Mutant Busters: Insomniac Hell

Chapter four. Sleeping City

⚠️TW Mentions of Homophobia, Slurs (Censored) Wounds, Swearing.
FLUFF CHAPTER (Kind of)

If you notice any I missed please tell me!

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I remember some things from my childhood. One thing stood out to me in this moment. Passing an abandoned play place. The sign had many letters missing, but I knew what it used to say. 'SuperDuper PlayPalace'. My mum brought me and Ryan here as kids. Everyday, Ryan would flirt with the daycare attendees, while I just hung out with the girls. They always spoke about the same thing. But when I was asked the same question, they seemed shocked.

The scent of lavender and vanilla eased my nerves as I walked down the light roads. I could feel the pain in my legs again, but I was just happy to feel something for once after all those years of being completely empty. I soon saw a small town over the horizon. The place looked familiar, wheat fields placed without a care, tall grass waving in the wind. A careful scent flowing through the air. A land made to protect us, and I'm finally here.
Home Sweet Home.

I knew I was about to keel over, so I continued my walk across the candle-lit path.
I wonder who's still alive? Anyone who stayed here is definitely still alive but were there successful survivors? I'm not quite sure but I do hope so. Maybe the dream wasn't all wrong. Maybe all those people exist out there. I know Brutux does, but the others, not so much. All this thinking and soon I realised I had made it. A familiar town, now surrounded by barbed wire and burning sage. A realisation had hit me before I could think. I should deal with all these injuries. Only my most recent ones can be seen. I won't eat another human, but when my clothes are shredded by shadows, I'll gladly borrow some. I'll probably need medical attention, but first I need a drink. In other words, I need alcohol inside and out. I stumbled towards the bar, successfully not dying on the way. Then I tried to do an overdramatic push, but my body said no thank you so it was more like a half assed shove. My walk through the bar gained many confused stares but I was used to being stared at. Only one person had caught my attention. He had raven black hair and a stubble that was almost a beard. He wore a timberwolf gray bomber jacket with cool gray pants that perfectly clashed. His shirt was black with a purple pixel alien. In his pocket was a handheld gaming console, but I couldn't recognise which one. I grew up poor so I only heard about consoles at daycare. He seemed familiar, maybe it's just deja vu. I sat down at the bar in a bored manner and finally spoke.
"You have hydrogen peroxide?" I asked the barkeep while he looked me up and down. His usual calm and collected face had turned into one of shock and terror. I remember him from years ago, I guess he also remembered me.
"Jim Rubik?! You're not dead?!" He yelled in a panic. The entire bar was filled with shocked gasps and violent groans. Glares had now been directed towards me, glares of hatred, anger, disappointment. Except for him. He looked at me with a slight grin, then smiled when I looked up at him. I instantly looked down with a face attacked by red. Soon enough, the barkeep had spoken up once again.
"I bet my entire profit that you were dead two years ago! All you had to do was wait three days or actually be dead!" He said, angry and confused. Many yells across the bar agreed with him. I couldn't believe this shit. We were dying out there literally praying to be saved and they were here, bargaining our lives for their own gain. Countless people died for you to profit.
"I asked if you had hydrogen peroxide. It might come as a shock to you, but while you were sipping dry martinis, we were fighting for our lives against creatures that would make you shit yourself. Now if you don't have the damn hydrogen peroxide or even a first aid kit, I'll be on my way." I said releasing over three years of pent up rage. The barkeep reached under the bar and slammed a first aid kit onto the bar.
"Here Sheriff." He said using my nickname as an insult. His eyes said 'be quick' but I needed privacy. Most of my wounds are under my shirt, well, it's not my shirt.
"Do you have any privacy in this sleeping city?" I asked the barkeep, abnormally angry. He looked at the raven haired guy with heavy expectation.
"Shooter. Bring this asshole to a room and watch him." The barkeep spoke. The man stood up and walked over to where I sat. He took his time, undressing me with eyes of honey and oak. I silently panicked, he was so close, too close for comfort. Suddenly, I was lifted. I tried to figure out what was going on, but then he started moving. I was being carried. To the room. By this guy. HELL. NO.
"PUT ME DOWN YOU BUFFOON I CAN WALK YOU-" I yelled before I was cut off.
"Look at yourself. You should not be walking. Now shut up already! He said, barely raising his voice. I shut up. He actually cares about me. I know that's just his job, but it felt real. My mind racing with thoughts that would disappoint both parents then some. He continued to carry me as I realised how long this guy had been carrying me for and felt bad.
"Are you just, really strong or, am I just light?" I asked quietly. He looked at me with a face that said 'are you joking' but he knew I was serious.
"Pal, You look like shit and basically weigh five pounds."
"Well then! No hesitation there!" I yelled in utter shock. Shooter rolled his eyes and continued to walk. Soon enough we reached a room.
"You can put me down now." I requested. He looked at me with a face of pure rage.
"I swear to God. I will stab you."
"...So that's a no." I replied looking at the doorknob. He used one hand to open it, then kicked the door to finish opening it.
"Has any-"
"Shut up."