Chapter Text
The walk from the church to the parkade was always a little dicey, always left Sebastian with a sense of primal anxiety. Always made him feel like he was being watched, or followed. He tried to ignore that feeling as best he could, discounting it as paranoia. Scolded himself for his own blind privilege; he'd spent most of his life living very comfortably, even estranged from his wealthy parents as he was. Working here, in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside, was about as far removed from that privilege as he could get.
He still wasn't quite used to it. Wasn't sure if he'd ever be used to it. So he chose to block out that niggling voice in the back of his head, telling him he was being followed.
Blocked it out, until he heard a sudden rapid, quiet footfall come up behind him.
Before he could turn to look, he found himself shoved forward with a remarkable amount of force, pinned face-first against the parkade wall.
"Wallet."
Sebastian swallowed, heart battering in his chest. Calm. Lord, keep me calm.
"Left jacket pocket," he said, his voice only shaking a little. Sebastian would never consider himself to be a coward by any means, but he could forgive himself a little show of fear in the face of a physical mugging. "You won't find anything in there, I don't have any cash on me. And no doubt you're smart enough to know I'll cancel any cards you take before you can use them."
"Shut up."
Sebastian felt a hand slip into his pocket - not with any kind of force, but deftly, like a pickpocket. He dared a glance over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant.
There wasn't much to see. The man keeping him pinned to the wall with one hand was surprisingly - honestly, almost embarrassingly - small, dark clothing hanging off him the way Sebastian had seen clothes hanging off the bones of far, far too many people this winter. He had a hood over his head and a ragged scarf around the lower half of his face, though it had slipped a little, revealing a ragged white beard and a long nose. His age was impossible to determine - his beard and the locks of hair falling into his slightly sunken eyes were white, peppered with one or two stray black strands, but he didn't look like an old man. Sebastian had also seen how things like starvation and addiction could age someone, but despite looking very obviously worse for wear, the man didn't have any of the signs Sebastian had learned to look for in an addict.
There were also, curiously, three small white dots on the man's head. Sebastian thought they might have been scars at first, but no... No, they were tattoos.
The man looked up from Sebastian's wallet, and Sebastian's breath caught a little - for all the world had clearly not been kind to this individual, he had beautiful eyes. Large, and deeply green.
Those eyes narrowed, and the man lifted his free hand to fix the scarf around his face, bringing the cloth back up over his nose and cheeks.
"Don't move until I'm gone," the man said, shoving Sebastian's wallet back in his pocket. Sebastian had thought his voice was deep before, but he realized it wasn't deep so much as it was rough and torn.
"You're sick," said Sebastian. It wasn't a question.
The man glared, and pushed Sebastian hard against the wall. "Don't move, and don't talk."
"Why?"
"It's annoying."
Sebastian had to smile at that. "I know some who would agree with you." Quietly, he added, "Listen, I can help you. I work at St Andrea's, it's not far from here-"
"I don't need help."
This was punctuated with a final shove, and the man walked away, quickly breaking into a run.
Sebastian had never heard anyone run so quietly before. In moments, it was like the man had never existed at all.
-
It was impossible to get his mind off the man, even as Sebastian worked through the most hectic time of year for the church. The holiday season inspired a generous spirit within many Vancouverites, which meant boxes upon boxes of donations to sort through and droves of new volunteers to guide through orientation around the soup kitchen, shelter, and second-hand store. There were his regular appointments to keep up with as a church counsellor, as well as his usual work with drop-ins from the streets - people seeking shelter from the cold, seeking resources for medical care, seeking food, seeking any kind of help St Andrea's could offer. Despite the fact that most of the building was dedicated to community services, over housing an actual church, it never really felt like they were doing enough. It never felt like enough to Sebastian, at any rate.
