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For Naim, as far as he could say, he didn’t know what had hit him. Only that he’d been in the car with Ryan and Izzie, in hopes of changing this awful fate, and then Izzie was spitting out the truth he couldn’t dare to share with Ryan himself and a car was pulling up loaded with boys much bigger than him ready to beat him black-and-blue.
They threw Ryan to the ground with an awful thud. Naim cringed. He’d always thought of Ryan as strong, but it occurred to him with an awful plunging stab that that was, of course, in comparison to himself. The man threw him to the stone-studded dirt as if he weighed nothing more than a pillow, raised a rough-cut 2x4 and struck him with it with an awful crunch. Ryan cried out, rolled, tried to get back to his feet, but there was nothing he could do before the beam landed down again. Naim cried out in horror, backed up against a wall of unforgiving crates with more of them closing in. God. What a way to go. Beaten to death the way his mother had feared, the reason why she’d sent him into that horrible ritual in the first place. Endured the twin flames they’d seared into his eyes only to die at the hands she’d sought to protect him from anyway. Delivered unto his own death while seeking to escape it. If he hadn’t been watching Ryan go with him he almost would have only laughed at the irony of it all.
He watched blurrily as Ryan somehow leapt to his feet, spat out a mouthful of blood as he threw off his assailant and ran to the car. A moment later the headlights lit up like cat eyes and Ryan was plowing forward, slamming through the gang enclosing on Naim. Most of them were smart enough to dive to the side; one unlucky bastard caught the front end of the car directly to the ribs and was flung into the air like a dog toy.
Then the car stopped. Naim froze, only a moment, confused – why was Ryan waiting for him – and then he remembered the others, threw himself into the passenger seat without a second thought. Ryan hit the gas, and they were gone, leaving Izzie screaming in the distance. Izzie. Naim had trusted her, felt stupid to have done so now. Of course she had her own bone to pick. Of course she wouldn’t have let Hunter slide. He wasn’t sure he could have done any better, in her place.
Ryan drove for what felt like forever, in silence. Naim tried to allow him that. But he could only go so long after such a brutal beating before he hedged a quiet, “are you okay?”
Ryan ignored him. Naim accepted this.
They were nearly halfway home when Naim tried again. “Did they hurt you?’
This time, he got a gritted, rasped response. “‘M fine.”
Are you sure? might have been okay an hour ago. Naim didn’t have the place anymore. Didn’t deserve to ask such a simple, domestic question. Didn’t deserve to see Ryan’s wounds, didn’t deserve to mop the blood from his broken body. Never have, he realized, with a miserable shudder. Not after what he did. Not after what he wrought upon him. What he brought onto Ryan is what he brought onto himself, and shivering in the passenger seat watching Ryan drive in silence with bruises already flowering on his beautiful cheek, he knew that this was only what he deserved. Less than, even. If it weren’t for him, Ryan wouldn’t be miserable, and if it weren’t for him, Ryan wouldn’t be bleeding right now, and if it weren’t for him, Ryan – beautiful golden Ryan, with his husky voice and his strong arms and the way he swept Naim off his feet with a shove as much as a murmur – wouldn’t be doomed forever to live with an entity wearing Naim’s own stupid bastard traitor face.
“‘M sorry.” What a pathetic offer. Ryan’s face twitched.
“Little late, don’t you think?”
A moment later, he bit out. “You cunt.”
A moment after that, the car jerked to the side. Naim was waiting to be thrown out – only as he deserved, left on the side of the road for no one to hear him scream and for the entity wearing Ryan’s face to devour him, with no trace of him left for his mother to bury – deserved, he thought bitterly. And then Ryan gave an awful lurch, a hand flying to his mouth. He threw his car door open as it was still sliding to a halt and vomited, harshly. Even in the dark the bright red tint was unmistakable.
“Ryan!” Naim jerked to his side reflexively, bringing a ginger hand to his back. “Ryan, are you–”
Ryan gave a convulsive, shuddering retch, and then heaved up more blood into a shallow ditch on the side of the road. His face was pale around the deep purple bruises already dotting it, and under Naim’s hand he was shivering. Without waiting for permission Naim rolled up his shirt, recoiling in shock immediately with what he saw. Ryan’s whole side was stained with massive, deep bruises, crawling up his ribs, spreading out into his stomach.
“Oh, shit – oh, fuck–” Naim grabbed for a phone. “You dickhead, you should have said–”
Ryan gave no response. There was crimson blood trickling over his lips. More bruises than Naim had seen now discolored his handsome face, and there was dried blood staining his golden hair. Naim grabbed for him and pulled him into his lap, not caring if Ryan hated him, not caring if he deserved to, not caring if Naim hated himself. He cried out down the phone to the dispatcher – far away, he knew the ambulance was, maybe too far away – and cradled Ryan against his chest, and held him steady when more blood drooled from his slackjawed mouth.
They wouldn’t let him go in the back of the ambulance. They let him sit up front, eventually, neck desperately craned around the corner as the paramedics worked on Ryan. The journey to the hospital seemed to take an age, and worse than that, when they arrived, a team of scrub-coated strangers whisked him away and Naim was alone in the waiting room, still soaked in Ryan’s blood. This was bad, he knew it was bad. Being seen first in the emergency room was always bad. But Ryan, he was young, he was strong, he had to be all right, didn’t he? It wasn’t fair for him to be taken. Not when it was the entity that was after him and not when those bastards brought by Izzie were after him and those were the only reasons he should go so soon.
God, if it hadn’t been for Naim…
He pressed his head into his hands and tried to pray. For the first time ever. His mother had tried to force him before, but he’d never gotten the point. He’d bowed his head and pretended along well enough, just to please her, but he’d never actually prayed. Now he lowered his head and begged anything that might have been listening. Please let Ryan be okay. Please let Ryan come through this. And please for the love of God don’t leave him alone somewhere so that thing can come kill him. Please let me take his place if that’s what it costs. Please, I’ll go. Please, it should be me. Please, just don’t take Ryan.
He didn’t know how long he tried to pray like that. All he knew was that it was long enough into the unbearable wait that his knees and shoulders both ached when the nurse swept over to him. Pretty, professional, well made-up. She gave him a soft smile. “Naim Reid?”
“Yeah,” he croaked. His voice was raspy after many hours of unuse. He could barely bring himself to look at her.
“I wish I could tell you more,” she said apologetically. “But there’s not much I can tell you, not without…permission. But Ryan is alive. He made it through, he’s waking up. He’s going to be all right.”
Naim’s heart threatened to force its way up through his throat in a sudden, convulsive burst. “He’s – can I see him?”
The pretty, professional nurse frowned. “I’m sorry. Immediate family only. Perhaps when he's a little better…”
Naim nodded, numb, sank miserably back into his hard and unforgiving waiting room chair. Not that Ryan would have wanted to see him anyway. He’d known that much. But yet the fact lingered…
Ryan was alive. Ryan was alive, and that was all that mattered. That was all that would ever matter. At least now Naim could look at the face of the entity pretending to be him, and wonder who it was, instead of knowing the answer.