Chapter Text
The white fluorescent light hurt your eyes before you even had a chance to open them. Why were your eyes closed? You think, hard, but it’s hard. You feel like you have rope tied around your mind pulling you down inside yourself, inside an ocean. The beeping doesn't help, and that sharp clean smell that's hiding something, darker something akin to decay. You feel like it's coming from you though, not the room. You push that thought away not wanting to dwell on what something like that could mean. You force one eye open.
The light is too bright even to your half lidded single open eye. There's a shape. A man? He's been waiting for you to wake up. He reaches his long arm out and takes your hand in his. “I'm sorry, you shouldn't be up right now, you've been in an accident, but I need to know, where did you get this, it's not right, you shouldn't have it. Let me know so I can help you?” His voice is deep and worried and it's too hard to focus on it.
No you were wrong, whatever is holding you mind down deep is also making your body feel strange, feel sluggish. You thought it had been his hand you felt in yours but the gentle tug is not on your hand but on something wrapped around it. You feel compelled to look at it. You can’t look at it. Your head looks down despite it screaming from the part of your brain that is the most awake.
Your neck cries out and you hear the bones groan in protest. Your other eye opens and your gaze fixed on a thin crimson scarf. It's wool. Maybe it's wool. You hadn't noticed before but it itches. It wasn’t yours, despite the winter landscape that surrounds your city your blood has always run hot. Well not always, just once you hit puberty, after you started your brief stint as a sleepwalker. You barely owned a jacket let alone a scarf. They had always seemed too cumbersome. It wasn't yours, no, no but you think you recognize it.
You try that difficult trick of remembering before the harsh light. A boy you think, a little boy. You had held his hand. Not the hand that's entangled in the scarf now, not your other hand. Why though, why not this hand? The street.
You didn't want his little body anywhere near the street. You loved him. Had to keep him safe. He was so little, not even in school yet, you can’t remember his face, when you try to picture it you only see a fog, a haze, no not fog or haze snow. You just see snow, but his tiny hand curled into yours. You wanted to keep him away from cars, from the car.
The car.
The beeping gets faster and louder. Your numb. You're numb but there is pain everywhere. How can it be both?! You're flying back and your hand is empty. You can’t move. The snow is pink. It's pink everywhere and it hurts. It hurts and you can't breathe and where is he? Where is his tiny hand?
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you, you need more time to sleep. To recover” This time there is a hand on yours. It's not a tiny hand, it's large, and warm and so very gentle. Your eyes come back from the pink snow. Back to the red scarf, then to his face. It's hazy but he has a nice smile. It's strange that that detail jumps to you, but those dimples, those dimples stand out.
You hear rustling. That strange sinking feeling returns and the bright light fades into nothingness. Just before you are completely out you feel a hand at your face and that same deep voice mutters something. You are too far gone under the waves that you are starting to understand exist only in your mind to understand but it soothes you and the beeping slows.
A strange dream you think when you wake up. Strange and terrible but it doesn't matter just another day. Your head is clearer now, then it was in the dream, but the light is no less bright. Your mouth is dry and you open your eyes taking a look around the room you’ve woken up in looking for the water you often keep in a glass by your bed. There is no glass however, no comfortable familiar furniture and warm toned paint. The walls are stark and white and it takes you a few moments to realize you are in a hospital. Not a dream then.
That would explain the pain. Its dull and buried under a numb sluggish feeling that you are assuming is entering your body via an Iv. There is a woman in the chair. She’s been crying. You must have made a noise or the beeping has alerted her somehow. It's his mom. It’s Micheals mom. He should be at preschool. You would pick him up soon. You had to get up. Had to go quickly.
You had been worrying as his nanny since he was 2 weeks old. You loved him. You had to pick him up. You try to sit up and let out a cry of pain. She rushes over to you and fusses over you. She can't do anything but your pain brings fresh tears to her eyes. She looks devastated. She loves you but had something happened had you started to sleepwalk again? Maybe fallen?
“Oh Honey, honey don’t move ok? You're hurt oh god you’re so hurt” She starts to cry in earnest. It's an ugly gasping cry and it frightens you. She’s so calm. She’s so strong. A lawyer in a fancy firm that can afford to hire a fancy live in nanny. You have never seen her cry before.
“Mrs. Patterson? Why are we here? Where is Micheal? I should be picking him up. We take our walk around now”’ Your voice is high and on the verge of panic. “Where is Mr.Patterson?” She takes your hand and leans over your bed crying. She holds it too tight. Its not for you it's for her she needs your hand to hold onto to ground herself.