Still, throughout the chaos he couldn't help but make quiet inquiries, which was about as futile an exercise as could be expected. His regular "customers" trusted him, but only to an extent - there was a code of confidentiality amongst those who lived on the streets that Sebastian couldn't touch, and honestly didn't feel he had any right to anyway. That was if they were able to process his questions at all; many of the men and women Sebastian saw from day to day suffered illnesses and addictions that kept them out of step with reality on the whole.
And anyway, it wasn't like he had much to go on, as was made abundantly clear to him one afternoon as he helped a girl in her teens find some suitable winter clothing out of their donation bins.
"Okay, you said the guy's like- he's short? And what, dark skin, blond hair?"
"No, not quite," Sebastian said with a frown, pulling a ragged parka out from under a pair of ancient snow pants. "I mean yes, dark skin, but his hair was white, and he had green eyes. They were very distinctive."
The girl leaned back against a wall, scratching absently at a pockmark in her cheek and frowning. "You know, I might know the dude."
Sebastian looked up. "What, really?"
"Snow white hair? Big green eyes - maybe kind of glowy?"
Sebastian blinked. "Um. Not in a radioactive sense, but like I said, distinct."
"Oh yeah," said the girl earnestly, nodding her head. "Yeah, I've got your man. You're right, he's way more unique than the other guys."
Sebastian came around the side of the bin and passed her the parka. "Try that on. What do you know about him?"
"Oh, tons," said the girl, shrugging the parka on. "I mean, it all started when he was just fourteen."
Sebastian frowned. "What, really?"
"Uh huh. His parents built a very strange machine."
Sebastian's frown deepened, and he added a little squint. "What, really?"
"It was designed to view a world unseen," the girl said, an impish smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "When it didn't quite work his folks they just quit then your guy, well, he took a look inside of it-"
"Uh huh. I do know when I'm being made fun of, you know."
"Nah, this is the good part. So there was a great big flash and everything just changed, and his molecules got all rearranged- shit, this is comedy gold and the tragedy is it's fucking wasted on you, you're like thirty."
Sebastian snorted. "I apologize for my advanced age. I am clearly out of touch with the rest of the youth and couldn't possibly know who Danny Phantom is."
He knew, because he once dated a man with kind, laughing amber eyes, whose little sister loved that stupid show. But that all felt long ago and very far away, now.
The girl grinned, and punched his shoulder. "Ah, you're okay. Anyway, you might wanna get a bit more info on this guy you're stalking."
"I'm not stalking him."
"For sure, preacher, for sure."
After a week or so of similar, if not quite as entertaining, conversations, Sebastian had just about given up on finding the man. He had no idea why he was so obsessed in the first place - it wasn't as if he was seeking retribution, and there wasn't anything about the man that had marked him as different from anyone else Sebastian had helped over the past few months at St Andrea.
Or, in many cases, had been unable to help. This part of the city housed a great many sad stories. The man with white hair and green eyes was just one more.
So he was surprised when he mentioned the man in passing to one of his regulars, an old man named Warren, and watched as the man sat back with a thoughtful look on his face.
"Did you see any tattoos?" he said finally. "Like, shit-tons of white tattoos, all over."
Sebastian frowned. "He was fully covered, but- oh, but there were three dots on his forehead. White ink."
"That's him." Warren nodded, scratching at a patch of red and flaky skin on his cheek. "Yeah, I thought I'd made him up, but others've seen him too. He's a ghost, for sure. I mean, a lot of us, we've got- you know, there are places you'll find us. A lot of us have patterns. This guy's pattern is he's got no pattern, he's always moving. Never seen him with his hat out either, so he's gotta be stealing. Why, how'd you meet him? He doesn't talk to anyone. Bit of a loner."
"Just ran into him," said Sebastian, not exactly eager to recount the tale. "I think he's sick, I was hoping to find him and- I don't know, get him to a doctor or something."
"Everyone's sick, boy, where do you think you are?" Warren said, laughing and revealing a mouth of rotten teeth. "Still, he came by one of my spots once- on the move, like I said, always moving, but he did have a hell of a cough. I've never seen him at a shelter, though."
