hi guys!
sorry it's taken so long, but i hope it's worth the wait!
shameless promotion: i wrote a fic for the faculty, an awesome 90's movie which stars josh hartnett. check it out and tell me what you think.
do leave a review :)
XXXXX
Rafe came to shocked and short of breath; his heart pounding a frantic rhythm inside his chest and a million thoughts blood death Danny in his mind swirling together into nothingness, unable to comprehend the horror of-
- being back in the room where this all begin. In the bed where he had awoken confusedly not a week ago, although it felt like an eternity. He quickly looked down at his hands, and was disturbed to find them clean of blood Danny's blood that had stained them. His clothes, his uniform, were spotless, free of the gruesome reminder of his failure to get through to the one person who mattered.
An inconsequential sound caught his attention and he quickly turned to his left, where the empty bed that was there the last time around should not be making any sound, inconsequential or not. However, it was not empty. The person in it stirred slightly, as though awaking from an ordinary, untroubled sleep, only to quickly sit up in obvious surprise. It was Daniel or Danny and it didn't matter who because he was not dead.
Quick as a flash, he turned around, wide eyes catching his far quicker than he himself had come to be aware of his surroundings. The person that looked at him had unruly hair that framed eyes free from despair and loneliness and anger; eyes that were flooded with relief and happiness and, he realised with a leap of his own heart, that he could read. This was his Danny.
Without thinking about it, he had shucked off the sheets and made his way over to his friend, arm outstretched to pull him into a hug, before it occurred to him just how girlish it was. He contented himself with ruffling his friend's already messy hair lightly; Danny, for his part, shook his head, good humour betrayed by the mile-wide grin on his face.
"Shove off," he said, batting Rafe's hand away.
"That's what she said."
Danny rolled his eyes, but grew more serious as he surveyed the room. "What the hell just happened?"
That grounded him too. "I don't know…I don't…this is-"
"Impossible, I know. You've been here before, right?"
"Yeah, once." It seemed like that was ages ago, but he had no idea how much time had elapsed between then and now, or if they were even in the same goddamn century.
"Dunno 'bout you, but I just wanna get the hell outta Dodge." Danny had pulled the door open before he could okay it; before he could make sense of the little voice in his head telling him that it was not safe to step outside. He made an unsuccessful lunge to pull his friend back inside and then was grateful that he missed, because there was no way in hell he could have explained what was troubling him coherently.
"You have any idea where you're going?" he asked as Danny raced down the stairs, headlong into whatever trouble was waiting.
"Find a way back to the base, I suppose." He turned around, looking somewhat worried. "Do you have any idea what day it is?"
He shrugged. "Not really. We could always ask someone. Why?"
"Well, what if it's been a whole month? Or a year? Doolittle will hang us."
That was a disturbing thought indeed. "You really think it's been a year?"
Danny thought for a while, head canted as it always was when he was thinking and said "No, but I'd like to know when we are all the same."
"There's a bar around the corner. They have a phone too."
Danny didn't ask him how he knew this, and he didn't volunteer the information. There was too much to deal with already and neither knew the extent of the other's experience to be ready to ask such revealing questions. They walked in silence to Harvelle's and requested to use the phone. It was the 18th of February, so they had not even been gone for a day. Rafe almost dialled the number when he remembered something. "Hey, uh, the last time I did this, I couldn't get the base. No clearance or whatever."
"Ask them to tell Doolittle who you are. I think they'll call you back pretty quickly."
"Okay."
It worked, of course. He picked the phone up under the baleful glare of the bartender. "Hello?"
"Where the hell are ya, boy?"
"Uh…Andover, Tenessee."
There was utter silence on the other end. Then, Doolittle spoke, his voice dangerously soft. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I can't explain it, sir. I think we mighta had too much to drink last night…uh, we're coming back pronto, sir. You're not going to court martial us, right?"
"Just get back here, MacCawley. And tell Walker I expected better of him."
"Will do, sir." He hung up and turned to Danny. "We're screwed, but I don't think they'll shoot us."
The train was practically empty, just like it was the last time he boarded it. Danny looked around curiously; this was evidently new to him. They settled into a booth and as the train slowly started moving down the tracks, Rafe felt a tangible sense of relief. They were headed back to the base, nothing weird had happened so far and, most importantly, Danny was here with him. Suddenly, he felt twitchy and excitable, like he'd drunk too much coffee. There was so much he wanted to tell Danny but where to start? What if the whole thing with Daniel was a creation of his alcohol-ridden mind and the truth was what he had told Doolittle? Would Danny even believe him?