“There was a car, Honey there was a car and” She can’t finish. She doesn't need to. You fuzzy memory is solidifying. You can remember now his little body shielded by yours but it didn't matter. You could remember seeing his body was bent, and was broken. He was so small, too small to look like that. You start to shake and feel your own tears joining hers. He was dead. He was dead and you didn't save him.
You remember the feeling of using your hands to drag you across the snow. Your body is in pain all over but the pain in your hip trying to pull you out of consciousness. You look at your hands and they are bandaged. Your hip is throbbing and you lie back. You can't do this, you can’t be here. Her grief is overwhelming. Your grief is overwhelming. The grief the two of you in one room is pulling you under a different type of ocean. A stormy sea with tempest brewing and you would do anything to escape. Your monitors beep steadily growing louder and faster till a Nurse pops their head in concerned and calls for a doctor.
You can't do this.
You can't DO this.
Your body grants you a small mercy and the stress combined with the medicine put you back to the place so close to sleep and so far from rest. At least its a brief respite from her desperation, her overwhelming sadness.
Your next visit to the hospital from your own head is less eventful. Not forgetting your pain and having to remember it all over again. That at least is something. It is Mr.Paterson this time. A sweet and docile man. A children's book illustrator.
Who would he draw picture books for now?
It's a cruel thought and shame brings a flush to your face. You don't meet his kind eyes. He explains to you that a drunk. Who’s drunk at 2:30? By a preschool? How common. How pedestrian. Pedestrian. What a horrid choice of words. A drunk driver hitting two pedestrians.
Micheal was dead on the scene. He had died in the snow and you had crawled. He told you had crawled so far to get to him. Where he was pinned under the wheel. It had his you first but they could tell from the tire tracks that he hadn't even slowed down. Had panicked and sped up to get away. No. You didn't want to think about that. His crushed and broken body. They had managed to save you though.
You would need physical therapy on your leg. For sometime most likely. The Patersons, they were so kind. They said you could still stay with them. That you were like family to them. But they couldn't look at you.
You try to convince them no. You should know better than to argue with a lawyer. The doctor comes in. He’s a handsome man with a deep voice that you almost remember. He flashes you a sad dimpled smile and introduces himself as Dr.Kim. It sounds like a lie. Why does it sound like a lie? Despite the lie, if that's what it is, you can tell he cares. You don't generally care for doctors, especially ones in hospitals but he genuinely seems to give a shit.
He's handsome and tall and his voice is smooth as honey. He wears heavy framed glasses with just a tinge of yellow to them. Any other day his handsome face might have you swooning, now you hardly even register it. It's comforting, his presence, and it's nice to have someone in the room who is not marred by the shared tragedy.
He explains that your hip will be fine for walking even without physical therapy but that the sooner you start the quicker you will be pain free. He doesn't mention the extent of your internal injuries, the soft tissue that will take so long to heal. He doesn't want to overwhelm you. He can see your almost there already. Your pain level is low right now but he assures you that unfortunately soon you will feel the results of the accident.
When he says an accident you see a spark of anger in his eyes. He had to treat the man who hit you. Just a tiny bump. He may have slipped them something, just a tiny button really.that he had found in a little shop that had no idea what they were selling, that would help him see, well lets just say the error of his ways. Hopefully it will be painful.
He fishes out a business card for you and hands it to you.
“If you need anything, call alright? I usually work nights but you can ask for me anytime. I'm going to be heading up your therapy alright?” He nods to Mr.Paterson and asks if you have anyone looking after you at home.
You shook your head. You don't see how much it wounds him but it doesn't matter today is a day for wounds. You were no stranger to death, nor to grief and the thought of being trapped in their house, with the ghost of the child you all knew the thought was unbearable. You just kept shaking your head.
Despite your protests they set you up in their vacation home. They want you to stay with them but you can't. There are too many stairs. They offer to stay with you at the vacation house. You refuse and honestly it just easier not to in the end. It's within walking distance of the hospital, but unfortunately the path takes you right by the sight of the accident. They keep sending you your paycheck while you are recovering but it's the last time they visit. They still call in the week and a half since your accident and your talks are painful silences. What do you talk about now? You are ghosts to each other now. You don't want to see ghosts anymore.
You write off the feeling you get when you slowly walk to the hospital from the vacation home you're staying at. Refusing a car they try and send you, You never want to see one again. The feeling of ghosts or memories, and aren't they really almost the same rushing past you. It's your first physical therapy appointment. Your hip is fine for walking although it's slow but the doctor is worried about your range of motion. Maybe you should have taken a cab you fear over written by you pain mere minutes into your walk.