"He didn't seem entirely open to the idea," Sebastian admitted.
"Well, if I see him, I'll let you know," shrugged Warren, then added with a broken grin, "If I do, do I get a packet of some of those fancy English cookies you get in sometimes?"
Sebastian laughed. "Warren, you're always welcome to my Hobnobs, you know that."
"Yeah, well, it's different getting something for nothing, than getting something for something," Warren said. "I'll keep an eye out."
-
Christmas came and went, and the new year rolled in with a snap of bitter cold. There wasn't any snow - there was hardly ever any snow in Vancouver, after all - but plenty of ice, and plenty of St Andrea's patrons coming in with frostbitten fingers and sleepless exhaustion from spending nights in doorways and back alleys, as the shelters in the area were all full to bursting most nights. In the rush of trying to make the most of the post-Christmas donations and trying to keep as many people warm as possible, Sebastian had nearly forgotten about the green-eyed man.
Then one night, close to the end of Sebastian's shift, Warren came shuffling in looking... urgent, if Sebastian had to pick a word. He'd never looked urgent before.
"Is everything alright?" Sebastian asked, guiding Warren over to an empty table. "Let me grab you something to eat-"
"Nah, you've got to go," Warren said, shaking his head. "And I want my cookies when you're back. He's in an alley off Gore between Pender and Keefer. Hasn't moved for a whole day."
"Who hasn't?" Sebastian asked, blinking. "Wait- the man I was looking for? Right now?"
"Yeah, yeah, tattoos, white hair- I'd move fast if I were you. No one wants to spend the night sleeping alone around here - it isn't safe."
-
Sebastian took his car as close to the alleyway as he could get, finding a space to park right at the mouth and carefully locking up before venturing in, flashlight in hand.
It reeked of piss and vomit, a smell Sebastian had become quite familiar with over the past few months. It no longer caused his eyes to water the way it once did. Even so, he wasn't keen on the idea of having to search too thoroughly to find what he was looking for.
It took a few passes of the flashlight before he saw it - what could have easily been passed over as a pile of discarded black tarp, on closer inspection had something definitely living, definitely breathing under it. Someone small.
Sebastian stowed his flashlight, relying on the dim yellow light of the street lamps as he approached, having absolutely no idea what it was he intended to do.
"Hello?" he tried, approaching the tarp carefully. "Um, I don't know if you remember me. We met about a month ago, I think."
The only response was a slight shifting of the tarp as the person beneath it curled up tighter, closer to himself.
Sebastian had worked with enough people by now to know touching the man to get his attention was a categorically stupid move - he'd gotten a good punch in the face for doing something similar his first month at St Andrea's, well deserved. So he crouched as close as he could without intruding too much in the man's space, and said, "I'm here to help, I promise."
The man coughed, and Sebastian winced - it was an ugly sound, choked and clearly painful. There was nothing but raspy air to his voice when he spoke.
"Did he send you?"
Sebastian blinked. "Did who send me?"
The tarp rustled as the man turned over. The yellow light obscured his features somewhat, but there was no mistaking those eyes.
There was also no mistaking how sick the man was - in the month since Sebastian had seen him last, he'd wasted nearly down to nothing, his skin flat and sallow and the sharp angles of his face drawn up in harsh lines and shadows. Sebastian had seen far healthier corpses.
"I know you've been looking- someone's been looking for me," the man rasped, breaking into another ragged cough. "I tried- I tried to leave- tell him I'd rather rot here. I'm not going back."
"I'm sorry if I frightened you," Sebastian said softly. "I just- I knew you were sick, and I wanted to help."
"I don't want help," the man hissed. "Just leave me alone."
Sebastian bit his lip. The man was obviously paranoid, as many people Sebastian worked with were. He could handle that, he could work around it. He'd also sat through many seminars explaining the futility of trying to save every soul, trying to help those who do not want help. How it could do more harm than good.
