Heyyy, what's happenin'? You've reached the voicemail of one very fine-lookin' man. Wanna chat? Fanboy all over my mad skillz? Declare your undying love for me? You know what to do. [BEEEEP]
[The dreams had been worse that night. The screaming face inside the spiral cloud is still as present as ever, and now Wade swears that he can see it silently mouthing something from its gaping, distorted mouth.
A single word. Uzumaki.
The dreams don't stop at the spiral face anymore. They shift, suddenly-- fade out and fade back in like a timeskip in a movie, so that Wade suddenly finds himself strapped to an operating table. A man with a gray ponytail and glasses steps into view, wearing a surgeon's smock but looking like no doctor Wade can ever remember seeing before. He leans over Wade's prone body, aiming a large and wicked looking surgical instrument toward his chest.
This is going to hurt, Wade. And you're going to scream.
Thank god the phone wakes him up before the instrument is able to pierce his chest, but it takes Wade a while to get his breathing under control enough to answer it.]
Yes-- hello?
[He still sounds rattled; still slightly out of breath.]
[Oh, thank God. He's okay. There's no reason why he shouldn't be-- completely fucking ridiculous, he knows they've both lived safely in Haven their entire lives, why would anything have been different?-- and yet it is an enormous relief to hear Wade's voice on the other line.]
Hey, Wade. [His voice is bright. He tries to make it so, anyway, even if it's wavering a little.] I, uh...
[It's so surprising to hear Travis's voice that the name comes out in a whisper. Wade hadn't expected him to be back so quickly-- hell, he hadn't really expected him to be back at all. Without a moment's hesitation he throws off his covers, getting to his feet as if that would somehow brace himself for this revelation.]
[He doesn't remember the retraining, and he doesn't remember the murder: even without effective vitamins there's no way Yao's brainwashing would've made something like that easy to recall. If anything, he knows he's missing something.]
Yeah. I had that scare a few days ago where I passed out on the street, but they let me go after a few hours... [Travis trails off. That doesn't sound right, even if he knows that it is. Or he thinks he knows.]
That's-- that's not why I called you, though. Um. Did I wake you or anything? Sorry.
[Wade shakes his head, an involuntary reaction-- he knows that Travis can't see it. Something is definitely wrong here. A person just doesn't forget that they were scooped up by the Yao Corporation's grunts and stuffed into a van only a few days ago. Hastily he scribbles a note for Clem to find: "Gone to Travis's. Be back soon. Leftovers in the fridge" and leaves it on the kitchen table.]
Don't worry about it. You're at home, right? I'm comin' over right now.
[He pauses, uncertain of what else to add. Maybe he should've left it be: he's trying his damnedest to forget that he might be going insane, why involve Wade and make it a bigger deal than it needs to be?
[It usually takes Wade about five to ten minutes to get to Travis's place, barring any inclement weather. Today he makes it in two minutes and twenty seconds.
His mind is buzzing with questions-- why was Travis taken? Where had he gone? What exactly happen to make him act so strangely? He hopes that he can get answers from the man himself.
[It's clear from the second his face peeks through the sliver between door and doorframe:
Travis looks absolutely terrible.
It's possible that he hasn't slept much-- in fact, entirely probable, if the dark circles set into his face mean anything. He hasn't even put in the effort to do anything to his hair before inviting somebody over. Still, he welcomes Wade inside with a thin, feeble smile (he looks wan, tired, but it fades the slightest bit when he sees Wade), gesturing him inside and shutting the door tight behind the two of them.]
That was fast.
[It's funny how much better he feels with Wade's presence alone. He stares up at him, as if drinking in the solid evincible fact that he's alive, before speaking again.]
Kinda care more about the state of the person than I do about the state of the place, to be honest.
[Wade's had a few restless nights of his own, between worrying about Travis and dealing with his own nightmares, so he can probably afford to be a little sentimental. Doesn't make it any less embarrassing when it just pops out of his mouth like that, though.
He casts his gaze around before sitting on a relatively uncluttered portion of Travis's sofa. His eyes are serious.]
[Travis laughs hollowly, sinking into the sofa beside Wade (and unceremoniously pushing a stack of comics and DVDs aside in the process).]
Thanks. [It's nice to hear; he's too grateful for Wade's words to let any of his own creeping embarrassment ruin it.]
