Work Text:
Felix brought a shaky fist up to the shadowy door, looming over him like a wooden giant. He willed himself to use whatever strength he could muster to just knock. Knock on the damn door. He huffed, hearing shuffling feet behind him and a cough. He twitched.
He didn’t have to do anything, as the door was thrown wide open, revealing a very dark figure. A pissed figure.
Jack was seething, holding the door with one hand and the other going straight for Felix. He grabbed him by the collar, jostling around the small frame of the other man. Felix gagged, legs stepping back and becoming shaky as he was basically thrown around.
“Where the hell were you? I’ve been waiting all night! Where are they?”
Jack’s face was close to his, and Felix could smell the toothpaste he used that very night. He just struggled to get away, and once he did, he panted and bent over slightly, feeling dizzy.
He pointed behind him to the two sets of eyes wide open, watching their dad strangle Uncle Felix. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. His face hurt too much, and he knew that if he opened his mouth, he would be throwing up all over Jack’s doormat.
Said man just pushed him aside roughly and went for the children, gathering them up in his arms protectively and hustling them inside, into Rose’s waiting arms. He stepped back up to the doorstep and turned to Felix, lips pursed and eyes crinkled with anger.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Felix?”
Felix just wheezed, still bent over. He was shaking all over, and he felt oddly dizzy. Jack’s socked feet were swirling in his vision, and his chest was tightening. This was freaking him out, and he gagged.
“Please.”
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, gripping the open door with his other hand. He was too stressed out to deal with the man in front of him. He would end up doing something he regretted.
The brunette felt something trickle down his face, and brought up a shaky hand to meet the liquid. Blood gathered on his fingertips, making them glisten under the light of the yellow porch lamps. He swallowed, only registering it after a few seconds.
“Please what?” Jack gritted out through clenched teeth, not wanting to look at Felix any more. He wanted to slam the door in his face, causing him as much pain as he did Jack.
“I think- I think I need to go to the hospital. I can’t- I can’t drive there myself. Please, Jack.” Felix’s voice was thin, trembling. He felt as if it wasn’t his, it belonging to someone else, someone far away.
He reminded himself to breathe, and ignore the pain in his limbs as he stood there under the scrutinizing eye of his ‘friend’.
Jack came forward suddenly, jabbing a finger into Felix’s chest and making the other man stumble back in late surprise.
“I won’t do shit for you. You don’t deserve it. You will get off my lawn, and you will stay away from my children.”
Felix opened his mouth and nothing came out, only a broken syllable of a long-forgotten comeback. He watched Jack spit on the ground, growl something in Spanish, and whirl around. He slammed the door, making Felix flinch.
He stood there dumbly for a moment, finding it very difficult to turn around and walk away, both physically and mentally.
He eventually did, though he had no idea how. He stumbled off the porch step, tripping into the concrete and groaning. He took a few more steps until he fell down again, this time face-first into the grass. He didn’t get up.
He couldn’t.
His chest hurt, blood soaked his face and he weakly coughed, licking his dry and cracked lips. His tongue was dry and thick. He couldn’t reach up to wipe away the accumulating liquid, them just limply laying at his sides. His fingers curled into themselves, and Felix sighed.
Grass tickled his nose, his joints hurt, his shoulder felt as if it had popped out of place. His chest continued to tighten until he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.
Nothing was real. The grass around him wasn’t real. The blood on his face was not warm, not wet. His body didn’t belong to him. He wasn’t real.
He closed his eyes, feeling tired for the first time that night. He just wanted to sleep, block everything away and forget about the night’s events.
He drifted away, feeling content and calm.
***
Jack blinked away the sleep from his eyes as he sat up in bed, stretching and yawning. The sun streamed through the windows and made patterns across the comforter and the sleeping form of his wife. He smiled, looking over at her for a moment.
He got up and slipped his slippers on, scratching his chin as he trotted down the stairs, the ticking of the clock the only sound filling the kitchen. He made his way to the coffee pot, filling the lining with grounds and the pot with water. He clicked it on and waited, leaning against the counter and reading the kitchen decor and signs as he did so.
Finally, a ding was heard, and he lurched forward. He poured the hot drink into his mug and blew on it before taking a tentative sip. He sighed, feeling the rush of warmth filling his body.
He walked to the front door, remembering he needed to check the mail and for the morning paper. He opened the door and took a few steps outside onto the concrete porch, coffee in one hand and the other hung limply at his side.
The mug slipped from his hands and crashed onto the ground beneath it, shattering into a thousand pieces.
A familiar body was lying stark still on his front lawn, unmoving and pale. The shirt had grass stains on it, and blood soaked its entire frame. Jack stumbled forward, breathing getting quicker as he neared the body.
His friend.
Felix lay there, face down.
Dead.
Jack wailed, not caring how loud he was in the early morning. He fell to the ground, knees sending a sharp pain through his body at the sudden impact. He leaned forward, arms grabbing at the body. He rolled Felix over, trembling and groaning, guttural and low.
Felix’s head was split open, glass sticking out of the wound and piercing his skin. His shoulder hung out of its socket, and his legs also had shards of glass in them. He was bruised and beaten, lips split and fingers broken. Jack could see that his shirt was ripped open, and something was sticking out of his stomach, making a large gash and hole. Dried blood stuck to the object, and something that looked faintly like guts peeked out beneath it.
How had he not noticed this last night?
Tears ran down his face, and his mouth was open, letting out a continuous weeping. Feet rushed to him, and a scream rang through his ears.
Rosemary stood on the lawn, pointing a finger at the body and watching as her husband stayed hunched and wailing over his dead friend.
She ran back inside and dialed 911, hands shaking furiously as she told them in a sob what happened. They would be there right away.
Jack didn’t care what Rose was doing. He only cared about what was right in front of him. His friend Felix, dead. He hugged him tight to his own warm body, feeling the cold skin like a punch to the gut.
Suddenly, Felix was ripped from him.
He shouted out, grabbing towards him, not wanting to leave him.
He can’t be dead. He has to be alive. He’s alive. They’re going to make him okay.
He was held back by strong arms, and Jack knew he looked crazy. Blood stained the front of his shirt, his hair was uncombed, and slippered feet staggered as he was dragged back into the house and sat on the couch.
Rose was next to him, trying to console him, but Jack just shrugged her away. The arms relented their grip on him, and stood over him. Jack could see now that it was two police officers.
Rose whispered something to him, but Jack didn’t hear her. He didn’t want to. He mumbled something, and Rose asked him to repeat what he said.
Jack looked at her, snot and tears wetting his face. “It’s my fault. He asked me to bring him to the hospital, and I didn’t.”
“Oh, Jack. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”
Jack didn’t respond, just focused on his breath.
His world crumbled around him, and not a crumb was left.
***
“Estimated time of death: 1:30am. Cause of death: Internal bleeding and loss of blood.”
Jack ran a hand over his face, reading the letter and feeling his knees begging to fail on him. He quickly sat down on the couch, crumbling the paper in his tight fist. Rose watched him carefully.
“He died a few minutes after I slammed the door in his face. Right as I went to bed.” Jack looked at his wife, whose lips were turned downwards slightly, a certain look on her face that Jack knew as pity.
“If only I had taken him to the damn hospital!” Jack slammed his fist on the table, teeth clenched and tears streamed down his face.
If only.