Disclaimer: All respective characters and relevant ideas and concepts unless created by own are property of Capcom or Konami, used on basis of fanwork.

WARNING: Do not read on if you are appalled by possible depiction on themes of death, depression and explicit abnormal sexual behaviour ('Possible' as this is currently a work-in-progress). Read at your own risk.

Notes: If you're impatient about weird shit, get ready to abandon me for your quest for quick, sweet, smutty, fluffy romance right about now. I warned you. Now the previous chapter was slightly amended, and now we're here. Again, this is weird mindf*ck (for most folks, anyway.) so turn back while you have the chance!

Read on either AO3 or DeviantArt for full effect. Seriously FFnet, about time you have that copy-and-paste feature. But too late! I've migrated to AO3!

P.S.: Seriously if you're reading up to this point, why are you reading this? You must be psychologically superior to endure up to this point!

Sachael In Purgatory: Agnus Dei

Chapter 13: Mortuus Marion

WooOOooo…he screamed, didn't he? Hmm his throat felt sore, hahaha. That hurt. His abdomen hurt. His throat hurt. Ooh, that hurt like a bitch. Maybe he should dream. Yes…maybe he should dream again. Where was reality? It's so confusing because his dream made more sense and the waking world was crazy…Which was the waking world again? Oh, yeah. That lab. He was standing in that big lab with a stupid handgun in his hand. He didn't remember the details of every corner so he was in this bright light of a room (lazy memory, hahaha.) and the only tangible thing in there was this glass cylinder of an aquarium. The thing that killed his captain was inside, hahahaha. He rested his hands and leaned in against the cold glass. He could see his breath forming a white fog on the glass, but his mouth felt drier and stickier than it should. That only indicated one thing: He was crying. It should be that, since he felt more guilty than ever. Why, he wondered? He'd been asking himself that word so many times today. Too much. He couldn't take it. It made him so tired. Couldn't he just forget and move on? His breaths turned shaky. His nose started to sour up. Maybe he was crying after all. But yet he was chuckling, laughing. He couldn't tell if he was happy, angry, sad, or otherwise, but his heart was damn lighter, that's for sure. It felt good. Like nothing was against him in this world. He hugged the big glass cylinder and sighed contentedly. That was kind of funny, considering the creature inside was supposed to be big, intimidating and dangerous. He was waiting for the big clawed hand to crash out of the glass case and impale him, just like it did his captain. Gut him inside out. Ohh that will feel so good…there will be nothing to worry anymore. He will feel so free!

Nothing is hidden, everything is true.

Dum-de-dum-dum. His mind kept repeating the sentence and the non-melodic tune. It felt so good. So safe. So right.

But then he had to remember the moment he hugged this glass container thingie…

There's nothing inside.

He stepped back for a moment and looked into the glass chamber. That's funny. There's no one in there. He kind of knew that, and kind of forgot that two seconds later hugged that blasted thing anyway. What was he expecting?

What was he hoping for?

Ahh yes…I forgot. Shepherd…Shepherd was in here. In this tank. But the B.O.W. that Wesker made was in it too. Ohhh what couldn't he figure out? All this balled up bruising sensation pulling down on him, wrenching his breath out and down to the floor. Guilt.

Guilt.

Guilt.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Drip drip drop drop drip drip drop drop drop drippity dropdropdropdropdripidropdro pdrop

Chris lifted his gaze steadily to the glass prison. Why did he call it prison? Doesn't matter.

Crick

Networks of red desperately dribbled down from the metal top, overflowing from the top of the glass tank down to the floor. Drops were squirting out from the cracks. Strange. There was nothing but clear water (or whatever it was that was a clear liquid) inside that glass cylinder of a tank, yet red was the colour that came out of the tank…? Whatever it was, it spread outwards more and more, covering the glass case and the floor around it with red. When Chris's soles got soaked, he shifted his feet at the pooling liquid – He knew what this felt like. He reached out his hand to the liquid flowing down the glass, felt the texture between his fingers – He knew what this felt like. He moved his face closer to the glass and sniffed it – He knew what this felt like. He knew what this was.