I dunno. Ever since I wound up in the hospital, I've been feeling... [Travis trails off. How does he explain this without sounding completely crazy? He clears his throat, begins again.] Off. I guess. I mean, I'm not sick, I take my vitamins like everybody else, but--
[but what?]
I keep-- I keep seeing things. Scary shit that could never happen. [He slumps backward against the couch.] And I've been trying to blow it off, 'cause it shouldn't bother me, just a bunch of weird nightmares, but... I can't help feeling like it's all trying to tell me something.
Or maybe I'm just going nuts. Crazy, right? [He laughs weakly. It's a false, high sound.]
[That laugh hurts him; cuts him in ways he can't even articulate. He merely looks at Travis while he talks, his brown eyes at once shocked and sympathetic-- he's always been utter shit at hiding his emotions, even after a two-year tour-- listening to the other man pour his heart out in ways much deeper than just words. He's known Travis long enough to be able to see beneath the surface of his self-confidence and well-placed bravado, and beneath the surface the man sounds absolutely terrified.
It scares Wade as well; scares him that his friend can sound so completely unhinged like this, but also because his story sounds frighteningly familiar. Wade swallows hard before he speaks.]
...What did you see, Trav? [His question is careful, oh so careful.]
[Travis doesn't lift his head; doesn't turn to face Wade. It's too difficult to look him in the eye (he saw Wade's eyes when he died, saw the emptiness in them, feels his skin prickle in a creeping sense of foreboding).
His voice comes out hoarser than he intends.]
I saw you die.
[His fingers twitch, as if itching to fill the empty space in his palm: a fistful of couch cushion, the hilt of a sword (irrational, he's never held a sword in his life, but he craves it now), even Wade's hand would do.]
[Silence follows this statement. Wade swallows again-- painfully, convulsively. He wishes that Travis would look at him; more importantly, he wishes that he had something helpful or comforting to say to ease Travis's obviously troubled mind.
And as always when he's not sure what to say, he defaults to light-heartedness.]
That doesn't seem too out of the ordinary, Trav. I mean, you held my shoulders when I was pukin' my guts out. Pretty sure that equates to takin' a bullet for you, in dream scenarios at least.
[That finally gets him to turn, and there's a panic in his eyes as the words flow from his lips.
But it was different, Wade, seeing you like that. It wasn't a gun. Something got you, some kind of weirdass dream monster, I don't know, and-- [And there was so much blood, that empty stare, his own hand closing the glassy eyes forever.
In the fervor of this admission he hasn't even realized that he's been leaning forward, hand on Wade's knee. He pulls it away quickly.]
Freaked me out a lot, you know? I, uh... I just needed to see you were okay for myself, with my own eyes. As dumb as that sounds.
[The touching surprises him, but doesn't bother him as much as it probably would another man. Travis has always been a tactile sort of person from the moment Wade met him-- always reaching out to pull Wade into a hug or touch his arm or lay a hand on his shoulder. Wade was the same way, always craving that sort of affection regardless of who it was from, and so they meshed well together.
This breach of personal space, however, seems much different. Travis doesn't lay a hand on his knee so much as he clutches, as if struggling to keep Wade-- or possibly himself-- anchored. It's pitiful, is what it is, and Wade feels his heart ache for his friend even as he plasters on a reassuring smile.]
Hey. [One hand reaches up to squeeze Travis's shoulder.] Don't you worry about me, okay? It'll take more than some weirdass dream monster to take me out. If cancer can't stop me, nothin' will. That's a promise. You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy.
[Wade's hand is warm and broad and real on his shoulder. His worries don't dissipate entirely, and yet... how's he supposed to stay so nervous when Wade is here, alive and well, promising this much to him?
And how the hell does he always know just what to say?]
Yeah... yeah. I don't know why I was so worried about it.
[It's like something has rolled over inside his chest, and it's all he can do to shove it down. Travis hones in on Wade's smile for two seconds too long, gnawing the inside of his own lower lip. A very stupid thought, a reckless, rash thought, crosses his mind and he opens his mouth, or perhaps parts his lips.
No... not here, and not now. He grins, lopsided, instead.]
Man. I really don't know why I was so worried. How'd you do that?
