(Untitled)
Who: Alex (changetheorder and Tom (evidnceofbodies)
What: Tom makes his way into town lost and confused, only to find Alex bleeding out in the gutter. Insta-bromance.
When: BACKDATED to like a week ago ._.;;
Where: Just outside Alchemilla Hospital.
Warnings: TBA
( There's a smell of stale feeling that's drinking from my skins/The drinking never stops because the drink off all our sins/We sit and throw our roots into the floor/What are we waiting for )
What: Tom makes his way into town lost and confused, only to find Alex bleeding out in the gutter. Insta-bromance.
When: BACKDATED to like a week ago ._.;;
Where: Just outside Alchemilla Hospital.
Warnings: TBA
( There's a smell of stale feeling that's drinking from my skins/The drinking never stops because the drink off all our sins/We sit and throw our roots into the floor/What are we waiting for )
He shifted his position slightly from where he was seated on the sidewalk, back-up against the side of a building. A pained grunt escaped from his throat as he did so. He'd stripped off his military jacket (that wasn't really even his) and cut it to ribbons with his combat knife about twenty minutes ago. The bleeding in his leg had gotten so bad by then that he knew he needed to wrap it, so he'd used his jacket as a makeshift tourniquet. It was no big loss in his mind, even if it was cold out. All the better to be rid of this goddamn thing. He wasn't even sure where he'd gotten it in the first place, but it made him feel childish when he wore it around, like some little kid playing dress-up. After all, wasn't that what he really was? It made him sick to think about, and it was almost as though keeping the jacket around would only reinforce his fucked up mind and be a constant reminder of how screwed up he was.
Swallowing hard, he forced the thoughts from his mind and reached down to put a little more pressure on his wound, cringing as he did so. It was funny, he noticed, how the thing only hurt when he touched it now. Maybe it was a testament to just how much blood he'd lost, and how bad of shape he was in. He remembered getting out of town, and he remembered meeting up with Elle, and he remembered her helping him home, and he remembered trudging up the stairs to his bedroom, and he remembered the flash of a camera...
...But when his eyes refocused, what Alex thought he'd seen was gone. His bedroom was gone. And he was back in Silent Hill, in front of that goddamn church again. It kind of made him wonder if he'd ever left at all, or if he'd just crawled out of the church, collapsed on the street, and started hallucinating from blood loss... or something else. Something his mind refused to even so much as put into words.
The sound of a person calling out to him again hit his ears. It was then he realized that the voice wasn't female-- not at all. In fact, it was very male, and as Alex strained his eyes to see who it belonged to, they eventually confirmed that the figure the voice was coming from was, indeed, just that. The man himself was pretty average-looking on the whole, nothing too out of the ordinary, and he didn't seem like a member of The Order. He seemed beat up, if nothing else. But they were in Silent Hill, so anything was possible. After all, Judge Holloway didn't seem like she was a member of The Order, either. Neither did Alex's parents. He thought he remembered reading once that members of cults weren't usually insane or imbalanced-- not at first, anyway. They were just normal people, and it would be hard to pick them out from a crowd. Yeah, he'd read that in a crime novel or a comic book when he was younger. Maybe. Though it was just as likely that he'd made it up, just now, in his head.
Licking his lips, Alex did his best to gather his strength and force out the word, "Yeah," in response. Fuck if his voice worked at all, though, and it came out more like a barely audible squeak.
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“Shit,” He whispered to himself stepped foreword. All pretenses dropped, he snapped to attention and found just exactly where the reply had come from. Maybe twenty yards ahead and to the left, a guy was slouched up against a building.
“Hey..”
He approached slowly at first, not wanting to just swoop down like a retard, then jogged the rest of the way before kneeling down softly in front of him. There was blood everywhere. The first thing he noticed, actually. The second that that the wound, presumably his leg, was wrapped tightly with strips of cloth in a makeshift attempt to take care of himself.
“What happened?”
How long had he been out here? Weren’t there people in this town? Couldn’t anyone see him just laying here? What about the police? What the fuck was going on? Questions that would have to wait. Right now he was there and they had to get to a hospital. Fast. This guy looked like hell and wasn't going to get any better just sitting here bleeding out.
