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rn-zane · 1 year

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TIMING: current LOCATION: State Park, The Pines PARTIES: @chrisgates, @rn-zane WARNINGS: memory loss, mention of blood, mention of trauma SUMMARY: Chris is in ‘fight or flight mode’. Zane is trying to help the surprisingly handsome stranger.

[ K..iilL. . . ] The taste of metal. [ Ki..ll. . ] A screech through the night. [ Kiii..LL. ]

As quickly as it came to be, it was over.

Chris wouldn’t remember a moment but the fleeting and flashing of horrific images that would plague his dreams. Those would all come later. For now, he had a different problem: where was he and what happened to his clothes? Again? [ Yo..u. . kn..ow. . ] — a whisper, and then it was gone. Waking up in whatever godforsaken shit he’d managed to wrap himself up in was always followed by the worst body aches imaginable. It felt as if he’d been hit by a truck, ripped apart, and then hastily put back together again. The headaches were blinding.

In his semi consciousness, Chris could feel the grass and leaves beneath him and the cool breeze over his exposed back; he was definitely alone, that much he could tell from the sudden onslaught of crickets that started to sing. And he was definitely outside. The best case scenario would be for him to be in the belly of the woods, somewhere no one could find him.

Worst case scenario seemed to have already happened.

Chris could hear the tell-tale of footsteps against leaves; he tried desperately to open his eyes, top move, to do anything, but it seemed hopeless. He was a sitting duck.

____________________________________________________________________________

It was a nice change of pace, being constantly surrounded by people but after so many years of learning how to be on his own, Zane constantly found himself overwhelmed back at the house. Once his thoughts started running until they were almost silent, whole body buzzing with pent up energy, he knew it was time for a break. The surrounding forests were a blessing when it came to getting some quiet time - even on the odd chance that someone else fancied a night time walk in the woods, they were big enough to avoid any run-ins. This wasn’t a headphones-in sort of walk he’d decided, brain shutting off almost completely as he walked.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision, following the faint scent of blood out of pure instinct, but when it got stronger the smell permeated through his foggy mind and dragged him sharply back to the present. Of course blood in the woods wasn’t too uncommon, all sorts of animals creeped around here, but from what little he’d learned about the smell of animal blood, this scent felt different. Hastening his pace, now purposefully tracking down the smell, he wondered if someone was hurt out here. Thankfully, his last feed had been less than an hour ago so there was no need to backtrack in fear of going crazy on some poor, unsuspecting hiker.

Except this wasn’t a hiker. It was a person, for sure, but not many people hiked… Zane came to a halt a safe distance away. Was this guy full on naked? The blood covering parts of his body should have been more jarring than the lack of clothing but it wasn’t. So night vision was clearly a blessing and a curse. The stranger looked to be around Zane’s age but made somehow younger and more vulnerable in his current situation. What in the world had happened? He wasn’t dead, that much was sure from the way he was stirring now but if all that blood was coming from his body… No, it looked dry and as his eyes scanned the body further (phantom heat rising in his cheeks because this definitely felt like a violation) he didn’t notice any visible wounds.

“Hey there,” Zane started carefully, keeping his distance at a few feet away and not just because gorgeous, naked strangers terrified him even in this, the weirdest of scenarios. Man, he really needed help, probably professional help but now was not the time for these awkward, gay ass thoughts. He was shrugging off his sweater amidst the flurry of thoughts, hoping maybe some cover up would help this situation while blaming the whole thing on the smell of blood throwing him off like this. The sweater was held out between them now, almost like a preventative peace offering.

____________________________________________________________________________

How far was he from the path? Not far enough, apparently, judging by the sound of those footsteps. They seemed to only grow louder faster than Chris would have wanted; he thought he had enough time to collect himself and run, to at least put some distance between whatever made him look guilty. Guilty of what, he couldn’t say — he caught the tell tale sign of a wooded area in between his flights of consciousness, but there was no body, human or otherwise, to make out from his limited vision. Maybe that was a good thing.

Chris moved an arm which elicited a whimper from him; he felt as a toy would, with his arms and legs having been popped out and popped back into their sockets haphazardly and aggressively. Sore was an understatement.

The pain and disorientation was enough of a distraction that he hadn’t realized just how close the footsteps had gotten. The voice startled him — them — and just like that, his attention was fixed wholeheartedly on the sudden intruder. Though he was still on the ground and dizzy to boot, Chris curled and turned himself into a more defensive position so his back wasn’t to this trespasser. The immediate use of energy deflated what tension he held in his body; oh, he was so tired. But he held his gaze onto the blurry figure before him.

