Chapter Text
The night was a symphony of the hum of the heater, the tiny drip, drip, drips into the sink and the whistle and rattle of winter winds against the windows of the garage. Outside, the snow came down in big, fluffy clumps, coating everything in a layer of fresh ivory. Inside, Lars curled himself underneath two layers of blankets, facing the wall as he tucked his blue knitted blanket close to his chest, content to sleep to the familiar sounds of a snow storm.
The sudden, clashing sound of shattering glass broke through the lullaby. A cold chill flew across his back, beckoning him awake. Groggily, he opened his eyes and turned around, rubbing his face and switching on a lamp next to his bed. The warm yellow light illuminated his surroundings, and Lars examined his space to try and find what was broken and how—praying that it wasn't another surprise raccoon rummaging through his cabinets.
The kitchen looked mostly fine, no furry intruders to be seen—Oh.
Just past the kitchen, in front of a wide-open front door, stood a man. A man who was absolutely covered in blood. With one arm, the stranger leaned against the wall, with the other, he held himself, hand pressing to what was definitely a wound in his side. His entire body visibly shook, his head sagged below the weight of his injuries, and blue eyes peer out toward Lars, so disoriented that Lars couldn't tell if the stranger had fully recognized that he was there.
The intrusion shocked him awake, a sensation not too different from being drenched in cold water. Lars' head reeled at how fast he got to his feet, rushing to the stranger. "You're hurt!" He exclaimed, reaching out for the man, then hesitating—he didn't have any gloves on. In fact, he was regrettably bare of most of his protective layers. His aversion to touch had gotten better over the past few years, but he'd still get that bone-deep burn if it was unexpected—and Lars hadn't exactly been expecting a bloody intruder tonight. Avoiding the man's skin, he wrapped an arm around his shoulder and lead him to the still-warm bed. "Sit down and I'll call—"
"No." The first word he heard from the guy was demanding with no room for question. Underneath was a tone so desperate it spoke the unsaid 'please' for him. "No ambulance."
"Okay." Lars tried for his best calming tone, like he were soothing a wild animal. "No ambulances." He paused to consider the man in front of him, trying to see the wounds, now that he was in a better light. They didn't seem like a lot, but the mystery man was positively covered in blood—the small patches of dry shirt that remained were a bright white contrast to the pieces that were saturated in red. "Let me grab the first aid kit."
Turning heel and headed toward his bathroom, Lars also went to close the front door and try and shield them from the cutting winds, only to find the source of the glass shattering. His front door window had been broken through, closing it revealed a white jacket left atop the broken pile of glass. A smear of crimson also went down the interior face of the door. He'd broken in. Concerning, but if the stranger wanted to do any harm, he hadn't started yet.
After retrieving the first aid kit, Lars turned the corner back to the mystery man. His whole face contorted with a blink before he managed an order towards him. "Could you take your clothes off?"
Still probably out of it from blood loss, he stared at Lars, eyebrows knit with confusion.
"I mean. So I can see your wounds— So I can treat them." He raised the supplies that took up both his hands.
Wordlessly, mystery man stripped down to his boxers, making the wounds pretty clear. It made the rest of his body pretty clear, too. He was fit, layers of built muscle forming rounded and defined arms and pecs, a v-line guided Lars to lean, long legs. Among his well-sculpted body were many, many scars. Some ragged and sharp, others looking what Lars would assume is bullet-like, small, round and dimpled. They didn't make Lars feel any better about the fact that this guy broke in. The only scars that seemed more medical were light, faded and curving underneath his pecs.
Lars examined the wounds, most were surprisingly okay, considering the amount of blood on him. It was a lot of bruises, ugly and large, reddish purple hues that bloomed out from his ribs and across his back. A sizable cut was the source of a trail of blood on his face, a few smaller ones that ran across his left arm and one huge gash on his side that he kept trying to press on. Most had already stopped bleeding, though, so either it wasn't as bad as it looked, or mystery man had been bleeding for a while.
Carefully, and with anticipation of the stinging burn that would come to his fingers, Lars brought a wet cloth up to the large wound. The skin-to-skin delivered that slight tingle that made Lars upper lip twitch, but it also came with feeling the freezing surface of mystery man's desaturated skin. Another blink. "How long were you out there?"
Mystery man remained silent, eyes closed. The clenched jaw had assuaged any worry that he'd somehow passed out still sitting up. Lars took it as a hint that the man who broke into his house while bruised and bleeding maybe didn't want to talk. Fair. Lars could work with that.
Cleaning and bandaging wounds were not something Lars had ever done before—he'd only learned all this a few years ago when Elinor was born, in some sterile classroom that took an hour to get out to. His hands were shaking as they applied antiseptic ointment and fumbled a bit when he wrapped the bandages around his body.
Mystery man was still shaking, too, and Lars hurried to get him some clothes that weren't soaked and dyed red. He settled on a sweater and some sweatpants. Both pieces of clothing were big on Mystery man, he had to tie the sweatpants tight and the elastic cuffs at the bottom had extra fabric that hung over them. If he was uncomfortable with the set up, he didn't say anything, just cuffed the sleeves of the sweater.
Lars started a pot of coffee.