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Licking his lips and trying to focus, Alex turned his attention to his new companion. He wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting there together like that, or how long he'd made the other guy wait for a response. But as soon as he was able to lock himself back into reality, he searched desperately for the strength to speak.
"I have to get out of this town," he said. "I can't stay here. I need to leave."
His words were more of a desperate babble than anything else, but he hoped that they'd come out as clearly as he thought they had. It was probably the most confusing plea he could've made-- after all, everyone else that he'd talked to didn't seem to pay him any heed and dismissed him as quickly as they could. But it was only a matter of time before everything caught up with him, before some member of The Order recognized him, before some kind of official scraped him off the street, looked up his medical records, and locked him back up. He couldn't go back. He wouldn't go back. He was better now... right? Would anyone listen? Would anyone believe him? Would anyone care? Could they?
Remembering again that there was actually someone here to help him, Alex forced himself back into the present. It was only then that he noticed that the man who'd come to help him was injured as well. There was a none too pretty gash on the side of his face, and blood had caked its way down his cheek and along his neck.
"Oh my god," Alex said abruptly, leaning forward. He wasn't sure if the man had responded to his other pleas or not, and at this point, he didn't much care. The familiar sensation of adrenaline rushed back to him, numbing his anguish and sharpening his senses. "Did they get you, too?"
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Then again maybe he had been mugged or something. It wasn't like getting stabbed was unheard of or anything, he wasn't naive to dismiss the thought. Yeah, that's probably what happened.
"No, my car crashed." He explained, unconsciously brushing the wound on his face. Maybe it was the adrenaline from Sarah almost getting both of them killed or the cold in the air, but he hadn't even felt it. Tom shook it off and wiped his hand on his pants. Blood seemed to be a big theme in his life right now. Blood in Harmony, blood here, everywhere. Fuck, he hated it.
Having a bright idea, he reached into his pocket for his cellphone and dialed 911. It rang for a second before static ate the connection and his service dropped. Shit. He tried again and got only static. what the hell was with his phone? It had been working fine earlier and now it would barely pick up reception? He shoved it back in his jacket, swearing under his breath and looked around for any sign of life. He didn't see anyone and it only frustrated him more. This guy needed help and no one was fucking here! He was too busy to go through his pockets for anything else and never discovered the new device. the one thing might have actually been useful. He'd kick himself later.
Nothing this guy said was making any sense. Maybe they could work it out later. He looked like he was going to pass out at this point. Tom didn't really remember that they were outside the hospital at first. It was too dead to draw his attention but upon looking around (again) to try and get some kind of fix on what was nearby, he noticed a sign spelling out the name of the institution and an arrow point to the nearest entrance. Anger rushed back to the forefront of his mind.
they were outside one and this man had been left alone to bleed out?
"You've got to be kidding me, where the fuck is everyone?!" this was rediculous.
"C'mon," He said, extending a hand to help Alex up off the ground. "You're gonna be okay."
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Nodding numbly, Alex took the stranger's hand and painfully dragged himself to his feet. Limbs stretching and muscles straining, he suppressed a groan from the very exertion of his act. His bad leg felt stiff-- not just sensitive and piercing, but rigid now, like something was holding the muscles taut and in place, even though nothing was. With a slight grunt and a few ragged breaths, he was eventually able to force himself into a position that vaguely resembled standing. Unfortunately, he found himself with no choice other than to lean heavily on his new companion's shoulder, and for some reason, he didn't seem to even notice or care just how close he was to another human being that wasn't Elle Holloway.
"That's the kind of town this is," he breathed, his voice tense and difficult. Talking kept him focused, talking kept him occupied, talking kept him awake.
And alive.
"People don't go out at night," he went on to explain. "Shit closes down by eight. Families stay in. This town... probably more than others."
On most conscious levels, he didn't seem to recognize the way that he was nodding his head to his own words in a neurotic sort of way, if only just to agree with himself as to what he was saying was right. Alex's head felt light on his shoulders, as though it could float away at any second. He clung to the other man desperately, grasping at his shoulders, at his shirt. Every few seconds he would take another glance around the immediate area, scanning for something, looking for something, making sure that things were where they were supposed to be, and that nothing was going to saunter out of the corners, alleys, or storm drains.
