#cablesummers

   It’s the only message he gets to read before the world goes black. 

   Wade’s been unconscious a couple times. Been battered, bruised. Lacrosse was how he paid for college- for nursing school and it was a rough sport and he always played to win. 

   But he’d never woken up sluggish, not even after a concussion, and he knows it’s drugs. Knows the side effects of chloroform. It differs, but the way his eyes struggle to focus- how the world twists and his stomach churns against the bright light pointed at his face makes his heart sink. 

       His hands move, attempting to get to his face to hold it still, to keep the world from moving. 

    They don’t comply, and Wade is pretty sure by the biting, rubbing sensation around his wrist that it is not one of Nate’s fancy-silk ties that are holding them back. 

    “Mr. Wilson,” it’s a smooth voice, dripping sickeningly with false pretenses. It reminds him a little of a witch- or would it be a wizard? 

    The face that comes into view starts as a shadow in front of the light before he feels a hand on his arm. The figure leans in and Wade swallows down some bile, blinking against the dizzying feeling in his head in an attempt to focus his vision. 

    When his eyes open, there’s a set of cold blue eyes staring back. Chilling. His nose tingles from the proximity. 

    “I’m so sorry you had to get involved with this,” coarse fingers curl around his chin, tilting his head up. Short nails dig into his cheek. 

    The wicked grin contradicts the man’s statement. 

    “Have you ever heard the story of pinocchio?” It comes out a little strained. Hoarse. Wade is surprised his voice doesn’t shake. “Because your nose is growing, are you sure you’re a real boy?” 

    There’s a laugh from behind the man, who frowns at the fact that Wade is grinning. The body straightens up, grease-head’s face a scowl as he barks out a ‘RICK.’

    Wade speaks before grease-head can start a lecture. 

    “Awww, come on. It was a good reference. Throwback Thursday, amiright?”

    The resulting crack of knuckles against skin and dislocating jaws breaks his grin. He can’t help the cry of pain, but he bites his tongue even as his back hits the ground against a- what, wood?- chair. 

    He’s pretty sure he can hear the sound of splintering wood, too. And his brain can’t help but make a small joke about cheap furniture and how, maybe, they should have went to IKEA for some quality shit. 

    The face is back, satisfied. Two more shadows are joining Mr. Grease. 

    He likes to imagine that the one on the left is Rick. 

    His mouth tastes like copper and his jaw burns. Piotr was going to be pissed when Wade showed up with that one. 

    If you make it there. 

   It’s a bone chilling thought, and there’s two sets of arms curling under his armpits to hoist him up. Mr. Grease meets him again and Wade see’s his mouth open. 

    He can’t help himself when he curls his lips into a grin after spitting a nice wad of blood on what looked to be an expensive suit and a smug face. 

    “You’re so hospitable,” he coos out, even though he can hear his heart in his ears. A hand snaps to his throat, curling around it and Wade feels chills and goosebumps ripple down his arms as his eyes go wide. 

    His fists curl tight against the binds, fear eating at his brain. 

    “I’m afraid we might not get you home safe if you keep this up, Mr. Wilson.” The voice replies, no longer that smooth “comforting” tone. It’s replaced by a royally pissed off pitch with angry eyes. 

    “How disappointing for Mr. Summers.” 

    Ah, that makes sense. 

    His teeth clench together against the next fist, refusing to give that satisfaction. It’s tough- but Wade makes it until a good hit renders him unconscious. Takes him out. 

    He thinks about Nate. It’s probably stupid, but he can only think about how he wishes he could tell him ‘It’s okay’, regardless of the ending of this chapter. 

    The next time he wakes up it’s to soft hands on his face. Just a ghost sensation, but a hand is strangely smooth, like pressing your face against a baking pan. His ears are ringing, too, but he can hear him. 

    “-baby,” it’s a strangely broken sound, but the voice is so familiar. Still gritty, but it sounds soft. Upset. 

    It takes him a stupid amount of time to get his eyes to open and it hurts, the tingle to his eyes a tell-tale sign of tears. The blob that comes into view is shaking, it looks like, and Wade has to blink one more time to get his eyes to focus enough to see him. 

    The greying hair and strong jaw has his muscles, which he didn’t even know was tense, going slack. It hurts, and Wade can’t stop the little sound that cracks out of his mouth. 

   It makes the firm line of the other’s mouth wobble, and Wade’s confused brain has his heart sinking. 

   Nate didn’t deserve to be upset. 

   “I’m so-”

   “It’s o-k,” it comes out a little strained, scratchy, but also with a cotton like delievery. It takes effort to talk. Everything is so try and his jaw hurts. 

    His lips seem swollen, they hurt to push together so he opens them. He hates how the dry air seems to make his mouth drier. 

    There’s a weird sound that comes out of the man above him and, if Wade could get his brain to focus, his arms to move, he’d probably cup Nate’s face. See if it was really a sob like he thought it was. 

    He can feel a ghosting of hands, it makes his body ache, but the firm chest he’s cradled to makes up for it. He’s tired and can hear Nate talking, apologizing. Begging. 

   His head falls to Nate’s shoulder, too heavy to keep up with the way his neck aches. He mumbles out some sound, this time coming out a little watery and he can’t help the bubble of red something that leaks out of his mouth with it. 

    “-tay up, baby. I’m going to-,” Wade tries to listen, really. To follow the request that he’s sure was a ‘stay up’, but his eyes are so heavy and he can’t help but let them drift closed.