His friend must have caught him staring because he raised an eyebrow at Rafe, which, knowing Danny, was all he was going to get. He leaned forward.
"Man, the weirdest thing just happened to me."
"You don't say."
"That's not the first time I woke up in that room. Not the first time I've been in that bar, or taken this train."
Danny didn't say anything, but he was listening very closely.
"I know how crazy this sounds, but just hear me out, okay? I swear, it was like I was in a world where I never existed." He paused, cringing at how he sounded even to himself like a raving loon. "Until I came there, at least."
"Yeah, I know. What happened?"
"You know? And you just let me sit here thinking I'm crazy?" Rafe shook his head in mock disappointment. "Anyway, I met you. Only, not you, just-"
"That reality's version of me." He fell silent for a moment and asked, almost hesitantly, "What was I like?'
"Good God, you were scary! I'd never have guessed it, but you are a closet basket case. No, no, uhh…more like an evil genius. Like the one from that book, about the doctor with the underground lab who goes around killing people."
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?" Danny looked extremely unhappy and he realised that he had perhaps gone overboard in his description of Daniel.
"Yeah, like that. Except that you weren't actually evil. You were a detective." Danny looked curious, and much less disturbed. Smiling, Rafe settled into his seat and told him everything. Well, not everything; he left out the entire confrontation with Hasford and the unhappy ending, the scars as well as Louisa's murder. It was such a relief to get everything off his chest and he spoke far longer than he imagined he would. When he finally came to the end of his story, Rafe realised just how exhausted he was, both physically and emotionally; he had no idea whether he actually lived the past week or not, but his body certainly felt its effect.
"Well, what about you? What did you see?"
"You, obviously." Danny ran a hand through his hair, a sign of weariness. "Nothin' half as crazy as you though. Nothin' changed; you were still on the mission, the guys were there, Ev in Pearl Harbor…just that none of you knew me. I convinced Doolittle to let me in, showed him some moves and in a day or two it was like nothing had changed."
"Yeah, well, you count your lucky stars, boy. How'd you like to see me blow someone's head open like an overripe tomato?" Rafe shook his head in disbelief, taking in the sight of Danny's innocence. "I can't believe that I'm all that's kept you from going darkside."
XXXXX
Danny rested his head against the cool glass of the train's window and watched the rain outside. Rafe had stretched out in his seat earlier and was now sleeping fitfully after telling his long, tiring tale. He supposed that he was tired too, but he couldn't sleep; not after listening to everything that his friend had to say.
He always knew that Rafe was what made his life somewhat worth living. Without him there to help him stand up to his father, to encourage him whenever he was too much of a coward to take the first step or even to listen to his half-assed daydreams, Danny knew he would have grown up to be a bitter, lonely person. Still, the extent to which his life would unravel went beyond anything he had ever imagined and the worst part of it was that it made perfect sense. There was something wrong about him, as proven by his own experience. It seemed that while Rafe was his saving grace, he'd probably get his friend killed one way or another.
He sighed and the glass frosted. Danny knew what he had to do, but that knowledge didn't make the doing any easier. It had to be done soon, since they would be in Jersey in a couple of hours and he wanted to avoid making a scene in front of the rest of the company. Steeling himself, he leant over and poked Rafe's arm. His friend awoke with a start mid-snore, and rubbed his eyes sleepily.
"We here?"
"No, Rafe, there's something I need to tell you."
Rafe sat up immediately, calm and collected but completely attentive, just like Danny knew he would be. "Okay."
"I…I lied earlier. When I said I went back to the base. I didn't actually. Doolittle wouldn't let me in, obviously. Strange guy shows outta nowhere, no records or anything, who would, right? Anyway, I went back home."
"Oh…" Rafe was clearly confused. "Why didn't you think you could tell me this?"
"It's not that. You said you were gone for a week, but it was almost a month for me. And…uh…I met this girl."
Rafe's eyes narrowed, but he said "Okaay." Clearly he didn't like where this conversation was going, but he was willing to hear him out in the hopes that he was mistaken.
