Chapter Text
The roads were extremely slippery on the cold, December night. Snow was falling in thick, wet flakes. It made easy work of covering the half hour old plow job on the highway. Not even the road salt was helping to melt the ice below the new layer of snow. The wind whipped around outside bitterly, sending snow piling high in drifting banks that were nearly as tall as Numbers, himself.
The man shifted uneasily in the passenger seat as Wrench drove the car down the poorly lit interstate. He made slow work at it, but had to drive a little faster than he would have liked in this weather. They were already behind on their case and couldn’t afford to get held up by the weather. Numbers listened anxiously to the weather woman droning off warnings on the radio. She was talking blizzards and blackouts and Numbers dared not sign any of that to Wrench. He didn’t want his partner to take his eyes off the road even for a second. A single mistake could cause a massive wreck and Numbers couldn’t even think about that. He squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second before opening them to the watch the dark would be devoured by the vicious, acrimonious Midwest winter.
They were making good progress, but the weather would not relent as the hit men continued down the highway. It was as if the weather was bucketing justice down on them for their mistakes and failures. In their line of work, any fuck up was essentially a major one. Even the slightest mistake would be massively detrimental to their job and sometimes even worse; irreparable.
This time, the fault belonged to Numbers. He had failed to station Wrench in the proper place while pursuing their target. He let his desire to have his partner watch his back as well as being able to keep an eye on his lover got in the way of their mission.
It was folly and it allowed their target to slip between their fingers before they could even have their chance at him. At least they had already found out where his safe house was. They would be able to track and catch him there if they could just get their before he collected his things and fled.
Wrench watched the road with extreme care and caution. He never liked driving in the snow but he was more comfortable at it than Numbers was. The night was at least a pretty sight to behold; or at least Wrench assumed so based off so many similar winter nights. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the road in front of him long enough to admire the weather. Otherwise, it might very well be the last thing he did.
The bumpy ride was anxiety inducing, but so far they seemed to be doing well. If they kept up this pace and the weather remained at its current state of foul, (however both hit men would agree they would prefer it to clear up all together) they might actually make it before their target skipped town again.
Everything was going so well now, so of course the scale had to tip so things would eventually balance out and equal zero.
There was no way for Wrench to have seen it coming. Out from a snowbank nearly six feet tall, a deer took a single cautious step before bolting into the road and in front of the car. Wrench wasn’t going incredibly fast, maybe only fifty miles an hour, but it was enough for the deer to crush the hood of the vehicle and send the car fishtailing across the slick, slippery snow and ice.
Numbers watched in horror as the deer hit the windshield; felt shards of glass cut him. He wasn’t sure if it was the freezing wind or the slashes that stung him. The deer rolled over the roof of the car and back behind the vehicle and Numbers felt the rear wheels beginning to jerk; the car was going to fishtail, Numbers knew it. “WRENCH!” the shout left his throat, despite logic telling him it wouldn’t matter. The smaller man clenched the seatbelt tight in his fists.
Wrench tried to remember everything he’d ever been taught about fishtailing and snow and winter driving. But even the gradual application of the breaks and trying to slowly jerk the steering wheel in the direction of the rear tires, couldn’t stop them from crashing through a fence and into a light post on the side of the interstate.
The car tipped and rolled as the front side collided with a sickening screech of metal. Numbers felt himself being jerked around and he was too terrified to do anything. Extreme pain, nausea and terror flooded his system before darkness swallowed his vision. It was the last thing Numbers knew before the crippling pain consumed him; pulled him down as the sides of the car collapsed around him.
Wrench got a face full of airbag as the car rammed into the light pole. It made the pain from the glass shrapnel wounds triple. His knee had slammed into the steering wheel and he noted the massive shard of glass and pieces of metal that was imbedded in the muscle around it. His neck and spine hurt from being whipped around. There was more than likely a immense bruise down his chest from the seatbelt.
But none of that mattered. He pushed the airbag down and reached for his partner, ignoring the aching in his neck so he could turn and look at him.
When he caught sight of the man, he at first felt relieved to see that he hadn’t been ejected from the car as he had feared originally. But his fingers touched something warm, too warm in the car and he brought them up in the swelling darkness.
Blood.
It covered almost all of his first three fingers and panic began to claw free from the lockbox of emotions Wrench tried to keep a tight grip on. He knew he needed to stay calm, but it was hard to remind himself to do so when his partner was bleeding and Wrench couldn’t tell if he was moving or not. Alive or not.
“Numbers,” Wrench’s mouth felt dry and he wasn’t sure if he had made any noise. “Numbers!” he called again and held his hand out for Numbers to take. When nothing happened, Wrench ripped his seatbelt from his body. “NUMBERS!”
His voice was desperate as it left his throat. Despite the pain that wracked all over his entire body, Wrench turned himself towards his partner. He didn’t care; this agony was nothing to him. It was at that moment that Wrench realized Numbers’ airbag hadn’t deployed; his eyes caught the dark splotch on Numbers’ head that was pouring blood.
For the first time in his life, Wrench found himself unnerved by the sight of it.
Wrench reached for his partner, taking note of the way his arm looked twisted in a way that couldn’t possibly be alright. Quickly, his fingers sought out Numbers’ throat and pressed the tips to his artery. Wrench tried to calm his own so he could feel his partner’s heart pumping.
