Rainbow Connection, AFTG ✔️

Epilogue

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VINCENT

Vincent had never been the best driver. He'd started driver's education when he was fourteen, but it was on the coattails of his father being arrested, and he had blown most of the lessons off for his recreational exy league to get through his grief. Though he had somehow been awarded a license, Oliver normally drove him places when he was back home.

He learned quickly that he was a worse driver when his eyes were heavy, his head throbbed, he was dehydrated, and he could barely keep his arms up to hold the wheel. At every red light, he cradled his ruined hands in his lap and begged that the light would last longer and give him more time to rest.

It was a bit over eight hours to get from Castle Evermore to Palmetto State University. From there, Vincent had to somehow find Wymack like Neil had told him too. There wasn't exactly anywhere closer. It was South Carolina or California, and he certainly couldn't last long enough to get to Cali.

And he didn't want to face his mother yet. Not when he was tripping over his own tears and couldn't form a fist, let alone shove her out of his way.

His drive was full of burning and aching limbs. He eventually lost count of the amount of times he pulled onto shoulders or into parking lots and started sobbing, and he wasn't sure if he was five or six hours in when he started staring into space instead of properly driving. Luckily, the pain in his arms made him focus.

He spent eight hours choking up his pain and running yellow lights. Every time Vincent thought the memories and hysterics and pain were too overwhelming, he drove faster. If he took a break, he thought, he'd never live till tomorrow. Neil had said Riko was dead. What if Riko wasn't dead? What if Riko was coming for him right now? What if Riko was headed for Oliver? No. Vincent had seen the body. Still, even dead, Riko's eyes were haunting him.

When Vincent pulled into David Wymack's apartment building, it was 5:22 AM on the Monday after the game. He barely managed to get his seatbelt undone before his body gave out on all functions. It was 5:47 before he managed to pry the door open and struggle to Wymack's apartment.

When he reached the front door, he couldn't knock. The idea of moving his fingers made him cringe; they felt more like deadweight and numbness than real body parts. Instead of trying, he simply collapsed against the door, and a loud bang sounded off in response. After, he slammed his palm into the door rapidly, desperate for relief.

When Wymack opened the door, Vincent fell, his eyes half closed, but Wymack had an athlete's reflexes, and he grabbed him before he hit the floor. At the touch, the fingers gripping his skin, Vincent's body reacted automatically, jumping up and banging into the wall to get away from the coach.

"I need help," He forced out. The words get treacherous, a harsh betrayal to the loyalty Riko had beaten into him. Immediately, he regretted them, and he wanted to puke his organs up until they were erased and he was gone.

Wymack nodded slowly. Then, he turned his head barely, eyes still on Vincent, and called into his apartment, "Abby?"

A woman around Wymack's age walked into the hall. She was the Foxes nurse; Vincent had seen her before. When she saw Vincent, her face melted into one of concern, and she rushed to stand by Wymack, "Vincent. Do you want me to call Port—"

"No!" He quickly shut his eyes and pressed himself deeper into the wall, "Please, don't. Don't call anyone."

"Are you bleeding?" She asked.

"Maybe," He opened his eyes and looked down at his stomach, which he was still cradling his hands in. "I haven't checked since halftime on Friday."

Abby looked panicked at that news. "Okay...Vincent, I'm a nurse, okay? I'm going to do my best to help you, will you come with me? David, get something to wipe the blood off."

Wymack turned away and Abby gestured for Vincent to follow her. When he got close, she tried to wrap her gentle arm around him, and he dodged. She didn't try again. They went to Wymack's bathroom, and Vincent paused by the door. Confined spaces weren't his favorite thing to begin with, let alone after Evermore.

"Vincent," She said, "I need you to take your shirt off, okay?"

He shrunk in on himself briefly. I need help, he'd said. He had doomed himself enough already. It still took all of his strength to accept the help, and despite the burning in his body, he wouldn't let Abby help him remove his shirt. He sat in Wymack's bath-shower combination, legs stretched the length of the tub; his legs were too long, but Abby said propping them up slightly would probably be good for him.

She eventually reached out to peel the first of his bloody bandages off, and Vincent braced himself on the tub walls to stop himself from running. She got it halfway unraveled before he pulled his knees to his chest and locked himself in a protective position.

"Vincent..." Abby rested a hand on the side of the tub, far from him, but also far too close. "Can you tell me what caused this bruise?" She lightly touched an angry yellow mark that covered the side of Vincent's bicep and stretched onto his shoulder.

He hugged himself tighter, but he answered, mumbling slightly, "Bodycheck."

Abby nodded, and she lightly tapped the cut she had unbanaged, "This?"

"Riko's knives," He answered.

They went on like that. Vincent cried, and Abby waited. Wymack watched them both in silence for the night, and he looked sick whenever Vincent described what had happened to him.

He didn't feel far enough from Riko yet. Eight hours, a different state. What if he got home, a whole coast away, back to his brother and the ocean and the California sun, and it wasn't enough? He wasn't sure he ever would stop feeling Riko's knees digging into his ribs.

Maybe nowhere was far enough. Vincent wouldn't be the judge of that yet. When tomorrow came, he'd wonder again if it was all pointless, and if his answer changed, then it changed. Each day, Vincent knew, would crack open his brittle bones the same way his head banged against the basement floor when Riko threw him.

He felt Riko behind him, his hands crawling from his shoulders to his neck, touching every part of him with cold, lithe fingers. But when he looked down, he was free. Physically, at least.

Part of him wanted to call Oliver. Part of him wanted them to tell Porter he was here. Part of him wanted to let himself die back in the drab and cold blackness of Evermore. He ignored every want he had. Wants weren't survival, and if he didn't shut off completely, he was sure he wouldn't have let Abby get close enough to stitch him together again.

Vincent tried to close his eyes, but that brought Riko closer than his already lurking presence. Instead, he leaned back against the bathtub and vanished, of mind, of soul.

His body could stay for now, if he lasted. He wasn't sure if he hoped he did or not. Another question for another day.