Dislocated

The snow crunches underneath his boots, his movements sluggish as he stumbles along in the darkening woods. The sun sets low in the distance. His nose burns against the cold, teeth chattering noisily. He can see the others walking ahead of him, dressed in black with red strings tied around their necks. His lungs burn and he's running after them. The trees blend together, meshing int a solid wall of blackness and they're running to.

Tiny red droplets fall into the snow, peppering the surface a deep shade of crimson. Jessica falls first, her string loosening as she falls, head rolling clean off her body. The others move on, unperturbed, and they're so much faster than him, faster. Jessica's head winks at him as he passes, bruises glistening in the soft light.

The next is Ashley, who pulls Matt down with her. Their strings untangling together, the wet slide of flesh moving easily together. Where there bodies fall, their heads stare on at the bright light in the distance. Emily falls after, then Mike until it's him and Sam. The heads of their friends smile after them and they're cheering, they're screaming at him to live.

He calls for Sam and she turns back, eyes bright and glistening with tears and she's shouting words he can't hear. The snow packs higher, the path blurred in snow flurries.

"Cochise."

He doesn't look back, fighting against the ice and sleet, boots slipping for purchase on the ground. He can't.

"You just gonna leave a guy hanging?"

His teeth grind together and he's trying, trying so damn hard to reach Sam. Josh's voice lingers behind him, scalding and boiling under his skin. Don't look back. Can't look back.

"I thought it was you and me til the end."

He hesitates, head turning and he actually looks over his shoulder. Josh is sitting in a wooden chair, snow falling around him, arms bound tight behind his back. The heads of their friends circle him, dead eyes staring back.

He tries to talk, tries to breathe but he can't. Josh's head tilts to the side, a hard calculating look moving over his features like a glaze. A laugh bubbles out of his chest, a dark, haunting sound that creeps into his skin and he can't stop. He's running again, after Sam but she's so far ahead. Josh's laugh follows behind him, caressing him in a thick darkness.

"Lead the way, Cochise."

His body falls forward, air supply cut short and Sam is spinning out of his line of vision. He can see his body slump into the snow as he floats through the air, red string falling onto the ground. He watches Sam make it, watches her disappear as his vision bleeds.

Chris snaps awake, body bolting upright. He scrambles to find his bed lamp, knocking over a couple of books that clutter the surface. Chris yanks the small string, too hard and it snaps. His corner of the room lights up dimly. Shadows dance in the corners.

His chest burns, screaming for oxygen as his lungs struggle. Chris wheezes, clutching a hand to his chest. A body stirrs beside him and Chris bolts from the bed, legs tangled in blankets. He knocks into his night stand, pressing himself into the farthest wall. Josh is looking at him drowsily, propped up on his elbows and he's rubbing his eyes as he checks his phone. Josh is talking but Chris can't hear him.

He can't hear anything beyond the panicked beating of his pulse. Bile builds in his throat as he stumbles into the bathroom, barely making the toilet. His spine protests with each violent heave, knees buckling under him. Chris finds himself curled around the toilet seat, curled in tight, trying to breathe. Josh is in the doorway, holding towels and he's trying to touch Chris but the other flinches away. The hurt on Josh's face latches onto Chris' brain.

"You wanna talk about it?" Josh asks quietly.

They're in bed again, vomit cleaned and Chris has his back to Josh, eyes unseeing as they stare into the wall. He shakes his head. Josh doesn't respond, shifting beside him. His head dogs into Chris' spine, thin arms coming to curl around his torso. Chris cries softly into his hands when Josh falls asleep.

They're okay.

Okay to the point where Chris is constantly wondering when this honeymoon phase is going to drag out from under him. He can feel it in the air, whenever Josh mentions his sisters or the mountain; he can feel it settling against him and it sets his nerves on edge. Their conversations never go beyond Josh's new psychiatrist and the new medication he's on. The new medication that causes Josh to have fits where he breaks things and screams and it reminds Chris of everything that made him afraid of the woods, of snow. He always keeps his distance after; doesn't let Josh touch him, mouthing off excuse after excuse.

His nightmares are starting to look a lot like their fights but they all end with Josh crouched over him with a mouth full of puss and bone and he leaves Chris on that snow capped mountain to die because it's what he deserves. Chris can sometimes only see Josh as a monster, a monster he left on that mountain. The best friend he left on that mountain.

It gets worse. For Chris. His anxiety increases with each passing day, each time Josh's phone dings, each time Josh comes back from running, sweaty and face flushed red and normal because he's trying and Chris isn't. Chris is terrified of the conversation he'll have to have when everyone gets together again. Because that will mean acknowledging that Josh wasn't supposed to come back.

It makes Chris nervous to the point where his insomnia flares up again. When Josh brings up that he's acting strange, Chris snaps at him. They fight. Fighting is healthy and normal. Ashley and Chris had plenty of disputes, just Ashley never tried to bite off his fingers during one.

