Spirit Animals Oneshots

Devin x Conor - Too Far (Part 1)

A/N -
This takes place in a modern AU.
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Conor's PoV -

     It's late on a Saturday morning. Devin, my fiancé, stands at the stove cooking cottage pie for lunch. I simply watch him while sipping tea from our dining room table. "Shoot," Devin curses while looking in the fridge.

     "What's wrong?" I ask.

     "We're out of Worcestershire sauce," Devin whines.

     "I'll go buy some," I state, thankful for the distraction, I was getting bored.

     "Nah, don't worry about it, I'll make do," Devin replies but I'm already getting my shoes on.

     "The store's only a few blocks away, I'll be back in no time," I promise and give Devin a quick kiss.

     "Be careful," Devin calls after me as I walk outside our apartment.

     Devin and I live in a nice neighborhood. Our apartment is a victorian style and fairly large but only a few blocks over sits the red light district. I usually feel fairly safe walking by the shady side of town so long as it's daylight and I have my keys held tightly in my fist. So I continue on with my keys held tight.

It's mid-fall and the weather is cooling down fast. The mornings are covered in frost and the daytime holds winter's chill in the air. I let my guard down to zip my jacket. It was a horrible mistake. I feel roughy hands grab me from behind and spin me around. A gag is forced in my mouth so I can't yell for help. I'm dragged into an alley and I can tell there are multiple attackers. One grabs my wallet. I swing with my keys but miss. Then they're pried from my hands and thrown to the side, landing against the dirty alley wall. One attacker holds my hands behind my back and another searches me, presumably for anything of value or possibly a weapon. I struggle trying to get free. I kick backward hoping to cripple the attacker who's holding me back. My strike connects and the thug loosens his grip. I take the chance and run out of the alley. I'm free.

Then I feel a horrible pain throughout my body. I fall to the ground. I can't move. I can hear screaming from pedestrians on the sidewalk. There's a squelch of tires coming to a sudden stop. Then it hits me. I hadn't been paying attention and I ran into the road. I was hit by a truck. Then everything goes black.

Devin's PoV -

For the hundredth time, I check the clock. Conor should be back by now. I'll call. Voicemail. I text.

Call me.

Minutes pass with no response.

Where are you!

Still no reply. I check the clock again. I'm worried. With a sigh, I shut the stove off and grab the keys before heading out. I bet his phone died. Maybe he just ran into someone to talk with at the store. I continue on, I'm in the shady part of town now so I quicken my pace. Then I turn a corner. There's red and blue flashing lights, yellow tape, and cops that stand talking. My stomach drops. I cross the tape without a second thought and hurry over to the cops. "What happened here?"

"Some guy ran out in front of a truck, poor guy must've not been paying attention," the cop replies.

"What did he look like?" I question with mounting panic.

The cop hesitates, he's probably not allowed to share this much information, but he seems to notice my panic, "Hmm, a young kid, probably mid to late twenties, blond hair, blue eyes, he wore a green jacket, I think."

My eyes are watering but I still hold out hope, "Did he have his wallet or phone on him, what's his name," I feel the need to add more explanation, "my fiancé passed by here and he's not home yet."

"No, no identification, my guess is he probably got robbed and accidentally ran into the road," the cop seems sympathetic, "Maybe you should go to the hospital just in case, he still had a pulse when the EMTs picked him up."

     My eyes are watering now, "Thanks," I state quickly before my voice cracks.

     I rush off, ducking under the police tape again. I trot down the sidewalk and hail a taxi. One pulls up to the curb and I hurry in. "To hospital," I state through sobs.

     The driver, a young brunette lady, casts a worried glance at me before pulling back into traffic. The drive lasts fifteen agonizing minutes. I pay the driver and jump out. I speed walk into the hospital and quickly seek the receptionist. "Hello, I'm Devin Trunswick, my fiancé, Conor MacFenray, might have been hit by a truck and taken in here," the receptionist looks down at a paper, "Is he here?"

     The lady still scans her paper, moments pass. "Ah," she states while adjusting her glasses, "an unidentified male was checked in a half hour ago, ran over by a truck."

     "Can I see him?" I ask.

     "I'm sorry sir but there was no identification on him and he's unresponsive so we can't ask him, that is, unless you have a photo ID of your fiancé that we could verify is indeed this man," she talks calmly but without emotion.

     I dig through my wallet, Conor's drivers license was in his wallet that was probably stolen, maybe I have something. I flip through my many cards. Finally, Conor's college ID he asked me to keep for him. I hand the card over. "Thank you, it'll be just a moment," the receptionist walks away.

     Anxious minutes pass, I keep glancing down the halls hoping to find a glimpse of Conor. Nothing.

     Finally, she returns. Conor's ID is handed back to me. "Room 422," she states calmly but I'm already rushing down the hall.

     I don't waste time calling an elevator, I sprint up the steps taking them two at a time till I arrive at the fourth floor. I'm panting but I don't slow down. I scan the signs.

Rooms 420 - 440

     I follow the sign to the right.

438

I scan the numbers as I hurry down the hall. I walk through some double doors.

428

Some young lady is crying outside of an ICU room but I don't have time to stop to comfort her.

422

I pause. Conor's room. I knock on the door. No answer. Not wanting to wait any longer I walk in. I shut the door behind me. A young man lays quietly on a hospital bed. Machines beep all around. His heart rate monitor reports a steady pulse but IVs run into his arms. I walk closer. This can't be my Conor.

I look down at the unconscious man. I gasp. It is Conor. A fresh wave of tears flood my eyes. I gently trail my finger tips down his pale cheeks. My poor baby. I colapse in the oversized chair next to him and hold his hands and in my own. "Conor..." I hope he can hear me, "I'm so sorry..."

I gently kiss his soft lips. "I'm sorry."

Conor doesn't say anything, he doesn't move, I wonder if he even knows I'm here.

I run my fingers through his blond locks and I cry. My sobs mix with the sounds of the machines that keep the love of my life alive.