However, he'd also learned to trust certain compelling forces, when they were helpful enough to point out his path for him. His path suddenly seemed very clear indeed.
"If it helps, I'm a man of God," he said, feeling the warmth of certainty in his chest. Of faith.
"It absolutely does not fucking help," the man responded flatly, sounding remarkably lucid.
"Well, it should bring you some comfort that I want to help you because I'm a religious nutjob, and not for any other reason," Sebastian said, palms out. "I'm not going to hurt you. It would be against everything I've come to believe in not to try to help you."
The man coughed, and glared. "It would help if you left."
"I don't believe that." Sebastian smiled. "What's your name?"
"Fuck you."
"Oddly enough, that's not an uncommon name around here," Sebastian said. "I can help you to a hospital, or to one of the shelters. It's not safe to be sleeping out here like this."
"No-" the man broke off into a rattling wheeze, and it was a few moments before he got his breath back to say, "No. It's not safe."
Sebastian drummed his fingers against his thigh, and said, "I know it may seem like that, but-"
"Fuck you, I'm not-" he coughed, and when the man spoke again, there was something... almost hurt, definitely angry, in that broken voice. "I'm not delusional, I'm not- I'm not insane. It's not safe. I'm not safe."
Sebastian nodded. "I believe you."
The man sighed, and closed his eyes. "No, you don't. It doesn't matter."
Sebastian rubbed his temple, feeling a headache building. For a moment, all he could think of was a man he once knew with a gentle, trusting kind of affability that was nearly impossible to deny. A man who would have likely been far, far more suited to the task at hand than Sebastian ever could be.
Damn it, Garrett. What would you do?
"Come back to my place, then," Sebastian said, his mind catching up with the words a moment or two late. Wait- what?
The man's eyes snapped open, narrow and suspicious. "You're not touching me."
"No! No, not like that," Sebastian said quickly, doing absolutely nothing to alleviate the wary look on the man's face. "I would never take advantage of anyone like that, not ever. You have my word."
"I don't know you."
"Fair point, but you still have it." Sebastian rubbed his hands together, really starting to feel the chill, and said, "Look, we're at an impasse, here. You don't want to go to a shelter, or a hospital - which is where you very likely need to go, but all that aside. I don't want to leave you here, never see you again and have to live with the idea that I left a fellow human being to die alone in some back alley in Chinatown. I've got a futon I can lend you, hot food, and I can call a doctor in the morning to take a look at you, and if after a few days you're definitely not dying, you're free to walk right out the front door. Before that even, if you can manage, which I doubt you can right now."
The man considered it for a long moment, the struggle reflected very clearly in his eyes, and it was almost heartbreaking to see the tipping point - the moment where exhaustion obviously won out, and the man was too tired to argue any longer.
"If you touch me, I'll kill you, and I mean that," the man said. "Same if you're working for him."
"I'm not going to hurt you," Sebastian repeated again, as sincerely as he could. Then, awkwardly, he added, "I might- um, I might have to touch you, however. You don't seem well enough to walk without help."
The man bared his teeth in a quiet snarl, but nodded.
It was an awkward affair, helping the man out of his curled-up position on the concrete, his teeth chattering audibly as the tarp fell away. Sebastian looped the man's arm over his shoulder, holding him around the waist, and not missing the way the man flinched as if burned with every touch. It was more carrying, than helping the man walk, but the man was so light it hardly mattered.
They were nearly at the car when the man spoke, his rasping voice quiet, and almost a little defeated.
"Fenris. I'm... my name is Fenris."
Sebastian nodded, opening the back door and helping Fenris into the seats. "Nice to meet you, Fenris. There's a blanket in the footwell in front of you, I'll have the heat on in a moment."
Sebastian rounded the side of the car and climbed into the driver's seat, quickly checking over his shoulder and half-expecting Fenris to have produced a knife from somewhere, ready to strike. But Fenris was already fast asleep.