He just simply could not understand why all he could see was clear water behind the glass of this large container before deep-red blood leaking from the top blocked off the calming colour in front of him.

…

I hate it.

Crack

Chris looked up. This thing was overflowing, and the expanding circle of blood was widening. This glass cylinder thing might explode from all that pressure alright, and Chris knew he had to get out of there. Yes, he needed to get away, but the blood only marked the line of land and air, not coming to a stop to reveal the existence of a wall. No wall – no door. He was in a big nowhere of bright white and this freaking bleeding machine in front of him. Well he could walk far enough from that bloody thing (he laughed sullenly in his mind at the pun); if it explodes he would not have to worry about getting too hurt much, or getting hurt at all. But if he were to go too far, he might lose sight of this thing he came to hate, and lose all sense of direction in this bright space.

I'm screwed, hahahahaha. He laughed cynically. He did not panic as he thought he should, but he was nervous. How far should he run? How big will the explosion be? He just stood there, wondering what to do, running his palm over the glass, and jumped backwards with a start. He fell to the ground, pants and the back of his shirt soaked full of blood, but he didn't care.

But that was…! What was that?! There's something in there!

Was he mistaken? Was he just seeing things? Chris got up clumsily, approached the glass container again, reached out his shaky hand to the glass covered by an increasing flow of red, and wiped.

The word 'horror' could not even begin to signify what Chris felt when the space where he wiped revealed a face partially just above the nose, with a pair of disgusting pee-coloured, almost white-pupiled eyes darting around and settled, on him. More blood immediately blocked the vision he had of this…this being in this glass cell. 'Why wasn't this person there in the first place?' Chris thought after a barrage of verbal and mental swearing, as more and more gallons of life fluid still flowed down and parted at his shoes and flowed away to cover more ground.

It's a logical question, wasn't it? Nothing was there before the glass broke, nothing was there after the glass broke, and now after a wizard-like trick of covering the glass container with blood rather than a cloth, something appeared…? What? How did this even make any sense?!

This is a dream right? This MUST be a dream! This can't be…!

Fired up with denial, Chris shot a look at this spot of the glass cell where he first saw those eyes, ready to face it again, and defiantly wiped. A different pair of eyes, closed this time, met his.

"Jill?!"

But this can't be! He wiped again, and-

"Jill! Jill why are you in ther- SHEPHERD?!" Chris screamed, stunned. He was definitely was not proud of what he was feeling, but he silently admitted that if he had lost one more ounce of control, he would have peed his pants.

This cannot be. This cannot be!

He wiped. He wiped, and he wiped.

Alex Shepherd. Alex Shepherd.

Still Alex Shepherd.

Chris fell on his ass, his handgun clattered on the floor with a splash. He panted. He panted until he wheezed. He wheezed until there were tears forming in his eyes. This was crazy. But it all felt so real. Like he belonged here. Like everything was revealed here. Like there's nothing to hide. But then the dread of foreboding grew because of everything here defying logic. Someone just throw him to some monsters please, because that would make much more sense than what's happening now. But no. Now he's freaking standing in the middle of a blasted nowhere with no enemies whatsoever and he's on the verge of a breakdown.

Shaking. Confused. Panicked. Conflicted. Lost.

"Shoot."

"Huh?" Chris mouthed involuntarily, getting up while looking up and around, desperate for guidance, but felt fear grip his heart when it came.

Who said that?

Eyes landed on the shining metallic object he dropped on the surface of red. "Sh-shoot…"

How does that make sense? No, maybe I should try it. Nothing here makes sense anyway.

"Shoot…" Chris swiftly picked up the handgun and slowly got to his feet. He walked towards this glass-metal contraption, which glass was crinkling again from the pressure. "Shoot…"

How should he do it? How far? How close? Will that thing explode from the pressure? How far, how big will the explosion go? But before that, he had to make sure…who was that in the tank? He braced himself, and wiped, but this time a bigger area to rid himself of any ambiguity. Male torso, arms, neck, chin, face.