There were a million potential questions that circled through Lars' head. What happened? Are those bullet wounds? Did you crash somewhere? I should really call an ambulance. That last one isn't a question, but it was frequently coming up in Lars' thoughts. Out of the menagerie of questions and the one statement, he settled on: "Would you like some food, too?"
"Coffee is fine."
Lars nodded. Every word he said sounded forced, and Lars couldn't tell if that was because he was on the brink of passing out, or if that's just how he talked. He didn't ask, just saved it in the new pile of growing questions that he will never ask. Instead, he fiddled with his hands and glanced over every now and again to check and see if the mystery man was still looking at him. He always was. It wasn't a menacing look, or, Lars didn't think it was a menacing look. More like he was keeping an eye on Lars while he leaned against the counter and waited for the coffee to drip—like if Lars had made any sudden move, he'd pounce. Or run off into the snow storm.
There was only one mug. Lars didn't even use it anymore, he usually had coffee at the house. Sometimes with Gus, Karin and the girls, sometimes just a mug of lukewarm leftover coffee before he left for work. He poured a cup for mystery man and handed it over gingerly, fingertips grasping the rim. Grabbing the mug, Mystery Man's hands shook, the coffee sloshed side to side, and one wave broached the rim, leaving a small line of ochre where it dripped.
"Are you still cold? I can get you another layer."
"I'm fine. Thank you for the coffee."
"No problem." He stood there for another second. Blinked. "Let me get you some blankets and pillows for the night."
"I won't stay long."
"Well, you don't have to stay long, but it wouldn't be right to let you go out in the storm." He stared at Lars again, wide blue eyes. "It'll die down by morning and then we can help you get to a mechanic, or a doctor. Whatever you need."
Mystery man stayed quiet, a response which Lars was now taking as 'sure'. He went to get some old blankets from a closet. Most of them were dry-rotted, some were quilts with squares taken off after years of use, one was an old duvet. They really needed to clean some of this out. He also pulled out some old throw pillows before heading back, eyes barely peaking from his stack.
As Lars laid out the bedding, Mystery Man kept a close eye on him. Lars never had many sleep overs growing up, but he remembered how Gus used to set up the floor for his friends, layering blankets and pillows for semi-comfortable sleep. He was about halfway through when he second guessed himself. Shouldn't he have offered to sleep on the floor instead? That was the polite thing to do, and Lars wouldn't mind—okay, well, he would mind. He'd mind a great deal, in fact, still—
The sound of ceramic hitting the table snapped Lars out from his thoughts. He didn't even have the time to look over before Mystery Man was laying down and putting the rest of the blankets over himself. "Thanks." was all he gave before turning to face the wall.
Lars nodded, blinked, and got up to collect the discarded clothes. The shirt was probably better off being thrown away, but the jeans could be cleaned and mended. He gathered the jacket that was laid over the shattered glass and looked over it. His hands ran over the fine, smooth satin and the golden scorpion embroidered on the back. It was also stained red, and there were cuts into the fabric—including a shoddy mending job in the front that had come undone and some threads of the embroidery that had been frayed by the glass. It was a nice jacket, probably an expensive one, but light and breathable. It wasn't made for a harsh Wisconsin winter, that's for sure. He put it in the pile with the jeans.
In his last moments before the brick wall that was an upcoming adrenaline crash, Lars tried his best to duct tape a blanket over the broken window. He only got two layers of duct tape in before his body reckoned with the lack of sleep and the abundance of stress and shock by making his limbs turn to jelly, shaking uncontrollably.
The rest could be cleaned up in the morning, he figured as he laid down in his bed, curling the familiar blue knitted blanket to his chest.
—
The rest was cleaned up in the morning, Lars found. He'd woken up to the sound of knocking at the door. He sat up, looking for a Mystery Man-shaped lump on his floor, just as he had left him. Mystery man was gone, though.
The blankets and pillows used to construct the make-shift bed had been folded neatly and left on the ground. The glass, first aid supplies, and bloodied shirt were all cleaned up. Even the mug had been removed from the table, the jeans and jacket were nowhere to be seen. Lars would be thoroughly convinced that the night's events had never happened if it wasn't for the cleaned up job of duct tape on the window.
The blanket had been folded over, and the duct tape now had several layers to it. Lars raised his hand to touch it, eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if it were an illusion that would dissipate when he did.
The door opened just as his fingers grazed the surface. Lars jumps back at the sudden motion.
"Lars!" Karin exclaimed, giving out a relieved sigh. "You had us worried, sleeping in so late."
"Oh."
"What happened to the window?"
"Uh." Lars hesitated. There was no real evidence of his late night intruder, not anymore. Karin and Gus would probably freak out about it, evidence or no, even though the guy just slept over and cleaned the place afterward. Lars didn't want to deal with that. "I don't know. It got shattered last night. Must've been the weather."
Karin didn't question it, just commented on having to get someone out to take a look at it and asked if Lars was going to come in for a late breakfast. He accepted and got dressed, walking out into the fresh snow with his boots on. His eye caught the trail of footsteps away from the garage and back toward the street. It had been snowed over by an inch or so, leaving vague indents on the ground. Lars wondered how long ago he left, hoped he didn't try and brave the storm right after he passed out.
A second thing caught his eye. Sticking out from the snow, the dark reddish color stark against the pure white, are a pair of leather gloves.