#vingelino

Well, whatever was going on, his best friend looked awful- his usually inky black skin had an unhealthy ashen tint, deep shadows under his eyes making him look even more bug-eyed than usual. He was also eerily still and silent, save for his deep, raspy breathing, and his eyes that sometimes moved rapidly for a few minutes before stopping. Beads of sweat were gathering at his temples, his clavicle, his stomach, falling slowly on the fabric of the couch he was laid on- one of the only pieces of furniture in the bare little cabin they’d been assigned to.

Or confined to, given the disapproving looks the hothead got from their saviors whenever he tried to go further than the water hole behind the wooden house.

Their saviors- the luchadores. As crazy as it sounded still, him and Lino had been rescued from that nightmare facility by none other than their wrestling idols- and had the circumstances not been this terrifying, Vinz definitely would’ve been fanboying all over the place. Both Tigre and Diablo were even more impressive up close, their booming, commanding voices rattling his bones.

But that was the thing- the admiration, the awe, the fluttery feeling of being starstruck… it hadn’t lasted very long. Not when they were running from bloodthirsty aliens -aliens!- with some weird old man who knew way too much about Lino for it to be comfortable.

Vinz groaned, getting off the floor- his joints cracked as he walked to the couch to sit by Lino’s bedside, feeling completely useless. He stifled a flinch when he spotted a few roaches in the palm of Lino’s hand, apparently watching over their beloved master.

It was equally sweet and gross, in Vinz’ opinion. But he couldn’t be mad- not anymore. Not when the swarm of crawling black pests had been the cause of their salvation. He distantly wondered if his friend’s true nature had something to do with the strange connection he had with his roaches.

Yeah… That was another thing he’d had to unpack in the last few days. He’d figured from Angelino’s recent athletic exploits and murder-y, tentacle-y episodes that something very weird was up with his best friend. But this… this was a little too much.

As it turned out, Lino was an alien. An honest-to-God alien- or at least, half of him was. The guy had never, ever talked about his parents, his earliest memories only going back to the orphanage they’d both grown up in. God knows how he’d ended up there, but considering how the Machos (and what stupid-ass name that was for an alien race, for real) seemed to view relashionships between humans and their kind… Vinz could take a guess at how that little love story had ended.

He wasn’t an idiot, despite what all the people he’d worked with might think. In the short moments where he’d been conscious and the big suit guy was around, he’d heard him mention something about ‘finishing what he’d started’ as he glared at Lino’s unresponsive body.

That had told Vinz everything he needed to know. Whoever Lino’s parents had been, they were long dead. And that man was responsible for it.

Angelino didn’t need this. He didn’t deserve any of this, to be torn from his family, hunted down like a rogue animal, and even now, being looked down at like some interesting science experiment.

Oh, Vinz saw them alright. The curious stares, the inquisitive glances. The hushed conversations between the masked men, like Lino held all answers.

Like he’d said- he would’ve fanboyed hard about his favorite fighters being around. But the way they looked at and talked about his best friend made his blood boil and his flames burn hotter. It didn’t matter that Lino was a hybrid, that he had freaky powers, hell, he could’ve been the second coming of Jesus for all Vinz cared.

Angelino was his best friend in the whole world. They’d been through so much together, even before this mess- they’d been living together their whole lives, they trusted each other, supported each other no matter what.

Vinz had wondered why he’d been so angry at Lino, at that girl. He briefly considered the possibility that he was harboring feelings for his best friend, that it was jealousy. But it quickly occurred to him that no, that wasn’t the nature of his feelings for the black ball-headed man.

Vinz loved Lino, yes. More than anything in this world, if he was being honest with himself. But he wasn’t in love with him- there was a distinct difference. He wanted to protect him, stand by him. He wanted them to keep watching dumb movies together late at night, on their shitty couch, in their shitty apartment and yet shittier neighborhood. And he’d be content with that- as long as Angelino was here, he’d be okay.

Angelino. His best friend. And his partner, for life.

This ran probably deeper than mere friendship- not like Vinz would know how to even call it. It might not have been romantic… but it felt equally as strong, and precious. Vinz sighed, crossing his arms on the couch and resting his skull between his arms. He’d considered running away- take Lino and run, run on the line between ochre sand and purple skies of the desert. Hide out somewhere, wait for everything to finally blow over. Watch over Lino until he woke up, as he was doing now.

But that was a pipe dream, and Vinz knew that. They weren’t the survivor types- they’d just die within a few days without the luchadores’ help, and then what? No, as much as Vinz disliked it, staying here was the smartest thing he could do right now.

So Vinz kept watch- gently cleaning Lino’s exposed skin with a wet sponge when his body ran too hot, replacing the cool rag on his forehead and eyes. Covering him with a blanket when he got too cold, whispering hushed reassurances.

Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.

I’m here.

I’m not leaving.

Come on Lino, please.

Come back to me, okay?

I can’t do this shit without you.

I’ll be better, I promise.

I’ll protect you this time, so please.