All the while, the words "ST. ALCHEMILLA HOSPITAL" loomed above him. It was the one place he refused to turn his sights on, though it never seemed to stop staring back at him. Its gaze was heavy and smoldering, and in Alex's current state, he could almost swear that the heat was burning and boring a gigantic hole right into his back.
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"Why?" Tom asked, situating himself to carry Alex's weight. He figured he could probably carry him if the current set up didn't work, but it remained to be seen. It wasn't that long of a walk and this guy seemed pretty tough. He seemed to know some basic first-aid training and his homemade tourniquet suggested he was military. Well, okay, the dog tags were kind of a giveaway, too.
It seemed a little fishy that the place seemed so dead, hell, it was pissing him right the fuck off, but it was better than nothing. There had to be a skeleton crew working the night shift. Anyone. It's not like the place could close, right? there had to be a ton of stuff open. Even Harmony had a 7-11 open all night, it's not like the concept was new or anything.
There was a thing or two nagging in the back of his mind as they took a few careful steps. What had happened to leave him there in the first place? Who are 'they'? Maybe he was some kind of escapee who had broken out after a spy mission gone wrong?! But they, as they should be, were quickly ignored. This wasn't the time or the place, and he would be the first to admit that his thoughts could sometimes get away from him.
It took a little shuffling, but Tom managed to guide Alex into turning around and then began to make for the Hospital's doors.
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Alex's breath caught in his throat, and he could feel himself choking on the trapped air. The letters that marked and named the hospital were burning the brightest shade of red, branding the words "ST. ALCHEMILLA HOSPITAL" on the blackness of the night sky. With every second that passed, in time with the beating of Alex's own heart, they grew, larger and larger, until the sign coated half of the wall that it hung on.
Memories began to spark into the forefront of his mind, mixing with the panic that just barely touched at the back of his eyes. All at once it came to him. In an instant, he could feel the pinprick pressure of his nightly sedatives being injected into his arm, followed by the rush of medication flowing through his veins, taking with it the strength in his body as it traveled. Helplessness wrapped a strong hand around his heart, threatened to drag him down. No, no -- he wouldn't go back, he wouldn't give in, he wouldn't let them take him while he could still fight.
Swallowing hard, he didn't seem to notice just how heavy his breathing had turned. He had to be able to stand on his own feet if he was going to move, and he had to make sure that he was going to make it to whatever next area he could that would be considered "safe." He shook his head, as though the motion would help clear it in some way and make him more lucid. It didn't. When he looked again, he found that he was surrounded by the mishandled stretchers and bodybags of the more unfortunate patients of Alchemilla. He'd seen them before, in Otherworld, during his escape. Corpses hung haphazardly from the bags, their skin charred, loose, and already falling away from the muscle. There was a rainbow of death surrounding him: everything from a normal pale flesh tone, to a sickly green that signaled advanced putrefaction, to blackened burns of those who'd died worse deaths.
"No, no--" he breathed, panting, desperate.
Alex began to struggle in his companion's grip, gathering his strength to wriggle his way out. He just had to go, had to get away, had to just find someplace that wasn't that goddamn hospital. If the demons didn't get him, the doctors would. He would be locked up again, treated like a nutcase, or worse. He knew the treatments that had been used on in the time he'd spent there as a patient. The hospital didn't work in any sort of humane or modern way. What if they were working alongside The Order? What if they just handed him over? What if they took this kind stranger that was helping him, too? Worse yet-- what if he really was one of them, and all of this was a ploy to get him back in their clutches?
He looked up, desperate for air. As he did so, he caught sight of the second story window, where several faceless, overtly sexual nurses were standing, staring, waiting for him.
"No. No! I can't go back there-- I can't-- No, don't--"
Panicked and terrified, Alex finally broke free, stumbling a few steps away, backwards. Within seconds he lost his footing, where the curb gave way to the street itself, and he fell backwards, hard, onto the blacktop pavement. There he laid in the street, propped up slightly on both forearms, as he stared at the world before him in complete fear. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving, and he kept at least the corner of his vision constantly locked on the storm drain at his feet, lest something less than savory crawl out from inside of it.
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One minute they were walking, and the next Alex was all but spazzing out on the street. Tom had tried to hold him back but he was fighting and panting and pulling away from the place with frantic, unorganized, movements. It didn't really give Tom any choice but to let go and the moment Alex got out of his grasp, he swan-dived - ass first - back onto the street.
