glory and gore ; phan

ii

"hey, hey easy now," chris mumbled, attempting to comfort dan as they stumbled backstage. chris was holding up nearly all of his weight, his legs limply dragging behind him. dan hadn't seen himself yet but he was ready to bet money that he had a black eye. but then again, when did he not? he plopped down in a chair, cat barging through the door and rushing towards him. she tried to tell him it was all okay or that he'd do better next time but he ignored her, the metallic taste of iron stinging his mouth and the feeling of his eye puffing up being distracting.

"can you get me a beer?" he grumbled, wanting to just be all alone in his apartment, without having to wince in pain every time he moved. cat nodded, retreating a can out of the mini fridge that was most likely the most expensive thing in the back room.

"listen, i've got to go. careful on your way home, howell. you got your ass handed to you tonight," tyler snickered, swinging the door open and skipping out of it.

"christ," dan muttered, his head pounding with agony.

"do you need a ride home? you usually walk but.. but tyler's right. you're fucked up pretty bad," chris pitifully offered, glancing down at dan while swinging his keys around his finger.

"i'm fine."

"right, whatever. i'll see you tomorrow," chris sighed, pulling up his grey hood over his head and walking out, leaving dan and cat alone.

"are you sure? about a ride home?" cat asked, draping her arms over his broad shoulders. he groaned, not wanting cat to find out where he lived.
"i'm fine."

she exhaled deeply, the sound of her shoes hitting the ground gradually fading as she left.

"shit, shit, shit," dan muttered, stumbling across the room to his regular clothes. he flinched as he changed his bloody fighting clothes for his regular white t shirt, that was conveniently sheer enough to faintly show his outlined abs, and his black skinny jeans.

he was always the last boxer to leave, being as he stayed overtime most nights to train after fights. but with the ass kicking he had tonight, all he wanted was a stronger drink. he flipped the light switch down, making the lights gradually flicker off, and shut the door behind him.

the bar, however, was open all night. but it was 3 am on a monday night, the only people who sat at the stools were either hardcore alcoholics or the security guards who simply stopped caring about doing their jobs. dan stood still for a second, considering his options.

go home and sleep, or order a drink and stay awhile. he didn't go to college as he barely made it through high school, so he didn't have any plans for the rest of day. he ran his fingers through his hair and found himself plopped down onto one of the stools, his back aching due to his poor posture.

"nice goin' with franta, kid," tim, the same security guard from earlier, said beside him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. dan rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to punch him. he wasn't allowed to fight inside the club outside of actual fights, being as he nearly killed someone last time he did it.

"what are ya? deaf?" he mocked, dan's fist clenching around his drink.
"not only a faggot, but deaf too!" he laughed. dan clenched his jaw, feeling a pit of frustration and anger pooling inside him.

"i'm not a faggot." he growled, keeping his gaze on his drink. he knew if he saw the mockery on max's face he'd lose it and end up in a fight. he tried to ignore the insults and repeatedly remind himself that he needed this job.

max laughed, nudging the half conscious guard beside him as if letting him know what a joke he thought dan was. the half conscious guard slurred nonsense and glanced between dan's face and max's collar with dan's fist grabbed onto it. he faintly snickered but quickly went back to staring at his drink, not showing much interest in the two.

"i heard derek talk about you and your fake girlfriend. i know about you, queer. i know about your brother," max whispered tauntingly, his voice having a faint sing-song tone to it.

max was suddenly on the ground with dan crouched over him, raising his fist and slamming it down into his jaw. dan screamed at him as he pounded his fists against max's skin, ignoring the screams from the few people present in the bar. his fist collided with max's nose and he heard a loud crack through the chaotic noise around him. dan knew he had broken his nose, but he didn't stop. he couldn't. it was as if any empathetic or caring part of his mind was completely shut off and all he could think was red.

the red bruises that formed along max's skin.

the red blood that gushed out of max's crooked nose and was splattered across dan's face and dripped off his fists.

the red shade of utter hatred and fury that was what chris's face was when he saw a bloody dan crouched over a guard, punching him without the slightest bit of restraint.

"dan, i forgot my-jesus!" chris yelled, running across the room to dan and max without hesitation. dan didn't even seem to be aware of chris's presence, as when chris wrapped his arms around his jolting shoulders to try to drag him away from max, he ended up with a punch at his jaw.

chris stumbled back, running his fingers over his jawline. his eyes were wide and his heart was pounding. dan wasn't using any restraint or holding anything back; too much more and he would easily kill max. chris shook away his raging thoughts quickly and tried to drag dan away again, but this time managing to successfully pull him away. chris didn't let go though, he held on tight until a crowd of police scrambled in the chaotic bar.

dan was released from his grip and gasped for breath, scrambling to his feet. he hobbled a few feet away from chris, who was huddled over the max, checking for a pulse. dan's eyes suddenly widened as he realized what he had just done, his throat feeling like it was closing. he doubled over onto his knees, feeling sick. he felt like he didn't know what happened, he was just mad at max for being an asshole and then red.

"he's alive, you sick bastard," chris hissed, standing up and glaring at dan. the hazy image of chris looking at him with pure hatred in his eyes was enough to sicken him as it was, and the blood that dripped off of his hands suddenly repulsed him. it wasn't necessarily the blood itself, it was the guilt of knowing where the blood cane from. sure, he did this often in his fighting matches. but like tyler said, it's for entertainment. it's like a fucking show.

dan glanced up to see a police officer glaring at him and the pit of guilt in his stomach grew tremendously. he knew that this illegal, underage, fighting club would be going down and it would be on him. sure, he worked there, but he was by no means some type of high class criminal.

he felt himself being pulled up to his feet by his trembling shoulders and dragged along before his vision went black.