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Dylan hasn’t gotten any alone time with Ryan for the last two months, and he’s so goddamn thankful it’s the last day of camp, because he thinks he was going a little crazy.
Camp had been fun, and he doesn’t regret it for a second. He wanted to spend two straight months outdoors, being bitten alive by mosquitoes, with his hot, brooding boyfriend constantly just a little too far away from him because of some snot nosed brats-
Okay, maybe he’s being dramatic. Dylan really did find himself enjoying some of the kids, and he learned some pretty valuable life lessons out there in the wild. Especially when he had ten to fifteen small, incredibly stupid lives to take care of.
Still, when the last day comes, he’s happy it’s over. Ryan and him are heading home together, to his house - mostly to crash, sleep, and maybe have a little sex. Ryan will leave to see his own family as soon as morning comes, but Dylan is thankful enough for the one night they’ll have entirely, completely alone.
So, yes, he was excited for summer camp to be over. Was, past tense, because that was before the car went to shit and all his plans of glorious couch sex with Ryan had gone straight to the gutter. The birds are chirping as Mr. H speeds off, almost as if mocking him - “No dick for you tonight! Have fun with blue balls!”
He can’t help but groan, despite himself. Next to him, Ryan, who was just moments ago talking to Mr. H, looks a little…perturbed. Dylan notices it, and makes a mental note to ask him what he and Chris talked about before he drove off. Dylan figures he probably doesn’t want to talk in front of a crowd.
Glancing at Ryan also ignites a new fire in Dylans belly, though. Maybe, just maybe, he could make this night fun afterall. Fun enough to be satisfying, anyways.
Dylan suggested a party. Everyone - except for Ryan - agreed enthusiastically. He does feel bit bad for putting his boyfriend into that situation, and perhaps using a smallest amount of peer pressure - but if they were going to be forced to stay another night, Dylan at least wanted to have a mixed drink in one hand and his boyfriends sexy arm in his other. He would be damned otherwise.
After some convincing, and a dirty trick or two - including, or not including, a promise to have some drunk fun in a cabin - Ryan begrudgingly agrees. He still wants them to be safe, but Dylan understands that and agrees.
“Safe, summer fun.” He smiles at his boyfriend, hands shoved into his pocket, excitement radiating off of him in waves. “What could go wrong?”
——
If you ask Dylan, this night was off to a great start.
He convinced his boyfriend to be fun for once, got his phone back, AND was even getting a bit of juice in it! As soon as all the counselors had agreed to have a party, they all divided jobs amongst themselves to make the dream a reality. Dylan and Ryan, paired together, were assigned to go and charge everyone’s phones, so tunes could be provided. Dylan was already excited about that, because he had really, really missed his music.
It only got better from there, though, because here the two were, huddled inside Mr. Hackett’s office, curtains drawn. Dylan was currently leaning against the wall, with Ryan directly in front of him. Soft kissing sounds echoed through the room as they simply enjoyed each other’s company, Dylan’s hand trailing up the others shirt to hold the soft fabric that rested there.
He attempts to go further, prodding at the others mouth a bit with his tongue, and is absolutely devastated when Ryan pulls away. He lets the other know this by sticking his lower lip out in a dramatic pout, and groaning out a soft “What? We were just getting started!”
Ryan cracks the tiniest smile at him. “I know you, Dyl, and I really don’t wanna do anything…uhm, sinful, in Mr. H’s office.”
Gasping dramatically, Dylan places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Me? Sinful?! Ryan, it‘a like you don’t even know me!”
Ryan laughs and leans back, rolling his eyes. “It’s because I know you that I know exactly what you’re thinking, idiot.”
Dylan can’t really fight him on that one, because it was exactly what he was thinking. In fact, his fantasies had already mapped out the rest of the night, but that isn’t necessary to disclose in this situation.
Instead, he murmurs “….So you don’t want a BJ in Chris’ office?”
“Sometimes I wonder what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“That’s not a no, lover boy.”
Silence falls over them, and Dylan barks out a laugh and a smile, slinging his arm over his face to hide his dopey grin. “See! You’re just as perverted as I am!” He leans towards the other, making kissy noises with his lips - and stumbles backwards slightly when Ryan gives him a playful, non-aggressive shove on the chest.