"Jesus!" Tom swore, turning and following after the other man, a mixture concern and confusion on his face.
"Are...you okay?"
He had never in his life seen someone freak out so bad over a hospital. Admittedly, he wasn't much for doctors either, but it wasn't that kind of place and let's just be honest. If you're that hurt, you have to just suck it up or risk losing a lot more than a few pints of blood.
"C'mon, man, what are you doing?"
Was this guy crazy or what?
"If you don't get some help soon... Just... Stay there for a second." Tom said, at a loss for anything else to say.
He looked back at the building - still dark and without any signs of movement - and then back to Alex before turning and jogging up to the entrance. It was locked. Fucking great. what kind of hellhole had he walked into where not even the damn emergency room was closed!? then it dawned on him. It was his responsibility now. This guy's life was in his hands. It hit him like a ton of bricks. There was a weight of duty, knowing that he had to do the right thing and he had to do it fast or someone would die and it really would be his fault. It was almost too much at first, a knot forming in his stomach as the overall panic of the situation grew, but he forced it down - choosing to ignore his first instinct to run away and man up to the task at hand. Still, there was that little part of him screaming to just ignore everything. To get back and take care of Axel, and even then he could just disappear into anonymity and forget all of this. Maybe he wasn't ready to be in the outside world again. Maybe he wouldn't be able to deal with it.
Pull yourself together, Tom. You can do this.
Shaking his head, he reached into his coat's inner pocket and pulled out a small orange prescription bottle, tapping out a pill and swallowing it dry as he peered through the small glass inset of the door.
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Alex's throat felt completely swollen by his own terror, and a lump sat there so large that he was sure he'd never be able to get it out. Adrenaline coursed through his body and tickled at the very tips of his fingers, and suddenly, he found the strength to stand. It was a pretty ungraceful display, clamoring up in a sideways sort of fashion. One hand gripped his weapon while the other was kept firm onto the road for balance, as he awkwardly jumped to position. His bad leg was heavy, it weighed him down, and he found that he wasn't able to stand up straight by any means. Legs bent and back hunched over, he swayed uncertainly on his feet as he focused at the man in front of the hospital.
"Are you one of them?" Alex asked, his voice suddenly full and threatening. "Was this whole thing just some kind of a trick?"
His head was pounding, and the world was spinning. Still, he refused to stand down. He held his pistol at only half-ready, not sure even himself if he wanted to fully lock onto his target just yet.
"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that," he continued, "because I'm not going in there. I'm not going to go through that again."
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It took Tom a moment to realize that he was being held at gunpoint but his expression turned from surprise to dead-still scared as he turned and it dawned on him. He hated guns. He hated being near guns, and he especially hated having them pointed in his direction. Brows furrowed, he slowly lifted his hands in the air, at a loss and looking a little (if not comically) helpless. then again, there was nothing funny about a possible psycho threatening you with the business end of a 9mm.
"I'm not one of anybody." He managed, reality crashing back down around him. It was weird, but for those first few seconds he had been petrified. It was like the entire world ground to a halt. His hearing went, his heart skipped a beat, and he could swear all the blood in him ran cold.
Shit, shit, shit.
"Look, my name is Tom." He began, licking his dry lips before trying his hand at reasoning. "My truck crashed a few miles up the road and I'm looking for a phone to call a tow truck. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just found you there on the sidewalk. This is a hospital, right? You're bleeding pretty bad... "
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"Don't fuck with me, asshole," he warned. "And where's Elle? Did you drag her back here, too?"
He knew this game. Everyone was his friend. Everyone was his fucking friend, until he stopped being convenient, until he got in their way, until they realized what a threat he was to their organization. And after all, this guy was trying to get him back into Alchemilla. He wracked his brain for some kind of memory of this man's face-- had he seen him before? Was he someone from the hospital itself? Those guys loved fucking with him, always had.
Unfortunately, the sheer act of focused thinking made him feel like he'd just run five miles. Alex raised a hand to his temple in an attempt to steady himself. His head was pounding, and he was using so much strength just to stand that he felt like he was going to throw up. A bead of sweat peeked out from behind his ear and burned a path down the side of his neck. He had to rest, and he knew it. If he could just kneel down, he could still keep his defensive stance...