"And, uh, I kinda like her."
"Like her? As in, you made a new friend?" Rafe's voice was dangerously jaunty, like saying 'I'm giving you one last chance to think about what you're saying'. The extent to which his friend was predictable was funny and also troubling. What if Rafe was reading him as easily? Did he know that none of this was real? He dropped his gaze to the floor.
"No, as in I think I love her."
Silence. Danny looked up. Rafe looked livid, but he didn't say anything. Evidently digging his own grave was going to be more difficult than he thought. "I…I really love her. And uh, I asked her to marry me."
"WHAT?"
"Not that it matters now, obviously, but it was just so right. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and she said yes. What I'm trying to say is that we were meant for each other. I want to find that girl."
Rafe took a deep breath, and the throbbing vein in forehead diminished somewhat. "And where does Evelyn fit into all this?"
He feigned a sigh and shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, me and Evelyn, we got together because we were the only two people on that island who had some idea of what the other was going through. Apart from that, we're not actually soulmates, not like the two of you were."
"So what are you saying? You're just going to leave her after everything to run after some girl who may or may not exist, who might be dead or married…for goodness' sake, what the hell do you think youaredoing?" His last words came out all rushed together, as if he was trying rather unsuccessfully to contain himself.
"Look, I know it's not the sanest thing to do, but it…I can't explain it. And for once, I am going to do something for me. All my life, I listened to you, I followed your lead and look at where that's left us. You barely talk to me, I can't ever mention Ev in front of you, and when we're in the same place together, she just hides behind Sandra. Just once, I wanna do something for me." He knew what Rafe's buttons were and he pushed them
Rafe closed his eyes and sighed. "I get it, okay. I haven't been a very good friend lately, but you gotta give me time to adjust. I will, I really will." He was almost pleading, but then his tone changed. "But you can't just leave Evelyn like that. You don't get to sleep with a girl and then just leave her because things get rough! You of all people should know better!"
"Oh, but you get to run off and fight someone else's war, is it? How is what I'm doing any worse than what you did? Al least I'm not giving her any false hope like you did."
"What happened to you? Man, I barely recognise you anymore."
"No, this is all me. I'm just saying the things that I would have kept to myself before this."
Rafe sat speechless and turned to look out of the window, looking torn between disgust and sadness. Danny never felt lower but he schooled his features into an expressionless mask and looked out of the window too, watching the countryside fly by. He hated doing this, but what he hated most of all was how easy it was to do it.
XXXXX
Things did not improve back on the base. To say that Doolittle was pissed was an understatement. The guys all wanted to know what happened, and they certainly weren't in any mood to share their strange experience; this ended with the rest of the company feeling betrayed and left out. It was all so infuriating, but it all paled in comparison to what was going on with Danny. He just couldn't wrap his head around it. When the fuck did his friend turn into some sort of cold, unfeeling, man-slut? He couldn't help but wonder if there was something that Danny wasn't telling him about the whole alternate reality experience. Still, he knew that he couldn't just stay angry with Danny and stop talking to him until he came to his senses. No, he'd seen the effect of isolation on Daniel and he was going to be damned if he was going to allow something like that happen to Danny under his watch. Maybe he'd change his mind after a few days of normalcy.
The situation worsened over the next few days. Rafe never found out whether Danny changed his mind, because he never got to speak to him. It seemed that whenever he entered a room, his friend would suddenly remember something of absolute importance that he had to do in the opposite end of the base. He suddenly found Gooz such interesting company that he spent all their training time listening to his theory that they ought to lose half of the 'buttons' on the control panel.
It took less than a day for the rest of the guys to notice. Red was sympathetic, but the rest of the guys seemed to be irritated somewhat. As if going AWOL for a day or two meant that they were privileged somehow. As if they could not now be angry or worked up or anything. Screw them. He didn't care.
Apparently, Doolittle did care. Rafe found himself sitting in the man's office one day being fixed with a somewhat benevolent and sympathetic gaze, and realised that he was in for it. "Is this about last week, sir?"
"I am not blind MacCawley. I can see just as clearly as the rest of the men that something is seriously wrong between you and Walker."
"It's not like-"
Doolittle cut him off. "Shut up, MacCawley. I don't give a rat's ass about your personal relationships, but I do give a damn about morale. And you know as well as I do that its hit rock bottom since the two of you stopped talking to each other. The rest of your company look up to the two of you, and seeing you barely holding it together is not doing them any good. Now what the hell is goin' on between you two?"
