Gray stared at the unconscious body laid out on his table. His hands were trembling, he was sweating, his legs were shaking. He gripped the edge of the table. No. He'd remember meeting someone with pink freaking hair. He couldn't know his name. Impossible. He jerked his hand into pink locks, ramming the guy up forcefully.
"How do you know my name?" he screamed out. His breathing was ragged. He'd been enjoying the stream of blood and then this man went and said his name, ruined his experience. He dangled limply in Gray's hold. No response.
Gray swung both legs over the man's torso, fists drawing back to punch him, one hit after another. "Wake up! Wake up, you waste of air!" Gray threaded his hands through his hair, pulling frustratedly, lost. The man wasn't waking up, just taking his punches like a sack of vegetables and Gray's arms shook with the urge to strangle him. That tan neck was there, blood adorning it in such a bright shade of red just calling to him. Calling for him to wrap his hands around it and close it off.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to calm his racing heart. No. He needed his projects to last longer than this. He needed to keep the nightmares at bay. Of Ur. Of… what came afterwards. He needed this. The longer he drew this out, the longer he could sleep. He just wanted to sleep. He'd learned to enjoy this, the rush in his veins better than any drug when he heard the screaming, saw the bleeding, heard the ragged breaths and saw the looks on their faces. That feeling had just started and then his captive uttered his name and Gray couldn't handle it. Suddenly it had felt like the ground was being torn out from under him, making him lose his balance and flail around desperately, no control. He hadn't lost control this easily in years. Not since he was nine. He fisted his hands at his sides, letting them fall limply.
He sat there over his new project, staring, trying to figure him out. His breathing was even in his sleep. The blood on his face was dripping to the side, slowly, no longer a stream. It gave Gray pause. It wasn't… right. The nose had been broken recently. Without any cleaning to the nasal passage it should still be bleeding and yet… it wasn't. He reached out his hand, pale fingers brushed over the bridge of the man's nose, pressing softly. Gray's eyes widened. The cartilage. It wasn't damaged. He shook his head in awe, in shock. It had been damaged a few minutes ago, otherwise it wouldn't have been bleeding. The cartilage had healed. On its own. In under five minutes.
Gray let his hand trail down that tan neck. He remembered the abnormality he'd seen on the boat, the final reason he hadn't been able to leave this one behind. No bruising. He gripped the handle of the knife, still buried into the area through the lowest rib. He'd shoved it in at an angle that avoided all major organs. He didn't want his project to die so soon and he'd assumed he'd have to treat the wound in preparation for new ones. He kept it there for a moment, then pulled it out quickly, the blood coming out in a shower with it, oozing out slowly from the wound instead of gushing out like a river, the way it should be. Gray watched the cut on the skin, the space around it, waiting for a visible change. The bleeding stopped. Gray wiped away the red liquid with his sleeve, eyes rapt and unblinking. A thin white line became visible between the two sides of the gash, fading into tan skin slowly, until it was nearly the same shade. His fingers trailed softly over it, tentatively, and he pressed down on the area, searching for any sign of internal bleeding, of the bruising that should be appearing, of the fracture in the bone that he heard clearly snapping earlier. Nothing. Nothing but a thin line of lighter tan skin where there should be a hideous scar and the purple hues that signaled a broken rib.
Gray bit the corner of his lower lip, a thin trail of his own blood making it down to his jaw before he smiled, eyes shining and wild in the light. He pushed off of his project, feet touching the ground, and walked over to the drawers latched onto the wall on the other side of the room. He opened the third drawer from the bottom. For this one, he'd have to use something special.
He took out a syringe, a needle, a small cylindrical jar with a black screwed-on cap. He twisted it open, slid the needle into place in the syringe, drew the handle of the syringe back, drawing up the transparent liquid. He'd broken into the hospital for this fluid. He could hear his own pulse in his head, loud and fast and much too excited. Breathed in to calm himself. He'd been saving this for a special occasion, a stronger project. What better project than one that couldn't remain wounded for very long? How long will it take to break this one?
He turned back to the rosette, syringe in hand, ready. He held the man's arm down on the table as he looked for the vein. Not there. A little to the left. He felt a small rise under the skin. His eyes locked onto the area as he inserted the needle, pushed down on the handle with his thumb, saw the clear substance disappear into tan skin. He breathed out. He had to hurry. He didn't have much time before the effects would wear off. Fifteen minutes maybe.
He released the locks on the restraints holding the man down. Took out a box from under the table. Six inch nails. Steel. A hammer. He hauled the man up against a wall, pinned his arm flat against the surface, palm facing him. Still unconscious. Not for long.
