, why did you go through with it?"

"Because you asked me to," says Duncan, as if this explains everything.

Logan nods and leans back. "Cool. That was kind of the whole point, after all. That you'd be willing to go with my plan to make myself better, even when you fucking hated it."

Duncan stares at him. "You know, really not thinking that's a good thing."

Logan shrugs. "Nah, probably not, but whatever, right?"