Jason had falsified discharge papers before. He told himself that as his pen moved across the forms, neat and decisive, as if the lies were just another part of the job. Names altered. Times adjusted. Diagnoses softened into vague, bureaucratic language that no one would question unless they were already looking for a reason to.
This time felt different.
This time, his hands were steady...but his chest wasn't.
"You're being discharged," Jason said, keeping his voice calm as he tore the last page free. "Against medical advice."
The man sat on the edge of the hospital bed, blanket draped over his shoulders like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. He watched Jason intently, eyes following every movement, every shift of weight, like he was afraid Jason might vanish if he blinked too long.
Jason met his gaze. "That means leaving. With me."
The man's brows drew together.
Jason crouched in front of him so they were eye level. "You can't stay here. People are asking questions. The wrong people."
He hesitated, then added more softly, "And you're not safe."
The man glanced at the door, then back at Jason. Slowly, he nodded.
Jason let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Good," he said. "We'll take it slow."
He handed over a set of clothes...sweatpants, a loose hoodie, hospital socks replaced with sneakers Jason had bought from the gift shop without thinking about how absurd that was. The man took them carefully, studying each piece like it might explode.
Jason turned his back, giving him privacy.
Behind him, fabric rustled. The tattoos dimmed as the clothes slid over them, though Jason could still sense them, like heat through glass.
"Tell me if anything hurts," Jason said. "Or feels… wrong."
There was a pause.
Then the man touched his shoulder lightly.
Jason turned.
The man pointed at his throat, then shook his head, frustration flickering across his face again.
"I know," Jason said gently. "We'll work on it."
The man hesitated, then lifted his hand and tapped Jason's chest, right over his heart.
Jason blinked. "Me?"
A nod.
Something in Jason's chest tightened painfully.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Me."
They didn't use the front entrance.
Jason led him through staff corridors, past rooms that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old coffee. The man stayed close, almost too close, his presence a constant, steady weight at Jason's side.
Every time someone passed too near, the tattoos stirred beneath the fabric. Jason felt it immediately...a subtle tightening in the air, a pressure that made his temples throb.
"Hey," Jason murmured, slowing. "Focus on me."
The man's gaze snapped back to his face.
Jason kept walking, careful not to rush. "You're doing fine. Just keep breathing."
They reached the parking garage without incident.
Jason didn't relax until the car doors were locked and the engine was running.
The man sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands braced on his thighs, eyes darting to every shadow. The underground lights flickered overhead as they pulled out.
"It's just a drive," Jason said, glancing at him. "You don't have to be ready for anything else yet."
The man swallowed and nodded.
Jason drove through the city with practiced ease, choosing quieter streets, avoiding the main roads out of habit more than strategy. His phone buzzed twice in his pocket.
He ignored it.
They rode in silence for several minutes, the kind that felt heavy but not uncomfortable. Jason became acutely aware of the man's presence...the way he leaned slightly toward him, the way his breathing synced unconsciously with the hum of the engine.
"You can look out the window if you want," Jason said.
The man did, eyes widening faintly as the city slid past...lights, movement, life. He looked like someone seeing the world for the first time, or maybe for the first time without orders.
Jason's chest ached.
His apartment building was unremarkable. Old. Anonymous. The kind of place no one noticed unless they were already watching.
Jason parked and cut the engine.
"We're here," he said.
The man didn't move.
Jason studied him for a moment. "It's okay," he added. "No one's inside but me."
That did it.
The man nodded and followed him out of the car.
The apartment was dim when Jason unlocked the door, the familiar smell of coffee and antiseptic lingering faintly in the air. He flicked on the lights.
The man froze.
His eyes scanned the space rapidly...walls, corners, ceiling, exits. His body went taut, muscles coiling like he expected an attack.
Jason closed the door slowly behind them. "It's safe."
The tattoos brightened beneath the hoodie, faint lines glowing through fabric.
"Hey," Jason said softly, stepping closer. "Look at me."
The man tried.
The pressure surged.
A picture frame rattled on the wall. The overhead light flickered.
Jason didn't hesitate.
He reached out and took the man's hands.
The effect was immediate.
The glow dimmed. The pressure receded like a tide pulling back from shore.
The man's breath stuttered. His grip tightened, fingers digging into Jason's skin like he was afraid of falling.
Jason swallowed. "You're alright."
The man leaned forward suddenly, forehead resting against Jason's shoulder.
Jason stiffened for half a second...then relaxed, arms coming up instinctively, holding him there.
The man shook, just slightly.
Jason closed his eyes.
He'd held dying men before. Comforted grieving families. Cleaned blood off his hands and gone back to work like it meant nothing.
This felt different.
"You don't have to be strong here," Jason murmured. "Not with me."
They stayed like that longer than Jason could have guessed.
Eventually, the man pulled back, embarrassed, eyes downcast.
Jason offered a small smile. "Come on. I'll show you around."
The apartment was small but tidy. Kitchen, living area, bedroom, bathroom. No weapons in sight...Jason had locked them away before leaving for the hospital, a habit he was suddenly grateful for.
"You can sit," Jason said, gesturing to the couch.
The man did, perching on the edge like he wasn't sure it was allowed.
Jason grabbed a glass of water and handed it to him. "Slow."
The man obeyed.
Jason leaned against the counter, watching him. "I'm going to ask you something," he said carefully. "And you can say no."
The man looked up.
"Do you want to stay here?" Jason asked.
The man didn't hesitate.
He nodded.
Jason's phone buzzed again.
This time, he checked it.
You're making this harder than it needs to be.
Jason's jaw tightened.
He typed back one message.
He's not for sale.
The reply came almost instantly.
Everything breaks eventually.
Jason locked the phone and set it aside.
He looked back at the man. "I have to warn you," he said. "My life is… complicated."
The man tilted his head.
"There are people who don't like me saying no," Jason continued. "People who might come looking."
The man's posture shifted subtly, protective instinct kicking in before conscious thought.
Jason noticed. "You don't have to protect me."
The man's jaw set.
Jason huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. "Of course you don't agree."
He stepped closer. "But listen to me. If you feel that pressure again...if things start to… react...you come to me. You don't hide it. You don't fight it alone."
The man stared at him, eyes dark and intense.
Then he lifted his hand and pressed it flat against Jason's chest again.
Jason's breath caught.
"I've got you," Jason said quietly.
The man's lips parted.
For a moment, Jason thought he might speak.
Instead, the lights flickered violently.
The windows rattled.
Jason spun around just as a low, unfamiliar hum vibrated through the walls...deep, resonant, wrong.
The man stiffened, eyes snapping to the ceiling.
The tattoos ignited.
"What is that?" Jason demanded.
The man looked at him, fear sharp and unmistakable in his gaze.
He pointed upward.
Then outward.
Then brought two fingers down hard against the floor.
Jason's blood ran cold.
"Someone's here," he whispered.
The hum intensified.
Somewhere far above the city, something answered.