note: So, I actually finished this whole 200 page story a week ago, happily posting it to my AO3 for the last half of a year... and then realized I'd never put any of it over here.
I feel like the samifer love is a little less on this site, and that makes me sad, but if you're out there, I hope this story finds you well, friends.
It was a Tuesday night, for a few more minutes any how.
Just the same kind of innocuous, boring, old, middle of the night, just got off a twelve hour shift, and feeling dead in his bones kind of Tuesday night that Nick had already survived roughly a few thousand of at this point in his life. And nothing interesting had ever happened in the whole history of Tuesdays- so he had no reason to be suspicious of this five minutes to midnight, dark as hell except for the unwavering green glow of the traffic light, Tuesday night.
His hands smelt like hospital soap. Clumsy and coarse fingers shaking only a hint with weariness as he lit a cigarette from the little round lighter, before shoving it back into it's slot on the dashboard and blowing a thin line of smoke out the car's open window.
The empty streets shuddered through a wave of yellow light, then red, as the traffic signal cycled on, still going through the motions even if the only car out at the intersection remained idling exactly where it had been for quite sometimes now.
Cigarette paper clung dryly between his lips as Nick ran his hands through his hair, then over his eyes, pressing his thumbs lightly against his lids, pushing back the overwhelming need for sleep. Just a few miles to home, and his bed, and a handful of hours of sleep. Left foot slipped from the break to the gas, and he took his old car out of neutral just in time to hear the sirens cut through the silence.
A black and white came tearing around the corner past him, going south at a truly alarming speed. Two more cruisers followed before Nick slowly crept through the intersection and started on his way home.
Someone, somewhere had stirred up some kind of late night trouble, but it wasn't any of his business. Only thing he cared about right now was that he was finally going home.
It would have been nice if home wasn't also south, in the same direction of trouble, but his neighborhood was tucked off in the corner of a fairly quiet development, so he told himself some unfounded stories on how quiet and perfect everything would be once he got home.
And on a Tuesday night, which should have been exactly the same as ever Tuesday up until this point, it all should have been just that simple.
Having the passenger side door flung wide open as he rolled through a stop sign, was a little jarring to the whole plan.
Having a man throw himself down onto the bench seat beside Nick sort of decimated that plan all together.
"Drive." This stranger demanded.
If there had been anything more than stars in the sky- a sliver of moon, or hell, even a working streetlamp, then Nick would have been able to see what the man looked like other than shadowy and big. Neither of these descriptors were particularly comforting.
"Get the hell out of my car," he counter offered the uninvited passenger.
Sirens were still crying somewhere out in the night.
"Please." The man pleaded with him, desperation cutting in.
But Nick had never been all that interested in charity, and he could smell blood.
If he didn't spend most of his time in a hospital, perhaps the subtle and coppery smell would have been unnamable. It was definitely blood though, and over the low rumble of the engine, the stranger's breath sounded harsh and forced.
"Get out of my fucking car."
On the other hand, the gun that came out of the dark and pointed rather unsteadily to the side of his head was a fairly convincing argument. "Just drive."
And so he did.
A pained kind of grunt came from the passenger seat. "Not this way."
Nick realized that he's kept on in the direction of home. The same direction that the police had gone, and probably the same direction that this man had come from.
So he hung a U-turn and rambled down an east bound road.
The barrel of the gun eased off of his skin and Nick was sure that if his whole body wasn't humming with adrenaline that the gesture would have made him relax slightly.
"You got some place in mind, big boy, or am I just supposed to dive on indefinitely?"
Another grunt was his only answer.
"Might I suggest a hospital? I mean, they're going to have some interesting questions for you , but all things considered it might not be a bad idea."
The man almost laughed, or at least, that's what Nick's brain told him the horrible sound coming from the seat beside him was.
"I'm guessing it's a bullet wound, and this isn't your first time." Nick was kind of shocked at how steady his voice could be when there was still a firearm visible in his peripheral.
"It's definitely not my first time," which was said with too much amusement to be healthy, "but no… no hospital."
"Your call, big boy."
What followed was not a particularly companionable silence.
Nick flicked but butt of his cigarette out the open window. "Look, I can see you're having a bad night, hiding from the po and bleeding on my upholstery and all, but I'd like to go home and go to bed at some point- so what's say we get this... whatever it is over with."
Not even a grunt in answer this time, and there was no way that they were going to keep this up all night.
"Look, you son of a bitch, either tell me where we're going or get out." Technically there was a third option of stealing Nick's car, but such a thought was too terrible to even say out loud, "I'm not fucking driving around all night while you-"
And it was then that he noticed that his companion's silence had settled into something less stubborn and or mysterious, and into something altogether more concerning.
The uninvited hitchhiker was slumped limply against the window, shallow breaths barely even fogging the glass. Nick slammed the breaks, throwing the car into neutral and unbuckling his seat belt.
The man didn't stir when they ground to a halt, and that was a bad sign all on it's own.
"For fuck's sake." Nick's hands went to the man's throat, feeling for a pulse beneath his surprisingly hot, sweat slick skin. And yes, obviously he wasn't dead, not if he was still breathing those sharp little gasps every few seconds, but Nick was going through the motions. He's done this what felt like a hundred times. It was all muscle memory and thoughtless, quick, rough movements .
Really, other than the fact that they were in the front seat of his car, and that there was a gun (something heavy and nameless that Nick quickly tossed into the backseat and out of the way), this was like any other work night. Working in an emergency room had done wonders to desensitize himself to this sort of thing.
The stranger was laid down over the bench seats, head pressed against Nick's thigh and the man's long legs sprawled chaotically against the door and spilling out under the dash. The dome light was flipped on, watery light that did very little other than hurt Nick's eyes and show that his passenger's shirts were plastered darkly to the right side of his ribs. The man didn't fight as Nick peeled back the wet jacket and flannel, then pulled up the cotton t-shirt with an unpleasantly moist noise, revealing a hole hardly bigger than a pencil eraser.
Nick slipped his hand out from under the arching curve of this stranger's ribcage, happy to have not have found an exit wound, even if that meant that the bullet must have been lodged somewhere interesting that could only be guessed at during this particular juncture.
As makeshift emergency rooms went, the car was not ideal, but there were some TacoBell napkins and electrical tape in the glove box, and neither of them were really in a position to be too picky at this point.
It was only when pressure was unkindly applied to the bullet wound that the man regained consciousness with a startled gasping noise that was forced through his teeth as his hands came up to claw at Nick, grasping clumsily at his shoulder.
"Whoah there," Nick eased, not letting up on the pressure, feeling the napkins growing damp beneath his hand. "You've lost some blood," a lot of blood if the man was in the passing out phase of things. "We're going to the hospital now, alright?"
"No," his voice had grown weaker, and from where his head was cradled in Nick's lap, those big dark eyes of his staring up at him, pleading with him… well, it was one of the most pitiful things that he'd seen in a long time. "Please… I can't."
The hand that was gripping Nick's shoulder like a vice, probably smearing blood all over his neck, had started to shake.
"I'll be fine." The stranger's words slurring and it was obvious that he was on his way back to unconsciousness. "Jus' give me a minute."
Which was funny enough that Nick found himself laughing. Laughing in a sort of sleep deprived, adrenalin high, manic kind of way. Laughing and making bad decisions.
He was rather good at both.