“No. Control yourself. We can kiss, that’s it.”
Dylan was certainly, certainly not going to pass the other up on that offer, so he relents, walking up to Ryan and putting his arms dramatically over his shoulders. He leans forward and touches their lips together in a gentle kiss, both of them smiling into it.
“I missed you. This, I mean. You were always there, but we couldn’t do this.” Ryan murmurs, voice as dead as always but eyes showing the other how serious he is. Dylan knows Ryan like the back of his hand, anyways - he knows when the other is being serious, when he’s joking, and more.
“Nothing was really stopping us, but I get what you mean.”
“Should we have just made out in front of the preschoolers? We could’ve given them a bit of…uhm, of trauma?” Ryan is quiet for a moment, staring at the other, before mumbling, “Actually, scratch that. That’s totally something you’d do.”
Dylan responds with a soft giggle and by kissing the other again. For a few more, long minutes, that’s all they do - kiss softly, with Ryan’s arms eventually finding its way around Dylan’s waist and pulling him close.
They’ve been together for almost two years now - their anniversary is coming up in October. They met the first week of their freshmen year of college, and the rest fell neatly into place. Inside his head, Dylan always thought of the future as involving Ryan - “when we buy a house”, “when we adopt a dog”, and so on. Even after two years, he doesn’t really feel as though that spark has calmed. They’ve changed, of course - they’re more domestic now, and they’re moving into an off-campus apartment together as soon as soon as school starts.
But Dylan is unbelievably comfortable. The thought makes him smile, and sigh, and pull Ryan a little closer, kiss him a little more. The other doesn’t protest.
Slowly, they pull away. “As much as I love kissing my broody, sexy boyfriend, I do think we should get a move on. Lest the fun start without us.”
“Who the fuck says ‘lest’ anymore?”
“Me, dickwad.” Dylan turns to leave, but let’s his hand wander on the others shoulder for just a couple moments longer. Truth be told, he just wanted to touch Ryan for a few more seconds - but, being him, he has to make a joke out of it somehow.
“…Sure you don’t want a blowjob?”
“God, you’re the worst.”
——
Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, fuck, holy fuck, oh my god.
Ryan was, admittedly, excited for the night. Dylan’s proposal of a party made him nervous at first, especially since Chris seemed incredibly insistent on them staying in the lodge. And the idea of disappointing Chris left a bad taste in his mouth, a swirling in his gut.
But Dylan also had a point. What could be out here, besides some bears? That’s what they had thought, anyways.
That’s what Ryan had thought before he was looking upon the gory scene in front of him, his boyfriends fucking hand laying on the floor, severed and leaving a profusely bleeding stub. His boyfriend, barely fucking conscious, is slurring out instructions to him so they can chase away that bear - that thing, that freakish creature.
Ryan thinks he’s probably going to vomit, but he also knows there isn’t really any time for that. As soon as he sees the creature scurrying away into the night, his attention is on Dylan. Jumping away from the computer with record speed, he begins to shuffle through the cabin, nausea and fear and pain and panic all rushing through his head all at once and leaving him dizzy.
Thankfully, the first aid kit isn’t hard to find. He drops to his knees next to Dylan and, as gently as possible, picks up his stub - apologizing profusely when Dylan cries out in pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Dyl - holy fuck, holy shit. You’re gonna be fine, honey. You’re gonna be fine.” Ryan isn’t one for nicknames, but quite frankly, this is a very special circumstance, and it feels right.
“I-I’m happy that you did it, but-holy fuck.” Dylan croaked out, eyes dangerously lidded and head rising on and off of the floor as he attempts to sit up. Ryan shushes him, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down - “Don’t move, Dyl, don’t move. I’ll wrap it up, nice and tight. I’ll, uhm, I’ll get some ibruprofin in you. You-You’ll be fine.”
There are silent tears running down Dylan’s face from the pain, and it absolutely kills Ryan inside. He’s kinda shitty at showing it sometime - kinda shitty at showing every kind of emotion, honestly - but he really, really loves Dylan, and this is fucking killing him right now. He can feel his own tears welling up in his own eyes, and he swallows hard to fight them.