Alex Shepherd.

He kept wiping the red substance he knew as blood away from the glass where he could see the face, again, again, and again, so that he could look at the face long enough to tell that he wasn't seeing things. Alex Shepherd. But why was he even in this tank? The man's eyes were closed, sleeping, maybe. Or was he hurt and hibernating while healing? But there was no breathing tube on his mouth or anything. Wait. Was he dead? Was this some kind of preserving method?

"Shoot."

Suddenly every possible benefit he thought he would get from opening fire at this tank flew right out of the window. Not that there was any window here, that is. Damn. He still needed a way out of here. There was no solution just talking to himself in his head. Everything that suggested this was a good idea instantly just became stupid. Why shoot a bleeding tank with someone resting inside it? Yeah, a good idea. Totally makes sense, doesn't it?

"Shoot."

"Okay now this is getting ridiculous, who's saying that? Show yourself!" He looked around but saw no one. If there was anyone at all, there's only this dummy in this glass cell that contained water and now leaking blood. What part of this makes sense?

Wipe. Clack. Wipe. Wipe. Clack. Clatter. Wipe. Chris was beyond frustrated now. He wiped at the tank again and again, almost clawing at the glass with both of his hands, handgun and all.

"Damn it! Why are you in there, Shepherd? Where's Jill, and are you even alive in there? " He pounded at the glass while swatting away the red substance that blocked his view from the man inside. Sure, the glass was cracking before, but at its own accord due to the pressure. His pounding meant nothing to the hard material, fortunately. Ah, reason is gone when anger arises.

"Shoot."

Chris was getting beyond frustrated now. He was smashing his fists into the glass at this point, panicking. Nothing was coming at him. Nothing came popping up. There was no sense of time here, so time was not tight on him. The voice that told him that one word was the cause of all this fear.

"Shepherd," he was getting more concerned for Alex's welfare than actually being angry at him in his confusion. "Shepherd. I need you to wake up." Desperate pangs of disappointment hit his chest every time he rubbed off the red liquid and find a pair of unopening eyes behind it. "Come on, Alex. Come on!"

"Shoot."

"Damn it!" he pounded against the glass with his gun hand and wiped furiously with the other, yelling at the man inside the tank to open his eyes and look at him. The blood leakage from the cracked top was beginning to look like a punch fountain now; running drops have long since turned into frivolous trickles that posed more nuisance than anything he could ever imagine possible at the moment. "Damn it! ALEX!"

Eyes shot open. "SHOOT!"

"Wh thu- Godda-!- FU-!"

BANG
CRASH

"AUGH! AH! No…! NO!" All he could think of to get rid of all this mess was to flail about and he couldn't move his hands. He wanted to, but his muscles were not responding. Wait. He was in a dream, wasn't he? Did he just come out of a lucid dream again? Or was he still in it? He heard from his colleagues about sleep paralysis where people dreamed vividly and couldn't move the entire time. He struggled. God it's actually frightening to experience that. God if there was nothing else he could rely on, there was always himself and his well-trained body that endured so many hardships and tribulations. Now he couldn't. He just couldn't. "Grh- No. NO!"

"Calm down." Voice as dull and uninterested as untouched murky water resounded…right at his right ear.

"Wh-." There's someone there. Someone liquid, if not solid. Either way, it's way better than nothing. At least it's not air, where the voice sounded like it came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He was so thrilled to hear a voice that he could discern the direction it was coming from that if his hands could move, he swore he would grab that voice because it was so tangible.

Drip

A drop of water hit the bottom of the sink, reminding him of all the crazy sounds and sensations he heard in his dystopian nightmare. The crazed world he was in drove him nuts. Good thing it was a dream.

Right?

"So, It's Chris Redfield. I see you finally shot him."