Rafe wasn't feeling very cooperative. "I dunno. Why am I the only one here?"
"I'm talking to you because Danny will clam up faster than I can say 'boo'." He took on a softer tone. "I've known you kids since you were eighteen, and I have never seen this happen. Now, for the last time, what is going on?"
"We like the same girl. Last week was the first time we got to talk properly about it, and we just can't see eye to eye anymore. Ain't nothin' nobody can do about that." He lied glibly, but then it wasn't really a lie, was it?
As much as he told Doolittle that there wasn't anything to be done about it, Rafe knew that he had to do something. He was contemplating ways to deal with this problem when the guys went for their usual weekly drinking session. They had made it through a round of shots listening to Anthony bitch about harsh censorship of their letters home, and Danny had walked up to the counter to order a second round; Rafe saw his window of opportunity.
Danny tried to walk away when he approached, but he caught his friend's elbow. "Hey, you mind explaining what this is all about?"
"What?"
"Don't give me that crap." He kept his voice low, but it was difficult. "You're avoiding me. Why?"
"Why? Because I can't stand the sight of you anymore. Because of you, because you left me behind, I know what it's like not to have you around, and you know what? I like it. I love it. That's what last week made me realise. When I left you back at the base and went home, I suddenly felt a lot better than I had been feeling since you came back. My dad was right. You're just a no-good kid who can't read or think about anything more complex than your next meal. So if you're really the friend you claim to be, leave the hell alone."
He chucked a roll of bills on the counter and walked away. Rafe was glad that he did, because a moment more of that conversation would have made either lash out or run away in tears. As it is, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut. He never imagined that Danny could hate him so much. He never imagined that Danny could be more cruel and thoughtless than Daniel. But most of all, he never imagined that he would be the cause of this malign change. Feeling as though he was walking into a new, harsher, unremitting world, he headed back to the group and found a seat next to Red. If Danny wanted to be left alone, fine. It was the least he could do.
For the first time since the training began in earnest, the Fortresses took off within the allocated runway length. Rafe managed it first, of course. He managed to find that elusive balance between not overworking the throttle and giving the plane all the juice she could handle; it was amazing that he hadn't figured it out earlier. A few tries later, pretty much everyone got it. It was a high point in what had been grim proceedings previously, and the whole company had taken the rest of the day off to lounge around and drink themselves blind. Even Doolittle joined in for while, telling a few not-so-funny jokes that had everyone in stitches anyway. Happy though the mood was, he couldn't bring himself to crack a genuine smile. How pathetic was that; that he had lost the ability to smile?
And then Danny just disappeared. Rafe woke up one morning, and his friend was not there. For a moment, panic set in and he stood frozen, completely incapable of thinking of anything apart from 'no, no, not again'. Maybe the same thing had happened again. It took several deep breaths before it occurred to him that Danny's disappearance may have a much more mundane explanation.
It was. A cursory check of his drawer revealed some missing garments, and his duffle was gone too. "Stupid, stupid boy," Rafe cursed silently. What trouble had he gotten himself into this time?
Doolittle, it turned out, knew about this. When he went to the man's office to tell him, somewhat apologetically, about Danny's disappearance, he said "Hold your horses, MacCawley. He saw me yesterday and asked for a few days off and I okayed it. Nobody's missing."
"We get days off?"
Doolittle looked surprised. "Uh, no. But I can make exceptions where necessary, and I did."
"Well, can I have a couple of days off too?"
"Are you five, MacCawley? What reason could you possibly have to want a day off now that I would even take into account?"
"My best friend's gone off to God knows where and I know he's getting into trouble of some sort and I'm sure he can handle it but I've watched out for that kid since before I could read so I just can't stand by and…and…" he trailed off, feeling embarrassed.
Doolittle sighed and shook his head. "Go on. Scram. You've got three days, MacCawley. Come back one second late and I'll hang your head in my office."
XXXXX
They moved to Tennessee after the funeral, so he knew that her real grave was somewhere else. This was just a headstone his father put in the local churchyard so that he'd have something to visit every year; he'd have them kitted out in their best suits to come and pay their respects. It was one of the few times he would be completely sober and lucid, and Danny himself never knew what to make of the visit because he knew that immediately after he would go out and drink himself blind. He never understood how someone could feel so much pain over something that they had no control over.
