The plot and characters belong to Krechet.

Sections in completely bold font are memories.

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You’re My Zero! #1

In the moment before death, the smallest, most insignificant details become so focused and visible that it’s like looking through a high-powered microscope. Every pore of skin deepens like massive pits; every shade of every visible color bursts out individually like a field of landmines erupting all at once.

Cole could hear the screeching protests of metal on metal as the two cars collided, a sudden paralyzing fear overtaking him at the realization that he was about to die. It all seemed so dark, his eyes gifting him with occasional glimpses of his feet above his head, the door scraping against the asphalt, on and on and on. Then, silence.

Somewhere, there was someone shouting. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t even look around, to see who. He pulled forward, testing his body’s capability to move. It was the seatbelt. Pushing against the suddenly too-tight strap, he could feel his heart pounding with sporadic skip-beats, his throat constricting to the point that he couldn’t breathe.

“–all right? Mi–”

He could hear the shouting again, closer and softer, and breath against his face. Hands then, pulling at the hateful safety belt–in his mind, he laughed at the name–and running to his arms, legs, ribs. Am I okay? He tried to ask, a pathetic croak spilling out instead. Am I alive? He felt his arms move. Is this real?

It was so dark, and he couldn’t tell where he was, who he was with. His body seemed to sag against time, pushing hard to catch up and just falling short. The breath against his face became a strange, harsh wind tearing at his whole body, the sudden feeling of moving fast while somehow remaining still disorienting him further.

“–fine!” the voice was still there, still trying. “I’ve got you no–”

It was so dark.

~*~

“Really,” Wes said flatly, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight!” His mother shrieked back, her voice just as loud as if she were really there. “I called you earlier! Didn’t you watch the news?”

“Of course.” He hadn’t.

“You know how important earning a name is!”

“Actually, I don’t.” He glared at the naked white kitchen wall, wishing for all the world that he wasn’t having this conversation.

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then, “Oh, Wesley, honey! You know I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I know, Mom.”

“It’s just so important!”

“It is.” There was a strange stain on the ground, he noticed. He made a mental note to shampoo the carpet; the oblong brown mark had a menacing look about it. “Very much so.”

“You’ll come, won’t you?” She asked again, her voice much softer. “Eight o’clock?”

“Eight o’clock,” he confirmed. “Good-bye, Mom.” Flipping the phone shut, he set it on the table, slumping back into his seat.

His sister, his baby sister, had earned her name. At seventeen. It had probably been on the news; if he was lucky, he could probably catch the five o’clock highlights before he headed to the celebration.

Pulling off his glasses, he let his head roll back, staring up at the blurry white-washed ceiling of his apartment. One day he would earn his name. One day he, too, would make them proud. One day.

The remainder of the afternoon passed by almost reluctantly, giving him more time to think than he honestly needed. It really shouldn’t be this shocking to me, he thought. No one else is surprised. He had never fit the mold, though, not even in his own family. He’d had braces as a child. He wore glasses.

The look on his father’s face as his second grade teacher spoke of how much potential the boy had, of how much it would help him to see an optometrist. “It doesn’t matter how intelligent he is,” the woman had said, “if he can’t see properly.” His parents had agreed with smiling faces, then led him to the car with harsh and confused murmurs of “too human to be an Ace” and “super hearing and poor vision?” ringing in his ears.

But truly, he mused, it was the day the dentist recommended they take their son to be evaluated for braces that cemented him as a failure, a false Ace, in his parents’ mind–and his own.

Well, at least he could fly. He’d like to hear them say that.

Flying had always been Wes’ sanctuary; the feel of the wind blowing against him and the decidedly enjoyable lack of traffic never failed to calm his nerves. There was a peace in it that he couldn’t find anywhere else.

He was above a mostly uninhabited area, marked by its distinct lack of light, when an ear piercing screech broke him out of his auto-pilot mentality. Darting to the ground, he landed in a dense woodsy covering near the intersection of a dark and nearly empty highway. Two cars had collided, the first slamming directly into the driver’s side of the other, much smaller, car. The momentum of the hit had flipped the second car and sent it sliding–roof on the ground–toward the side of the road, a deep retention pond at the end of its path.

