Chapter Text
It's late when Lars finds him. Really late.
He had church tomorrow morning—in a few hours, really—and Lars probably should've been in bed by now, but Karin had asked him to watch his niece, and she was sweet and smiley and he had a good time, but he was so tired. He guessed it really would've made more sense to already be in bed, all snuggled up and comfortable with his blankets, but there were lights flickering through the garage's window and he just had to know.
He stood up by the window, peering past his curtains for a closer look. There were two lights side by side, flickering unsteadily; like a lamp whos lightbulb needed to be screwed in. And they weren't close, or, they were, but they weren't right outside the garage or Gus and Karin's house. Obviously they weren't, his car was in front of the garage, so it wasn't like they even could be, but the thought certainly crossed his mind.
He slowly opened the front door, taking care to lock it behind him before going to investigate. Sprinkles of snow fell around him as he made his way, the flare from the lights blurring together more and more as he approached.
He could see it now, the car idling—half on the driveway and half on the grass. Whoever was driving must've come in hot.
He liked that phrase, 'coming in hot'; it felt tactile, something Lars could feel. He knew hot, what it felt like to feel your skin burning and wanting more than anything to get away. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed by any means, but he knew it, and he liked knowing things.
He wasn't too far from it now, certainly close enough for the driver to see him. He waved a bit, trying to get their attention, but got no response.
Well, it seemed there was no avoiding it. "Hello? Are you alright?" He called, squinting at the windshield to try and get a glimpse of them.
Again, no reply; just the ambient sounds of the owls and wolves in the forest, the few things not dampened by the snow.
He walked to the passenger's side, fear now sinking in. He wanted to help someone if they needed it—he would hate to be stranded somewhere up here, especially with all the snow—but what if they were dangerous? Like, loud guns and car chases in movies kind of dangerous. Or if the car itself was bad, cause someone had rigged up a bomb to explode out of the hood if you walked too close.
This wasn't worth blowing up over, definitely not. But just when Lars turned to leave, a small gasp came out from the driver's side. It was quiet, but more gasps came, and when those became coughs Lars was starting to get scared for a whole new reason, but they stopped soon too. Lars turned back, cautious, and wasn't entirely sure he didn't have a reason to be afraid.
A man was there, slumped backwards in the driver's seat with one loose hand on the wheel. His other hand was pushing close into his side, soaked in blood. And the blood, the blood was everywhere. The spot around the man's hand was soaked through with it, coloring his white jacket and tight jeans. It looked like it had even gotten around the car too, on the steering wheel and the leather of the seat.
"Oh my- Oh my God," Lars breathed, already feeling his chest get tighter and arms shake.
The man sighed, his little puff of air fogging up the windshield.
He shook, trying to push himself to sit up. "Do you," he began, breathlessly, "know any hotels here?"
He winced hard at the effort—and Lars had to assume, the pain—but that didn't take away any of Lars' awe. This man was here, bleeding out on the side of the road, and still trying to be polite! Lars almost wanted to tell him that it was alright, he didn't have to sit up, because he didn't even really like when people looked him in the eye, but there were obviously more important things going on.
"There aren't really hotels around here, Sir, but- I mean, you look pretty bad. I live here, um, over in the garage there, and you look like you need help."
Lars was already steeling some resolve; the man seemed polite, and he was definitely bleeding out, so it was kind of the least he could do.
He walked around the front of the car, grabbing the driver's side door as he offered, "Here, I can help you inside."
The man looked like he was gonna refuse, but another jolt of pain seemed to hit him and he winced hard. It was clear to Lars that he needed help, now, and he didn't really want to fight the guy on it, but he would. If it came to that, of course.
Luckily, it didn't, and the man pushed himself with the help of Lars' arm round his waist, the both of them managing to get him to stand together.
He was tall, not taller than Lars, but it made Lars' arm a nice fit. They walked gingerly back toward the garage; Lars taking care to maneuver the man past the thicker patches of snow.
His shoes were nothing like Lars' boots. They were boots though, Lars thought, or something like boots, maybe? The stark yellow of them sloshed through the snowfall while they walked, and it occurred to Lars that maybe they were for fashion. He seemed like a fashionable guy, this man, with his shiny white jacket that crinkled when he moved. Lars didn't think he knew much about fashion himself, but the man had a futuristic look about him that reminded Lars of big cities and neon lights, and that sounded pretty fashionable to him.
In his fascination with the man's clothes, Lars didn't notice they were at his front door, and he looked up to see the man casting him an expectant glance.
He rushed to grab his keys and unlock the door—which is hard to do, when someone is leaning on you and barely walking straight—and gently shoved the man inside before locking it again.
"The bathroom is right there. You should probably take your clothes off before trying to clean your wound." Lars interrupted the man's worried stare, "Don't worry, I can wash them tomorrow."
The man nodded, casually shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder.
"Thank you," he said, voice soft and a little croaky. He probably hadn't talked to anyone in a long time. Lars wondered how long he'd been hurt like this, just waiting for someone to see his lights and offer a place to stay.
"You're welcome," Lars said, trying to offer a small smile.
He heard footsteps moving away, so he focused on taking off his own boots and hanging up his coat. It was soothing to take off and put on his clothes, a nice familiar ritual he got to do every day. He would've offered to take off the man's clothes too, simply to sooth himself more, but the man would probably be half naked in the bathtub before his own jacket was off, so he left it alone.