The snowy streets, although bright, make you feel exposed and you can't help but stare at the cars with suspicion. And the snowmen. They made you feel uneasy as well. Who had made them? A flock of them lining the area that you had to pass to get to the hospital, on both sides. They had no smiles made of coal, only indents where their eyes should be. The idea perhaps of a nose. They are unstintingly small and more humanoid than the average snowman. Each one with a matching crimson scarf.
Who made them here at the sight of a child's death? With a scarf that matched the dead child. You walk faster by them ignoring the pain. You face scrunches in agony and you throw one last look back at them. It looks like they turned their heads. Your breath catches in your throat. You power walk to the hospital.
You're covered in sweat by the time you make it to the hospital. The receptionist eyes you nervously and has you sit down. Worried about a heart attack probably. The fear and pain are in a battle on your face and you worry you might pass out.
“Excuse me,” You look up at the Man trying to get your attention. It's that nice Doctor, Dr.Kim. “Are you alright, you’re early and you look “ he pauses. He wants to keep a sense of decorum but he almost told the truth. His first thought was that you looked terrible. Worse somehow than the first time he saw you, though perhaps not the second, when your previously gelatinous memories solidified into a more permanent state. “Like you’ve had a fright”
You look up at him and feel your fear start to melt away. A silly thing to be afraid of. Snowmen who turned their heads. A stupid thing really why would they even.
“Sorry I just thought I saw” You trail off looking at the door. You think you can just see a spot of red in the white snow. A shiver runs through you.
He looks at you appraisingly , the way you wring your hands together. He can smell it on you, faint but unmistakable, if you knew what to look for, you were cursed. It had not come to fruition yet, you were still in the early stages but if he didn't find the exact curse soon. He frowns momentarily then offers you his hand.
“Snow always makes me see shapes and movement that may or may not be there. I don't care for it if I'm being honest” You take his hand. It is rougher than you would think a doctor would have. The hands of a tradesmen perhaps, and strong. He almost drops you and a blush springs into his cheeks. “Shit sorry I was distracted and. Sorry”
You shake your head dismissing the apology. It wasn't needed. You wouldn't call yourself clumsy but if someone held a gun to your head and told you to make a basket or something of the like well you probably wouldn't make it out alive. You could tell it embarrassed the man anyway. He takes his hand back. He considers offering you his arm but what if he dropped you again or tripped on his feet.
He had his own curse. The main function was simply to keep him alive. It had been difficult for so long to keep changing his identity, for so long it had been his main concern. Now though with vampires out in the public eye he could always claim he was one of them. It might make things easier at least. It also just made his life worse. He was clumsier and too strong, never able to judge his strength, unlucky hell it even made him a bad cook. But he was trying. He was pretty sure he had to break 1000 curses. It had taken two centuries to make it just over half way there. Now nearly half a millennia away he was almost done. He also just wanted to do good. He had seen enough cruelty and unhappiness to last him a lifetime. He wanted to leave the world just a bit better. Hopefully helping you recover, and break the curse you were in the throws of would help do that.
“It's alright, its doctor Kim right? I’m Y/n” You give him a small smile. He’s trying and even though you don't feel it you try too. “Oh, I guess you already knew that though. My chart and all that.” He smiles and nods. He leads you to a physical therapy room and runs you through some exercises.
You go through the motions without much talking. He’s patient correcting where you need correction and encouraging throughout the entire session. At the end you sit on a chair in the small room red faced and breathing hard. You want to take more pills but don't want to run out, don't want to have to sit in pain all alone in your apartment.
“The front desk let me know when you checked out last time they forgot to give you some of your things. I can have them brought up if you like? I understand it's probably been a very hard time” You nod appreciatively. That was where your wallet had gone then. At least you would have to get a new id card. That would have been a hassle you weren't ready for.
He grabs you a cup of water and hands you two small brick collared pills. You raise an eyebrow at him.
“Just Ibuprofen, nothing too extreme, it won't bother your pain meds, I promise” He offers you another small smile and slides the glasses back up his nose. You take them. His smile widens. The pain on your face had been evident. He hopes this will help.
A nurse brings you up a clear plastic bag full of cut clothes and items you had on your person. Most of it is stained with a brown that makes you want to turn away but a spot of red pulls your attention.
You feel like the lights have dimmed like the color had gone out of everything except that thin red scarf. No, not thin, child sized. For his little neck. Your hand goes to your mouth and you feel tears spring to your eyes.
He takes the bag and thanks the nurse. He orders you his hand again. You take it and he leads you slowly aware of your pain to a little coffee shop on the ground floor. He shouldn't be doing this.
