Chapter Text
David Wymack did not get paid enough for this. He was paid to coach college athletes in Exy. He was paid to make sure enough kids showed up to the games with enough limbs to play the game. He was paid to make sure they did not bleed on the court more than normal. He was even paid to deal with traumatized Ravens who appeared bleeding and broken in front of his hotel room, although it had taken awhile to convince the school about that.
This though. He did not get paid enough for whatever the fuck this was. This was a goddamn horror movie, and Wymack did not get paid to do horror movies anymore than he got paid to dance naked in the streets. Still, he moved forward cautiously, inwardly cursing the universe and everything inside it. The lump in front of his door didn’t move but he was still on edge. It was a distinctly human shaped lump covered in a thin tarp and Wymack had seen enough horror films to know what could happen. He took another step and this time he was close enough to see that part of the lump was moving slightly.
He resisted the urge to jump back. Movement meant that the lump was alive. The lump being alive meant that someone had dumped a living lump roughly the shape of a human at his doorstep. Wymack did not get paid enough for human shaped lumps that apparently fucking moved on his doorstep. Still, he moved close enough to touch the lump and bent down. He pulled the tarp away quickly and cursed loudly.
A lithe, small framed boy lay on the ground. He was completely naked, which Wymack would like to say was the most disturbing part of the boy. That honor, however, was given to the bloody mess that was the boy’s body. Thin lacerations ran across his chest, marring patches of smooth skin and crossing over pink scars that were already there. Deep gashes split his upper thighs, the blood pooling on his legs and spilling onto the ground below him. There was blood from other places as well but Wymack refused to allow himself to worry about it then.
He tore his eyes from the cuts to the boy’s face. The boy had been placed there on purpose and Wymack dreaded to see if he would recognize one of his own. The boy’s face was mostly hidden, half was turned towards the ground and the rest was mostly covered by unruly locks of auburn hair. It was enough to know the boy wasn’t his but not enough to understand how he came to be dumped in front of his door. Gently he brushed some of the hair from the boy’s pale cheek and froze. Right below his fingers was a single mark on the boy’s cheek. A small three sat just under the boy’s eye, stark black against the white cheek.
Wymack was paid to coach Exy. He was paid to find the best he could and recruit them to play. He was paid to make sure the damaged, abused, and traumatized students he picked didn’t kill themselves or others while they were under contract with the school. He was not paid to stitch up the bloody body of Nathaniel Wesninski just because someone decided to throw him on his doorstep.
He pulled his phone out anyway and started dialing, his eyes never leaving the pale face.