Chapter Text
You stepped out of the flashing club with your friends, the party behind you leaving stains of shadows on the floor that seemed to wobble and ripple whenever you took a step.
The sidewalk felt like water, and you were now jesus.
You have successfully had way too much to drink.
Your friend seemed to think otherwise, yanking on your arm insistently and latching on like a leech that had been served their last, juicy, 10% alcohol content meal.
"Come on! One more dance, that's all I'm asking for!" The cold breeze knocks some sobriety back into your jambled mind and brings about a killer headache. You choose to nurse your migraine instead of responding to her harp of bullcrap, but cant help cringing at the memory of your dancing.
“Shawna, I am absolutely wrecked right now. I don’t need to remember how many legs I tripped over while doing the one-man conga line.”
She laughs and pinches your cheek like a doting mother, but you don’t need a mother's lovin’ right now. You need some advil and some water, goddamnit.
“That was the best part! How could any guy resist those flailing arms? Tracy, tell her! They couldn’t look away, especially that super cute DJ!”
She breaks out into a crazed giggle, swatting at you as you attempt and miserably fail to dodge her attacks.
Your other friend sighed, clearly more sober and a bit irked that you two had such low tolerance. You did feel a bit guilty, since every night out seemed to end like this. You were ever the party pooper who wanted to leave early, Shawna was always full of the party even if the party was over, and Tracy was the one who could never score a date because she was babysitting.
“Shawna, you smell like fucking alcohol. Get off of (y/n) before you vomit vodka juice all over her again.”
Just as she says that, Shawna reels her head forward and retches. Tracy moves with what you swear is the world's fastest reaction time, and grabs her to redirect her laser beam of vomit onto some poor guy’s lousy truck.
You moan, disgusted and relieved at the same time, and drag your hands down your face.
“Shawna, that’s someone’s goddamn car! Just because it looks like trash but it doesn’t mean you can just puke on it!”
She turns to you, brushing her vomit off her face with her sleeve. You grimace at her.
“It’s fine, they won’t notice.”
She was wrong.
“Besides,” She readies herself upright again, examining her work, “what are the odds we’ll ever meet the poor sod who drives this hunk of garbage? None! We’d be like, way out of their league anyway!”
She was wrong yet again. Twice as much, in fact. But you didn’t know that yet.
Tracy intervenes, stepping in front of the truck and obscuring your vision of it’s newly acquired stomach acid paintjob .
“Okay, I’m gonna call a ride home before toilet bowl princess retches again. You in?”
You watch her manicured fingers tap on the Ober app, and wonder about the tiny miracles in life that allow such ease of access to drivers earning less than two dollars an hour.
“Nah, I think im gonna stick to good the good ol’ bus. Besides, I live pretty far from you two.”
Tracy’s eyes flicker from her phone to you, assessing the amount of severity of impact the cheap booze had on you. She typed in Shawna and her’s address. Lucky them, they were housemates. You feel a twinge of jealousy, but it passes almost as soon as it comes
“Well if you say so. You better not scoop up a hot piece of man-meat only after we leave though.”
You roll your eyes and shake your head. Your brain rattles like a maraca inside.
“After nearly getting puked on? I don’t think so, Tracy. I just want to save on some cash.”
She laughs, much to Shawna’s dismay. “Puke is so in nowadays. You’ll be a boy-magnet in no time if you chill by this vomit coated truck.”
“Ugh, no. Goodbye. This is where I leave, vomit coated truck and all.”
You wave goodbye to Tracy and almost feel bad for her when you see how completely smashed Shawna is, but you know she’ll manage somehow.
With that, you make your way down the street to the closest bus stop. A breeze blows by you and you pull your jacket a bit closer to your body, watching your breath paint clouds into the air in front of you.
The city was still bustling, though the air was muted with the drape of night over it’s head.
You stand to admire the scene a bit more, adoring the way your city brimmed with life. Sweet yellow light glimmered through the thousands of windows lined against hundreds of buildings that made your home.
A deep and raspy cough startles you out of your stupor, and you scramble like a cat from water at the disturbance in the night air.
Your eyes dart about your surroundings, desperately trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. You locate a pair of legs in a dimly lit alley, strewn about lazily.
You approach slowly, eyes travelling up the rather long pair of legs, up a torso, then a drooped head with an eerily pale shade of hair.
He looked not much older than you, though as he shivered he reminded you a bit of a lost child.
Your mind ran through the possibilities of how he ended up here, each thought including more drugs and illicit activity than the one before.
You tittered about nervously, wondering if it was truly a good idea to offer assistance to a complete stranger.
He took a shuddering breath, and your heart leaped into your throat, reeling with both fear and sympathy. You took a deep breath and readied yourself, trying to sound like someone who would definitely NOT be jumped in this situation.