Right. Thank Go-

"What the fuck." The realization hit. Sensations of tingling fear and an oddly, burning voice box washed over his gullet, which he swallowed down. That actually came out just as monotonous as this other guy's voice, if not duller. This scared even himself. "How the hell do you even know that?"

"You were like a storyteller of your own dreamworld, Chris. Only in screams." He sounded like he cared…but, man! Can someone talk in a duller tone than that on something so outlandish?

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain how you know about this like you're seeing through my eyes!"

Drip

"Chris, you're not talking sense." Jill's voice. God, if he was thankful for a concrete voice just now, he doubled the thanks for some emotion. Thank whatever powers that may be!

"Jill, Jill. Where am I? What's going on?" Everything was so confusing up to this point that he did not notice the place he was in: A weird contrast to his dream. Everything was a blur, and dark. He could see shadows. The room was dark enough to cover every face in the room, but just enough in the dimness to recognize heads and body silhouettes. The wooden doors of the windows had been closed and apparently locked, if not someone should have opened those doors up by now. What's with the no-lights? He traced where Jill's voice was coming from and saw her figure at the end of the room, sitting. Ah, and there's another man here, wasn't there? He turned to his right and gave a little yell at another dark figure beside him even though he expected the embodiment of that voice to be there.

"Why this dark room? What's going on?"

"Chris, it's okay." Jill came over and held his hand. Oh God it was so warm. Thank the heavens. He was going to be alright. His partner was here. Even if this was an illusion at least it helped calm the fright somewhat.

"Jill, just tell me. Where am I?" Chris swallowed, asking with more composure.

"You're back. In Shelley's Inn." Jill pressed Chris's hand reassuringly, but Chris was anything but reassured.

"Wait. This is not right. All I remember is…wait. Where's Shepherd?" Chris started when he remembered and tried to get up, but immediately plopped back down when the restraints on his wrists reminded him of their existence.

"Whoa, whoa, there. Calm down, Tiger." Jill soothed. "Just one question at a time."

Chris could not see her face, but that was when their amazing tacit knowledge of each other as partners came into play; Chris shut up despite his extreme distress and Jill talked like she knew it was her turn all along, and answered accordingly. "We're in Shelley's Inn," she repeated. "And you're here in the doctor's room in the inn."

"Doctor?" Chris cocked an eyebrow. "Wait. Oh, Shepherd's psychiatrist? Psychologist? Whatever. Sorry, doc. No offense."

"Yes." Jill replied. "And the reason you're here is because you've been mumbling nonsense in your sleep all the way here. Sleep or not, I don't know."

"…I have?" He could see Jill's head nod. "I…I don't remember anything."

"And you're here for some kind of mental treatment. Some kind of hypnosis thing since you're not…sober. I don't trust things like these so I stayed here. The straps on your hands is there so you that won't hurt someone if you turned violent…which was what you did just a minute ago. I might have to trust what the doctor says from now on. I always thought doctors like these are quack." The doctor beside him shifted in his seat. "Um, sorry, sir."

"It doesn't matter." The doctor replied almost immediately, almost like he had anticipated what she would say all along.

Drip

"So I'm here because you think I've lost it," Chris butted in. "and you're here because you don't trust him. Okay I get it. And Shepherd's not here because…?" He heard Jill sigh. He knew there was disappointing news coming.

"I was afraid you would come to that…" He knew Jill was hesitating.

Drip

"Cut to it, Jill. You know me."

"We found you in a closet of a house. Where we've traced your PDA tracker signal."

"Closet?" Not remembering that ever happening, that didn't sound very nice either. "And Alex?"

Drip

"Nowhere to be found."

He gritted his teeth. "…Damn it! Where's the Deputy?"

He heard Jill scratching her scalp. "Umm, actually…He's here. We were out of communication with the walkies and couldn't find him in town a while ago because…"

Chris let out a frustrated sigh. "Just tell me."

