Joonmyeon kept a watchful  eye on “Yifan” as the skittish courier sped down the highway, his grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his sweat fueling the watery noose swirling lazily around his neck. The noose had barely enough liquid to soak the collar of his designer suit, but if the empty threat kept him from turning on Joonmyeon and  abandoning him on the highway again, so be it. The courier’s young friend, Yixing, radiated unhappiness from the backseat as he searched the passing roadside for signs of Minseok. Joonmyeon wasn’t sure why he was so invested in helping them at Yifan’s expense, but questioning his good fortune could wait until they were away from danger and out of Choi’s reach.

 After a few tense miles, Yifan whipped the car to the side of the road, brakes squealing. He jumped out before Joonmyeon could react, sprinting toward the brush on the highway shoulder, shouting something as he pointed. Joonmyeon dashed after him, overtaking him in moments and plunging into the shrubby sea. He barely noticed Yifan sneaking away as he searched through the high weeds, his eyes straining for detail against the moonless dark. He frantically swept his hands around, feeling for a body. A pained yelp echoed behind him, then the car’s high beams snapped on. Joonmyeon had to shield his dark-adapted eyes from the sudden onslaught, his vision hazing purple and green from the rapid adjustment as he squinted into the weeds, turning slowly. Finally, a glimpse of gray fabric among the dry stalks snagged his attention.

“Minseok!” Joonmyeon crashed his way to the smaller man’s side, sinking to his knees. He hesitated before lifting him-- Minseok was deathly pale and cold to the touch, seemingly lifeless. He held his breath as he felt for a pulse, and let out a sigh of relief when he could feel Minseok’s heartbeat, slow but steady under his fingertips. He hugged him close, the dry brush crackling underfoot as he struggled to his feet and made his way back to the car.

 As Joonmyeon approached, the SUV’s rear hatch popped open with a smooth whirr. The backseat had been folded down, and Yifan’s suit jacket was spread neatly in the space. Yifan himself was sitting on the ground against the front tires, disheveled and muttering to himself, cradling one hand. Yixing clambered inside the trunk to help Joonmyeon lay Minseok on top of the makeshift blanket. He bit his lip as Joonmyeon held his ear to Minseok’s nose.

“What’s wrong?” Yixing asked, the worry creeping into his gaze as Joonmyeon frowned.

“I don’t know,” Joonmyeon admitted.The breaths he felt were too faint and too far apart.  He sat up and began kneading Minseok’s forearm gently, as if he could massage the life back into him. “It could be shock, but… I’m not a doctor.” Doctors were the ones who’d done this to him.

“Let’s call the police.” Yifan joined them at the back of the car, but he kept staring at his hand strangely. He moved his fingers one by one as if he was testing them to see if they still worked. “Tell them there was a car accident, and they’ll bring paramedics.”

It was a good idea.

Except Joonmyeon knew the police wouldn’t come. Director Choi’s quarantine teams would show up instead, maybe dressed as police, maybe masquerading as helpful motorists just passing by. Or perhaps real help would come, but they’d find themselves in an emergency room staffed by Choi’s spies. Memory flickered— purple scrubs, a smiling face looking down at him— and Joonmyeon recoiled from the thought, pushing it far away, walling it up in the corner of his mind. “No calls,” he decided firmly. Trusting anyone would be too risky. “We’re on our own.”

Yixing started massaging Minseok’s other arm, copying Joonmyeon’s motions. Healer. Baekhyun had gifted that word to Yixing just before he collapsed. Just like the word he’d whispered to Joonmyeon when they’d first met so many months ago.

“C-Can you…”  When Yixing looked up, Joonmyeon paused, unsure of how his request would sound. Did Yixing even know what he was capable of? “Can you help him?”

The younger boy looked down at Minseok’s still form, lips pursing as he studied the burns. “I think so,” he said. “But I need a knife.” He locked eyes with Joonmyeon, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. As one, they turned to Yifan, who took an wary step away from the car, tucking his hands protectively behind his back.