[The tension escapes in Travis's smile; in Wade's answering laugh. He slips his hand off Travis's shoulder, balling it into a fist to swipe at the other man's nose.]
It's called "common sense" there, bro. Plus it's probably finally sinkin' in that you won't ever be rid of me. I'm like a roach that way, y'know?
[His grin belies his self-deprecation-- he's relieved that Travis is feeling at least a little appeased.]
Heh. Hey, you never know. To roaches I might actually be considered handsome.
[...Ouch. That might've been a bit too self-deprecating. Wade gracefully changes tactics.]
Don't worry about wakin' me up, by the way. You might've saved me some trouble in the long run. You're not the only one who's been havin' nightmares, these days.
[Shit. He hadn't meant to let that slip out. Serves him right for trying to cover up a previous embarrassment.]
[Wade doesn't even bother to respond to Travis's compliments-- they both know he's lying. Wade can't remember the last time he could look in a mirror without wincing. He shrugs at Travis's next question, attempting to pass it off as nothing more than an offhanded remark.]
S'nothing I can't handle. Like your nightmares, y'know. Everybody has 'em, once in a while.
[He doesn't sound as convincing as he hopes he sounds.]
[Except that was probably the most honest statement he's made all morning. His mind is far from that, however, fixing instead on the nightmares. His voice is level, careful, when he responds.]
These weren't normal nightmares, Wade.
[a beat. Wade's unreadable, but he knows enough to know that he's not telling the truth.]
Are you sure? 'Cause if they were anything like mine... that's something that I'd wanna know.
[And for few seconds, Wade actually hesitates. He hates himself for it-- hates that he could even consider that his best friend, the best friend he's ever had, can't be trusted.]
Tell me somethin' first, Trav. How much do you remember from... before? Before you wound up back here, I mean. Before you had your fainting spell or whatever it is you said you had.
[Travis trails off, bowing his head to massage his temples: like he's trying to coax the memories out again.]
I was... seeing weird things, too, like what's been in my dreams the last few nights. The day before I passed out I got-- heh, I got really drunk the night before, 'cause this chick at the bar talked me into chugging down half the freakin' bar, so I don't remember much. Maybe that's what messed me up. But the day of, I was walking down the street, and I was pretty nervous about something, maybe.
[Again, it's all factual and correct in his mind... but explaining it sounds somehow wrong.]
There was this... [He raises his head once more.] This sense of doom, running down my spine. I remember that clearly-- like something was out to get me.
And then I woke up at home the morning after. There was a Yao nurse who explained it all to me, real nice. That was what happened, right?
[It's all wrong. The sheer wrongness of it is enough to send a set of chills down Wade's spine as well. He finds himself shaking his head at Travis's explanation.]
No. No, Trav. [His voice is gentle and quiet, as if talking to an invalid.] That's not what happened at all. I mean, maybe you were walking down the street when it happened, and maybe you did feel like something was out to get you, but...
[He stops; looks down at the floor, as if looking away from Travis would make the telling easier.]
I saw you that day, Trav. I saw them drag you out of your house. You were screaming something about being sick, about needing help... and then they clubbed you over the head with a rifle butt and tossed you in their van like a sack of potatoes. I didn't know where they were gonna take you... it all didn't make sense, and when I saw the way they were handling you like that, like you were just a common criminal, I almost--
[He stops short; presses his lips tightly together, not wanting to admit how close he came to committing assault or even murder for Travis's sake. His voice is even quieter when he speaks again, almost inaudible.]
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A single word. Uzumaki.
The dreams don't stop at the spiral face anymore. They shift, suddenly-- fade out and fade back in like a timeskip in a movie, so that Wade suddenly finds himself strapped to an operating table. A man with a gray ponytail and glasses steps into view, wearing a surgeon's smock but looking like no doctor Wade can ever remember seeing before. He leans over Wade's prone body, aiming a large and wicked looking surgical instrument toward his chest.
This is going to hurt, Wade. And you're going to scream.
Thank god the phone wakes him up before the instrument is able to pierce his chest, but it takes Wade a while to get his breathing under control enough to answer it.]
Yes-- hello?
[He still sounds rattled; still slightly out of breath.]
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Hey, Wade. [His voice is bright. He tries to make it so, anyway, even if it's wavering a little.] I, uh...
[Travis steadies himself with a deep breath.]
