Chapter Text
road’s too long—keeps stretching—
yellow line flickers—won’t stay still
red… sign?
dripping.
bluebird. broken. wings… gone.
yellow ex… ex…
stop? me?
sky—folding in. like paper.
ground's eatin’ me. soft teeth.
nothing in my hands. forgot 'em.
ditch looks soft. maybe sleep there.
buzz… buzzzzzz… in my headbones.
tight chest. heavy.
heart’s loud.
trees got eyes. no face.
mouth zipped. stitched? dunno.
won't move.
hurts in colors. green maybe.
green hurts.
shouldn’t be walking. shouldn’t be here.
can’t walk. floating? no. falling.
wrong air. sharp air.
no names here.
too quiet.
too loud.
road’s watching me. watching.
lighhhhts… ow.
freckles… brown… eyes… pretty.
black
—
The road was dark and endless, a black ribbon stretched tight through the woods. Nick tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs, slow and rhythmic, trying to stay sharp. The vents hummed low with heat, and the seat warmers—blessed miracles—were doing their job. Best investment he’d made all season. He’d tried not to go too wild with the money, tried to be practical, humble, grounded. But the car? The car was worth every damn penny. Especially in January, in the middle of upstate New York, where the cold didn’t just nip at you—it gnawed.
He glanced out the window. Frost etched thin patterns across the edges of the glass, delicate and mean. The trees were bare, black shapes clawing upward in the dark. No snow on the ground, just brittle grass and frozen earth. He hated when it was cold and ugly. If it was going to be this freezing, the least the world could do was give him something pretty to look at. A little snowfall. A soft white coat on everything. Sparkling in the trees. Some reason for the cold to feel worth it.
His phone buzzed again in the cupholder. Miley, probably. He didn’t check. She’d wanted him to stay out with the team, get drunk, dance, celebrate. He’d made some excuse about an early morning appointment. Truth was, he was still recovering from New Year’s Eve. He didn’t have it in him to do back-to-back hangovers anymore. This wasn't college. Twenty-five wasn’t old, but it wasn’t invincible either.
The highway curved gently, and that’s when he saw it—something ahead, barely visible in the high beams. Movement. A shape near the shoulder. Twitchy. It's common for deer to dart out of nowhere in this area, you always need to keep an eye out. He lifted his foot from the pedal just slightly.
Nick squinted. But was it an animal? No… it's upright.
He eased off the gas even more.
The figure came into view, just barely within the edge of his lights.
A man. Walking. Sort of. Thin as a scarecrow. Wearing a torn shirt, no coat, arms wrapped around himself. Stumbling a little like his legs weren’t quite getting the proper signals from his brain.
“What the hell…”
Nick slowed to almost a crawl, scanning the area. Nothing else around. No cars pulled over. No houses nearby. Not even a gas station for miles.
Where the hell had he come from?
The man took another step and then suddenly dropped. Straight down, face-first into the gravel.
“Shit.”
Nick pulled hard onto the shoulder, hazards flicking on, and was out of the car before it fully stopped. The cold punched him square in the jaw as he jogged toward the body—person, man, whoever the hell this was.
“Hey! Hey, you alright?”
No answer.
He crouched beside him and turned him over, careful but fast.
Dark curls. Pale skin. Sharp cheekbones. Blood trickled from a cut at his temple. Bruises. His lips were turning blue and there was a small trail of blood trickling from them. And yet—he was smiling. Laughing, actually. Soft, dazed giggles slipped from his mouth like bubbles.
Nick froze, hands still pressed against the man’s shoulders.
And then he went limp. The laughter died. His eyes fluttered closed.
“Hey—hey. No, stay with me, come on—”
Nick pressed his fingers to his neck. Pulse. Weak. Breathing. But barely.
“Okay. Okay. Shit, alright.”
He didn’t think. He just moved.
Picked the man up—so light it made his chest ache—and carried him back to the car, flung open the back seat, and laid him down as gently as he could.
He slammed the door shut and climbed behind the wheel, fingers already dialing up the seat heat for the back out of pure instinct. The car was warm and safe.
He turned off the hazards, threw the car into drive, and sped off into the dark.
Fifteen minutes to the ER.
He just hoped he was fast enough.