[Henry and Owen belong to Stephen King, and original canon characters from Dreamcatcher, the book. This is all AU. What if Owen hadn't been killed and Henry and he were allowed to continue their friendship. Warning: this is slash. Owen/Henry slash, in fact. If homosexual ideas offend you, do not read this.]

[Drabble, written by Vitko]

It was a trade-off and fuck yeah, that's the only way to describe it. Slipping an ace in the hole and click-click-boom you're head's shot up with that shit like interstellar space heroine. Except you had the shit growing in your ears, in your fingernails and nose and it itched like hell. Fuck a cut from shaving. That red stuff will spread like a fine line of dust over a two-week still table.

Yeah, it was a trade-off. Give me what's behind door number one, Wink! A lifetime supply of fungus and spores with a side of telepathy! Guaranteed to be a hit at any party! Fool your friends and surprise your Boss!

You told me we were going to be heros, Doc and yeah, why shouldn't we be? You were strung up like a crack-addict on a Friday night and on my side. Those little pills I had you hopped up on really made ya feel good, didn't they? You still have my tin. It's in your coat pocket and even though it's fading like a forty-watt lightbulb, I can still feel your fingers smearing over the surface, wet with cool condensation. But you've gone out again and even though my eyes are open, I'm dreaming.

*

Henry, you've fallen asleep again.

"No I haven't... I'm back in Derry. What are you doing here, Owen?" Plink. The pebble broke the surface of the water and a seventeen-year-old Henry Devlin looked up at a thirty-five year-old Owen Underhill.

"Kurtz isn't far behind and --"

A shock. Kurtz? What's he doing here in Derry?

Owen frowned down at the hapless teenager, staring at a dirty ballcap atop a mess of dirty blond hair. He knelt down beside Henry, the joints in his knees creaking from where the byrus had spread.

We're not in Derry, yet. Owen felt like he was talking to a child. Fuck, in a way, he was. Listen up, Doc. You've got to wake up. The snow's getting worse and I need you.

The sun was behind Owen's head and Henry squinted as he looked up at the older (no... younger) Marine. He remained silent.

I can't see the line without you, Henry.

The young boy nodded and Owen let out a heavy sigh of relief. Beside him, he felt the present-day Henry stir.

*

"Sorry," Henry murmured, feeling groggy... the pain in his knee having returned, slowly ebbing up the tendons and muscles in his thigh.

Don't give it a second thought, doc. I just wish I had more to give you.

Owen almost jumps, because right then he feels a cold hand cover his own, ungloved and tied to the wrist. Both hands tremble on the shuddering gear shift and the Sno-cat gives a jolt.

You keep giving me anymore drugs, Owen, and I'll be the one to start calling you, doc. Henry looks over at Owen in the dark, a grin wide on his face. He feels Owen smile back, and the headlights shining off the snow play against the Marine's face. Henry can't stop staring. He's only able to look away when Owen gives a quiet chuckle, glancing sideways at his passenger.

And like a flash -- a sign. Detour. Yellow and black and "Have a Nice Day, Fucker." Owen laughs.

Careful, beautiful. I just might find a way to take down your little roadblocks.

There's a knowing smile on Henry's face as his hand tightens around Owen's knuckles.

"Fuck me, Freddy," he replies quietly. "I'm sure you will."

*

You said we'd be heros, Henry. But I didn't count on this.

-fin

*

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I think I'll also reply to some of comments here.
To Sgt. Psycho: Thanks so much for the salute. :) The only studying of King's writing that I've done is just reading the books. His style is actually a lot choppier and less "verbose" than mine, not that I mind. It helps to differentiate between fanfic and original. ;) But I did want it stick out as a King fanfic, since this is, in my own way, a tribute to him. Thanks again for the review.
))