atehimrightup | (no subject)

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This is the longest that Lee has ever gone without Eating. He isn't sure why he's doing this to himself. Well, that's a lie. He knows damn well why, and he also knows, deep down, that it's futile.

He hasn't seen George in two days, told him he wasn't feeling well and needed some time to himself. Which is true, he supposes. He wants so badly to never have to lie to George, and there it is. That's the reason.

Eating has always been a difficult thing, no matter how good it feels in the moment. Now the thought of luring someone into some shadowy alley and ending their life just so his can continue makes him feel sick. He can't put his hands on someone, seduce them into a false sense of security, and then go look George in the eye with their meat in his belly. He just can't.

But he can't let go of George, either. Even though that would probably be wisest. Safest. It would be what's best for George, but Lee thinks about breaking his heart and he just can't. He can't Eat, can't face George, can't leave George, can't sleep and can't think about anything other than how hungry he is. He's stuck and he has no idea what to do.

He glances at himself in the mirror in the bathroom at his nearly empty apartment, noting that he looks sallow, more gaunt than usual. His eyes are so dark that they're almost black, lips pale and chapped. His jaw aches from how much he's been grinding his teeth. His belly aches with hunger, his blood burns, his mind races.

This isn't sustainable, but he has no idea what to do. He has to Eat or bad things will happen. But Lee is the bad thing that will happen. He's always the bad thing that happens.

He lets out a frustrated snarl and slams his palm into his own reflection, splintering the mirror until he can't make out his own face anymore. His palm is sliced open when he pulls it back but his blood is dark and sluggish. Unhealthy.

He leaves the apartment so he stops pacing a track into the carpet like a caged animal, wondering if maybe fresh air will help. He puts on one of George's hoodies and feels like he's drowning in it, like his skin is stretched tight over his bones. Earlier that afternoon he ate four double cheeseburgers and it didn't even make a dent in his hunger. It isn't what he needs, and Lee is so frustrated that tears spring to his eyes.

He finds himself cutting through Petros Park in the crisp fall air, breathing in deep, but the walk doesn't help. Each step makes him feel weaker and he stops in the middle of the path to pinch the bridge of his nose, waiting out a rush of dizziness as his stomach clenches.

It's been weeks. It feels like he's going insane. It feels like he's dying.

But he thinks of George's sweet, trusting face, and he wants to keep trying.

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"You talk like I'm going somewhere," says George, Lee's hand still in his. He leans his cheek into Lee's hand, staying crouched where he is in front of him. "I'm not. I swear." He glances over his shoulder. "Do we...do we stay here? And hope for the best?"

It doesn't feel like much of a plan, from where he is.

Lee hopes that it's too dark for George to see how his expression sort of shatters at the promise. It's not one that Lee should allow him to make, not without having all of the information, but this isn't the right time to divulge it. Not that it ever will be the right time, but Lee knows that he has to tell George the truth once they get out of this. Because that, regardless of the consequences, is what George deserves-- the truth, and the freedom to make his own choices. And if that choice leads to George wanting nothing to do with him, well. At least he'll know what he did the right thing for once in his life. So, he'll do it. He has to. But first things first.

"No, we can't stay here," Lee says with a sigh, stroking his thumb over George's cheekbone. His hands are cold and shaky, but George doesn't pull away and Lee cherishes how that feels like he's watching grains of sand slip through an hourglass. "If there was one door, it stands to reason that there's another. We just have to find it." It sounds so simple, perhaps too simple, but that thought is cut short by a loud screeching just over the top of the shed, loud enough that dust rains down from the ceiling. "And stay alive long enough to do it."

He cups George's face in both his hands and leans in to press their foreheads together, breathing in the scent of him. Sure, it makes his teeth itch, but it's also the most calming thing in the world to him. He smells like home. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," he says fiercely, kissing him firmly on the mouth. "I swear it."

George has, once or twice, been in genuine fear of his life, but never quite like this.There's a tremble in Lee's voice that makes anxiety spike through him but, for a moment, he stays there, his forehead resting against Lee's. He draws in a breath. Finds his courage.

"I trust you," he says, and means it. "And I can handle myself. If it comes to it."

“I know you can,” Lee says quickly, not wanting George to think that Lee thinks any differently. “I’m just— protective.” He smiles in the darkness and presses a lingering kiss to the center of George’s forehead. “And you are so, so precious to me.”