You busy right now? Feel like coming over...?
[He hopes fervently that Wade will say yes.]
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[It's so surprising to hear Travis's voice that the name comes out in a whisper. Wade hadn't expected him to be back so quickly-- hell, he hadn't really expected him to be back at all. Without a moment's hesitation he throws off his covers, getting to his feet as if that would somehow brace himself for this revelation.]
When did you get back? Are you okay?
[He's already making his way over to the door.]
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[He doesn't remember the retraining, and he doesn't remember the murder: even without effective vitamins there's no way Yao's brainwashing would've made something like that easy to recall. If anything, he knows he's missing something.]
Yeah. I had that scare a few days ago where I passed out on the street, but they let me go after a few hours... [Travis trails off. That doesn't sound right, even if he knows that it is. Or he thinks he knows.]
That's-- that's not why I called you, though. Um. Did I wake you or anything? Sorry.
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[Wade shakes his head, an involuntary reaction-- he knows that Travis can't see it. Something is definitely wrong here. A person just doesn't forget that they were scooped up by the Yao Corporation's grunts and stuffed into a van only a few days ago. Hastily he scribbles a note for Clem to find: "Gone to Travis's. Be back soon. Leftovers in the fridge" and leaves it on the kitchen table.]
Don't worry about it. You're at home, right? I'm comin' over right now.
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[He pauses, uncertain of what else to add. Maybe he should've left it be: he's trying his damnedest to forget that he might be going insane, why involve Wade and make it a bigger deal than it needs to be?
It'd just been a bad dream.]
I'll see you in a bit.
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His mind is buzzing with questions-- why was Travis taken? Where had he gone? What exactly happen to make him act so strangely? He hopes that he can get answers from the man himself.
Knock knock, Travis.]
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Travis looks absolutely terrible.
It's possible that he hasn't slept much-- in fact, entirely probable, if the dark circles set into his face mean anything. He hasn't even put in the effort to do anything to his hair before inviting somebody over. Still, he welcomes Wade inside with a thin, feeble smile (he looks wan, tired, but it fades the slightest bit when he sees Wade), gesturing him inside and shutting the door tight behind the two of them.]
That was fast.
[It's funny how much better he feels with Wade's presence alone. He stares up at him, as if drinking in the solid evincible fact that he's alive, before speaking again.]
Sorry, it's kind of a mess around here.
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[Wade's had a few restless nights of his own, between worrying about Travis and dealing with his own nightmares, so he can probably afford to be a little sentimental. Doesn't make it any less embarrassing when it just pops out of his mouth like that, though.
He casts his gaze around before sitting on a relatively uncluttered portion of Travis's sofa. His eyes are serious.]
So what's been going on with you lately, huh?
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Thanks. [It's nice to hear; he's too grateful for Wade's words to let any of his own creeping embarrassment ruin it.]
I dunno. Ever since I wound up in the hospital, I've been feeling... [Travis trails off. How does he explain this without sounding completely crazy? He clears his throat, begins again.] Off. I guess. I mean, I'm not sick, I take my vitamins like everybody else, but--
[but what?]
I keep-- I keep seeing things. Scary shit that could never happen. [He slumps backward against the couch.] And I've been trying to blow it off, 'cause it shouldn't bother me, just a bunch of weird nightmares, but... I can't help feeling like it's all trying to tell me something.
Or maybe I'm just going nuts. Crazy, right? [He laughs weakly. It's a false, high sound.]
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It scares Wade as well; scares him that his friend can sound so completely unhinged like this, but also because his story sounds frighteningly familiar. Wade swallows hard before he speaks.]
...What did you see, Trav? [His question is careful, oh so careful.]
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His voice comes out hoarser than he intends.]
I saw you die.
[His fingers twitch, as if itching to fill the empty space in his palm: a fistful of couch cushion, the hilt of a sword (irrational, he's never held a sword in his life, but he craves it now), even Wade's hand would do.]
I think you died saving my life.
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And as always when he's not sure what to say, he defaults to light-heartedness.]
That doesn't seem too out of the ordinary, Trav. I mean, you held my shoulders when I was pukin' my guts out. Pretty sure that equates to takin' a bullet for you, in dream scenarios at least.
