Pretty Dead City Just before Lance's hand touched Justin's face, Chris saw something move behind them, a bit down the street. The ratcreatures again, milling like dark snakes out of gutters and manholes. He blinked, but they didn't go, and he thought he saw them snake through shadows of people, too. So he missed the first touch. He did hear Justin gasp, Joey say, in a weak voice, "fucking HELL," JC whisper - it was a cry, but soft as a whisper - "no."
And he looked away from the dark shapes and saw light catch on steel - how could it reflect that sharply when the damn light was fuzzier than his grandma's cardigan? - and Justin gasped again and Chris saw blood that was obscenely bright. He almost cried out, too, but then he saw it was only a shallow cut in Justin's broad palm, a scrape that swelled and grew brighter crimson as the blood welled up.
"Didn't see that one coming," Justin said, but he was smiling. Lance's hand on his cheek left a trace, a smear of gold.
"So, this is like a pact, then?" Joey said. "Blood brothers and shit. You've read too many fantasy novels, Lance."
"Blood brothers in the stormy night!" Chris said, giddy now. He'd never done the whole blood vow thing. Sometimes he'd thought they might have been a little better off swearing loyalty forever and ever. Them. All of them, brothers and bound together. Whoah. And Lance's grin was broad and showed a lot of teeth, and Justin's smile was dazed, and they leaned together again and Lance's hand closed around Justin's, hiding the blood.
Chris looked away for a second, looked across the street, and JC was standing there surrounded by the creatures and the ghosts, but they weren't touching him. Just moved around him in randomly organised circles and spirals.
Justin glowed golden and Chris reached out, his hand with the palm up. Lance took it and the grin stayed in place. The blade was the Leatherman tool Justin had given him for his last birthday.
He looked back again and JC was farther away than ever, and then there was the sharp bite of the blade and. And. And.
"Far out," he whispered and squeezed Lance's hand through the little pain and the big golden LIGHT in his head. Lance was totally the dude. Dude, Lance, man--
At one point, he looked up - when did he just lie down? - and saw Justin stand above him. Look, nudity, he thought, and Justin was sort of naked, maybe, only not. Chris wasn't sure how someone could be both naked and not naked at the same time, but Justin was pulling it off in a big way. And Joey and Lance-- they were there, somewhere, Lance next to him, sitting cross-legged on the street with light playing on his beautiful, beautiful face. Beautiful Lance, beautiful Justin, beautiful Joey lying next to Chris with a smile, shiny shiny smile on his face.
"Okay, we can go now," he said. "I'm good to go."
"Yeah," Justin said and turned around, and his not-clothes swirled around him like big white clouds. Or wings, maybe. Clothes that weren't clothes were wings instead. Okay. Next to Chris, Joey laughed and it sounded like a wolf howling.
His hand didn't hurt at all, but when he looked at it, he saw the wound in his palm, mad red and open, way bigger than he'd thought it was - Lance only scratched him, didn't he, but this looked like he'd been gashed deep enough to cut through tendons and muscle and hit bone.
He was looking at his hand, flexing it and watching the meat move around in the wound, the glimpses of white that could be bone. It should have looked sickening, he thought, but it was kind of cool, really.
"Hey, dude," he said and rolled over, scrambled to his feet. Everything was moving and standing still at the same time. He wanted to say that, but he had something else, something else to talk about. Oh, oh. "Dude, dude, look at my hand--"
Justin twirled around and the wing things that weren't clothes fluttered over Chris' face. Felt like cobwebs with drops of cold water clinging to the strands; silvery, it felt silvery. Justin held up his hand and Chris marvelled at the deep wound in it. He thought he saw other things in that - metal things. Justin smiled at him and his teeth were even whiter and shinier than before. His skin was perfect peach and cream smooth. Chris touched him with his whole hand. He felt real.
"Come on," Lance said and Chris saw that he didn't shimmer anymore. He just looked very real, very Lance, if Lance usually wore a coat made of feathers. Lance wasn't talking to him, though, Lance was going across the street, Lance was going after JC. Or-- Chris squinted and concentrated, and maybe that was JC, that pale, haggard thing. It sort of looked like him. Poor JC.
He turned back to Justin. Joey had also gotten up and was pulling his hands through the gossamer weave of Justin's not-clothes.
Chris saw maybe-it's-JC swing at Lance and miss, and Lance grab his hand. It must be JC, Chris thought, and JC bared his teeth at Lance and twisted from his grip. Chris couldn't hear his voice, but he looked like he was cursing.
Chris closed his eyes and noticed that the pink gates he'd almost forgotten in the excitement were glowing so brightly that he saw them through his eyelids.
He started walking. After five steps, he stumbled and remembered to open his eyes.
The gates loomed in the way only twenty feet worth of shock pink, star-spangled gala entrance can.
They stood on the red carpet. It was a familiar feeling - red carpet, all that was missing were the screaming fans, and Chris thought he could almost hear them already. They were all dolled up, too; he looked at Justin and saw the blood in his veins, right through his skin. Pink and crimson and purple little rivers. And Joey looked great, like his hair was thicker and glossier and his beard seemed to have grown a lot since the last time Chris looked at him, but it was shiny-glossy, too, like cat fur.
Lance looked at him with eyes that were a lot greener than Chris remembered. So that's what they mean by peridot eyes, he thought, I get it. He could even stretch himself to think, emerald. They did look like gems, a little cold, but beautiful and faceted in ways that made the light catch and sparkle in them.
He looked up and felt confident that the pink doors would swing open when he reached them.
There was just one thing, though, a little nagging worry. A worry-baby, if you will. His worry-baby mewled and stretched its tiny hands towards him, and he spun around - whoo! It felt like spinning a kaleidoscope if you were inside it - and knew that he was worried about JC, who was missing, gone, he was maybe completely gone-- But no. There he was, such as he was, standing behind them, standing and now trying to back off slowly. Poor JC. The worry-baby withered and died. Chris grabbed JC's skeletal arm and dragged him along, and the rest closed rank around them, and when the doors did swing open, Chris pushed JC in first.
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