He kisses George on the forehead and then sits up, looking around and pulling his phone out of his pocket. No service, which isn’t very surprising, but the flashlight works and he shines it around the shed to look for anything they might be able to use as weapons.

“Well,” he says as he reaches over to lift a bag of gardening tools and set it between them, taking out a sharp looking handheld spade and another tool that looks a little like a barbecue fork. “It’s better than nothing.”

"I know both of those things," says George, calmed and settled by the double kiss to his forehead. He follows Lee's lead, turning on the flashlight on his own phone so that they can see what they're doing. He holds out his free hand for one of the weapons. He's best with a foil, obviously, but both things look workable, if it comes to it. He's not as dangerous as he thinks -- knows -- that Lee can be, but he isn't lying when he says he can hold his own. "Hopefully, we won't be here for too long."

“I really should have eaten something,” Lee murmurs to himself, because now certainly isn’t the best time to feel dizzy with hunger. He’s put them both in danger now, simply because he was trying so hard to be good. It feels like he can’t win.

He looks at George and feels his gaze drop to the vein in his neck. A little blood would make him feel better, even marginally, but he can’t ask for it without explaining why he needs it. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s not sure that he’d be able to stop himself right now. He can feel the monster clawing at the edges of his control, and the stressful situation certainly doesn’t help.

“If the city layout is the same,” he says as he gets to his feet, blinking owlishly and swallowing hard as he steadies himself. “There’s an army surplus store on the other side of the park. We could go there for supplies, look for doors on the way.”

Lee still doesn't look too steady on his feet, and George automatically reaches out with his free hand to steady him. "We can look for some food too," he says. "While we're moving." There's a bitter chill in the air, and he's glad that he pulled on a sweater with his jeans and boots this morning.

"Come on," he says. "I think I'll feel better moving."

Lee lets out a soft, bemused huff at that. They could stumble upon a full breakfast buffet and it wouldn’t do any good, not right now, but he simply nods.

He doesn’t want to move, but George does and Lee can’t deny him anything (except the truth, his brain supplies, which is not at all helpful). He puts the stabbiest looking tools from the gardening bag into the pocket of his sweatshirt and then nods, swallowing hard and wiping the sweat from his brow. It’s not until he does so that he realizes his hands are shaking, and it’s not from nerves.

“Okay, let’s head toward the south entrance. There’s a playground about halfway where we can take cover for a bit if we need.” He pauses and scrubs a hand over his pale, sweaty face. “I can’t believe that’s a sentence I just said.”

He's genuinely concerned about Lee now -- it's not just the weird, shifting light that's making him look sweaty and pale. He keeps one hand on him, and nods.

"We'll be alright," he says, because, honestly, he doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't know what else there is.

“We will. I just found you and I’m not fucking losing you,” Lee says fiercely, reaching out to curl a hand around the back of George’s neck. “I love you, and I wanna do that for a long time.”

He will always love George, even if George wants nothing to do with him anymore after learning the whole truth. Loving George is a part of him, one that can’t be ripped out of him any easier than the sickness in his blood.

Their foreheads touch for a moment, Lee’s damp and clammy, and then he pulls away to turn and peer through the broken glass in the door. He sees nothing, so he pulls it open and pokes his head out to look around before pushing the door open wide and stepping outside, feeling a little ridiculous with a gardening spade in his hand.

“Okay, come on,” he says quietly, waiting for George to practically glue himself to Lee’s side before he moves away from the shed, gaze darting around to look for any sign of that strange shimmer.

"I love you, too," says George, because he does -- its as obvious to him as the need to breathe or the unconscious beating of his heart. He stays close, his shoulder all but butting against Lee's -- he doesn't take his hand, because it feels like they both ought to have both hands free, but it would take God and all his angels to drag him from Lee's side, right then.

There’s a fire somewhere nearby. More than one, probably. It smells like burning rubber and it stings Lee’s nostrils, making him feel even sicker as they move along the path side by side. Lee keeps his head on a swivel, looking for any sign of danger or any hint of an odd shimmer.

“If I see that cat again, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill it,” Lee grits out, leaning more heavily against George. The adrenaline is burning up the last of his energy, and each rustle or snap of a twig in the trees makes him feel a little more insane.

He’s only now realizing how dangerous this little experiment was, but it’s not as if he could have known that they’d get thrust into some weird alternate dimension of the alternate dimension they were already in.