“I shouldn't be doing this, I just remember you saying you don't have anyone. At home, if you want someone to talk to I’m free”
“I don't know how his scarf… was he even wearing it? I can’t remember I remember him but that I just. ..”
“It was with your things, you were wearing it”
“No I, why would I” You are lost in thought. He watches you search your memory. This scarf was cursed. It had cursed you. But when? Was it the boy's spirit? The two of you seemed close so it didn't seem likely. Why would he want to curse you?
You were paler than when you were first brought in. Whatever this was probably feeding off you. Maybe it was just grief, but he didn't think so. It seemed more. Sinister. You stand up wanting to be rid of the thing you head for the trash can at the edge of the little cafe and toss your ruined clothes. You save your wallet by putting it in your pocket and now it's only the scarf, the thin line of red. It's wrapped around your hand, almost as if by its own accord twisting and intertwining in and around your fingers. Like it's scared to be hovering over the trash.
Like it's clinging to life, like it's him clinging to you. Micheal was gone so how could you be so callous to part with even the smallest token of that life cut short. In the end guilt wins out over fear, and isn't that just so typical for you? You slip the scarf into your pocket.
He watches your interaction with the fabric. Yes it was definitely moving. Very clearly cursed. You go back to the little table the two of you are sharing. He has ordered you another coffee and you take it gratefully. He eyes your hands. Good good they were healing. He had been worried about the long term effect the cold might have on them.
“It started to snow, do you have a ride home? I noticed you walked here.”
“No, I don't drive” your face flushes, a little embarrassed not to be driving at your age. He lets out a sigh and nods.
“Me either, for world peace”
“World peace?” You laugh. It's a genuine laugh and he flashes that dimpled smile. He puts his hands out in front of him, staring at them for a moment.
“I am unfortunately very clumsy, that's why I'm not a surgeon. I'm fine with my hands but sometimes” He chuckles a bit.
“I can see why driving might be an issue then. Asking a person like that, someone might think you were offering a ride”
“Sorry to disappoint but it's out of my, lets just say wheelhouse.” You offer up another small smile. Shit a gorgeous smile. You were going to be trouble weren't you? He pulls out his phone, cracked you notice, and sends a quick message. He’s transferring your care to a college just to keep things on the up and up. “Next week you’ll be seeing Dr.Lee”
“Something suddenly coming up?” You are surprised to find you are just a touch disappointed.
“Maybe, I hope so” Your lips twist into a frown. The tiniest little pout. Shit ok he thinks don't look at that. He sets down his coffee and draws his hands back. He doesn't want to spill.
“And what were you hoping for?”
“Coffee maybe, after your session?”
“Isn't that inappropriate?” He shrugs a small shrug. You shrug back. It was a world full of monsters. Maybe your priorities had shifted, besides, who else did you have to talk to? Maybe this handsome doctor wouldn’t be so bad.
“Yes” It was but if he didn’t help you break your curse? The implications could be far more reaching than just this life. You could be trapped somewhere else in a nightmare or transformed into something awful. He needed more information if he was going to help. Hopefully you wouldn't report him. Maybe you should report him, he was definitely more curious than he should be. More attracted. No, not time for that. Curse first then, other things, maybe, depending. “Do you want me to stay away? I will if that's what you want.”
“It's not,” you give your head a little shake and he can’t help but think it's very cute.
“No?” He gives you a chance to change your mind. This is unorthodox at the least.
“No, I would very much like someone to talk to” You offer him one more small smile. “I have your card, I’ll text you next time I'm done with physical therapy” You stand to leave. You wanted to leave before the snow really started to fall.
“Wait!” You raise an eyebrow . “Your number, can I have it? You know so I know it's you?” you pull out the card he gave you earlier and shoot him a text. He smiles grateful that he was able to get this far at least. “ Feel free to call if you need to talk or you know, if you “ he pauses for a moment not wanting to sound weird but knowing this is the the important part “see anything weird”
“Weird?” you give him a confused look. What does he mean?
“In the snow. Sometimes, there are odd things” He shrugs. You sigh. Dr.Kim was an odd duck, but he seemed strange but not dangerous.
“Sure I’ll call if I see anything weird” He smiles again and looks relieved.
“I guess I’ll see you around” He nods and watches you walk out the door. Once you are out he stands up and peers out the window. Just when you are at the precipice of his sight line he sees you stop and look at something small on the path. Your body language has gone rigid and even from here you look afraid. He needs to know what it is but is afraid that if he goes over to look he will spook the thing and it will come at you another time when he can’t see it at all.
He would have to gain your trust, he thinks. He just hopes he can be fast enough. He watches you disappear as the sky grows dark. The red scarf is in his dreams that night as well.