Chapter Text
Gerry didn’t need to be an expert tracker to follow where the creature had gone. Between Gerry’s gun and Michael stabbing it, they seemed to have injured it badly. Swaths of bark had been ripped from trees where it had crashed into them, and blood spattered the leaves underfoot in regular intervals.
The pooled blood grew heavier as he followed the trail; it looked as though the creature had slowed. Gerry felt that familiar warning itch crawling it’s way along the black inked lines of his tattoos. He took a moment to double check his handgun, listening to the forest around him as he did.
The silence that greeted him was far from a reassurance, but he pressed on, following the blood around a large tree and into a small clearing, painted white by the moonlight streaming through gaps in the canopy above.
It was the smell that hit him first, acrid, metallic, and far too familiar. He gagged, trying to keep his hold on his gun as he fought back memories of a place he had once called home, of fishing line and ink and drying sheets of skin.
By the time he registered the creature charging towards him, he had already hit the ground, an alarming from his rib cage sending stars swimming across his vision. He dragged himself backwards, ignoring the pain and trying to clear the haze from his eyes as the beast snarled angrily.
“Fuck!” Gerry swore as he realized his gun was no longer in his hand. He grabbed the first solid object he could find and threw it, a sizable rock smashing into the side of the creature’s head.
It yelped, but didn’t stop its slow advance, and a moment later Gerry felt the solid trunk of a tree press up against his spine.
I’m sorry, Michael, he thought through the haze of pain, raising a boot to kick at the approaching monster.
“Gerry!” Michael was there, suddenly, clinging to the creature’s head as it roared angrily, stumbling wildly around the clearing as it tried to shake him off.
“Wha – Michael!” He pushed himself to his feet, desperately scanning the ground for his handgun.
He spotted it among the leaves a few feet away and lept towards it, rolling back to his feet in one swift motion. He hissed in pain as the action jostled his almost-certainly-broken rib, barely taking a second to aim before he shot the beast in the leg. It lurched to the side, the motion flinging Michael off of its back.
With Michael out of his line of fire, he shot again. It fell with a whine, but Gerry kept shooting, again and again until the gun’s cartridge was empty.
Nothing moved in the silence that followed, but Gerry didn’t stop, hands shaking as he continued to pull the trigger, the gun clicking emptily in his grasp. It wasn’t until Michael pulled himself painfully to his feet, wrapping his hands gently around Gerry’s own that he let the gun fall, sinking slowly to the ground in front of the lifeless mound with a sob.
“Gerry? Are you...are you hurt?” Michael asked softly, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into his lap.
He was silent for a moment, not trusting himself to speak without breaking down completely. “I think I broke a rib,” he managed eventually, hating the way his voice shook.
“Oh!” Michael said, gently loosening his grip. “I’m sorry, I-“
Gerry stopped him, grabbing his hand to hold it in place. “Why did you follow me?” He asked quietly.
“Hurt or not, I wasn’t about to let you fight that thing alone,” Michael said.
Gerry wanted to be angry, to tell Michael what a stupid idea it had been to follow, to throw himself into danger like that. Getting angry was easier than acknowledging the shaking in his hands, the tremor in his voice. The fear that he could have lost Michael, and it would have been his own fault.
He couldn’t bring himself to voice the thoughts, there on the forest floor, wrapped up firmly in Michael’s arms. It was entirely hypocritical of him; he knew exactly how Michael would respond.
“I’m glad I didn’t,” Michael said, and Gerry could hear the tremor in his voice.
Because if I hadn’t, you would be dead, he didn’t have to say.
“I love you, Michael,” Gerry said, so quietly he almost wondered if the other was able to hear it. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not by a long shot, but he didn’t trust himself to put what he was feeling into words.
“I love you, too,” Michael said, and Gerry felt him plant a kiss on the top of his head. “Are you ok to stand? We should probably get out of here.”
“Yeah, I’m ok. Are you?” He stood up slowly, turning to help Michael to his feet. There was nothing he wanted more in the world right now than to be out of that clearing, away from the stench of blood and the memories it brought with it.
Taking Gerry’s outstretched hand, he pulled himself to his feet with a wince. “I’ll manage.”
Picking up his torch, Gerry shone it around the clearing, taking in the scene. The same ridge Michael had found continued on the far side of the clearing, forming a wall of sorts. Judging by the overhang it created, and the bones scattered around the clearing, this had been the creature’s den.
Gerry turned away, tucking himself under Michael’s arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“I, for one, have had enough of running around in the dark for one night,” Michael said decisively. “I say we go back to camp, and the second the sun starts to rise we head back to London.”
“Can we go back to your flat?” Gerry asked, exhausted. “My freezer has been broken for at least a week. I don’t have any ice.”
Michael huffed out a quiet laugh at that. “I would love it if you came back to my flat with me. I, uh, was trying to figure out how to ask. I don’t really want to be alone.”
Gerry breathed a small sigh of relief at that; he hadn’t wanted to be alone, either, not after this. He reached up with his free hand to where Michael’s arm was resting on his shoulder, lacing their fingers together.
“You won’t be.”