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But it was different, Wade, seeing you like that. It wasn't a gun. Something got you, some kind of weirdass dream monster, I don't know, and-- [And there was so much blood, that empty stare, his own hand closing the glassy eyes forever.
In the fervor of this admission he hasn't even realized that he's been leaning forward, hand on Wade's knee. He pulls it away quickly.]
Freaked me out a lot, you know? I, uh... I just needed to see you were okay for myself, with my own eyes. As dumb as that sounds.
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This breach of personal space, however, seems much different. Travis doesn't lay a hand on his knee so much as he clutches, as if struggling to keep Wade-- or possibly himself-- anchored. It's pitiful, is what it is, and Wade feels his heart ache for his friend even as he plasters on a reassuring smile.]
Hey. [One hand reaches up to squeeze Travis's shoulder.] Don't you worry about me, okay? It'll take more than some weirdass dream monster to take me out. If cancer can't stop me, nothin' will. That's a promise. You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy.
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And how the hell does he always know just what to say?]
Yeah... yeah. I don't know why I was so worried about it.
[It's like something has rolled over inside his chest, and it's all he can do to shove it down. Travis hones in on Wade's smile for two seconds too long, gnawing the inside of his own lower lip. A very stupid thought, a reckless, rash thought, crosses his mind and he opens his mouth, or perhaps parts his lips.
No... not here, and not now. He grins, lopsided, instead.]
Man. I really don't know why I was so worried. How'd you do that?
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It's called "common sense" there, bro. Plus it's probably finally sinkin' in that you won't ever be rid of me. I'm like a roach that way, y'know?
[His grin belies his self-deprecation-- he's relieved that Travis is feeling at least a little appeased.]
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Hope I didn't wake you up too early, either. You sounded kinda half-asleep on the phone.
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[...Ouch. That might've been a bit too self-deprecating. Wade gracefully changes tactics.]
Don't worry about wakin' me up, by the way. You might've saved me some trouble in the long run. You're not the only one who's been havin' nightmares, these days.
[Shit. He hadn't meant to let that slip out. Serves him right for trying to cover up a previous embarrassment.]
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[ And that might've been a bit too obvious-- Travis takes the subject change in as much stride as he can.]
Hang on: nightmares? [Travis frowns, trying to pick out any hints in Wade's expression.] You didn't mention anything about those.
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S'nothing I can't handle. Like your nightmares, y'know. Everybody has 'em, once in a while.
[He doesn't sound as convincing as he hopes he sounds.]
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These weren't normal nightmares, Wade.
[a beat. Wade's unreadable, but he knows enough to know that he's not telling the truth.]
Are you sure? 'Cause if they were anything like mine... that's something that I'd wanna know.
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Tell me somethin' first, Trav. How much do you remember from... before? Before you wound up back here, I mean. Before you had your fainting spell or whatever it is you said you had.
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[Travis trails off, bowing his head to massage his temples: like he's trying to coax the memories out again.]
I was... seeing weird things, too, like what's been in my dreams the last few nights. The day before I passed out I got-- heh, I got really drunk the night before, 'cause this chick at the bar talked me into chugging down half the freakin' bar, so I don't remember much. Maybe that's what messed me up. But the day of, I was walking down the street, and I was pretty nervous about something, maybe.
[Again, it's all factual and correct in his mind... but explaining it sounds somehow wrong.]
There was this... [He raises his head once more.] This sense of doom, running down my spine. I remember that clearly-- like something was out to get me.
And then I woke up at home the morning after. There was a Yao nurse who explained it all to me, real nice. That was what happened, right?
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No. No, Trav. [His voice is gentle and quiet, as if talking to an invalid.] That's not what happened at all. I mean, maybe you were walking down the street when it happened, and maybe you did feel like something was out to get you, but...
[He stops; looks down at the floor, as if looking away from Travis would make the telling easier.]
I saw you that day, Trav. I saw them drag you out of your house. You were screaming something about being sick, about needing help... and then they clubbed you over the head with a rifle butt and tossed you in their van like a sack of potatoes. I didn't know where they were gonna take you... it all didn't make sense, and when I saw the way they were handling you like that, like you were just a common criminal, I almost--
[He stops short; presses his lips tightly together, not wanting to admit how close he came to committing assault or even murder for Travis's sake. His voice is even quieter when he speaks again, almost inaudible.]
I thought you were never coming back.
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