Archive of Our Own ^beta

For just a moment inside that little clothing store, Style had actually thought he was breaking through the wall of ice Fadel had built between them. He’d been able to see the softening of his (ex?) boyfriend’s eyes in that way Fadel had before, when he couldn’t help but be amused by whatever silliness Style was rambling about.

“Style, get down!”

In a blink, he’d seen those same eyes hardened, Fadel grabbing Style and throwing him to the ground in a blur of movement.

Well, Fadel had tried to throw Style. Unfortunately, Style had latched onto Fadel in a panic and dragged Fadel down with him, causing both of them to hit the ground in a hard collision.

Style wanted to apologize when he heard the sharp intake of breath from Fadel, the sound obviously pained despite how nearly imperceivable it was.

It seemed that two full grown men falling on Fadel’s recently injured shoulder had pissed off the injury royally.

Make it up to him later, Style!

Fadel grabbed the back of Style’s shirt and dragged him behind some of the clothing racks, giving them cover long enough for Style to get his feet back under him.

A loud sound rang through the store, similar to a car backfiring.

“Is he shooting at us?” Style asked in disbelief, his eyes wide and afraid. “Fadel? Is that guy_”

“Shut up.” Fadel growled, checking the ammo in his pistol and swearing under his breath. There was still a slight hitch to his breathing, each exhale a sharp huff of air. No doubt about it: he was in pain from that fall.

“What do we do?” Style whispered, looking around anxiously. He didn’t know what for. If this were an action movie, Style would be confident he could distract the shooter so Fadel could attack him from behind. They’d take him down like an epic tag team and make out while the credits rolled…

But the idea of being a hero and separating from Fadel went out the window the moment Style had seen Fadel injured.

Fadel’s eyes flitted around the store for a moment before he nodded toward a back door. A security exit from the looks of it. “I’m going to distract him. You’re going to get out that door and to the jeep.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” Style scowled, actually offended by that concept. He wasn’t a hitman like Fadel, but he wasn’t useless. And unlike Fadel, Style at least had two working arms.

“I’ll meet you there.” Fadel snapped, glancing around the rack and firing off two shots before ducking back again. “You need to be out of the line of fire.”

“But you’re hurt.” Style said stubbornly. Does Fadel not realize that’s a problem here? The guy who can actually shoot a gun and fight back against the man trying to kill them was INJURED. In Style’s mind, that was the definition of a very big problem.

But Fadel rolled his eyes, actually rolled his eyes! As if Style was the one being ridiculous here!

“I will follow you as soon as I know you’re safely out of the building.” Fadel tried to compromise. “I’m just buying time.”

“Swear you’ll follow me.” Style demanded seriously.

“Style.”

“Swear or I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine. I swear I will follow you once you’re safely out of the way. Now move your ass!”

Style wanted to continue to protest but bit his tongue, taking a deep breath and giving one sharp nod before hurrying behind the racks toward the security door. He focused on staying low and away from any mirrors that might give away his position.

Behind him, he heard Fadel firing again, though he couldn’t hear the hitman’s footsteps. Maybe that was just his training though…

Focus, Style.

Style peeked over one rack of clothes to gauge if it was safe to jump across the aisle to the next, making the dive.

Time slowed down in those few seconds between one clothes rack and the next… there was another shot fired, a sharp pain shooting through Style’s arm, a force that sent him off balance and crumbling to the floor.

Style scrambled to hide behind the rack, his vision blurring a bit from the pain. He brought his hand up to his arm, surprised to find it bleeding. A lot.

He had gotten shot. Actually shot.

Style held pressure on the wound as best he could, frantically looking around. He didn’t know what to do. What was he supposed to do with this much blood?

“Style!”

Style’s head snapped up when he heard Fadel’s voice. “H-hey, I’m… I’m okay.”

“Bullshit.” Fadel snapped, kneeling beside Style on the floor and tugging off his over shirt to wrap it around Style’s wound carefully.