His hand finds the back of Dylan’s head and gently lifts it, aiding the other in sitting up. “You’re okay, Dyl. Here, lean against me. Here, here.” Awkwardly, trying to avoid the awful, stubby, gory wound, Ryan shifts the other so that he’s leaning his head against Ryan’s chest. It’s a little awkward, since Dylan is taller and lanky-er than he is, but they make it work. Ryan makes it work.
He begins to get to work on wrapping the others wound and if he thought he was going to vomit before, there’s absolutely no question now. The wound is far from a pretty one. Lose skin hangs, ragged from where the chainsaw dug into it. The bone is entirely showing and the pool of blood beneath them grows by the seconds, lazy droplets hitting the floor and echoing through the otherwise quiet room.
Ryan wraps the gauze as tightly as he can. He apologies softly when Dylan lets out a whimper of pain, and presses a kiss to his forehead, murmuring “You’re doing much better than I ever would, Dylan. You’re doing good. You’re doing good.”
His lower lip shakes as he talks, and he begins to hold the other closer and closer. The first kiss he pressed to the others forehead turns into a second, and a third. Dylan just leans a little closer. His eyes are getting heavier, and Ryan gives him a gentle shake.
“I know you’re tired, I know you wanna sleep Dyl, but I REALLY don’t think that’s a good idea. Can you stay awake? Can you stay awake for me? As soon as I’m done, as soon as you’re wrapped up, we’ll go find Kaitlyn and the others, and you can sleep. Promise. But stay awake for now - St-Stay awake for me.”
Dylan complies, which is a fucking miracle if you ask Ryan. He peels his eyes open slowly, cracks open his dry mouth, and ignores his pounding head as he rasps out - “Will you still love me with one hand?”
“What kinda fucking question is that? I would love you if you didn’t have a body, probably. I would love you if you were a sentient robot. A fly. A worm, even.”
“You would love me if I were a worm?”
“Probably, yeah.”
Dylan let’s out a soft chuckle at that. Silence falls over them again as Ryan works faster, wrapping gauze around gauze around gauze. The way the blood seeps through the fabric immediately is making him panic even more than he already is, and Dylan hasn’t said anything for too long now, did he pass out from blood loss? Fuck, fuck-
“I listened to one of the podcasts you recommended to me. A couple days ago.”
“Oh, really? Tell me about it. What was it about?”
Slowly, and painstakingly, Dylan begins to describe the podcast he was listening to. It’s one of Ryan’s favorites, and he recognizes it immediately, even if Dylan is getting some of the facts wrong. He isn’t going to point that out right now.
He listens to Dylan explain the podcast as he slowly guides him to his feet, having his boyfriend put all of his weight on him for support. He listens to Dylan explain the podcast as they make their way, slowly, and half-conscious, over to the cabin next door.
The only thing that makes him interrupt Dylan is when he throws the door to the cabin open, makes immediate eye contact with Kaitlyn, and snaps as authoritatively as he’s probably ever been - “He needs a cot, some pain reliever, and a fucking hospital. Like, yesterday.”
Kaitlyn was the first to move. She darted up from where she was kneeling in front of Abi, and moves over to them in a matter of seconds, slipping her arms around Dylan’s back to help Ryan support him. Moving slowly and carefully, they guide him over to a wooden bench in the corner of the room, and lay him down. The entire time, Dylan is half-heartedly waving them off, muttering out a choked “Guys, Im fine, Im fine. If you wanted to touch me, you should’ve just asked.”
The second he’s seated, Ryan skitters off into the other room. He knows he’s seen ibruprofin around here before - and thank god, it’s exactly where he left it, sitting comfortably in the drug cabinet of the cabins bathroom. He also snags some sheets off a nearby bed while he’s at it, figuring Dylan could use them as a pillow if he needs to, or a blanket.
When he returns, Kaitlyn is rechecking his dress-work, which he’s incredibly grateful for. Him and Dylan are dating, but he knows for a fact Dylan and Kaitlyn are practically best friends at this point, and this must be hard for Kaitlyn as well.
“What the fuck happened?” Kaitlyn asks as soon as he approaches the two. By some miracle of God, Dylan is looking slightly better after having sat down - his face isn’t quite as pale as before, and the bleeding seems to have slowed a bit, if the white bandage is anything to go on. It must be pure adrenaline keeping him going. For some reason, that thought twists Ryan’s stomach even further. All he can really do right now is place a comforting hand on his boyfriends shoulder, and plop four small, white tablets into his open hand. “Here,” he murmurs. “Take these. I’ll keep the bottle with me, too.”
