thisavrou | (no subject)

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[Wash appears on the screen, grudgingly out of armour, his face drawn and pinched around the mouth. He looks exhausted, eyes sunken and dark with exhaustion. Arriving here is just one more thing that seems specifically designed to fuck up his life.]

My name is Ag- [No, he's not Agent Washington anymore is he? He's not with the UNSC. He's not with project Freelancer. He's not anything.] My name is Washington.

They said that- [He can't believe he's saying this. His life is a fucking joke and his death will probably be the punchline. Until then, he is stuck dealing with this shit. Assuming he hasn't snapped altogether. That's also a possibility.]

They said that I have been sucked in through some kind of bullshit dimension hopping. [Yes, his teeth are gritted as he says it.] I'm looking for anyone who knows what the UNSC is.

[It's not that he wants to find anyone from home. There's no-one he cares for left alive and even then... well, he tries not to think about them too much. But he just needs someone to remind him that that wasn't all fictional.]

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...yeah. I guess I will.

[ The rest of dinner is peaceful, if quiet. York cleans up after, leaves Wash to his own devices for awhile before he comes back out with spare sheets in his hands to make up the couch. ]

You can stay as long as you need. [ He tells Wash as he makes the bed, shows him how the tv works, gives him a brief clap on the shoulder and heads to bed himself. He's got an early morning and wants to bring Wash in before his shift starts, introduce him to Shep and get the paperwork started at least.

It's surprisingly easy to fall asleep knowing Wash is in the next room. ]

[It's been a long time since he had downtime on his own terms, and he's not really sure what to do. Prison there hadn't been any options. He was kept in solitary for the most part. Staring at four walls gets kind of dull quickly. He's just not sure what to make of everything. He definitely isn't sure how to talk to York anymore.

He tries to watch TV, but he can't focus. And he is tired. Eventually he switches it off and sheds his armour and climbs into bed. There's a lot of tossing and turning before he manages to drift off, jumping at every noise.

And then the dreams come. It starts with soft whimpers, the sheets getting tangled around him, and grows until he's screaming. It must have shaken something loose seeing them again, because he dreams about them dying over and over again. He dreams of York bleeding out and Maine hollow and monstrous and Carolina falling.

And it's all his fault.]

[ York's awoken in the middle of the night by screaming. It sends him into a brief panic and takes him a moment to come to his senses, remember that Wash is in the next room, it's probably him. Probably a nightmare -- York suffers them too, just not tonight. He gets out of bed, padding barefoot into the living room and sure enough, Wash is tossing violently. Screaming in his sleep, so not just a nightmare but a terror of some sort.

Knowing full well he might get a knife to his throat or a gun in his face, York steps forward, eases himself down onto the pull out and reaches out. He grips one of Wash's shoulders gently and gives a little shake. ]

Hey, man. Wake up, it's okay.

[There's hands on him, holding him down. or maybe it's straps holding him to the bed this time, while they drug him up and ask him questions and tell him he's crazy and broken and they've abandoned him no-one is coming no-one is coming for him and he's never getting out and-

He sits up, struggling against the hands holding him, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. His first instinct is to fight, trying to claw away the person holding him. The Meta? It has to be the Meta trying to get at- at...]

[ York can tell when Wash stirs from the dream, when he fights against York's hands because he thinks he's being attacked rather than because it's just something holding him. So he lets go, against all his instincts that say to draw Wash in closer and give him something solid to ground him. ]

It's just me, Wash, it's York. You're okay.

[That doesn't make things better. York is dead. York is dead and gone and he doesn't want to be seeing things again. The times when he thought they'd come to save him only for the scene to dissolve in front of his eyes.

But slowly consciousness filters in and his breathing starts to level out and-]

My name is Agent Washington. [It's a murmured mantra he'd come up with to drag him back to himself when he can't remember who or where he is.] I was part of Project Freelancer. I am- was, a recovery agent. I'm... human.

[ Wash's breathing evens out and stops thrashing, but his eyes are still squeezed shut. York hesitates, then, but ultimately reaches out and strokes sweaty hair off Wash's forehead. ]

Open your eyes, Wash. You're okay, you're safe.

[He flinches away from the touch, and stares. For a moment there's nothing there but dread and fear.]

York?

Yeah. Just me.

[ He draws his hand back a little, gives Wash a moment to focus on him. ]

Remember where you are?

[It takes a few moments. He frowns, trying to focus.]

No.

It's Thisavrou. You just got here, you're on my couch. You're safe.

[ Because maybe if he says it enough, Wash will start to believe it. ]

[Thisavrou. It's not really settled into his brain yet. Despite himself, he reaches out to touch York's face, trying to convince himself that he isn't a ghost or a hallucination.]

You're real?

...I'm real.

[ This is going to be one of those things he never forgives himself for, York thinks. Not coming back for Wash. He holds still, lets his friend touch his face, warm skin and the beginnings of beard scruff, the scar cutting through his cheek. And breathes slow. ]

See?

[He feels skin, warm and solid, and the slightly different texture of York's scar. No-one ever felt this solid when he was hallucinating.]

Oh.

I uh- [Now that he's mostly awake, he feels a crawling mortification slinking through him.]

Sorry. Did I wake you?

Nah. I've got my own.

[ It's an easy enough thing to say -- a white lie to spare them both some awkwardness. ]

You want me to stay out here with you for awhile?

[His gaze flicks up to meet York's eyes for a moment, and then back down. He'd never thought of York having nightmares.]

No I- You don't need to do that. I'll be fine.

...scoot over. I could use the company.

[ He doesn't want to leave Wash like this even if he'd only be going to the next room. If this wasn't the same man who'd refused a hug that afternoon, York would offer to hold him for awhile, see if he could get back to sleep. ]

[He looks confused for a moment before he nods and slides over to the other side of the sofa, dragging a hand through his sweaty hair.]

Shit.

[ It might just be a pull out but it's big enough for both of them, if they aren't scared of brushing against one another. York lies down beside Wash, staring up at the ceiling to take some of the pressure off talking. ]

Mine are different, obviously, but I get it.

[Wash glances over at him.]

I wish mine were just mine.

Epsilon.

[ More specifically, Alpha's memories. Pain and torture. York closes his eyes, reminded again of his failure. ]

I'm sorry, Wash. We didn't know.

Yeah. He- he ditched a whole load of stuff into my head when he killed himself. I don't always remember who I am.

[ That sounds. York can't even imagine it, losing track of who you are like that. Having someone else's memories in your head. He rolls his head to the side to look at Wash. ]

Mostly at night, or all the time?

[If it was any other time, he wouldn't have said this, but he's still drowsy and not entirely convinced that this is real.]

When I wake up sometimes it can take a few moments. Sometimes I space out and forget. Sometimes I just remember stuff.

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