The "mature" rating has never been so necessary: this fic is mostly a horror story, with romance. So besides the erotic scenes, there will also be horror scenes, so I really want to warn you before.
I wouldn't be as trash as Clive Barker, even if he's my spiritual master, but here I am, trying to write some splatter-punk, and I finally post this first chapter written in October. I'll post it little by little, knowing that I'm still working on this fic and I have to translate it. As long as the Familiar Face trilogy is not over, the pace may be chaotic.
And as it's my own translation from French, sorry about the mistakes.

Just for your information, there are two main pairings: ConVin and LuthAra. There'll be a bit of Reed900, but it's something strange, and if I can't tell the difference between ConVin and Reed900 at some moments, you won't.

Beside it, everything will be fine.

Prologue — The accident

June 3, 2038

Road to Detroit

You know, we should not mix professional and private life.

If you had met him in a bar, on a June evening, Gavin would have share this great wisdom with you, instead, he was brooding over it right now, hands on the wheel of the Ford Hybrid, trying to focus on the road dominated by lush chestnut trees. The date appeared on the dashboard. The background had adopted green tones, associating with late spring and bright leaves. Advances in technology meant that even cars were seasonally sensitive. What a progress—

In addition to the seatbelt, Connor had crossed his arms to protect himself, turning his head away, only to fix the landscape that was passing through the window. A series of trees grouped and piled up, mingling in their brown shades. He was only a few inches away from his companion, yet he felt terribly alone in that silence.

The absence of music made the atmosphere heavy, so much so that it seemed to settle on their heads.

Exasperated, Connor took a breath and finally broke this barrier of silent:

"Gavin—"

"Fuck you."

The comeback was clear. Connor rolled his eyes. He was ready to give up, but Gavin insisted:

"Fuck both of you, you and your father."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know the meal would went this way."

"Don't try to talk bullshit: you perfectly knew how it was going to be. It wasn't different of the other times, but no, you wanted us to go, and like usual, Hank opened his whiskey bottle, just to have some courage and say how I'm not good enough for his perfect son."

Gavin had embarked on an exaggerated imitation of Hank.

Connor was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, so he could not decide, even though he had reproached his father for his alcoholism, a problem that was growing since the death of his second wife.

He tried to catch Gavin's eyes, but the driver stubbornly watched the road. He had not been so diligent in the early days: the number of times he had ignored the road to kiss Connor, and, if the traffic was too dense, Gavin used to let one hand on the steering wheel, the other very high on the thigh of his man.

But when he sulked, he avoided contact.

"It hasn't always been like that. But he cared so much about Amanda, he can't get over—" this stupid accident. "You both got along so well—"

"Connor, I was just a fucking prison guard when you were a detective. For him, I never deserved you."

Connor leaned over to take the bag stuck between his ankles, a mechanical gesture to remember what it contained, before placing it on his lap. Three weeks ago, he had bought a wedding ring and had been waiting for the right moment to propose. A sober and delicate gray gold ring, but the color matched Gavin's eyes so well; Connor had not hesitated for a single second.

Now he had to choose the right moment. The perfect moment.

"Is my father's opinion really important?" A silence. Connor was a better psychologist than his partner and he knew if he kept reasoning him, he could be forgiven for this catastrophic lunch. "I thought it was my opinion that mattered."

He saw Gavin's jaw moving, as if he were about to say something.

Connor wanted to touch him, but it was still too early: maybe after the mention of some memories, the driver would finally relax. It would be several more hours before he agreed to smile, but the wait would be worth it. Gavin had those contagious smiles—

"You know, the day I arrived at the prison, I wasn't afraid: I'd prepared my interview and I'd already met several criminals, it wasn't something new. But when I saw you, my God, I've got flustered."

"You looked like a teacher's little pet."

His tone was dry but at least he answered, a sign that Connor was getting closer to their reconciliation.

"I had one goal that day, before I could enjoy the weekend: find out if this killer had another crime to confess. But as soon as I saw you, I said to myself 'this man, I have to invite him to drink a coffee'. I was going to interview one of Michigan's worst child killers, but you were way less obliging than today, and I was more anxious that you'd refuse my invitation than for the investigation itself."

Gavin released his grip on the steering wheel a bit. He remembered that day, he remembered that when they first met, Connor was nothing more but some dumbass for him. That morning, if he had been told that seven years later, he would live with this Connor Anderson, Gavin would have burst out laughing. However, at the end of the day, the guard had been impressed by the audacity of the greenhorn who had asked if they could meet again, outside of work, and he had accepted, without imagining that this first date would be the first of a long series, the beginning of a long story.

"Still. Fuck you, you and your father."

"Don't try so hard: I know you love me."

Connor slid his palm over Gavin's thigh, reaching the inside. Then he leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, feeling the rough beard, enjoying the tickling sensation on his lips. For his part, he could not bear the sensation of having a beard, whether short or long, and shaved as often as possible.

He took out his cell phone:

"Do you want us to have diner, tonight? To forget what happened this noon?"

"A simple thing, then."

His index swept the screen, looking for a compromise that could combine classic and casual. It was not for his manic side; as he looked down at the pictures, Conrad was trying to imagine himself, kneeling on one knee, asking for Gavin's hand. Maybe he should wait until the end of dinner and make his proposal later? In this case, it would be better if the restaurant was near a park, a romantic point, something—

"Hold on, can you check if the Chinese restaurant has reopened? The one we had tried last winter. I fucking miss their lamb skewers."

"Ah, I was looking for something Italian."

There was nothing romantic about Asian fast food and Connor hoped to convince Gavin.

"So, pizza?"

"As you wish." Connor sighed. It has to be for later. I must find something in a nice place.

He would have liked to propose during the meal: now, the stress was going to ruin his appetite.

From Harsens Island, they would see the Detroit's lights, and the place was enough quiet to make the moment intimate. If they used the car, they would be not too far from London: when they had spent a weekend in the Canadian city, they had visited pretty neighborhoods—

Connor was beginning to despair: he had to make up his mind in a few hours, and making decisions was not his forte.

He raised his head and, on the road that drawn a winding curve, among the stains of sun, a dog had just emerged from the undergrowth.

Connor screamed, but Gavin saw the wandering animal too late.

He swerved, making the trajectory of the car deviate.

The dog was safe, but at what cost?

Neither Gavin nor Connor understood what happened next. It was a chaos of leaves and bushes that adorned a slope that seemed endless. In the confusion, the driver had the stupid reflex to crush the brake pedal, while the vehicle began to roll over. The rustling around the car reminded of the wounded wings of a swarm of birds, it was like many raptors were causing the jolts, causing their loss.

The light in the forest above had never seemed so terrifying.

Gavin only woke up once the car was motionless, trapped in a ditch. The windshield had been pierced, like the window on Connor's side, so leaves and pieces of branches had been invited upon the unconscious bodies.

Gavin tried to move, but he could not: invisible stalls held all his limbs.

He still managed to turn his head and opened his mouth to call his man, but his jaw was paralyzed, his tongue was just an inert muscle.

When he saw Connor, he suppressed a painful hiccup.

The head of his beloved dangled, weighed down by the loss of consciousness, by the blood that accumulated in his mouth and escaped in an almost black trickled. The branch of a tree had stuck in his shoulder, pinning it to the passenger seat.

Gavin sank again, stunned by a terrible pain in his temples. The same as that felt during a paroxysm of crying.

On the dashboard, a red light flashed in a nothingness that had succeeded the green hues; the technology had equipped all vehicles with emergency systems, contacting the nearest hospital through geolocation, sending the coordinates.

And the machine was calling for help for its owners.