Relieved of a few layers, he popped into the bathroom to offer more help to the man. He was sitting on the edge of the tub, belt undone and pants pulled partially down to gain more access to the wound on his side. His shirt was off now too, and Lars could see the various scars across the planes of his chest.
He seemed very in shape, much more than Lars, at least. It wasn't that Lars hated his body or anything, but it was a bit embarassing, being bigger and taller than just about everyone he knew. It was like everyone was always noticing him cause he was too big not to be. He took up too much space. But this man, he wasn't like that. His stomach was flat and his abs had six little well defined sections, like a pack of beer from the supermarket. Lars was trying not to be intimidated by it.
"Do you- D'you need help?" Lars asked, stumbling over his words as the man pulled the side of his briefs further down.
The man startled, almost dropping the needle in his hand.
Lars rushed to sooth him, saying, "Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."
The man breathed quietly for a moment, taking his time before he began stitching himself again.
"S'alright."
Feeling only half-sure the man wasn't angry with him for barging in un-announced, Lars sat down across from him and tried to settle in. He wasn't just going to leave an injured man to clean himself up alone. Even if he couldn't help with stitching him up, he could at least keep him company. And be there in case he passed out.
Time passed slowly like that in Lars little bathroom. They sat silently, the man occasionally asking Lars if he could grab a washcloth or help him hold something steady. He didn't seem to have any sort of expectation of what Lars should be doing, not staring at him expectatntly or telling him to look him in the eye.
It was like people always had this assumption that Lars would just be able to understand things even if they didn't explain it clearly, that some words meant he needed to 'man up' and just do what everyone else did. But who was he hurting? Did it make people feel bad when he didn't look in their eyes? Or did they just want him to be like everyone else? To be normal.
He didn't know, and to be honest, he didn't really want to know. He couldn't change these things, not quickly anyway, and he didn't even really want to! But it was hard. Spending every day knowing people are looking at you with a strange stare and thinking 'what's wrong with him?'
But he didn't feel any of that now, not with this strange man getting blood all over his bathtub. He felt…nice. Comfortable, maybe. Like there was no pressure to be anything really, not to be 'normal' or 'be himself' or to take up less space. It was just nice.
The man turned to the faucet to run some water, wetting his washcloth before he rubbed it gently around his wound, now freshly stitched closed.
It looked very clean, and there wasn't any blood on the man's body anymore, so Lars was feeling happy. The stitches looked nice too, although he didn't know very much about what good or bad stitches looked like. But they seemed pretty neat.
"Are you done?" Lars asked, feeling a little nervous now that this part was over.
The man nodded, looking around for his shirt to place back on.
It was weird, but Lars didn't want the man to leave. He wanted to suggest he should just stay the night; get some rest before he went on his way, but wouldn't that be kind of terrifying? Someone randomly inviting you to stay at their house is how murders happen. But there really weren't any hotels in town, and it was so late already…he would just ask. Maybe the man would say no.
"You could stay here for the night, if you want. You can take my bed and I'll take the couch, I don't want your stitches to come undone."
The man looked shocked for a moment, probably scared by Lars being so forward, but he quickly schooled his face back to that calm, neutral look.
"You sure?" He asked.
"Uh, yeah! It's- It's really the least I can do, yknow. You seemed really hurt and I'd feel bad if you drove away now and got worse cause you didn't have somewhere to rest," Lars stopped, cutting off his own rambling monologue, "So, I'd like it if you stayed."
He felt his face grow hot at his words. He hadn't meant to say that much! He didn't usually ramble like this but he was just so nervous and he couldn't get rid of that little voice in his head begging the man to stay.
"Alright."
Lars looked up at the sound of the man's voice and saw a little smile on his face. His hands clenched at his sides, feeling suddenly confined even though they'd be sleeping on different sides of the house.
The man left the bathroom now, having gathered up all his clothes. His eyes had those little sunken in circles below them; he must not have slept well in a long time.
Well, Lars thought, at least his bed was pretty comfortable. He felt like he got a nice night's sleep out of it most days anyway.
"Oh, wait!" Lars called, stopping the man in his tracks. "Do you need any pajamas? I think mine will be a little big on you, but I can ask Gus for some."
He turned, an eyebrow lifting in a questioning stare, "Gus?"
"My brother. He and his wife live in the house there, and I get my own little spot here in the garage," Lars said, staring at his feet with a smile, "Karin just had her baby, so they're both at home all day now. She's very cute."
A silence grew in the room, and suddenly Lars felt he'd overstepped and said way more than he should've. Why would this random man need to hear about his family? He was probably just dying to flop into bed. Why should Lars keep him up?
He could already feel the fabric of his shirts bunching uncomfortably on his chest where he was pulling them, wishing desperately that the man would walk into his bedroom and forget about him entirely.
"I don't need anything. Dont worry."
Lars shot up. "Need what?"
The man's smile grew, and Lars felt that familiar prickle of shame whenever someone was laughing at him.
"Clothes," he replied, gesturing down to his briefs, "I'll sleep like this."
"Oh," Lars mumbled, face hot. He hadn't noticed the man taking off his jeans.
He turned back to Lars' bed. "Goodnight."
"Uh, goodnight, um-" Lars started, realizing only halfway through that he didn't know what to call the man, "What's your name?"
The man didn't stop for even a moment, already hopping into bed. "Don't worry about it."
Lars spluttered out an, "O-Okay," before trying to fumble the shirt buttons off his body. "I'm Lars, by the way."
"Goodnight, Lars," he said, and Lars could hear the smile in his voice.