Alex lowered himself to one knee-- his good one-- and did his best to keep his aim up at the man before him. It didn't do him much good. His arms felt too heavy, like each one had a twenty-pound weight attached to them. Not only that, but his back was killing him, like he'd spent the whole day doing serious manual labor. In a way, he had. If he could just lie down, for two seconds, he'd be okay.
He felt his hand press against the pavement. Not long after, he recognized the scratchy sensation of the blacktop touch against the skin of his face. After that, his world went dark.
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Tom was just about to answer when the last bit of Alex's strength crumbled and he passed out, hitting the ground with a hard thunk. The gun clattered next to him and spun slowly on its side. There was just something about it that made Tom uneasy. Then he remembered that Alex had passed out because he was hurt, and that he needed help. Good judgment won out and he approached (cautiously at first) to pick Alex up wedding style and carry him into the night, after sliding the pistol into his coat pocket, just in case.
Wait...
He hated that feeling. Like there was something fucking terrible just about to happen. The kind of thing you'd need a gun for. At the very least, it wasn't like he could just leave it there on the ground for some asshole kid to find. And speaking of assholes, this guy was just getting crazier and crazier. Now, Tom was used to being accused of doing shit, but he hadn't ever even been here before. There was no way he had done anything wrong.
He gave a light sigh and shifted Alex's heavy body up a little higher, leaning the man's head against his shoulder for support as he took them down the street in search for somewhere safe. It didn't come for another few minutes as he walked down the middle of the street. It was like the entire neighborhood was abandoned. There was a burger joint, a hobby store, countless little places but none of them were open. None of them so much as had a light on. It wasn't until they passed what looked like the general store that he saw something that looked promising up ahead, and it wouldn't be until the next morning that he would realize everything was closed because it was so late at night.
There was a motel a block and a half down from where the shops ended. It didn't look any busier than anywhere else, but it was something. It was a bed and a phone and some food - all they needed right now. Excitement peaking, Tom carried on with renewed vigor and quickened his pace, moving as fast as he could without upsetting Alex's vulnerable state. It was like a breath of fresh air when he rounded the corner and saw the light on. Luck seemed to be on his side, then, as he nudged the door open with his foot and came in.
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"Hello?!" He tried again, louder, but still not getting a response.
"Go to hell!" He heard in rough English before dissolving back into, uh, something of Slavic origin.
Yeah... There was no way he was getting her attention, but fuck if there wasn't a time of more urgency. Unclear as to if it was been aimed at him or the attendant’s phone call, he shifted again, looking around for anything helpful. The keys were behind the desk, he could just-- No, it was wrong.. But standing here like a dick with Alex bleeding all over the place was worse. Shit. He'd just, come back and work it out with them later. Looking cautiously over the counter, then around for a video camera (there was none), he moved forward and grabbed a key off the pegboard, juggling Alex, the door, and the item all at once.
104.
And that's exactly where he headed. It wasn't too hard to find. Ground floor, near the ice machine, and it and been a decent pick with a nice king size bed and linens that appeared to have been cleaned recently. Not wasting any time (although it wasn't like he really knew what to do), Tom laid the man down, grabbed some towels from the bathroom, and a bottle from the mini fridge. He knew he had to get that thing clean one way or another and it was better to do it when he was asleep. It took a little trial and error, but Tom managed to get Alex’s pants off, clean the wound, and find the medical kit in the closet to pressure bandage the small, but deep, hole. He didn’t know what could make that kind of mark, but whatever it was, it was big and nasty.
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Light touched at his eyes the second he so much as cracked them open, and the dimness of it was harsh and stung at his vision. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut again, until he realized that he couldn't get up until he was able to see. Groaning in dismay, he forced himself completely awake, coming to in a room that he'd never seen before. Feeling numb, he looked around cautiously without moving his head, unsure of whether to feel confused or afraid. The room he lay in was lived-in and well-furnished, but with some kind of old fashioned touch to it and held everything in the one space. It must have been some kind of motel room, he figured. But how the hell had he gotten there?
It was only then that he realized just how... clean his wounded leg felt. There was a sense of wellness about it that really should not have been there. Straining and struggling, he rolled his head around on his neck in order to get a better look. His pants were still on, so that was a plus. Unfortunately, it obscured his view of the hole he was sure should have been there in his leg.