Needless to say, he did now. In fact, he just gained a whole lotta respect for his old man. He respected her enough to visit her sober, which was more than could be said about him. Danny regarded the bottle of Jack Daniels in his grip ruefully and took another drink; the burn of alcohol temporarily eased the ache of his heart.
"Hey mom," he said, speaking to the engraved block of marble. It said 'Elizabeth Walker, beloved wife and mother'. Simple, but it conveyed what was never said in words; that here lay a person who was taken before her time. That her passing had far-reaching effects on those she left behind. That the luckiest person in this tragedy was her.
He found himself unable to continue and though instead of how difficult these past few weeks had been. Rafe had come through his whole crazy adventure hell bent on making things okay between them, just in case he was inclined to put a gun to his head. As if he would ever muster the courage to do that.
Danny sat on his bunk reading Dickens' Christmas Carol after a day of fruitless toil with the Fortresses. Flying never felt like so much work before, but that wasn't why he was reading the book for the 12th time since returning from Andover. No, he needed somewhere to escape from his friend's crestfallen image every time he refused to acknowledge his presence. At least he had temporary reprieve whenever the reformed Scrooge brought Christmas to the Cratchitts and Tiny Tim.
But Rafe was nothing if not persistent. Danny had made it halfway through the ghost of Christmas Past's monologue when a paper bag landed on his bunk. He looked up to see Rafe smiling down at him with an expression of unadulterated joy and triumph. This was bad.
"Cinnamon sticks," he said. "Fresh from the oven. The diner downtown had some sort of bake sale today and these were the last ones. I know, I'm awesome."
He loved cinnamon sticks. The smell was now wafting through the air, tempting him almost as much as his friend's happy smile. Steeling himself, Danny grabbed the bag and tossed it onto Rafe's bunk. "I'm not hungry."
Scrooge's past memories kept him from seeing the crushed look he knew Rafe would be wearing right now, as well as the gaping wound in his heart.
Red ambled by not a minute later, happily oblivious to the exchange, clutching a pool cue. "Hey, guys you wanna go shoot a few?"
A few of the guys murmured their agreement and moved to go. Rafe was one of them. Red tapped his shoulder. "Hey, Danny, come on. We're playing for money."
"Fuck off. I don't want your money."
"Uh, sorry I didn't drop by for a while. I was, uh…" He stopped and took another drink. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry you died because of me. You shoulda' been happy. I'm so sorry."
XXXXX
It was nightfall by the time he arrived. Somehow, he knew that Danny would have come here and he was right; after all, the 'girl' was supposed to be here. It was odd to be home after such a long time and he was struck by a pang of homesickness. He wanted to go home and see his parents. He wanted to fly the old crop-duster one more time. He wanted to run around the fields of corn and wheat with absolutely nothing on his mind and worry only about whether he was going to have to wash up before dinner. Shaking his head, Rafe realised that he missed the innocence of home; the innocence that had been shattered by war and death.
He found Danny in some nameless bar a little out of town. The place was full and he squeezed his way into a corner where he could sit unnoticed. His friend sat up at the counter, shoulders hunched, attention completely focused on the drink in front of him. Maybe he couldn't find the girl. Now that he had him in sight, not to mention the fact that he looked pretty much fine, Rafe half-regretted coming at all. He glumly ordered a beer – no sense in getting too drunk to find his way back – and gave in to an attempt by a clearly drunk old man to converse about the sorry state of affairs the Allies were in.
"Ah say, if I were younger, I'd give 'em squint-eyes bastards a thumpin' they'd not soon forget. This is God comin' down on us for not helpin' Churchill with Hitler."
"God?"
"Uh-huh. Ah heard…heard they were killin' Jews in Germany. Burnin' 'em by the hundreds. We did nothing."
"If that's true, how come God's done nothing to Norway? Or India? Or Brazil?"
"Because they ain't Christians. Heathens, the lot of them. They follow the other one, not Him. There'll be reckonin' for it soon, mark my words."
Rafe shook his head. "God has nothing to do with all this. It's us."