They make it to the playground near the south entrance and Lee stumbles a bit, holding onto George’s shoulder. “Fuck, okay. We’re almost there.”

The army surplus store will have knives. It’ll have all sorts of weapons, along with warm clothes and protective gear. They just have to get there.

George ends up with one arm around Lee's waist, holding him up as much as he's keeping him close. He's never seen Lee like this, pale and clammy. Normally, Lee is much stronger than his frame suggests; now, George is privately concerned he's going to blow away if the wind picks up.

"It's about a block way, isn't it?" asks George, as they pass the wrought iron fence that makes the boundary of the park. "Not far, love. We can make it."

George is all but holding him up, and Lee blinks away the frustrated burn at the backs of his eyes because crying isn’t going to help anything.

“Yeah,” he pants out, trying his best to be more alert once they’re out of the park. There’s a car on fire up the street and the smell of it makes Lee want to puke. He holds the spade in one hand and keeps the other fisted in the back of George’s sweater, looking around as they make their way up the street.

Finally, the shop comes into view and Lee lunges for the door, too relieved to find it unlocked to think too much about the implications of that. He just tugs open the door and ushers George inside, closing it and locking it once they’re in.

The store is quiet and Lee sniffs the air, but all he smells is smoke and burning rubber and gasoline. The place is a little messy, but doesn’t look completely ransacked. There is a display wall covered in knives, only some missing, and Lee nods to himself. “Okay, this is good.”

"This is good," echoes George because, yes, there's things they can work with here. He immediately heads to the wall of knives, scanning for something that looks familiar in terms of handle and weight. Something he'll know how to handle without having to think about it too hard, if it comes to it.

God, he hopes it doesn't come to it. "We should take other things, no? In case we can't find our way out quickly."

George steps away from him and Lee has to bite his lip to keep from complaining, wanting to reach out and yank him back in, but he stops himself. The last thing he wants— well, one of the last things— is George getting the impression that Lee thinks he’s incapable. It’s not that at all.

Lee is just— he’s obsessed. He’s absurdly codependent in a way that he never expected. He’s never loved anyone or anything like he loves George, and he just wants George to be safe.

“Yeah, whatever we can carry without it slowing us down,” Lee says, nose wrinkling at how weak his voice sounds. He shakes his head a little and shuffles down an aisle to pick up an army green backpack, unzipping it and taking out all the paper padding inside. They could probably just go home and hole up there and be relatively safe, but then they’d be stuck here.

There has to be a way out. And they have to find it. So they have to move.

George grabs a few knives and then, after considering a moment, a canvas jacket in heavy khaki, because it feels like he needs more layers that he's wearing, and it also gives him big pockets to work with. He drops the knives into his pockets and grabs a medical kit, turning it over to study the contents. He hopes it won't come to it, but it feels like a useful thing to have.

Lee grabs a hunting knife from a display and stares at it, realizing belatedly that he's sliced his finger with the indelicate way that he'd picked it up. The blood oozes sluggishly, more black than red, and he sways a bit on his feet. Even the smell of his own unhealthy blood makes his teeth itch, and at first he thinks that's what makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

But it isn't. There's a noise, and then a scent that Lee had missed when they entered the shop. There's another person here.

Just as his head jerks up, a man comes barrelling out from the back of the shop. He misses Lee and sets his sights on George, looking sweaty and wild-eyed. He sees George and his scent changes, goes spicy with something like arousal and Lee stares with an almost strange sort of calmness as the man lunges for George and grabs at his wrist, yanking him away from the wall of weapons. It feels a little like his grain is shutting down. Like something else is taking its place.

"What do we have here?" The guy asks, showing off yellowed teeth as he tries to drag George toward the back of the shop. "You wandered through the wrong door, boy."

George is fumbling in his pocket for a weapon to defend himself, and he must cut himself on something because Lee can smell the blood. It's all he can smell, and between that and the rage suddenly overtaking him, Lee barely thinks about it before he's rushing forward and driving the hunting knife into the side of the guy's neck with both hands, snarling and shoving it deeper, cutting through sinew and hitting bone as the man crashes into the wall, blood spurting out of him and hitting Lee in the face. In his mouth.