“HeyY-”
Fuck.
Your voice cracked pitifully albeit hilariously if it wasn’t for these circumstances. You were totally the person who would be jumped in this situation.
You cleared your throat and tried again.
“Hey, are you alright? Why are you just sitting out here?”
He remained silent.
You weren’t sure if he hadn’t heard, or simply didn’t want to respond. You inched closer and saw he had a map laid in his limp hand, though it was for Rhode Island, and you were currently definitely not anywhere near there.
Kneeling next to him, you could see that the map had a crudely drawn image of a green blob signed off by E.B., whatever that meant. It seemed as if someone pulled a radical prank on this dude, and he totally suckered himself into it.
You peered at him to assess his level of consciousness, which was unsurprisingly at zero percent.
He was definitely unconscious, and also definitely extremely attractive. He was wearing a long red sleeved shirt with a disc graphic and jeans, which is to say, you’re surprised he isn't an extremely attractive, unconscious, iced-popsicle.
You didn’t feel too good about ogling someone possibly dying of hypothermia, so you decided the next best thing to do was frisk his pockets.
What? You were just looking for ID or a phone to call someone with.
You recovered a phone shit out of battery, and a wallet with five cents and a picture of a gross looking puppet in it.
Luckily, there was also an ID.
You flipped it over in your hand and read “Dave Strider” on it, with a picture of the dude in front of you with shades in the DMV. The look of bewilderment from the lady who was taking his picture was reflected in his glasses. Her expression seemed to ask, 'what kind of asshole wears sunglasses at the DMV?'
You shared her sentiment.
Sure enough, Dave’s shades were poking out of his jeans pocket. You guess not even douchebags can see with shades at nighttime.
You reach out and shake him. He is out cold, but only figuratively. He was burning up.
“Woahhhh okay.”
It was now fever city central. His body was sizzling, and for a brief second you could almost swear you smelt heat and clockwork.
Fucking alcohol.
You threw a glance over your shoulder.
The streets were empty, and echoed with the whistling of the progressively chillier breeze.
It didn’t look like anyone was coming to get him, and if they were looking for him they had missed him, considering he was literally sitting in a gutter.
He also didn’t seem like he belonged on the street. The combination of his clean clothing along with the creased map of Rhode Island and dead phone screamed “desperately lost.”
You massage your temples, suddenly desperately missing being tipsy all those thirty minutes ago. It didn’t feel right leaving him out here, especially with that fever blazing through him. What if he needed help?
You thought long and hard for a moment before your phone pinged and pulled you out of dreamland.
-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 11:47PM--
CB: Are you home yet??
SF: uhhhhh no not yet
CB: Was the bus late?? Damn, I knew we should’ve let you crash the night. Sorry (y/n).
SF: well
SF: no
SF: i didnt get to the bus yet
CB: ?? ??
SF: so theres this dude passed out on the sidewalk and ive kind of
SF: just been staring at him
SF: that actually sounds so much creepier than i intended
SF: what I mean is
SF: i looked at his wallet and id and I think hes lost
CB: What the fuck?? Is wrong with you?? You found someone passed out and you pickpocketed him??
SF: NO
CB: ?? Then what happened?? Why were you digging through his shit??
Goddamnit Tracy was flipping out again. Stupid Tracy and her responsible self that made you and Shawna look like incompetent twiddling toddlers playing in their own shit.
It made you kind of insecure.
You hear another ping, but this time it’s from Shawna, who was clearly still fucked up.
-- SwwetieShawwna[SS] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 11:53PM--
SS: OMG GIRL U DID NPT!!
SS: YOU DID NT DID NOT DUD NPTTT!
SF: yes ur right, I probably didnt
SF: i don’t know what tracy told you but no robberies happened
SF: he was already knocked out when I saw him
SS: OMG you’re TOTALLY gonna bring back a hittie wihout us to see DX
SF: geezus fucking christ what are you talking about
SS: I Wanna see hot guiys too OKAY???? OMG DDDX
SS: I NEED that HOT DJ in my arms rite noppwww!! DXXX
SS: mMMMM DIUD You see the way he was RUBBING THOSE RECORDS DXXX
SS: Need me SOME OF THAT in my LIFE DDX
You don’t respond to Shawna because shes clearly delirious, but you still hear her pinging you after you close her chat. You turn back to Tracy’s chat, which is not much better than the shitshow with Shawna.
CB: ?? Then what happened?? Why were you digging through his shit??
SF: i had to! i needed to see if i could call anyone on his cell to come get him
SF: but theres no charge
SF: plus if i robbed him he only had like a nickel
SF: so whatever
CB: A nickel??