“It’s just a graze.” Style tried, mostly trying to keep himself calm. He could pretend he was okay. He just needed Fadel to play along. Play along so that Style didn’t have a panic attack and think about how close to dying he was and how easily his life could end in some secondhand clothing store in some little town in the middle of nowhere while his boyfriend hated him and Kant may or may not be being tortured-

“Style!” Fadel called firmly, grabbing Style’s chin with his good hand to pull the mechanic’s focus back to him. “We need to move. Get to the jeep. I need you to walk.”

“I-I can walk.” Style nodded, taking a few deep breathes to steady himself. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Fadel nodded, pulling Style’s uninjured arm over his own shoulders and standing. It kept Fadel’s own injury between them, whether strategically or simply because he was more worried about Style… the mechanic honestly wasn’t sure right now.

What Style did know was that it was taking a lot of focus to walk, moving one foot in front of the other took an absurd amount of effort. Even with his teeth gritted and his attention solely on his feet, he could hear the gravel dragging under his shoes as Fadel half carried him, half dragged him to the jeep.

“Fadel?” Style whispered shakily as he was loading into the jeep, looking at Fadel anxiously. But Fadel didn’t respond.

“Fadel.” Style repeated, his voice a little steadier now. Still nothing.

“Fadel!” Style exclaimed, voice breaking on just the single word. He was pleading with just one word.

Finally, the hitman’s eyes snapped up to Style, his good hand hovering on the door of the jeep to shut Style in.

“I’m scared, Fadel.” Style said simply, looking him directly in the eye as he spoke. “I just got shot, and I’m bleeding a lot. I’m scared, okay? I’m not… I’m not like you. I can’t just… just act like I’m fine because I’m not. So, for just a little while can you pretend like you don’t hate me? Just, just talk to me so I don’t freak out? Please?”

Fadel stayed silent for several long moments. You would think Style would be used to the silent glares from Fadel but right now, fear was overriding every other part of Style’s brain. He just wanted Fadel to tell him he’d be okay. That everything was going to be alright.

Fadel slammed the door of the jeep closed, stepping forward to the hood of the jeep.

Style was confused what Fadel was doing, until he saw the hitman using his good hand to bring his other up onto the hood. His shoulder looked… wrong. Like it wasn’t sitting quite right. Displaced. Dislocated.

Fadel moved quickly then, disappearing from Style’s line of sight with an audible curse. Time moved so slowly, those moments until Fadel stood up again, rolling the injured shoulder and breathing out slowly through his mouth before walking around to the driver’s side of the jeep and climbing in.

“Fadel…?” Style asked hesitantly, concerned for his boyfriend.

“You’re not going to die, Style.” Fadel said quietly, his voice low but with a firmness that left no room for argument. He started the jeep, pulling out of the parking lot of the clothing store and beginning to hurry down the streets.

“Where are we going?” Style asked, looking at him a bit nervously.

“I know where Bison is.” Fadel answered. “He’ll be able to help me get your wound dressed.”

“Is Bison a nurse now?” Style joked weakly, trying to sound more like himself. He felt tired though, blood loss making him drowsy.

“He’s stitched me up.”

Style blinked a few times at that, trying to focus again. “Your… your chest?”

Fadel nodded once. “…Yeah, among others.”

Style reached across the seat with his good hand, gently squeezing Fadel’s fingers. How ironic they’d both gotten injuries in the same arm. Style’s good hand gripped Fadel’s bad hand, a light squeeze accompanying it.

“I love you, you know.” Style murmured quietly, his eyes drooping closed before long. “Never… never lied about that.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now, Style.” Fadel answered quietly, looking over at Style for a moment. “Don’t fall asleep yet.”

“Need you to know.” Style whispered, squeezing Fadel’s hand again. At least, he thought he did. He was pretty sure he did…

“I know, Style.” Fadel said quietly, reassuring despite himself.

Style gave a slight nod, more of a bobble of his head… before falling unconscious.