Details were dismissed in the haze, but Chris’ instinct was on fire. He followed the shape of what looked like a jacket or blanket that was held out at an arm’s length. A growl bubbled up inside his chest and into his throat, but it didn’t fall from his mouth. The other’s movements were slow, non-threatening, but he knew better. They knew better.

____________________________________________________________________________

The curled up position, almost animalistic in nature and defense, made Zane’s stomach lurch. Any apprehension about approaching he might have had (which hadn’t been much to begin with) vanished at the sight. This wasn’t someone dangerous, it was someone used to being in danger and Zane was now part of a long line of things to fear. The guy was barely conscious and it took every bit of focus not to spiral into just what had happened to him. It got too dark too quick and the dark storm those thoughts incited wasn’t helpful in the current situation.

“I’m sorry, it’s okay,” was all he thought to say, voice as soft as it had ever been. Softer even than the tone saved for scared children at the ER. They were scared of the unknown. This man seemed to be scared of something known and really, really shitty. Crouching down slowly, still keeping an arm’s length between them, Zane lowered the sweater as slow as he (in)humanly could. Then he backed up a pace, remembering run ins with feral dogs way back when in Nevada and how his father had dealt with them. It felt wrong to think about this poor guy like a wild animal but the situations were eerily similar. “If you want. You must be cold.”

The thought occurred to call for help but something told him to get permission first. A whining ambulance suddenly appearing could have consequences that would only make the situation worse. Gaze ran over the man once more, hair wild and matted with blood, lips dry and splattered with crusted over blood, eyes shining with unfiltered panic and defense. “Are you hurt anywhere? Bleeding?” he asked calmly, nodding at the man in the hopes of conveying that they were on the same team. “I can call someone for help if you want.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Trust. Chris wanted so desperately to trust someone. He wanted to make connections with people. He wanted friends — he wanted a relationship, for fuck’s sake. Every time he thought that he could get it, that he was close to making a connection with someone, it was ripped from him. Sometimes, quite literally. He didn’t know how many times it had happened, or how, or why, he just knew that he couldn’t do it. And anyone who found him in the act? Chris learned that even honey laced words held malice. They didn’t want to help him — they only saw him as a monster that needed to be locked up. Or worse.

Largely, Chris’ human side wanted nothing more than to believe this man. His voice was soft, low, but ultimately sincere and he genuinely seemed like he wanted to help. [ L. .ie. . ] The other side didn’t want to hear it. If family could hurt, then anyone could hurt, what difference did this man make? Just because he used pretty words and cloth didn’t mean he was a friend. There were others just like him, who had tried to help — they got teeth and claws instead.

But Chris wanted out; he was cold and he wanted to stop hiding, if only for this moment. He could feel the uneasiness bloom the more the man spoke and even felt his hair stand on end, but he wanted to go home. He didn’t care at this point; if this meeting ended the same as all the others, then so be it, but that sweater was much too enticing to try to run. At the mention of calling someone else for help, Chris shook his head. “N-no,” he shivered out, “no.. more people.. Please.” He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes; his head felt as if it had been ripped open. Despite the pounding headache, Chris tried his best to sit up a little, at least so he could see the impromptu visitor better. A few leaves fell from his chest, as he had been lying there for some time, but most stuck to the dried blood and sweat on his skin. “I..” he swallowed again before he resolved to shake his head. “I’m not.. Hurt.” Not physically, anyway.

—-----

Hearing the other man speak, coherently even, was a relief. The fact that Zane wasn’t allowed to call anyone for help, less so. There was honestly no telling what this guy had been through in the last few hours, or longer judging by the completely unhinged state of him, and Zane had no idea if he was equipped to help. Even so, it seemed that his help was being accepted, at least in some form as there was less cowering away and the gesture of the sweater seemed to have been accepted. As the man shifted, Zane found himself averting his gaze in a faint attempt at privacy and because what kind of person stumbled onto a scene like this and couldn’t keep such very inappropriate thoughts at bay. He was still blaming it on the overpowering scent of blood frazzling his senses, mixing with the smell of nature, sweat and still, the faint smell of something animal.

“I won’t call anyone else. Promise.” It was earnest, almost desperately so in response to the pleading tone that had begged for no more people. The least he could do was respect that, even though Zane’s current options involved praying that this man was capable of walking (it didn’t seem very likely seeing the effort it took for him to sit up) or carrying him somewhere safer and warmer than the woods fireman style. The latter was definitely more appealing speed wise and Zane was already thinking about how close he was to home, and the empty garage no one ever went to, when the thought occurred that this terrified stranger probably wouldn’t like being carried off someplace strange.