Wes’ body moved before he could even process the situation, feet off the slick, grassy ground as he flew in front of the small vehicle, pushing his hands forward to stop the movement, his feet sliding several inches back before stilling.

He winced as he removed his hands, flexing the sore fingers. The squeal of the other car’s tires sent his eyes darting from the wreckage before him, only managing to catch sight of its rear as it sped away, the sound of the smashed bumper scraping on the asphalt following.

The situation was completely wrong in every sense of the word, but he really didn’t have time to sit and think on it. Flipping the car right side up with a grunt, he peered in through the smashed in windows.

There was a woman inside, struggling weakly against the seatbelt as she blinked blearily. From what Wes could see, she was covered in shallow cuts from the glass, but that seemed to be the worst of the visible damage. Wrenching the open the door–which immediately detached and hit the ground with a heavy thud–he reached in, one knee on the driver’s seat, and unbuckled the safety belt. Ribs are bruised, he thought, pressing gently on each indentation, legs and arms are fine. He ran a hand along the back of her head, testing for any softened spots. Seems fine.

He pulled her out of the wrecked car, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Miss?” He paused, waiting for a reaction. None came. “Are you all right?” He asked louder, feeling a bit idiotic. She was clearly not fine.

He jumped as she let out a strangled reply, her head lolling to the side. Shifting her in his arms, he stood to take off into the air when he noticed–

Her shirt–an inappropriately low cut green blouse–had lost the top three buttons, exposing a very pale, very bruised, and very flat chest.

Apparently, she was a he.

Oh, Jesus. Wes shook his head, glancing skyward. Should he take her–him, he reminded himself–to the hospital? His instincts were screaming NO; he agreed. The car that had hit the woman–man, he corrected himself again, the man–had done so on purpose. And, worst of all, they’d seen him.

And this…person, he thought, is just as suspicious on his own! Wes hoped the man was merely in disguise and not an active gender-swapper.

Still, strange habits aside, he couldn’t leave them at a hospital. The strange man wasn’t injured too badly, though he’d definitely feel it when he woke up, and Wes needed to speak with him. Glancing at the remains of the small car, he grimaced. I need to speak with him badly.

~*~

Cole was not in his apartment. If there was one thing he hated–and there were a ton–it was waking up in some strange apartment with a god damn pervert lying next to him. He moved to roll over on his side, expecting a blast of disgustingly hot morning breath and the aged face of a client, but every time he tried, a dull, throbbing pain would shoot up his left side, lacing through his abdomen. He gave a pained groan, resigned to remain where he was.

Which left the question, where exactly was he?

He was used to waking up sore, but this morning was different. He couldn’t remember any of the previous night, and he was sore in all the wrong places. His ribs and left arm felt heavy, a dull ache pounding steadily throughout them, increasing with each minute movement.

The room wasn’t anywhere he had ever stayed before, which was another oddity. Cole had regular clients; he never had to meet new people anymore, so what the Hell was going on?

“Hey, you’re awake!” A voice–why does it sound so familiar?–spoke from the open door. “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon.”

He stared blankly at the man in the doorway. “Wake up?” He echoed. “What?”

“Well,” the man said sheepishly, sitting down on the side of the bed, “it’s a long story. I just–” He paused for a moment, just watching Cole. “Do you remember how you got here?”

“No! I don’t!” Cole bit out, feeling more frustrated from being unable to move and not understanding what was going on than he had in years. “What the fuck is going on?” He demanded, voice rising higher and louder as he attempted to shift away from the other.

The man flinched violently, his hands flying up to cover his ears, knocking his glasses askew. “Stop that,” he growled. “Don’t be so loud.”

“Who the Hell are you to tell me not to be so loud? I’ve been fucking kidnapped!” He shrieked hysterically.

“Why would I want to kidnap some gender-confused banshee, huh?” He shook his head at Cole, righting his glasses. “Jesus.”

Cole sneered at him, scoffing. “Please! If you didn’t kidnap me, then why am I here? And why the fucking fuck do I feel so fucking sore?”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Cole snapped. “Fucking pervert.”