“I’m not giving Jaws over there a knife!” he protested, but he glanced instinctively towards a nondescript roll of leather tucked unobtrusively into the wheel well. Yifan lunged for it first, but Joonmyeon was closer, snagging it as Yifan’s hands slammed down on empty carpet. Joonmyeon deftly undid the tie holding the roll closed, and it tumbled open to reveal a startlingly large collection of bladed weapons, arranged neatly by size. Yifan made another grab for it, and with a flick of his wrist, Joonmyeon condensed a marble of nighttime dew. The tall man froze, blinking, as the warning shot splashed against his face, a few droplets dripping from the tip of his nose. He straightened, warily, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Joonmyeon held out the roll to Yixing, who rubbed his fingers together as he looked for the perfect choice.

“This is going to be a headline tomorrow,” Yifan muttered as Yixing slid a thin, wickedly sharp flechette from its loop. “’Idiot stabbed to death by escaped Chinese mental patient.’ Details at seven.”

Mental patient!? Joonmyeon snatched the roll away, but Yixing was already rolling up one sleeve, revealing a forearm criss-crossed with the fine lines of faded scars.

Yifan hissed sharply at the sight, speaking rapidly as his hands reached out in a placating gesture. Joonmyeon couldn’t follow the switch to Cantonese, but Yifan’s panicked “Put the knife down!” was a universal phrase that needed no translation.

Yixing ignored him, the blade flashing across his skin without a hint of hesitation. Joonmyeon caught his wrist  before he could hurt himself again, and Yifan caught the falling flechette before it hit the floor, pocketing it. Still leaning awkwardly over Minseok, Joonmyeon hurriedly examined the cut. It was barely more than a papercut, a shallow slice, nothing that could be mistaken for life-threatening. Yifan hovered watchfully over Yixing’s shoulder, but Joonmyeon relaxed and released him, sitting back on his heels, satisfied that he hadn’t just enabled a suicide attempt.

“What do you do next?”

Yixing held his arm above one of the wide, barely healed scorch marks on Minseok’s chest, squeezing his fist rhythmically. The drops of blood beading the cut grew larger until they rained down, one by one, onto the wound. The droplets absorbed into the ravaged flesh in moments, and Yixing moved his arm to another burn, giving it the same treatment.

“Will that heal him?” Joonmyeon wondered aloud, at the same time Yifan mused, “Won’t this kill him?”

 Joonmyeon’s hand shot out and he grabbed Yixing’s arm again, blood smearing under his fingers as he staunched the wound.     

“It won’t hurt him.” Yixing tried to tug his arm free, but Joonmyeon held it fast.

“What does he mean?” Joonmyeon demanded. “Is your blood dangerous?” His eyes roved anxiously over Minseok’s face, looking for any sign of change. Had he always been that pale?

“Not if I tell it what to do,” Yixing insisted, still trying to twist away. “Andy always refrigerated it. I told him it would forget, but he wanted it to last longer so he could sell more.”

“Who’s Andy?” Joonmyeon asked, confused.

“Drug-dealing orderly,” Yifan said helpfully. “He cut heroin with blood from Jaws—”

“Not my name,” Yixing grumbled.

“With a double dose, he lasted, hm… twelve minutes?” Yifan made a point of checking his watch then nodded toward Minseok. “There’s still time to say your goodbyes.”

“He’s not going to die,” Yixing yelled, his voice echoing into the night. He yanked his arm out of Joonmyeon’s grip and scrubbed it clean with the bottom of his shirt. When he held it out again, the wound was completely healed, the new scar already beginning to fade into the blade-drawn patchwork on his forearm. Joonmyeon touched one finger against the thin lines, a bit awed. “Trust me,” Yixing told him.

Then, the air went to ice. Joonmyeon twitched in surprise, flash-frozen skin tingling with frost, his breath breath puffing white clouds. Thin crystals sparkled in Yixing’s hair and eyelashes as he twisted around, gaping at the miniature ice age in their car.  Yifan was similarly rimed with ice, his eyes wide as he stared out into the highway. Joonmyeon followed his gaze, watching a few stray flakes of snow flutter past the open hatch even as the frost coating the inside of the car began to melt, the air returning to its normal temperature. A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he looked down just in time to see Minseok opening his eyes..