Drip

"He said his radio and car was out of commission for a while, that's why he didn't make contact. He drove back here safely some time after." Jill fiddled with her fingers, clearly ashamed of her assumptions on Wheeler.

"Shit," Chris slumped at the chair. It felt like a dentist's chair. With straps on them being the only difference. Or do dentist chairs always have wrist straps on them? "You know what? It doesn't matter. Jill, Doc. Can I get out of these now? I'm awake, aren't I?"

Drip

"Of course." The doc said matter-of-factly. Jill took that as him giving her the permission and she proceeded to unfasten the leather belts on his wrists.

"So what happens now?" Chris sat up, rubbing his wrists. "We can't stop our investigation; another outbreak far away from the main one in Florida is the last thing we need. But…"

Drip

"But?" Jill asked.

"I know the whole thing's botched, but we can't just leave Alex back there either. There's something fishy about this…too fishy. It'll be history all over again. I- We must go and find him, now, and-"

"It's okay, Chris." Jill held his shoulder, comforting. "You-"

Drip

"It's not okay! I can't just leave someone alone back there! It feels like something will happen if we leave it alone. If I don't find the guy, at least I need to see a body!"

"You need rest, Chris." The doctor's stoic way of speaking put a solid block right in the middle of whatever he was trying to talk about, or think about. "What has happened has put a strain on your mind."

Drip

"The doctor's right, Chris." Jill added. "Like it or not, you've been out of it for a whole day…"

"A whole day?!" Chris jumped up. "B-but it felt like only a-a"

Drip

"A moment. Yes." The doctor chipped in casually.

Drip

Chris tsk-ed lightly in annoyance, turned to Jill and swallowed. "How many hours was I out of commission?"

"Out cold for a whole day since Blake's, partner. You know what? I'll help you get to your room, you get your sleep, and I'll fill you in after that, how's that sound?" Jill patted his shoulder, suggesting pleasantly, albeit carefully.

Drip

Something in him snapped. "H-what? How's that sound? Nuts! Ludacris!" Chris held onto his handrests firmly and sat up sharply. "I don't know about you, but, well, no! Why do you all sound like Alex's not being here's not a problem anymore? Someone could have taken him! No- I mean we need to get him back here! The kids, the young people dying…"

"See? I told you, Ms Valentine. This is straining on the mind. Please convince him to rest or I'll have to do it myself."

Drip

"Why are you talking like that? You saw what I was dreaming! You're the shady guy around here, literally too!"

"Chris, you'll have to calm down. I'll explain it to you later. You're in no condition to-"

Drip

"In no condition? I've practically slept the whole day! What do you mean by no condition-" Chris's outburst was rudely stopped when he heard a big crash and felt a shot of bruising pain.

His knees had slammed into the floor knees-first the first chance he got to stand up.

"Wha…?"

"There's still a lot you don't understand, Chris Redfield. The situation, the mind…Alex Shepherd…Everything."

Drip drip drip drip

"You…!" Chris's anger flared. The man was so calm that it brought the mother of all fury out of him. Especially when that doctor mentioned Shepherd's name, he got up with his right fist clenched before stumbling down again. Of course…who could have known Shepherd more than this doctor did? He even saw Chris's dream, for God's sake! How does anyone DO that? Was it even possible at all? But if he could know the impossible in such a short time, he sure as hell would have known his other patient more than enough to put the patient's own family to shame. And Chris only met this patient for less than a day and the patient's not a fortunate man.

So how could he sound so cold?

How dare he?

"Calm yourself, Chris Redfield." He looked up to a dark silhouette of a pair of crossed legs. "You can be sure I am not your enemy. I am merely here to guide and help through what must come to pass. And to observe what must be done."

Drip drip drip drip trickle drip drip drip

A nerve snapped in solemn enlightenment as Jill helped him up. A growl escaped his lips. "You're supposed to observe what's going on and help on what needs to be done." Chris said it slowly to let everything sink in, including letting it sink into himself. It felt good.