“Whatever we’re dealing with, it isn’t fucking- it’s not bears.” Dylan answers Kaitlyn’s question when Ryan doesn’t, accepting the water she holds out to him and throwing all of the pills back in one swallow. Ryan trails his hand from his shoulder to his back, rubbing small circles on there casually, while looking at Kaitlyn for a reaction.
“Yeah, we’ve figured that out.” Kaitlyn murmurs softly, quiet enough so that Abi and Nick don’t hear. Across the room, they seem to be having a rather serious conversation amongst themselves, and no one is at all interested on stepping into the middle of that. “Did one of those…things, do this to you?”
“I…I did it, actually.” Ryan feels guilt begin to creep into his subconscious. Was this really necessary? He was the one who cut his boyfriends hand off, he was the one who took a chainsaw to it and-
“He did it because I asked him to.” Dylan interrupts his train of thought. “I…one of those things, it dragged me through the roof and bit me. There-there was black shit, in my arm. I know it sounds crazy but I swear. And it hurt really fucking bad, and everything in me was screaming to cut it off, so we-…” He references lamely to his stump. Ryan and Kaitlyn say nothing, although Ryan continues his slow, comforting circles on the others back. Dylan casually leans into it.
“Ah…okay.” Kaitlyn nods slowly, lips pursed together in thought - and probably stress. She turns to Ryan, “Hey bud, can I have a word with you?”
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Uhm, sure?” He allows for her to grab his elbow and drag him a short distance away, although he does glance back at Dylan, unable to quell the worry that rose within him right now at the idea of leaving the other alone. He feels a little dumb - Dylan is smart, and strong, and very, very capable.
But forgive him if he’s a little on edge right now.
“Did you see it? His arm?” Kaitlyn asks, more like hisses, once their out of earshot of said amputee. For a couple of moments, Ryan just stares at her - he isn’t sure why the question catches him off guard.
“Uhm, yes. Yep, I did. It was horrible. Like he said, black - black shit, all the way up and down his veins. It was bad, Kaitlyn.”
She seems to ponder on this for a second before whispering, slowly, “I think you made the right call there. God, I fucking hope you did, anyways.” She slaps a hand on his shoulder in an awkward, ‘cheer up buddy’ kind of way that she’s always best at. “He’ll be okay. We wrapped it up good, and we’ll get him to a hospital.”
“Yeah.” Ryan pulls his arm closer to himself and hugs it a bit, scratching his nails up and down his skin slowly, dully. “I hope you’re right, man.”
——
About an hour later, Ryan is no longer hoping - he’s damn sure that they made the right call, as much as he hates the results.
Nick had transformed into some sort of…thing, and attacked Abi. It all happened so fast - one second, they seemed to be arguing about God knows what, and the next, his fucking skin had exploded off of his body to reveal some vile creature. It was long and lanky, bones poking out of skin, teeth ragged like a dogs. It’s yellow eyes had shown in the dark and as Ryan stood, arm outstretched in front of Dylan, praying that Kaitlyn and Abi both know how to use a gun, he knows it’s a sight he’ll never forget.
Thank the Good Lord, Abi does know how to use a gun, and lands a shot right in the shoulder of the beast. If it looked any more like Nick, it would’ve hurt like hell to shoot their good friend. Well, work-friend.
But the thing looked and acted nothing like Nick. It was a feral dog, running out of the window at full speed after staring at Abi for a few seconds longer. The shatter of glass is the last thing they hear, and for a couple moments, neither of them spoke. Dylan is gripping Ryan’s arm and Ryan can clearly feel him shaking from fear - he’s sure he’s doing the same. In front of them, Kaitlyn murmurs out, slowly, apprehensively - “What the fuck?”
Then, in comes Laura, and things get all the more interesting. Depressing, is probably a better word. They listen to her story, although Ryan interrupts her occasionally to point out how - obviously - ridiculous the whole story sounds. If he hadn’t just seen Nick - that totally-not-Nick creature, actually - he doesn’t think he would believe a single word of it.
