1 Work by well39
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Summary
One too many people come after the tome and Abrams gets hurt. He goes to the only friendly face his sleep-deprived, anemic brain can think of for help. It's too bad his sleep-deprived, anemic brain is an idiot.
It’s four am, or something close to that, and he’s bleeding through his back enough to soak into his coat. Infernus is standing there, arms glowing in the unlit hallway, dressed in only his draws and a worn-thin wife beater. It's a stark difference from the usual trim vest and tie. The fire on his head is bright enough it makes Abrams squint, cornrows sharp black in contrast, and afterimages dance around like sparks from a bonfire.
“I haven’t seen you in a minute, brother,” one of the afterimages says.