“Something tells me no hospital, either but lucky for you,” shit choice of words, “I work in healthcare so… how can I help?” Zane crouched back down, the sweater giving him some refuge from his misbehaving mind, aching to reach out and check on the man properly but not wanting to spook him. “I don’t live far off, we could get you some clothes, call for cab from there.” Check that you’re not dying, get you some hot tea, find out what in the world just happened here. “Or whatever.”

____________________________________________________________________________

This really was a shitty situation. He could count on one hand how many times someone stumbled upon him unconscious. A lot of the time, Chris could get away before anyone spotted him, but the other times? Those stayed with him in his dreams — what he could remember of them. There was a long time where he thought that maybe he was seeing things, or sleepwalking — maybe he was just having really bad nightmares or had a vivid imagination.

He knew now what it was and still he didn’t want to believe it — no matter how many times he woke up naked and covered in someone else’s blood.

The generosity was overwhelming, and Chris wanted so desperately to say yes to everything that was offered, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t know what his motives were, if he knew who Chris was or what he’s been suspected of doing. There were too many unknowns and open-ended questions, questions that would only get answered if he went with this stranger — but he didn’t like that idea, not with his history. He’d been burned too many times to trust anyone so openly.

“I’ll be fine.” His words came out a bit more coherently as he roused more from his brief mental hiatus. There’s no memory of being there, in limbo or whatever it was. A quick pass of his tongue over his dry bottom lip confirmed the presence of blood around his mouth. What did he do? He prayed that whatever it was, it wasn't human. Chris felt a lump in his throat. “I just need to go.. home..” He felt confident in his ability to get there even though he didn’t know where exactly he was; it wouldn’t be that difficult.

“Just.. pretend you didn’t see me. Please..” Chris couldn’t help but to look apologetic. “Please, just leave me here.. I can manage on my own..” Pitiful. There was no way he was going to be left alone, not after what this complete stranger was willing to give in order to help him. Not many people would do that, or even to that extent. But Chris wanted this interaction to end well, with both parties still breathing; he didn’t want any more blood spilled.

—---------

Zane was running out of options and ideas on how to help. Aside from dragging the man kicking and screaming to the hospital, there didn’t seem to be much left to offer. Just leaving him here, though, despite the pleading… It didn’t feel like a viable option. It was obvious that he needed help but for reasons that Zane didn’t want to begin to imagine, he was vehemently refusing it. Strangers were scary, he totally got that, but someone had clearly fanned the flames of this man’s distrust until it had consumed him. The thought made Zane nauseous, jaw twitching with anger and no one to direct it at.

“It doesn’t feel right,” was all he managed to reply, voice low and desperate in the same vein the stranger’s was. “At least… at least let me walk you to the edge of the woods. Wouldn’t want a bear or something smelling… all that.” If Zane had been able to track the scent of the dried blood with his very limited knowledge, a different predator definitely would. “Then I’ll leave you be. Promise.” A promise was a promise, even though Zane would be tempted to keep an eye on the man until he saw him disappear into a building, he wouldn’t. It did sound like the man had done this before, gotten himself home from a situation like this, which wasn’t comforting but did provide some reassurance that he’d still be alive once the night was over.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Zane offered his hand to the wary stranger, hoping he would accept it and let himself be pulled to his feet. At the very least, that way he’d know that the guy could stand. He’d considered running back to the house for some more clothes but something told him he’d come back to find the indent in the leaves and grass bloodied and empty once he returned. Offering his own pants had also occurred but that was definitely weird and the broken husk in front of him didn’t look like it could handle any weird. So he settled for simply offering a hand, gaze open and honest, face hoping to portray anything that his words clearly couldn’t.

—---

It really was commendable how adamant this guy was in trying to get Chris some help. He seemed so earnest, believable; if Chris were anyone else he would have readily gone with him already, but it wasn’t that easy for him. He never had the choice. It upset him deeply that he couldn’t go with this stranger who seemed nothing but kind and willing. He literally took the clothing off of his back for him - what other type of person would do that?

The least Chris could do, if this was truly genuine, was to agree to the compromise. He had a feeling ‘no’ wouldn’t be taken for an answer, anyway, so taking the compromise was probably the safest bet - until shit hit the fan, which it tended to do. Chris would be ready. He didn’t want to be, but again, he never had the choice.