Admittedly, he does sympathize slightly with her story. If Dylan had turned into one of those things, he would probably hunt down anything this world had to throw at him to get the other back to normal. He knows he would, actually.
And from the looks of it, this girl hasn’t had it easy. Her hair is greasy and grimy, her face is caked in crusted blood, and the eyepatch sitting over her eye is a testament to her struggles. He doesn’t dare ask, although she comes to explain that her boyfriend, Max, was the unintentional culprit.
Beside Ryan, Dylan is looking…questionable. He’s lucid, and putting in little quips and comments here and there, but his skin is still pale and he’s still clutching his arm close to his chest in a protective barrier. Ryan just wants to get him to a hospital, but as this story goes deeper and deeper, he has no idea when that’ll happen.
A large, guilty part of him is happy they did it. Listening to Laura’s story makes him realize that they were, indeed, not crazy in the decision that they made. Dylan turning into one of those things…Ryan can’t imagine it. He doesn’t really want to, either, so he pushes the thought aside and let’s his hand take the others behind them. Away from the view of others, he rubs small, soothing circles across the knuckles. Dylan doesn’t pull away.
Then, Laura drops the bomb on them - her plan is to kill Chris.
“What? No way! Mr. H has nothing to do with this!” Ryan’s eyes narrow, and he sits up a little straighter. The movement seems to startle Dylan, whose eyes were half closed for just a moment - Ryan feels a little bad about that.
“Uhm, were you listening? He has everything to do with this. He turned Max by biting him, that-“ she jabs a finger towards Dylan’s stub - “was Kaylee fucking Hackett’s doing. I’m sorry if you like the guy, but I’m not losing my boyfriend, so suck it up.”
“Have you ever thought that there’s another way? Why does the only option have to be even more killing?” Ryan’s getting frustrated, now. Dylan puts his good hand on the others shoulder and gently pushes - ‘back down’, the movement says.
“Think I haven’t thought of that while spending the last two months locked in a jail cell? Think that never crossed my mind? Trust me, I don’t wanna go off and kill people either - but you don’t seem to get it.” She re-references Dylan’s injury, “Just because you cut that off doesn’t mean shit right now. He. Could. Still. Turn. And you know how we’ll fix it? By killing Chris, taking out the family, and getting the fuck outta dodge. And dude, I’m sorry, I feel for you - but I’m not letting Max stay infected because you have a hard-on for Mr. H.”
“I do not-“ Ryan stutters, but the words fall flat in his mouth. He turns to Dylan, wanting some sort of support, or backup, or maybe just to hear his opinion - but stops short at the sight in front of him.
Dylan has slumped over sometime in the past thirty seconds. His eyes are lidded and he looks, well - shit. Breathing hard, pale face, shaking fingers, the whole nine yards.
“Sh-Shit, Dylan, Dylan.” Ryan rushes out, leaning down to help the other. He straightens him out a bit, concern flooding his mind as he gazed into his boyfriends half-open, haze-filled eyes. “Come on, you’re okay.”
“I-I’m fine.” Dylan croaks out, shaking his head quickly, as if that’ll shake off any of the effects of his injury. “Sorry, just- world got fuzzy there for a second.” He peers up at Ryan, and smiles. “I thought I would feel lighter, being one hand short.”
Ryan frowns. “Not funny.” He mumbles, but there’s no bite behind it. He keeps a solid hand on Dylan’s shoulder as he turns back to Laura, and, with more confidence than he himself even expected, said “Okay. I’m coming with you.”
“What?” Kaitlyn rose from her seat next to them to protest.
“If Dylan is infected, and Laura is right, then…then I want to make sure the deed gets done properly.” Ryan says, feeling as though his reasoning should be pretty clear. There’s a lump in his throat that he speaks past.
He’s never had the…best life situation. His parents are both out of the picture, and all he really has for family is his grandparents and his sister. He loves the three dearly, but he has to admit that, over the past two and a half months, he hasn’t minded having a sort of father-figure in his life. Made him feel grounded, like he had a guiding hand, and maybe that isn’t the easiest to give up.
But Dylan is…Dylan is basically his whole world. Almost all of his firsts have been with Dylan, and in the back of his mind, he’s always been pretty confident that they were gonna get married one day.