Josh doesn't bring it up again. Chris doesn't either. Instead they make out or Josh sticks his hand down Chris' pants and sometimes, sometimes they almost go too far- to the point where Josh is underneath him, writhing and hot and Chris wants to consume him completely.

They're okay.

Chris knows how he's acting is the exact opposite of what Josh needs. Sam is what Josh needs. But Josh stays and takes his meds and runs because it helps with his excess aggression. Josh stays and he jokes more, laughs more; this crisp, beautiful sound that Chris has never heard before and he just wants them to stay as they are. But Chris can't hide Josh forever.

"So," Josh begins, back pressed against Chris' bare chest. They're sitting in a tub full of pink water that smells like florals and heaven dipped in honey. It's filled to the edge, water slopping messily over the edge.

"I've been talking to Sam. We're going to have a get together. I think I'm ready. I feel ready." Josh tells him, head tilting to the side as Chris mouths along the curve of his neck. Chris kisses his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around Josh's torso.

"Okay" is all he says but the syllables taste sour on his tongue. Josh sighs, running his fingers along the edge of the tub. He doesn't protest when Chris' hand cups his chin and turns his head to side, coaxing his mouth open into a kiss.

"You're awfully affectionate today." Josh smiles against him.

Chris is. He admits this to himself but his nightmares have gotten worse and he doesn't want Josh to leave. Chris shifts Josh forward, angling his body until they're facing one another, Josh in his lap. His hand traces on of the scars, sliding along the slick skin until Chris reaches his shoulder. Chris wonders if Josh can see the same blue finish line he can.

"Wanna talk about it?" Josh asks, expression open. And it's Chris that should be asking him that. Chris that should be offering support and comfort. He looks at Josh, tracking every curve and scar and stark contrast of bone and skin, he looks until he can't stand it. Chris shakes his head and Josh sighs, a small smile sliding across his face. He bends down, angling his face to the side as he pulls Chris into a long kiss. Chris leaves bites along his shoulder, his collarbone and Josh allows it, allows Chris to hold his hips too tight and breathe swears deep into his skin. They never go too far. Chris bites his knuckle, fighting the urge to cry when Josh wanders out of the bathroom for a glass of water.

"So we're having the party, er reunion at Sam's. Cause she has a house." Josh tells him, toothbrush hanging from his lips. His fingers work rapidly over the screen of his phone and the ghost a smile crosses his face. Chris can't find it within himself to be happy.

"I'm excited." Josh beams, gaze turning to Chris. "I mean, I'm not excited that we get to have hard conversations because of what I've done but it'll be nice to see them."

Chris struggles to smile. He's on his bed, tired as his eyes track Josh's movements around the room. Chris rubs his face roughly, blowing out a hot puff of air because that blue line is closer and maybe if he just spits his guilt out, Josh will rip his ribs from his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought. Josh wasn't a monster, wasn't a monster. He's getting better, he's so much better. Better, better.

"We have to get ready to go."

The bed dips accommodating the new weight as it moves over the surface. Chris keeps his eyes closed, images of Josh tied up in a snow covered shack bleeding into his eyelids.

"Chris?" It's a small sound, a meek, hesitant noise from somewhere far away.

"I love you." Chris breathes, eyes opening to look at Josh, who is sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. He's in his stupid slouchy cardigan and a light grey shirt that fits better than it did two weeks ago. An old beanie is on his head that Chris realizes was Beth's. Josh is staring at him, mouth shaped, wordless and silent.

"I love you, Josh." And it feels like the last thing he'd ever want Josh to know, the last thing he'd ever want to say because dread sets deep in his throat.

Josh swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. He turns away, eyes flickering rapidly into nothingness.

"I love you too, Cochise." Josh says softly. "You've been pretty great with me the past few months."

Chris wants to scream. He wants to punch a wall, punch something but he can't because Josh won't understand, he won't understand without having an awful conversation. Part of Chris wants to think Josh will understand, that Josh won't be mad and he'll just laugh and smile crookedly.

"We gotta go. Get dressed, bro."

And Josh is gone from the room. Chris yanks his glasses off his face and throws them. They hit the wall. Chris breathes loudly through his nose before he actually moves to dress himself. He does so slowly, tugging on a clean shirt, then a long sleeved one, then a button up and another shirt. Chris layers and layers until the chill in his bones goes away but even still it lingers and bites.

Josh waits for him in the foyer, the large red scarf draped around his neck. He gives Chris a small, uneven smile. Chris can't remember the last time Josh even wore his surgical mask out the house. He slides into his boots, not bothering to lace them up and tugs on his jacket. Josh makes a joke about layers.

Chris doesn't laugh.

But he grabs Josh's hand, thumb brushing over the pulse in his wrist. Josh is alive. Josh is standing in front of him, alive and warm.

Chris wants this to be easy.

Josh squeezes his hand, rising up to kiss him.

"You're more nervous than me, man."

Chris thinks he might have more to lose.