Just walk him to the forest edge and that was it? He didn’t need to go with him to some godforsaken cabin in the woods or call any backup and potentially get himself injured (or worse) because of some miscommunication? This seemed too easy, but Chris didn’t want to have to fight anyone right then. He didn’t want to hurt them. Not really. The other side bled in too much sometimes; the line between them blurred and Chris could be heavily influenced, but now was not the time. He wanted to go home, not get himself into further trouble.

The idea of biting the hand being offered and sinking his teeth into it flashed fleetingly in Chris’ mind. It was a stupid idea, one he wouldn’t go through with as that would only get him into trouble. Instead he ignored it and decided that taking the hand would be best, even if it was as briefly as he did; the contact was enough to get Chris onto his feet. He was shaky and exhausted, but that was expected. The sweater was used around his waist to give himself some modesty, but it wasn’t enough, and so his entire back remained open to the elements. He didn’t complain, though — most nights or early mornings he’d have to flee completely in the nude. It just felt like he was wearing an apron.

Standing was a little bit of a chore, but Chris couldn’t let this guy see that. He didn’t want any more help to be offered. He was touched by it, of course, but it was easier on both of their parts if this interaction was kept as short as possible. He didn’t know what he was capable of, even in the sorry state that was in.

“Lead the way.”

—--

A win. A tiny sliver of a win. At least this way, Zane could make sure that the guy wouldn’t collapse after two steps and freeze to death or get mauled. It had even been a genuine surprise that he’d accepted the offered hand to get to his feet - the scenario of the man fumbling around to get himself standing for the better part of a minute had been so vivid in Zane’s head that the warm hand in his was even more of a shock. Warm. Good.

As soon as he’d been allowed to offer a metaphorical finger, Zane fought with the need to follow with his whole arm. The man was standing, barely, and trying so hard to conceal it that pointing it out felt about as helpful as slapping him in the face. Yes, Zane wanted to drag the shivering arm over his shoulder and practically carry the poor guy all the way to his doorstep but it wasn’t his choice to make. So he pressed his lips shut with the effort of not commenting on the man’s unsteady footing, settling for staying close instead, just in case he tripped. A highly likely possibility and one that Zane was praying against. Not just because he didn’t want the man to trip but because he knew his instincts wouldn’t allow the other to fall and with the way the sweaty hand had been yanked from Zane’s as soon as feet stood on solid ground…

So they walked slowly, leaves crunching underway as Zane stayed half a step ahead, trying to find the smoothest yet quickest root back to the streets. Trying not to think about how badly the man’s feet would hurt in the morning. Even though scratched up feet didn’t seem to be his biggest of issues. It was eerily quiet, only broken by their shuffling steps and the other man’s labored breathing. He’d never been good with silence. “I’m Zane,” he offered, voice quiet as if scared to disturb the darkness around them. “And I’m not going to ask any questions but… if you need help, I can… or I mean, I might be able to help. Whatever’s going on, there are people who can help. Who you can trust. Specialists or… something.” He drew in a deep breath to stop the flow of words, risking a glance back at the shuffling form behind him before forcing his eyes away.

___

Chris hated this. He hated every second of this. It felt degrading to be found the way he had and to top it all off, he had a babysitter. He didn’t want to wake up in the woods without memory of the night’s events, but he’d rather that than have to deal with another person finding him ever again. It was bad enough with the mystery dinners. Hoping and praying that this was the last to catch him in his birthday suit, Chris went along and followed his guide at a safe distance. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he was a little more coherent and physically able to make the trek back to his motel room. He’d need it in order to avert strange gazes.

For now, this supposed knight in shining armor was the only one — Chris won’t hold his breath. He liked to mess up a lot; being good-natured and honest would do that, at least in his case. He had a strong inkling to use his middle name instead of his first, or to just not say anything at all, but a good part of himself felt like Zane, as it were, was being genuine. The idea of being even the smallest bit open with this guy tied his stomach in knots but he could always do what he did best, right? No one would know the wiser — sure, he’d have to move again but he was used to that.

That inkling was ignored. “Chris.” The reply was curt and held back, as if he didn’t want Zane to hear it. It was a stupid thing to do, but if they both lived in Wicked’s Rest, they were sure to bump into each other at some point. Murphy’s Law would have pissed in his Cheerios at some point, why not get it over with? At the mention of a ‘specialist’, Chris couldn’t suppress the slightly sardonic scoff that escaped him. “Nobody can help.” He couldn’t trust anyone — they either didn’t believe him or they thought he was a killer. There was no in between even though that’s exactly where Chris felt like he was stuck and pulled and twisted apart.

“They all get hurt.. Or they lie and then they get hurt.”