Hinges creaked. A door was opening. Panic forced Alex's heart into his throat, and he twisted and struggled in an attempt to get into some kind of sitting position, but his strength completely failed. He flopped back onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, waiting and watching and hoping that whatever was coming wasn't looking for a fight.
In the shadows leading to what seemed to be the bathroom, the figure of a man appeared. He was thin but built, and as he stepped further into the waning light of the room, it became apparent that he was dressed only in a towel that was draped around his waist, one that he held tight in a tightly-clenched fist. Having just stepped from his shower, fresh water traveled down his well-toned body in small beads, tracing the every curve of his muscles before disappearing into the towel. Other beads dripped from the tip of his defined chin, slid down the length of his neck, gleamed as it caught the light. Alex swallowed hard in an attempt to dissolve the lump he hadn't noticed forming in his throat, feeling a strange mixture of discomfort and refuge.
In the last second, he realized who this guy was: the man on the street who'd tried to lead him to Alchemilla. What the hell was he doing? Why was he here? Who was he? Not daring to speak, Alex mentally checked over as much of his body as he could, trying to determine if he'd been hurt, poisoned, or otherwise violated in any way.
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Lucky he had come, too. For everything Tom had done to try and keep it clean, infection would have set in eventually and Alex could have lost his leg, if not his life.
Speaking of being lost, tom was in his own little world as he padded across the room quietly-his brows slightly drawn in thought. He shook the water from his hair and ran a hand over the back of his neck before making a grab for his clothes (freshly laundered via the do-it-yourself method of fighting with the guest washing machine for half a hour over weather or not the coins you have inserted are actually legitimate quarters) and wandering back behind the bathroom door to dress. It wasn’t that he was particularly modest, but Tom enjoyed his privacy and didn’t have any inclination to change in front of a stranger. Besides, today could be the one day he woke up.
He still didn’t know anything about this guy, either. He didn’t seem to have any other identification besides his dog tags and even then they were a little vague. A. Shepherd. Well. Okay. A what? Alan? Alex? Alfonzo? No one he had seen (which hadn’t been many, truth be told) seemed to know anything about him, either. The bitch at the front desk operated under a “don’t know, don’t want to know” policy that seemed to be the common way of thinking. The lack of concern was a little weird, but hadn’t this guy said it was weird around here? People kept to themselves? Probably why he had never heard of the place before. And what was stranger still, was the total lack of his ability to call out of the town or re-trace his steps back through the woods to his truck. It was almost like he was stuck here, and it sucked. He had loose ends to tie up, he had to stop Axel, he had…somehow managed to run away from it again. Figures the one time he wanted to go back, he couldn’t. It seemed impossible for him to navigate through a stupid forest and no matter which way he went or how long he ran around in circles, the same road met him at the edge and brought him right back to Silent Hill.
Sighing, Tom glanced in the bathroom mirror, finished pulling his undershirt over his head, and wandered back into the bedroom. To find his tee shirt. It was only then that he looked over in Alex’s direction (a habit he had formed over the last few days) and saw movement. A lot of movement, actually. He was awake, peering around the place with an expression Tom couldn’t quite place. Hell, it didn’t matter anyway, Alex was conscious and that was a huge relief in and of it’s own.
“Hey.”
It came out more nervous than he had meant, especially from where he had frozen on the other side of the room, but he had been thinking about this for a while. What would he do when Alex finally did wake up? The guy had held him at gunpoint after all and he really didn't know anything more then he was a soldier and has a serious issue with the hospital.
“How are you feeling?”
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As an alternative to speaking, he made due by pursing his lips together and offering a thumbs up. It was pretty embarrassing, actually, how he couldn't find the strength to really so much as move in any one given direction. Though the bed was more than comfortable (at least he thought so in his state of exhaustion), he really wanted to get the hell out of it. Find Elle, find Wheeler, and get as far away from this town as possible. Until then, though, he was stuck here. Again. At least this time the person he was with didn't seem to want to kill him.
Funny how that was something to be excited about.
Alex opened his mouth again, tried to speak a second time, but still no words came out. Was it really so much to ask for the ability to communicate with the guy who possibly saved his life? He gave an exasperated sigh and licked his lips with his dry tongue. Oh, this...
This was going to suck.
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