Gray pressed his side against the man's torso to hold him up, held the first nail against his forearm. Gripped the hammer, lined it up. Swung.
A scream and the echo of the impact pierced the silence. Gray smiled, took one step back to look at the man who hung limply from the point where his forearm was hooked to the wall, his shoulder popping outward at what was likely a painful angle, straining to support his weight. Green eyes were wide open and had a tinge of red in the whites of them as they looked around frantically, locking onto Gray.
In one swift movement, Gray took another nail, pinned up the man's other arm to the side, and slammed the nail down into the flesh, the spatter of blood and the scream causing a rush of adrenaline in his bloodstream. He smiled, dark and wide, and the man stared at him, a stare filled with so much pain and shock that Gray had to remind himself what he'd woken him up so soon for.
"What did you do to me?" the man asked, voice raw and dry.
Gray pulled out another nail, held it out, sharp edge a centimeter from a wide green eye. His smile remained. "Everybody knows hospitals use anesthetics to knock people out during surgery," Gray tells him, smirking as he notices that Natsu isn't paying attention to the nail that's so close to his iris, watching Gray's face instead. So brave. "What they don't know," Gray continues, moving the nail back and placing it against the inside of the man's elbow, imbedding the sharp end in the skin and watching the man wince as a trickle of blood seeps out, "Is that the doctors also use another drug, to make sure the patient can't move in their sleep and disrupt the procedure."
He lined up the hammer, looked into narrowed green eyes, swung. A shrill cry echoed in the space. Gray felt his heart beating a little faster. The man's head hung low against his chest, his breaths rough and loud.
"Cisatracurium," Gray continued in a cheerful tone, pulling out another nail, beginning the same process on the other arm, "Commonly known as Nimbex," he slammed down the hammer, reveled in the latest sound of agony, "blocks the signals from the nerves to the muscles." Another nail slammed into the man's bicep, thin trails of red dripped onto the floor, but Gray didn't worry, he hadn't hit any major arteries. The man would be fine. For now. He lined another nail up against the other bicep, slammed it down, shouted over the man's cries, "Basically!" he pounded on a nail three times so it would stick into the center of the man's palm, "It's supposed to go with anesthesia."
"Yeah?" the man panted out, wheezing, tears trailing down the sides of his face as he glared at Gray, finally collecting himself enough to speak again, "And where's that?"
The sarcasm made Gray chuckle. He liked this one. All sarcasm and heated glares when he was completely defenseless. "Didn't have any in stock," he replied, slamming down another nail into the other palm. He frowned when the man didn't cry out again, just gritted his teeth and let out a rumbling growl.
He leaned in, just out of reach of the man's face, after all the muscle inhibitors could wear off and they only worked from the neck down, but enough to whisper in his ear, "You can't move. But I didn't give you anything to keep you unconscious, so… you can feel…" he brought one last nail out, placed it right over the area that hadn't remained broken like it should have, "everything." He slammed the nail in and the man's eyes went wide, his breathing labored, and Gray stepped back to admire the view. There were nails all along those arms, straight out at his sides like a cross, feet hanging just above the ground, almost touching it but not quite reaching it. Lovely. His fingers were already twitching and Gray felt his irritation rising. The effects of a small dosage should have lasted twice as long. The man shouldn't have been regaining muscle movement so soon. He sped up his plans.
"So," he started, voice nonchalant, "How did you know my name?" He stepped back, crossed his arms expectantly.
The man stared at the ground, hair falling over his face, foot twitching. He mumbled something inaudibly.
Gray shot forward his arm, tangled his fingers in light pink hair and yanked it back to force the man to look him in the eye. "Speak. Clearly," Gray bit out.
Light green eyes watered as they locked on Gray's and he found his grip on the light-colored strands slackening instinctively. He tightened his hold stubbornly, waving away the strange impulse to let go. He wanted answers.
Blood-stained lips opened and said one word. "Nakama." The word was quiet and broken, but Gray heard it and he stumbled back and stared.
In the lighting, he took in the color of the man's skin, the hint of sharp canines he could see when the man spoke, the strands of hair that weren't a dark or pastel shade of pink. They were salmon. He hadn't seen salmon-colored hair or heard that word since before everything happened with Lyon. Since before the nightmares. Since before Ur. Since…
His eyes stung and he felt a light liquid treading softly down his own face as he looked over the body nailed onto his wall, the face staring back at him waiting for realization to hit. Waiting for a sign of recognition even as he hung limply and lost blood. His throat closed up. His limbs were shaking. His breathing erratic. His heart crashing against his ribs. A memory of interlocking fingers and promises from long ago.
"Natsu…?"
A fragile smile and then a white burning pain searing away all he could see.