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If he had to describe it in one word, Freddy would probably go with Bright. Or maybe Burning, if you really pressed him on it. Like someone had shoved a hot poker in him; On Fire . He staggered the last few steps and fell to the floor, letting out a sound like a wounded animal.
“Calm down kid, you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay,” Larry’s voice should be soothing, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t and it felt so wrong. His eyes were cold, voice like ice, and that almost hurt more than the bullet wound in Freddy’s gut. It shouldn’t be like this- Larry, his Larry, would be comforting him, smoothing his hair, anything but this. A marble statue in place of the man Freddy had known a week and yet known better than anyone he’d ever met in his life.
“I’m not-“ Freddy gasped, writhed, smearing blood across the dirty warehouse floor. It burned, and yet his blood felt cold, cooled by dread and fear and the knowledge that something besides the obvious was very, very wrong.
“ You’re fine ,” Larry reiterated, eyes narrowed and voice hard as he rocked back on his heels and stood up. He looked at his hands slicked in Freddy’s blood, his face twisted in disgust, and Freddy remembered what his voice had been when he’d talked about cutting off fingers and smashing in noses. He hadn’t ever thought he’d hear it turned on himself. Calculated, distant.
Freddy closed his eyes, tried to breathe. He was sweating and panting like he’d run a marathon; he couldn’t catch his breath. He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He -
“Good Christ, kid,” Larry sneered, stepping back and shaking his head, disappointment and revulsion written across his features. He continued backing up before turning and making his way back towards the door they had come in. It was half-open and swaying on its hinges, letting a rectangle of light across the floor. Larry stepped into it, looking almost as if he were glowing. An angel, not of mercy but of cold, cruel justice.
“Larry, don’t-“ Freddy cried out, and struggled to sit up, panic pulling his eyes wide and forcing shallow breaths from his chest even as pain clawed at him from the inside out. “Don’t leave me. Don’t fuckin’ leave me Larry, please. ”
Freddy could hear his own voice break and he knew Larry heard it, clear as day. Desperation and grief rolled up in one bloody little package wriggling about in pain on the floor.
But Larry didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back; he just kept walking, well-worn dress shoes scuffing against the cement. “You’ll be fine, kid,” he threw back over his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold, dismissal clear in his voice even as Freddy continued to beg and plead.
The door swung shut with finality and Freddy slumped to the floor, numb and shaking and afraid. This was how it had to be; he knew it. He had always known it- this was never going to end well. Not for either of them but certainly not for him. Never for him
“Hey, hey, kid, wake up.
And that was the voice Freddy knew; soft and reassuring as a hand on his shoulder shook him awake. He wasn’t back in that hellish warehouse, he was safe in bed with Larry in a town a thousand miles away. But knowing that didn’t make a difference; he couldn’t catch his breath, the shallow, panting breaths more than just a figment of his nightmare, his forehead damp with sweat and the scar in his side aching as he jolted back into consciousness.
“Shit,” he choked out, panic causing his voice to spike an octave.
“It’s just a dream; it wasn’t real,” Larry soothed, gently wiping a tear off Freddy’s cheek before it had a chance to truly fall. “You’re safe; none of it was real.”
“Fuck, Larry,” Freddy whispered, voice fragile and small. He knew it was just a dream; he remembered how everything had gone down and even if he hadn’t, the warm presence of Larry in bed next to him was more than enough proof that he hadn’t truly left him alone to bleed out alone. But part of him, not an insignificant part, wondered if maybe he should have. Larry would have saved himself a lot of trouble (and jail time) if he had just walked away, it was a fact. Freddy knew it, and he was more than certain Larry did. He just wasn’t certain on how much Larry regretted it, and that was what really haunted him.
“C’mere,” Larry shifted them both, pulling Freddy in closer against his chest and softly carding his fingers through his hair. “I’m right here; I’m not going anywhere, yeah?”
Freddy sniffed, burying his tear-damp face into the crook of Larry’s neck breathing in the faded scent of his cologne and listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, willing his own to match it.
“I wouldn’t trade you for the world, kid, you hear me?” Larry’s hand moved from Freddy’s hair to his back, tracing lazy circles and abstract shapes on his overheated skin.
“Yeah,” Freddy mumbled, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. His breathing was beginning to slowly level out, and he shimmied himself an infinitesimal amount closer to Larry, pressing himself even further into his side.
“Yeah, what?” Larry cajoled, pressing a kiss to the top of Freddy’s head.
“Yeah, I hear you,” Freddy sighed, his voice slightly muffled. There were tears on his eyelashes, but he was calmer now, the initial panic and fear fading away.
“Good; because I’m gonna keep on saying it till you’re sick of hearing it.”
Freddy snorted out a wet sounding laugh. “Don’t think I’ll ever be sick of it.”
“Guess I’ll be saying it a lot then, buddy boy,” Larry said affectionately, and Freddy could hear the soft smile in his voice. “Now, back to sleep with you. I’ll still be here when you wake up; I promise.”
“You better,” Freddy replied in a tone that was meant to come off as grumbly but read more as sleepy, earning him another soft kiss on the top of his head before blearily drifting back to sleep.