CB: You searched for his wallet for money?? (Y/n) are you absolutely kidding me right now! I cannot believe you. That is a clear violation of privacy!
SF: he can keep his 5cents
CB: You touched him right?? What if…
SF: what
CB: Oh, nevermind. It’s probably fine! But I was just wondering…
SF: fuck you’re scaring me tracy
CB: What if he has some kind of Sexually Transmitted Disease??
SF: tracy you cant get stds from touching someone
SF: that’s actually super insensitive of you to say
SF: shame on you, for shame
SF: what would your mother think of this
SF: .
SF: it’s not contractible through touch right?
SF: tracy?
-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 12:05AM—
You look at the mysterious Dave boy passed out on the floor, then back at your pesterlog with Tracy, and then at your hands, sweating nervously. Tracy was just being paranoid, you tell yourself, its probably fine.
Your brain screams that it is not fine, but it actually is.
Your phone has also stopped receiving messages from Shawna, who you assume Tracy logged off of pesterchum for to drag to bed. Much like a mother to her petulant child.
The night continues to descend upon you, and the occasional shuttering of a window reminds you of how late it is becoming and oh shit when does the bus stop running?
You check the schedule on your phone, and it looks like your last ride left about five minutes ago.
It now dawns upon you that you should’ve just hitched a ride with Shawna and Tracy, but after remembering the texture of Shawna’s vomit sliding down the truck, you decide you don’t regret it that much.
Still, you’re left with no option but to call your own Ober ride. Luckily, there’s a driver only a few minutes away.
Unluckily, you’re still trying to figure out how to haul this unconscious body into the car without giving off serious murderer vibes.
You think dragging his almost-carcass across the pavement and into the car isn’t the best thing to do, and instead throw his arm over your shoulder and heft him up from his slouched position, righting his stance successfully.
Just as you do this, the Ober driver pulls up in a big shiny sports car, black as ink and as smooth as a gang criminal named Spades Slick, whoever the hell that is. The rims are so well polished that you’re nearly blinded, even though it’s nighttime and theres no sun to reflect off of it.
You ponder about fishing Dave’s sunglasses out of his pocket and donning them, but you realize that as effectively it will work in blocking out the beam of light, it will be just as effective in masking nearly everything else around you.
You pull Dave into one side of the car and triple check that he has everything you found him with. Busted phone and empty wallet? Check. Useless epic prank map? Doubly check. Obnoxious sunglasses? Triple whammied.
You shimmy into the seat beside him and close the door. The car smelt like a pack of brand new playing cards, but you assumed that was just the way expensive leather smelt.
The driver is shrouded in shadows, and you can make out the brim of a really cool fedora on his head. He turns around and nods at you, and though he doesn’t say a word to you, you now know you are ten times cooler.
He turns around and the engine revs to life, and you sail back to your apartment.
When you arrive, you drag Dave out of the car and give a sheepish smile to the driver through the passenger window. You are suddenly struck with the memory of their puny pension, and dig into your pockets for a hefty tip, only to find a hefty wad of fucking nothing.
You check the other pocket frantically, feeling the driver’s eyes on you, questioning. You feel something of substance and pull it out, thrusting your hand out in offering to the mysterious Ober man.
You slowly unfurl your fingers, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see that you only managed to scrape up two black licorice candies in the shape of dogs. You have no idea where they came from, or how they ended up in your pocket, but are ashamed of yourself regardless.
The shadowed man reaches out slowly, and you dispose of the candies in his hands unceremoniously. They click together and sound hard and unappetizing.
He pulls back his hand and examines the licorices like you had just struck him the world’s both best and shadiest business deal. After a few more excruciating few seconds, he reaches up and tips his hat at you. Though he has said nothing, you now know you are in good hands.
The window rolls back up and he veers down the sidewalk, then down the block until he becomes a speck in the darkness of the night.
You bring Dave upstairs, feeling the heat radiating off of his still trembling body.
Your apartment is furnished, but still mostly empty. There’s a TV, a sofa, a coffee table and a few pictures hanging on the wall. You live on your own due to a pest problem involving crows making nests in literally every crevice in the wall outside.
Dave is deposited onto the sofa and you take his temperature. 104.5 Fahrenheit.
You imagine having a barbecue on his head would be inappropriate, so you don’t even bother to make that joke.
Instead, you fetch a cold towel for his forehead and a cup of cold water. You do kind of feel bad that he’s shivering though, so you additionally add a plush blanket to his resting body.
You take out his wallet, phone, sunglasses and hilarious map and set it on the coffee table so it’s accessible to him when he wakes.
Sighing, you slump into the side of the couch and check your pesterchum logs. It looks like Tracy has successfully put Shawna out, because she hasn’t messaged you since last time. You decide to update Tracy on the situation.