Drippity drip

"Not bad, you're better than I thought. Maybe Deputy Wheeler has really hit a lucky star this time." In his monotone there's actually rise in pitch that indicated surprise, which really almost set Chris up to punch the guy. Chris stepped forward shakily but was held back by Jill. "I told you, Chris Redfield. I am not your enemy. I may be your ally, depending on how you want to perceive me to be."

Drip

Jill pulled at Chris's arm towards the door and Chris finally complied. He looked back at the dark figure in the room while he opened the door: "Then just know that I don't like you," he glared, "And fix your damned sink!" and slammed the door shut. The hallway was a dark as the room, the light coming only from lightings from downstairs. Good, he didn't want to see the bastard's face anyway.

Jill just helped him to the elevator silently and dropped him on his room's bed when they have arrived on their floor. It was then that Chris spoke his first words to Jill after the ordeal: "Thanks."

"I know…" Jill stood at the window and looked out wearily. They had curtains instead of wooden doors. "Things are more complicated than we thought…Argh, why are we even here?" Jill turned away sharply with a loud frustrated sigh and sat on one of the armchairs, hand on face. "I-I know I'm bad for saying this, but can't we just go back?"

Chris looked down at his pants for no reason; he understood what Jill meant. Things were driving them crazy here, and there's legitimate zombie business to take care of down in Florida. No further words needed to be exchanged about that. "Alex's still in Blake's Lake," was all he could say. "I know you will say for all we know he's most probably dead, but I know he's alive. I just know it."

"Or refuse to acknowledge it until you've seen the body," Jill added. Chris looked up. "No, I agree with you. The posters want him alive. Usually lists want criminals dead or alive, not alive and alive only. He might still be alive…Oh Chris…What happened back there?"

A smile tugged on his lips. "You know, Jill, I don't know why I feel better talking to you about stuff I don't want to think about than having someone taking it out of me without my effort."

Jill smiled back tiredly and gave a laugh. "So you lost him, but how?"

"I don't really remember, but…" Chris scratched his chin, trying to remember that moment before he passed out. There was a lot of pain… "…something hit me before I became unconscious. It hurt so bad- wait, hey!" Chris's eyes lit up and he babbled some incoherent words in excitement before revealing his finding, wide-eyed: "He tased me! That bastard tased me!" He scrambled to lift up his shirt and found it – a small burn-bruise at his upper abdomen. Then his eyes shifted around, trying to remember something, and his sights stopped at his arm for some reason. "He…did something. I can't exactly remember what."

Jill stood up. "That's enough for today, Chris." She handed him a glass of water and wiped some sweat off his forehead. "I'm afraid you'll wear yourself out. After what just happened on the sixth floor, I'm starting to believe all this psyche mumbo-jumbo."

Chris smiled at up Jill, but let out a dejected chuckle. "It's kind of ironic that I was in your role to Shepherd just moments ago. And now here I am, the poor little patient. Maybe now I can understand him."

"Whatever it was you've been through, if we find out something happened later, at least you know you did all you could," Jill smiled. "And there'll be no excuse that can pin you down, that you've not done enough. So just sleep for now, okay? You're the only one I know who can save him, but you can barely walk, after all." Chris needed that compassionate comfort. Better still, what she said was actually right.

"Alright," Chris gave up. There's no way he could say no to rest now. All the reasons in the world had been slammed into his face for the accepting. He's just glad that he was not going to sleep in a helicopter; he was thankful that Jill also never mentioned anything about going back to Florida A.S.A.P. and therefore supported his unmentioned decision to stay. It was a tough choice – a stupid choice, even. But somehow he feels he's not going to regret this. It was…fresh, to say the least. All the mystery, foreboding and dread; maybe it was like another Arklay Mansion incident all over again. God, had he desired this? But Chris cut that thought off in horror before he could continue. Sleep, just sleep. he thought, as he locked his door and flipped off the light switch after seeing Jill off on his wobbly feet.