Please be beating. Please be alive, Wrench thought to himself as he squeezed his eyes shut. Numbers’ skin was cooling down quickly; the temperature in the cabin of the car was dropping fast.
A slow, but steady pulse beat under Wrench’s fingers and the man thanked the moon and stars, god, and anything out there that would accept his extreme gratitude. But now he didn’t know what to do. The car was totaled and Numbers was unconscious and losing blood and the temperature was only getting icier. Wrench tried to quell his panic as his mind raced and reeled; he felt irrevocably lost without his partner to soothe and guide him.
Wrenched took off one glove and pressed it to Numbers’ head wound. He noticed a small light flashing on the floor of Numbers’ side of the vehicle and he hastily reached for it. His partner’s cellphone had a notification light blinking and Wrench was more than grateful to see that it had survived the crash and even had a charge and service.
Without hesitation or thinking, Wrench dialed 911 and put the phone to his ear. Without being able to hear the operator, he wasn’t sure how long to wait before speaking. It made him feel useless.
After twenty long seconds, Wrench began to speak into the receiver.
“There’s been an accident. We’ve been in a car accident. I’m deaf and I can’t hear what you’re saying. A deer jumped out and I couldn’t stop the car from fishtailing. My par- my friend is unconscious. He’s bleeding. His head is bleeding and I think his arm is broken and there’s glass in his face. It’s cold.”
Wrench felt horrible as he tried to relay everything to the operator. Without being able to hear either of them speak, he had no idea if he was intelligible enough on the phone and if the operator could understand him.
Numbers always said Wrench was perfectly fine at oral communication; that everyone could understand him just fine. But he never pressed his partner to speak. He never made him talk or indicated that translating was even an issue, ever. Even in the beginning after Numbers learned all the important signs and phrases for interrogation, daily conversation and communication, he never seemed exasperated when he had to sign anything to Wrench or voice anything that Wrench wanted to say or ask. Not even when Wrenched wanted to ask so many different questions to their target.
No, Numbers never made Wrench talk and went out of his way to make it so he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, which Wrench seldom did. Numbers understood it made his partner uncomfortable and it was just yet another thing that the older hit man seemed to understand and help accommodate for Wrench. Numbers never made him feel pressured to speak, while still trying to assure him it was okay if he ever did want or need to.
However, none of that was helping Wrench now. He felt choked and didn’t even know if he was speaking loud enough or too loud. No, this was horrifying on every level.
Wrench loved Numbers and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
“We’re on I-90 westbound. We just passed exit 379 I think. Ten minutes ago maybe. I think we might be outside of Humboldt.”
Wrench set the phone down freeing up a hand to check Numbers’ pulse again. It was getting weaker in the glacial night and Wrench really started to panic. He picked the phone back up. “Please hurry. He’s getting worse. He’s barely breathing.”
Wrench put the phone down and carefully shrugged out of his own coat, while keeping pressure on the head wound his partner had sustained. He gently placed the coat over Numbers carefully, making sure not to hurt him further. Without success, he attempted to turn the car battery on to at least turn the heat on for whatever little time remained. But it refused to turn on.
Wrench went to pick the phone back up and noticed the call had dropped due to a lack of signal in the middle of nowhere in a potential blizzard. Had it even gone through at all? Was help on its way? Or was Wrench going to sit there all night and watch his partner die?
No. Numbers couldn’t die. Wrench wouldn’t let him die.
He felt so weak and powerless. He tried to dial again but the phone prompted him with a message telling him he had no signal.
He could maybe get out and try to see if he could fix the engine, or whatever else was wrong, but Wrench didn’t want to take pressure off of Numbers’ wound. Plus that may take hours. Hours they didn’t have. Numbers would die from hypothermia if his body couldn’t heat up. Wrench felt a shiver rip through his body; from fear or cold, he didn’t know.
It was strange to see his partner unmoving. Numbers seemed to always be moving even in his sleep. Especially in the winter when the smaller hit man would shiver the whole night through, despite being under several blankets and Wrench’s strong and warm arms.
Now he lay still, and cold. Wrench watched the tiny puffs of air that came from the man’s nose. At least he was still breathing even if they were shallow and slow and far and few between. They were running out of time.
Please god, don’t you take him from me, too, Wrench thought as he waited in the car. He’s all I have. He’s all I need. You can’t take him.
Wrench had never been a faithful or spiritual man. But there had to be something out there watching the universe, right? Something that had the ability to give and take. And for all it took from both the hit men and so seldom gave, it seemed unjustifiable to Wrench that anything could be as cruel as this to take away the only thing left in this world that he loved.
The only thing god had given him was the man beside him. And Wrench was not about to let god go back on that truly amazing gift. No, he’d carry Numbers to the hospital if he had to. If no ambulance came in the next ten minutes, Wrench would bundle Numbers up in all the clothes they had in the car, tape his wound, and splint his arm.
It was all the time he could afford.
And Wrench wasn’t even sure if an ambulance was coming.
Please, Wrench pleaded to himself, shutting his eyes against the threat of tears as a lump rose in his throat. Please.