“You’re alive!” Joonmyeon seized his shoulders, then let go instantly, mindful of the burns. Except they were already gone. The worst of the blackened, oozing gouges in Minseok’s flesh were …refilling… like a hole dug in wet sand, new flesh pushing out the crisped, dead tissue as it knitted into the gaps. Joonmyeon’s hands hovered over the vanishing wounds, the motion bringing the scars on his own wrists into view. If only Yixing could erase memories as easily.

Minseok tensed, startling Joonmyeon out of his thoughts. The young man was fully awake now, his bewildered gaze shifting between them  in mounting panic. Joonmyeon realized how creepy they must seem, three complete strangers in the back of a van with a roll of knives, staring in fascination at his chest.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he assured him hurriedly, sliding the knife roll out of view, but skepticism clouded the smaller man’s face. Minseok scooted backward, trying to sit up and escape them at the same time. His features scrunched in anticipation of pain as he moved, followed swiftly by surprise when he felt none. His hand tapped gingerly at his chest, probing the smooth skin there, his brow furrowing.

“I fixed you,” Yixing explained. “You’re welcome.”

Minseok pulled himself into a sitting position, his back against the the driver’s seat, arms crossed protectively over his chest. He was clearly struggling with a whole set of warring impulses, but, to Joonmyeon’s surprise, the emotions flitting across his face settled into something akin to wary acceptance. “T-Thanks?” Minseok said at last, his voice surprisingly light. “I don’t…” he looked around uncertainly, “I don’t really understand, though?”

It was far more coherence than Joonmyeon had expected, given the circumstances. “Do you remember me?” he asked gently. Minseok’s eyes scoured his face, but there was no flash of recognition. He shook his head, and Joonmyeon swallowed his disappointment. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

A violent tremble racked Minseok’s whole body, and metal groaned in the sudden cold snap as frost webbed against the windows. Yifan scrambled out of the car, backing away, his shoes crunching against the perfect circle of frost surrounding their car.

“Another one,” he muttered, drawing a cross in the air and waving it toward the car.

“It’s okay,” Joonmyeon soothed, leaning back to give Minseok his space. “You’re safe. I- we- rescued you. That place, those people, we’re running away from them.” Beside him, Yixing nodded vigorously, his teeth chattering a little.

The frost faded from the windows as Minseok blinked at him. “You came to my cell,” he said slowly, a spark of recollection in his eyes. He raised a hand to his head, his forehead wrinkling a little as he sorted through his fuzzy memories. “Did I pass out?”

 Yixing opened his mouth to answer, but his response was cut off by a familiar droning rumble. A helicopter.

Yifan was the first to react, slamming the trunk hatch shut from the outside and bounding around the side of the SUV. He vaulted into the driver’s seat, slamming the car into gear and mashing the gas pedal to the floor with quick, practiced motions, pulling the door shut as they accelerated down the highway. A moment later he snapped off the headlights, but the spedometer kept climbing steadily, approaching takeoff velocity.

“Are you insane?!” Joonmyeon climbed awkwardly into the passenger seat, squinting into the inky void beyond the windshield, but all he could see was the faint lane markers as they flitted by.

“I can’t lose Yixing,” Yifan growled, his full concentration on the dim road. “No moon, so there’s a chance they didn’t see us. Just gotta avoid their lights.” Joonmyeon turned in his seat, craning his neck to see behind them. Yixing noticed his intention and crawled to the rear window to look out.

“I don’t see anything,” he reported. “Maybe they’re gone?”

“They have helicopters?” Minseok asked.

“They have everything,” Joonmyeon confirmed, wringing his hands. “We shouldn’t have stayed still for so long. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re in luck,” A glint appeared in Yifan’s eyes as the engine roar deepened, the acceleration pushing them back against their seats. “I’ve never met a tail I couldn’t outrun.”