His thoughts were just so many today. He felt so tired. He closed his eyes that were so eager to sleep but it felt like weights sat on his eyelids when he closed them. He was so ready to just settle down to rest but his head swirled in a mild vertigo whenever he stilled himself. He tried to sleep, but there's something nagging in him that he's forgetting something.

Chris twisted and turned on his bed, uneasiness crawling all over him. He was sweating, but he let that air-conditioner run because it was so comfortable. The machine was the older type of air conditioners where it had this low rumble while it sounded like drops of water were prancing and jumping around in the metalwork. It reminded him of his childhood and teenage years where he used to sleep and work around these old air conditioners before the newer electronic ones showed up. Ahh, the air from these older types of air conditioners had this other-worldly quality to it. The smell's right, the sound it makes was right, the coolness and moisture was just right. Sometimes the good old times are just the best.

Sure, he was sweating a lot, but nah, he wouldn't get any flu from all this, right? He's not physically weak, but something else was so worn out in him that it made him tired. Whenever he was at the edge of falling asleep, the clear face of Alex Shepherd popped up right in front of him out from the dark, like he was right at his face, doing nothing but giving this piercing stare from an expressionless face that for whatever reason, bored holes into his rapidly-beating heart behind Chris's eyes. He then would sit up with a start, look at the window and see that moonlight, just to drift back to sleep and wake up again to see that moonlight on his windowsill, illuminating that single blue rose in its small white vase with a sombre silver. He tried to distract himself by thinking about Florida, and even attempted to accept the fact that "Hey, Alex is not here anymore. Just like that." to make himself feel better, or let that weight go, but it was not working. He did not feel guilty whatsoever on losing Alex out there. Alex tased him! God, he tased him! It was a revelation to actually remember that, despite not seeing the look on Alex's face. But the point was that he really did all he could. To serve justice, to keep him safe…to understand. 'Trust' suddenly seemed so foreign, so out of reach. So complicated. For years, he knew Jill had absolutely no doubts in her trust for him, but after this ordeal...did he really know what it is? Thoughts kept going and going and going and it rammed right into his head. It was a silent hell.

He got up and cursed. He knew what needed- no, what he had to do. He hated it, and it surprised him that this idea got into his head, but he picked up the phone in his room (quite a nice technology in addition to the elevator compared to the town devoid of it), followed the instructions, and dialled.

"…Hello?"

"No, you don't sound crazy. In fact, of course I will be helping. That is what I'm here for."

"And I thought with what you just said you'll rather just watch me have nightmares than helping me on them."

"Very funny, Chris. You know this is no laughing matter."

"And you know this isn't exactly a calming matter. I don't know if I should admire you or dislike you for being so cold."

"Whatever it will be, Chris, come to my room when you wake up. I will help you remember what you have forgotten."

"Alright…Thanks."

"Very much appreciated. Goodnight."

Very slowly, he lowered the receiver and heard it click on its rest. He rested his head carefully on the pillow. He didn't want to think that he actually made a deal with this guy that he disliked so much. He just wanted to focus on the prospect that he was very sure he had made the right choice. He closed his eyes. They were strained as before, but not as…heavy.

This time when he closed his eyes, he was sitting on the floor with his head tucked in the arms and lap of Alex, seated higher. The man was holding his head close, crying. Chris couldn't move to see his face, but he heard that high-pitched whine when you are weeping silently by yourself and that short pulling back of breath in between, and it started all over again. He was just there, just…crying. He thought he felt warm tears and humid breath on the side of his face. It felt…good. Isn't it ironic, that it's usually the one who's wrapped in the embrace supposed to be the one crying? Isn't he supposed to be the one feeling guilty for losing the younger man out there? He must be in deep shit, so afraid, so lost, Chris bet.

It's calming though, so calming. So reassuring. So comforting.

Weird, really….

So, so weird…

Chris held on to that odd yet not-uneasy feeling as he finally was able to drift off to sleep.

Drip

TBC