It wasn’t easy to face the death of someone he cared about, but if the options are stacked against each other, he will always take Dylan. He doesn’t even really have to think about it.
“Ryan- what the fuck? No way, no way-“ Dylan reaches out a hand to grab at the others shirt, but Ryan only shakes his head shortly in response, moving himself away.
“Well, I mean-if you’re infected, I gotta deal with it.” Ryan references lamely from Laura, to Dylan, to himself. It isn’t exactly the rousing speech he wanted to give, or the boyfriend-of-the-year wording, but he only wanted to make one thing clear - he was doing it. With the way that Dylan leans back slightly, this message seems to have been delivered. Dylan still doesn’t look happy about it, though, if the slight crease in his eyebrows and his clenched hand meant anything.
“Just-“ Ryan reaches out what he hopes is a comforting hand, placing it on the others shoulder and giving a grounding squeeze. “Just rest up here. I’ll be fine.”
“Well, about that.” Kaitlyn steps forward from where she had been, watching the exchange silently in the background. She looks just exhausted as the rest of them as she gives Dylan a knowing look, slinging her gun off of her shoulder and into her hands. “I’m taking Dylan with me. We’re going to see if we can get the car working. If we can’t, we’ll head to the car park, up the road a bit.”
“What the fuck- are you crazy?”. Ryan must be mishearing things. He references wildly in the general direction of Dylan’s hand. “You’re kidding, right? He can’t go out into all that danger like this! He’s, like, barely conscious.”
“That’s exactly why we need to get it done. He’s in shock - the sooner we get him to a hospital, the better.”
“Why not get Abi?”
“The girl that almost just got her head ripped off by her sweet, caring boyfriend? Yeah, I don’t think she’s up for it.”
“And the guy that just got his hand ACTUALLY ripped off is?”
“Listen.” Kaitlyn puts her hand up, silencing the other. “If I can get a car running, I’m taking him directly to the hospital. I want him with me, so we can just leave immediately.”
“Ladies, ladies, please. Stop fighting over me.” With a grunt and a wince, Dylan rises to his feet, his stub hanging awkwardly by his side. The gauze, Ryan notes, isn’t soaked through with blood yet, which is a good sign. Doesn’t exactly soothe all of his worries, but it’s a step in the right direction. “I can go with Kaitlyn, no problem. If you get to put yourself in mortal danger, so do I, lover boy.” Dylan gives the other a light shove with his elbow, but Ryan isn’t laughing.
Slowly, he looks from Kaitlyn, to Dylan, back to Kaitlyn, and then approaches the girl. “If anything happens to him,” he says, voice as flat as always, but eyes - he hopes - intense. “I will never forgive myself, or you. Got it?”
Kaitlyn reaches up and gives him a flick on the forehead, grinning in satisfaction when he lets out a soft yelp and a “Dude, what the fuck?”.
“That idiot is my friend too, you know. I’d really rather not have to face your fury, or his death. So you don’t have to worry about it.”
“You guys have a weird way of showing love.” Dylan grumbles behind them. When Ryan turns his attention back to him, he tries to give him a reassuring smile - “Stay alive, okay?“
Normally, Ryan is strongly against any form of PDA. He’s also relatively against pet names, though, and he was saying those like a prayer earlier. He grabs the others face in both of his hand, tilts him forehead, and presses a gentle, soft kiss to his lips.
“You too.” He says after they pull away, holding his boyfriends eyes for one second, two. The thing that ultimately pulls them apart is Kaitlyns awkward cough behind them, and Laura’s anxious shifting from one foot to another.
They all bid each other farewell one last time, and then head in their separate directions.
———
Ryan can officially say that he will never, ever forget this night. Not that he couldn’t have said that four hours ago, but still.
He’s sitting in the back of Travis’ car, face painted over with crusted blood and sweat. Next to him, Laura is staring out the window, leg bouncing anxiously. She must be excited to see Max. Ryan entirely, completely relates to that feeling.
They killed Silas - they killed the white wolf. It wasn’t easy, and it was certainly traumatizing, but Ryan has to admit - Laura is kind of a badass. Between the two of them, some quick thinking, and pure luck, they managed the break the werewolf curse and free anyone infected in the process.