“Look,” the other man said, rubbing his forehead wearily, “it’s early. Really early. You should get some slee–”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Cole hissed, scooting to the other side of the bed.

The man looked even more frustrated. “You’re injured. You need to rest.”

“Why am I injured, huh? What did you do to me?” He gasped, a manicured hand flying up to his mouth. “You beat me, didn’t you? And after I go to sleep, what are you planning?” He sat up sharply, the pain in his left side flaming. “Don’t think I don’t–”

“Just shut up, all right? Quit thinking stupid things. I didn’t kidnap you,” he gave Cole a sharp look as he opened his mouth to interrupt. “I didn’t beat you either, or do anything else your twisted mind is concocting. You were in a car wreck.”

“A car wreck?” He echoed, his hand sliding to tug gently at his long hair.

“You,” the man hesitated, twiddling his fingers. “Another car collided with yours. It didn’t–” He cut himself off then, sighing.

“The other car, what? What happened?”

“It just, well,” he waved his arms weakly, “it just drove away.”

“It drove away,” he repeated incredulously. “What the Hell did it do that for? Did you get their plate numbers? I’m going to sue that sonofabitch so hard that he vomits money for the next fifty years!”

The man gave him an irritated look. “That’s not really what I meant. I think whoever it was tried to kill you on purpose.”

“B-but–” Cole began, trailing off. This guy thought someone had tried to kill him? It made no sense. Sitting up on the bed, he shifted against the headboard to find a comfortable position, his side twitching in pain. “I can’t believe that. Why would anyone bother to try and kill me?”

He felt his forehead wrinkle as he tried to figure it out, a hand shooting up subconsciously to smooth it. Sure, it’s true that he’d pissed his boss off a lot recently. But that was no reason to kill him! Was it?

He knew the answer was rolling around in his mind, clogged in the memories of the evening before and the supposed car wreck.

“Hey, are you all right?”

What?

“If I’ve told you once, Cole, I’ve told you a million damn times! Respect the fucking clients! If you keep this shit up, the Boss isn’t going to be nice about it.”

When did that happen?

“Fuck you, man!” He shouted, spinning on his heel as he stormed off. “I’m not going to be the Boss’ lapdog anymore! He can kiss my fucking ass!”

“You’re going to regret this, Cole! Come back here!”

“Hey, come on, now–”

His cell phone vibrated impatiently against his leg; scoffing irritably, Cole fished it out, pressing the flipped open receiver against his ear. “If you think for a minute I’m–”

“Watch the road, sweetheart.”

He spun his head around, mouth opening to let out a shout that would never be heard as a large black mass slammed into the side of his car.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

Wind against his face, a voice keeping him grounded.

“Are you all right?”

He was going to die. “Oh–oh God–” He threw himself off the bed, stumbling and gripping his side as he darted out the door, panic crashing down over him as the memories of the previous night ripped through his mind.

They’re going to kill me! Oh, fuck– He didn’t know where he was going, running down the narrow hallway and throwing himself in to the first doorway he could find. Slamming the lock closed behind him, he collapsed to the floor, curling up against the wall. There was a loud, gasping noise surrounding him; his face was wet. Am I crying?

He was going to die.

“Hey, come out of there! I can hel–”

They were going to kill him.

“Open the door!” Came the voice, carrying loud over the pounding on the door and in his head.

He was going to die.

The world seemed to go silent for a moment, the pounding on the door and screaming voice ceasing completely, a numb peace descending in the tiny room. Cole curled up tighter, forehead against his knees. He breathed deeply. It–

CRAAACK

He jumped, head slamming against the back of the wall. The door, it seemed, had been removed. Torn off by whoever the hell that man was who had saved him, standing in the doorway, glasses hanging off his ear in disarray, hair standing straight up, and jaw set firmly as though he was heading out against the devil and his army all on his own.

His widened eyes fell to the splintered wood where the hinges had once been attached, then darted back to the man standing before him, doorknob gripped tightly in one fist.

His eyes rolled back in his head, a faint cry of “What’s wrong now?!” ringing in his ears as everything went dark.

The idea of rest had never been so appealing.