—--

Getting a reply had been unexpected and not really what Zane had been fishing for. It was nice to have a name but honestly, he’d only given his own out of a habit of introducing himself to injured people. It was a miracle that the phrase ‘I’ll be your nurse today, what seems to be the problem’ hadn’t followed. But Chris had replied. Maybe he too had done so on instinct but either way, Zane felt like he had been trusted with something special. No one would ever know about this encounter and definitely not about the name. There was a possibility that later tonight, Zane would give into his curiosity and see just how many Chris there were in town but nothing more.

The scoff at Zane’s suggestion, not a very articulate one but still, was an even bigger surprise. It showed a glimpse of a different side of the man, something angry and bitter which contrasted greatly with the fear and panic from before. Zane knew about trauma, both the physical and mental kind - he had to for his job and knew that everyone reacted differently to their troubles. The first time a woman had suddenly lashed at him when he was patching up her wounds, he’d thought he’d done something wrong or that he’d missed where she’d been flagged for violence before. Neither was the case he’d found out during a briefing with a supervisor. Just remnants of the traumatic event that had brought her in to the ER.

“I’m really sorry that’s been your experience,” was all Zane had to offer in return, starting to see the faint glow of streetlamps through the trees. They were nearing the street and it filled him with worry. “Can’t imagine what that’s like.” He slowed his pace as they came to the edge of the tree line, keeping the two of them still shrouded in shadow. Appraising Chris once more, trying to read anything coherent from the blue eyes, vibrant but still damped by something secret. “Leaving you be, then, as promised.” No way he could go back on his word now.

“Just… if you need anything. Discreet medical care or… I don’t know. All I know is that I’m a shit liar and not easily hurt as of late so… only one Zane Rosario in town.” Shifting unsteadily on his feet, wondering if there was anything else to add that wasn’t just incredibly stupid, he finally settled on offering a hand out because all he wanted to do was give the poor guy a hug. “Really hope you get home safe.”

___

Chris was going to have to see this guy around town, wasn’t he? The thought of that sent his stomach into knots. While Zane had been helpful, albeit a little unsettling, this situation was nothing short of embarrassing. He knew there were so many questions as to why he was out at that hour by himself in the middle of the woods, or why he was buck naked, or why he was covered in blood and what looked to be tiny pieces of flesh. He didn’t have them; he didn’t think he ever would. He couldn’t satiate Zane’s curiosity even if he wanted to — which he didn’t. Chris wanted to put so much distance between them and this memory out of pure humiliation and fear for the unknown.

Zane was kind. He could see it in his eyes — but he’d been burned before. He didn’t want to risk it, and for what? A fleeting moment of hope? Chris thought the police would help him. He thought that his work supervisor would help him. He thought that his dad would help him.

What difference did this stranger make?

So far, he was letting Chris go. There were plans and other options and the almost desperate desire to give him more help, but he heeded when Chris clearly wasn’t ready. That — that was a good flag. He knew better than to throw all caution to the wind for something so easily doused in red, but this was a positive in his mind. He just hoped it wouldn’t be ruined.

Zane’s words were comforting, if cliche, but he didn’t think he’d have anything better to say if the roles were reversed. Chris would say the same things — that he couldn’t imagine what he was going through, that it was horrible, apologizing for what he wasn’t at fault for. They were typical societal niceties, a human script, but they were the best anyone could give, given the situation. Chris did appreciate that, he just didn’t know what to say in return. He felt those darker eyes on him, looking him over; a last look of care or predatory in nature? Only time would tell.

Chris swallowed. His hands went to the sweater around his waist; it felt snug. There were more offers — it seemed Zane was cut from a similar cloth. He, too, felt the need to help, in any way that he was physically or mentally capable of. If he didn’t know, he would try anyway. He felt the happiest when he could offer assistance. There were never any ulterior motives on Chris’ end, but he couldn’t strike that from Zane — not yet. He would have to keep an eye on this Zane Rosario.

A beat. Chris took Zane’s frigid hand again, this time for a moment longer. He glanced at their clasped hands before finally making eye contact. “Thank you… I.. I’ll be okay.” He wanted to show his thanks a bit better than that, but his head still reeled from earlier, so he hoped his appreciation was palpable through his tone. “I.. Thank you.” Chris allowed their hands to part as he stepped away. It felt odd to walk away, to just leave his supposed hero in the treeline and shrouded by the shadows. There was a blatant uneasiness in the way they parted, but Chris felt gracious regardless. “Goodnight…” he uttered softly before he disappeared from view.

With name in hand, he would be sure to return the sweater.

#chrisgates #p:chris #ships in the night #memory loss tw #writing #chris.001

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