-- SadFroggy [SF] began pestering ClickyBitchtracy [CB] at 1:12AM—
SF: so
SF: not sure if ur awake still but
SF: the guy is here
SF: in my house
SF: hes still knocked out and he has a pretty shitty fever
SF: i don’t know if hes dangerous
SF: (or has stds)
SF: but i think everything is gonna be ok
SF: get back to me when u can
-- SadFroggy [SF] ceased pestering ClickyBitchtracy [CB] at 1:14AM--
The grime on your body from sweating anxiously is beginning to sit heavily on your skin, and you think it’s a good idea to take a shower now that everything has settled down.
You gather clean pajamas and enter the bathroom, making sure the door was locked five more times before you stepped out of your old clothes.
The steam of the shower consumed your bathroom like a cloud of serenity, freeing your mind of worldly worries and allowing thoughts to wander.
Perhaps this wasn’t too bad after all? You had lived on your own here since you hadn’t been able to afford the place Shawna and Tracy were renting. Unfortunately, you ended up paying about the same price for the place plus its crow problems since no one had wanted to live in an apartment with a crow infestation.
Things were tight, but you managed to make it work with some of the loans you took out for university. Still, things often got lonely here. Crows make a shit ton of noise, but can’t hold a conversation for the life of them, those self-centered fucks.
They also often left weird scraps of their findings outside your bedroom window, which was really fucking weird and made you feel like the leader of some kind of obscure avian cult.
You digress.
A part of you was relieved that you had company now, despite the company being a cataleptic dude you picked up off the side of the street while half sober.
You turn the knob and shut the water, stepping out and drying yourself.
Would he freak out upon waking up here tomorrow? What if he called the police on you? He wouldn’t, right? You hadn’t even done anything to him. You even resisted taking his nickel. You were a saint!
What if he really had STDs?
You washed your hands a few more times for good measure.
You were almost one hundred percent sure you were just being a fucking asshole now, but you didn’t want any of his gonorrhea on you. In fact, you didn’t want anybody’s gonorrhea on you. So washing your hands it was.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, Tracy had already pinged you back.
You lay out one of your bedsheets on the floor and settled next to Dave, since you would probably need to be keeping an eye on him for the night.
-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 1:40AM—
CB: You let him into your house?? Girl, what is going through your mind??
CB: This is behavior typical of Shawna, but really?? You live on your own, (y/n), and you know this. What if you’re wrong, things won’t be okay??
CB: Putting yourself in danger like this is horribly irresponsible. You need to get him out tomorrow as soon as he’s awake. Seriously.
CB: And make sure you wash your hands!
SF: woah woah hold up
SF: yeah i washed my hands
CB: Good!
SF: dude you cant get stds through skin contact
You search it up just in case and are relieved to find your bluff is in fact valid.
SF: [has sent an attachment]
SF: see, its fine
SF: only a fucking idiot would believe that tracy
CB: Only a fucking idiot would bring home a dead body and let it sleep on the couch
SF: WOAAHH
SF: he is NOT dead
SF: yet
SF: his fever is at 104
CB: What the fuck?? He needs to go to the hospital
SF: i think its going down. i put him under a thin blanket and gave him a cold towel
CB: Okay. Well, I guess it’s good you decided to bring him back.
CB: But you still need to be careful. Sleep with your room locked tonight, and barricade it.
SF: yeah it was pretty cold out there tonight
SF: im gonna stay next to him and check on him thru the night tho
CB: Please don’t.
SF: : P
CB: I’m serious! Aren’t you scared something will happen to you??
SF: not really. im looking at him right now and he just looks like some poor dude down on his luck who got lost and had a shitty as fuck night
CB: If you’re going to resort to that, then I guess I can’t change your mind.
SF: haha nope
CB: Just shoot me or Shawna a text whenever you wake up. If I don’t get a message after 1pm I’m going to come over.
SF: sure thing mom
CB: God you’re such a pain in my ass.
CB: Get some sleep.
SF: oh my god stop worrying, ill be ok and ill message you tomorrow
CB: You better!
-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 2:29AM--
You stared at the pesterlog until your phone screen went dim. The entire livingroom was shrouded in darkness now, save for the light of the city pouring in through the window.
You could hear the cars passing before their headlights streaked like shooting stars across your ceiling.
There were still distinct conversations from the world below seeping into your room, but they faded before they could make it to your ears.
You turn to look at the sleeping boy on your couch.
He lay directly in the dim light from the window. In the illumination of the moon and passing traffic, you would almost say he looked sad.
You wondered what he was looking for tonight before you found him, and hoped you would be able to help him.
Another car passed, then another. Soon, you drifted off to sleep.