Ryan is so glad that it’s over, but he’s also stressed. He’s been stressed from the second they left the lodge - stressed it wouldn’t work, stress he wouldn’t come back, stress Dylan wouldn’t come back.
Now that he knows the operation was a success, and that he’s still alive, there’s only one worry left to occupy his mind. The entire drive back to the lodge he’s biting his nails, and icy, cold anxiety taking over his body. Dylan better be alive. Kaitlyn better have kept her promise. Kaitlyn better be alive, too. He hopes all of his friends survived the night.
But, God, Dylan better be alive.
Next to him, Laura gives Ryan a gentle nudge on the knee with her own. “You okay, big guy?” She asks, although she probably already knows the answer. The look she’s giving him is so different from the hard, steeled face she wore just hours ago, and something about it startles Ryan. He should keep in mind that he met her during the most traumatizing event in both of their lives - maybe she’s a lot chiller, when she’s not fighting to survive.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Ryan startles at the movement, but quickly calms. “I’m fine, yeah. Just…worried.”
Laura simply nods in understanding. “He seemed strong. I’m sure he’s okay.” is all she can offer, along with a soft smile. After that, they fall back into their comfortable silence, and Ryan absolutely is not going to fight that.
The drive continues. The road is rocky and the police officer upfront - Travis - apologizes under his breath whenever they hit a particularly bad pothole. Him and Laura seemed to have a history, but Ryan supposes he should probably extend the same level of understanding to him that he is to Laura. Maybe he’s a cool guy, when they aren’t surrounded by bloodshed and death and horror.
The lodge is coming into view now. Ryan sits up, repositioning his legs to be ready to move. The car hasn’t stopped yet when he’s ripping open the door, stumbling out into the world - thank fuck his stab wound was healed, because he can still feel the ghost of it with that landing, and it probably would’ve taken him out otherwise.
The first counselor he spots is Emma, someone he hasn’t seen the whole night. She’s covered in blood, and wearing a shirt he doesn’t recognize as hers, but she’s alive, and that’s a good sign.
“Emma!” He calls out and begins to stumble his way towards her. The sound causes for her to look in his direction, and although she may not be the quickest to admit it, her shoulders relax ever since slightly when she sees that he’s alive.
“Abi, Kaitlyn, and Dylan are all inside.” She doesn’t bother to greet him back - some may see it as rude, but Ryan is grateful. She knows exactly where his heart is. “I would go talk to Kaitlyn about Dylan. Jacobs okay too, he just went off to try and find Nick.”
“So- so everyone’s okay? And relatively accounted for?”
Emma gives him a look that he wouldn’t exactly classify as comforting. “Go talk to Kaitlyn inside, buddy. I’m waiting out here for Jacob.”
Ryan doesn’t need to be told that twice. He gives Emma and nod and a thanks, and then he’s taking the lodge steps two at a time. Ripping open the door, he steps into the main dining area, and-
Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
Sitting against the old fireplace, with his amputated arm sitting firmly in his lap, laid Dylan. His head is hanging down to his chest, and he’s absolutely caked and covered in blood. From how far away Ryan is, he can’t even tell if he’s breathing. His shirt is tattered, his legs and knees have cuts all over them, holy shit, holy fuck-
“Dylan-“ Is all Ryan can choke out, hearing the sound of his own gun (with the safety on, of course) clatter to the ground as he moves. He’s by the others side in seconds, hands wandering everywhere - his neck, his chest, his head. He’s searching for a pulse, but amidst his panic, he doesn’t even know if he would feel it. “Dylan, Dylan, c’mon-“
Did he fight this hard just to lose Dylan? Was Emma wrong? Maybe she saw him alive, and he bled out or something. Maybe Ryan survived the night, beat it all, only for his boyfriend to not make it. What was he going to do? What was he going to do without Dylan? He feels tears starting to well up in his eyes as the reality of the situation crashes into it. “No, no, no-“ is all he can choke out, grabbing the others face and tilting it up so he can look at him. Dylan’s eyelashes are crusted in blood, his skin is stained, is he even breathing? Fuck, Ryan still doesn’t know if he’s bleeding - holy shit, holy shit-
“Calm down, lover boy.” Kaitlyns voice breaks through from behind him, like a fucking angel coming down from the heavens. “He’s fine. He’s just passed out. That’s not his blood, either.”
