Chapter Text
After a grueling, long work day, Vincent can finally rest. Even so, the bags under his eyes show evidently that this claim is false, an external image of what he goes through inside. But at the end of the day, he’s always going to dread eventually seeing HABIT. The low growl of his voice, the sharp blade of his knife, the piercing gaze that wasn’t quite his.
Firm hands grip his steering wheel, trying not to think about whatever bullshit his mind was trying to feed him. He turns sharply into a gas station, he already knows what he wants from there. Some shitty 99 cent energy drink and beef jerky.
He withdrew the key from the keyhole, shoving his keyring into his pocket, along with his phone and wallet. He gets out of the car, slamming the door as an extra security measure. [and because the door never closed properly, otherwise.] He shoves his hands into his pockets, and walks over to the gas station. It smells potently of wet cement from the constant heavy rains, and gasoline, obviously. A faint scent of iron lingers in the air, but Vincent doesn’t think much of it.
Before he could even step into the convenience store, a figure falls onto the door, breaking the glass from the inside. Vincent stumbles back, startled by the man that had just burst open the door with his skull. Vincent immediately checks on the seemingly unconscious man passed out in front of him. An immediate realization dawns on his face– It’s Evan.
“Holy shit- Evan? Ev, it’s okay, I’ve gotcha buddy.” Vincent sprung to his friend’s side, collecting his body in his arms. A few shards of glass make their way into his arms, but he could care less. He carries the limp body of his friend to his car, reclining the passenger seat and putting a towel down, just in case. He sets Evan down gently, before slamming the door shut and booking it for the convenience store once more, tripping over his own feet on the way.
He steps gingerly over the shattered glass remains of the door, booking it for the energy drink section of the store. He grabs a six-pack of whatever the first energy drink he lays his eyes on, and scrambles over to the checkout counter.
“Hi, just this please–” The sight his eyes are greeted with is… not a pretty one. A body leaned over the counter, shirt missing and back facing the sky. Except their back… wasn’t really… functioning anymore. Ribs spread out from the spine like eagle wings ready to take flight. Lungs exposed and bloodied, clearly stabbed and deboned by some form of knife.
His brain immediately went into fight or flight, the feeling of needles under his skin arose quickly. He absolutely booked it to the car, nearly ripping the car door open just to get inside. He sets the pack of drinks in the backseat, and then he collapses onto the steering wheel. His horn almost immediately goes off, scaring the life out of him, and he slams his head into the roof of his car.
“SHIT-! Ow! My head!” He clutches his head in his hands, and, out of the corner of his eye, he spots the still body of his friend in the car seat next to him. He reaches over and checks Evan’s pulse, still alive. He let out a sigh of relief, thank god. He withdraws his hand from Evan’s neck, and places his hands back on the wheel. He pulls out his keyring from his back pocket and he puts the key in the keyhole, swiftly twisting it to turn on the ignition.
He swiftly buckles his seatbelt, and then his eyes land on the knocked out body of his friend. He thinks a moment, before gritting his teeth. He yanks the passenger’s seatbelt down over the unconscious body, buckling it in, and making sure it was laid over the man correctly, so that he wouldn’t… die, he supposes. He would usually turn on music, but his mind was already swarming with overwhelming thoughts. After a bit, he heard Evan start to stir awake.
He was shocked, he thought it would be a couple of hours before Evan would awaken. His hands grip the wheel, trying desperately to focus on driving, but his eyes switch between watching the narrow twists and turns of the road and the limp figure he knew as his best friend, once. He slowly brings the car to a stop, parking it in the nearest lot he found. He doesn’t take the time to fully power off the car. Vincent gets out of the minivan, walks over to the door of the passenger’s seat that Evan is in.
“C’mon, Ev, you need some fresh air.” He unbuckles the seatbelt and gingerly lifts the half-conscious man out of the seat, careful to avoid the few stray bits of glass that lay on [and, probably, in] his skin. Evan could only make some grumbling noises in return. Vincent offers an awkward smile, which Evan barely returns, before buckling over and proceeding to vomit his guts out. Vincent steps away from the mess, his nose wrinkling in disgust, his eyes reflecting the pity he felt for his friend.
“...’s jus’ go..” Evan slurred, refusing to look up from the rust colored mess beneath his head.
“You- you need rest, Ev. Sit down or something, I don’t care, just… stop standing there. Pathetically.”
Evan didn’t have enough energy to argue, so he complies, stumbling over to the nearest bench he could find, which just so happened to be a picnic table. Evan sat down, laying his head on the old, worn wood of the table. Vincent follows, sitting beside him.
A firm arm drapes over Evan’s shoulders, causing him to tense for a moment, before he just simply breaks. A sob escapes him, and Vincent hugs him closer to himself, regardless of the blood, terrible B.O. smell, and the evident wounds all across Evan’s form. He hugs this sweaty, disgusting man close to him, and even though he smells like roadkill, he still loves him. Or, well, what's left of him, anyway.