Panic spikes through him as he's fumbling in his pocket for the knife, mainly because he doesn't even see it coming. He doesn't have time to understand anything that's happening, his boots scrabbling on the floor and then Lee is all but slamming into the man, blood spraying everywhere, and George is stumbling back, skidding to land painfully on his arse and the heels of his hands.

"Lee!" he says, hating the note of fear in his voice. "Be careful. I..."

Lee can’t hear anything except the blood rushing between his own ears. Desperately, he wants to turn away and check on George, make sure he’s okay, but he can’t move. He stares down at the man twitching on the floor, blood pumping out of the wound in his neck.

So much blood.

Lee leans over and pulls the knife out, head tilting to the side as more blood spurts from the wound. The man dies then, letting out one last gurgling breath, and Lee feels the knife slip from his hand and clutter to the floor.

George says his name, but Lee takes a step closer to the body without giving himself permission to do so. It’s like his body isn’t his anymore, and he lets out a broken sort of sob as he drops to his knees.

“I’m sorry.”

He’s aware enough to know that this is it. This is going to be the end of everything. But he can’t stop himself now. He’s tried so hard for so long, but he’s lost the tenuous grip on his control.

“I’m so sorry.”

Still, he tries to fight it. He tries so hard, shoulders jerking, but it’s no use. His brain clicks off and instinct takes over, but his heart still breaks as he feels himself leaning over the body, feels his teeth tearing through the exposed flesh of the man’s neck, and he can’t stop.

His body isn’t his anymore. Not right now.

It’s all over.

At first, he just doesn't really understand what he's seeing, even though it's happening in front of his very eyes. There's so much blood, and Lee is bent over the body, hunched out of sight, and he keeps apologising, and George doesn't know what he's sorry for, and...

Oh. Oh, God.

He understands, all of a sudden. He ought to run. He knows that. He stays, staring, still sprawled back on the floor and rooted helpless to the spot.

Lee isn’t sure how much time passes, how long he spends hunched over the man’s body like a frenzied animal, but eventually he starts to come back to himself in increments.

First, it’s the physical. He feels strong again, all of a sudden. Blood pumps through his veins, through his heart, color coming back to his skin, eyes brightening. There’s a moment of satisfaction that doesn’t feel like his own, like the monster in him is smug. See, it says, this is what you needed.

But then, unfortunately, he seems to come back to himself entirely, blinking as he swallows the meat in his mouth. The man’s body is a mess beneath him and Lee fully grasps what’s just happened. What George saw.

Lee was going to tell him. He was.

He doesn’t bother looking behind him. There is no way George hasn’t run, no way he hasn’t put distance between himself and the monster in front of him.

Lee blinks again, wiping his mouth and then looking down at his bloody hands. The enormity of it all feels too much to bear and Lee’s mouth opens around a wail before he even realizes what’s happening. He rocks back onto his heels as his body is overtaken by great, heaving sobs, because he doesn’t want to be like this but he can’t stop it.

He has no choice, no say in the matter at all, and now it’s cost him everything.

He's seen men on their way to the gallows, but he's never heard any man weep the way Lee does, right then -- huge, wracking sobs that sound like they're being wrenched from the heart of him. He's soaked in gore, monstrous, and George knows that he ought to run, he ought to put as much distance between them as he can.

And yet. And yet.

"We...we can't stay here," he says.

The last thing that Lee is expecting to hear is George’s voice. Lee goes silent immediately, spine stiffening, and he wonders if he’s imagined it.

It takes a moment, but eventually Lee turns his head and looks over his shoulder to see George’s feet where he’s still sprawled on the old linoleum.

Lee’s chin jerks to the front again because he’s afraid to look at George’s face, afraid of what he’ll see. His heart pounds in his chest and he isn’t sure what to do because in all the scenarios he’s agonized over, he never imagined one where George actually stayed.

“I—“ His voice is cracking, throat raw, and he clears it as he slumps to the side, sitting on his backside and pulling his knees up to his chest, rubbing his mouth against the denim of his jeans. He still doesn’t look at George. “This is what I haven’t been telling you.”

Because George had to know it was something. He probably never imagined it was something like this.

"This is where you go, when you won't see me," says George, and it isn't a question. His stomach roils sickly, a foul taste in his mouth. "I... Thought you were ill. I'm a fucking idiot, apparently."

He gets to his feet, wiping at the blood on his face with the sleeve of the jacket he's wearing.

"I meant it, Lee. We can't stay here."