Ryan feels like he can breath again. Now that Kaitlyns words have calmed his crazy nerves the slightest amount, he searches for the others neck again - and, sure enough, feels a steady pulse underneath the press of his fingers. He counts along with it for a couple of seconds, willing himself to calm down in time with the beat - one, two, three. one, two, three.
The pressure must’ve been enough to rouse Dylan, because suddenly, two brown eyes are peering down at Ryan. “Man,” his voice is gravelly and strained as he talks, “I know we’ve had a long night and all, but can we wait until we get home before you start choking me?”
Ryan stares at him for one second, two, before a smile starts spreading across his face. “Shut the fuck up.” he says, but his body starts moving on its own accord regardless. Kaitlyn turns away with a soft “Ew, guys”, no real passion behind it, as Ryan gives Dylan a kiss.
It’s a soft kiss, with an edge of desperation to it. A “thank goodness you’re alive” kiss. A “I’m so happy to see you” kiss. A “we’ve both been through hell and who could’ve guessed that werewolves are a real thing, but, hey, we’re both still alive, so let’s kiss” kiss. And Dylan sinks right into it, using his blood covered left hand to sling around the others shoulder blades and pull him a bit closer.
When they pull away from each other, they replace their connected lips by pressing their foreheads together. For a moment, all either of them so is breathe.
“A…Are you okay?” Dylan asks, still breathing hard, still shaken up. Ryan nods, although the stab wound at his side is still reeling a bit. There will be plenty of time to talk about everything that happened at the hospital.
Shit. Hospital. He pulls back enough to take a look at Dylan’s stub - just like he expected, the wound isn’t looking amazing. It isn’t so horrifying that he’s sent into a full-blown panic, but Ryan figures it’s probably advised to get a severed limb looked at as soon after the amputation as possible.
“We have a car.” He lets his hand rest on the others left cheek for just a couple more seconds. “Everyone needs to get to a hospital, you especially. Come on. Let’s go.”
“What about Nick, and Jacob? They’re not back yet-“
“There’s this Hackett - he seems like a good one, I think. He can drive us to the hospital and then come back for them.” He takes another, quick glance at Dylan’s wound - the most pressing of them, at least. “The sooner we get you to a hospital, the better.”
“You’re probably right.” Kaitlyn reappears behind them, the ghost that she is. “I was just outside talking to Laura and the police officer dude. I didn’t wanna watch any…canoodling.” She waves vaguely in their direction. “I told him about Dylan’s injury and he agreed that getting it looked at should take top priority right now.”
“Come on.” Ryan doesn’t need any further convincing, and slips a hand underneath Dylan’s frame. He helps the other to stand, thankful when Kaitlyn comes around to Dylan’s other side and aids him in the carrying. Well, Dylan is walking on his own, but that cloudy look has returned to his eyes, and Ryan thinks it’s probably better to have the help. Especially since his own injuries are still pulling at his side. When Dylan’s getting checked out, he probably should too - although he doesn’t love the idea of leaving the other, after tonight.
He would figure it out. They’re alive. He needs to keep reminding himself that. He reminds himself that as they bring Dylan out into the car, struggling to situate him in the seat. He reminds himself that as he bangs his side lightly, and can’t help the hiss of pain that slips past his lips. He reminds himself that as he explains to Dylan that “I’m okay, seriously - the werewolf curse mostly took care of it.” He reminds himself that as Dylan gives him an incredulous, open-mouth stare.
He reminds himself that as Travis starts up the car. He reminds himself that as he and Dylan slide against each other, using the other as support against their utter exhaustion. He reminds himself that as he slips his phone, cracked and struggling, out of his pocket.
He reminds himself that as he slips one earbud into Dylan’s ear and one into his own. He reminds himself that as he clicks on the spotify playlist Dylan made him right before summer camp, and settles back down into the seat as it plays. He reminds himself that when he feels Dylan’s breath going steady against his shoulder, sleep taking over.
They’re alive. He can face anything, as long as they’re alive. The therapy won’t be fun, and none of them will be the same after tonight.
But they’re alive. He relishes in this as they drive to the hospital, the sun rising above the hood of the car. They’re alive.