Work Text:
"What is it you're always telling me?" Oz asked as he examined the bloody gash on Giles's arm. "No rushing in if you're outnumbered? Think of your own life first?"
Giles pulled a tattered edge of shirt away from the wound so he could look too. The sight didn't have the same effect it would have had three years earlier. "Yes, well of course that's excellent advice, but the vampires had taken a child. There aren't many children left here, I thought ..." he trailed off. "I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. I should have just ... let it go." Giles sighed deeply.
Oz nodded and looked at the torn, blood stained fabric in front of him. "You'll have to take your shirt off so I can get to it."
Giles complied jerkily, hissing as the material ran over the fresh wound. When it was off, he settled back again and watched Oz retrieve the first aid supplies. "I thought I could handle them. It was only three fledglings, and I had you for back-up."
"So three supernaturally strong demons are weaker than a middle-aged Englishman and a short, would-be musician? You've got to rethink your reasoning there."
"We're still alive," Giles said quietly.
Oz didn't answer. He soaked a gauze pad with rubbing alcohol and dabbed at the gash. Giles gritted his teeth as the skin burned in angry protest.
"I think you'll need stitches," Oz remarked, still cleaning the wound.
"Will you do it?"
"Yeah. I'm out of the catgut, though, so they'll have to be taken out."
"That's fine."
Oz retrieved his guitar case. He opened it to reveal a wider variety of medical supplies. He chose the items he needed, set them aside, then closed the case again.
He worked quietly for several minutes, until Giles broke the silence. "What happened to your guitar?"
Oz paused for a moment and then continued working. "Got caught without a stake. Had to break it to dust two vamps."
Giles turned and studied the boy. His voice had been flat, his face was blank, but the Watcher had known him long enough to realize there was more there. Giles reached out and stilled his hands. "When?"
"Two nights ago. Last time I went home," Oz replied. He shook off the confines of Giles's hand, and twisted his scissors with a flick of his wrist to tie a neat knot. "Finished," he announced. He put his instruments aside to be sterilized later.
"Your parents?" Giles asked. He didn't know exactly *what* he was asking, but it was answered in the next moment.
"Dust."