A blur of movement caught his eye. Danny had just left the bar, clutching a brown paper bag in hand. Evidently he was tired of the crowd and must have decided to continue partying on his own. Rafe chucked a couple of bills on the table and followed him out, keeping a safe distance between them. He needn't have worried; Danny was so focused on getting to wherever he was heading that he walked fast and never once turned around. He eventually turned into one of those dingy roadside motels and entered the room at the corner.
Rafe stood in the parking lot and watched as the lights came on in the room. A shadow fell across the window for a while, and that shadow took off its coat, folded it neatly and laid it on some unseen surface. Then it went away, and a few moments later, the faint sound of some television show streamed out. Yeah, Danny was obviously up to no good.
What the hell was he thinking anyway, worrying about Danny getting into trouble? Just because he was being more of an ass than he usually was? Truth was, he wasn't a wide-eyed kid anymore, hadn't been for a long time, and it was about time he accepted that. It was difficult to admit, but Danny didn't need him. He was happy on his own. He could take care of himself just fine. Heck, he was handling life a whole lot better than Rafe ever could; if he never found the girl he loved or whatever, he certainly wouldn't be doing something as reasonable as catching a late-night show in the confines of a neat little motel room.
Danny was right. The best thing he could do for his friend right now was just to leave him alone. It was sad that Danny would choose to deal with this all on his own, but he only had himself to blame. He remembered the conversation they had in the car the last time Danny tried to tell him how he felt.
"You're the only family I got, Rafe. When you were gone, I was the loneliest I'd ever been."
"Awww, now you're breaking my heart."
Those words were so full of sarcasm and resentment that he cringed as they played over in his head. He turned to leave but found himself unable to leave the parking lot. The problem with leaving was that he had tried that and it didn't work. He had left Daniel at the bar simply because he was being difficult. It was all too easy to say that Danny didn't need him and was being such an ass that he didn't want his company anyway, but he had seen what solitude had done to Daniel; there was just something inherently wrong about letting Danny do that to himself.
Rafe changed his mind and walked back to the room. Yes, now he was being difficult and pushy, but he couldn't give a fuck about that. Mentally running through a list of lame excuses, he rapped sharply on the door and waited to be let in. And waited. There was no response. Fair enough, Danny wasn't expecting anyone and so probably didn't even register the sound of his knocking. He knocked again, harder and longer this time. Nothing. The muffled sound of the television blathered on, but there wasn't a peep apart from that.
Okay. He was definitely not thinking of the time when he'd walked into a dark motel room to find Daniel's foot a mutilated mess. Not thinking about it. "Danny!" He called a little louder than was polite, and didn't miss the way his voice quavered. Damn that boy.
There was no indication that anything was alive and sentient in that room. Rafe very nearly kicked the door in before it occurred to him that trying the doorknob would be a better course of action. The door was not locked; it swung open to reveal a dimly lit, empty room. Just as he was about to punch something in frustration, he noticed a flicker of movement in the farthest corner of the room, behind the bed.
He stepped into the room and walked closer, shocked to discover Danny's tall form cramped into the tiny space between the bed and the wall, when he saw something that stopped his heart for a moment. The light was glinting off Danny's face. Forehead scrunched in worry, Rafe eased the door shut behind him and moved soundlessly toward his friend, as if the slightest sound would somehow throw the situation into an untold mess. He crouched in front of his friend and, for the first time in his life, was at a complete loss.
Because up close, Danny's face was wet with tears. Even as Rafe watched, stunned, another tear welled up and rolled silently down his face. Danny ignored it—and Rafe—and took a drink from the almost empty bottle of whisky.
"Danny."
He finally looked up, and Rafe's heart broke; those expressive brown eyes that he knew better than his own were so full of madness and grief that it stole his breath. He didn't look at all surprised to see Rafe, but his glassy, half-focused expression told him that it was a blessing that Danny recognised him at all. He knew immediately that this had nothing to do with some random girl whose name Danny had never even mentioned.
"Leave." His trembling voice was soft.
"What?"
"You should go, Rafe. Go while you still can."
More tears escaped, one falling to the floor, the other trailing down his already tear-stained cheek. His eyes were rimmed with red; God only knew how long he'd been sitting here silently dripping salt water all over the carpeting—crying—while Rafe had debated outside if his brother still needed him.
"Danny, hey." He reached out and put his hand on Danny's shoulder in a placating gesture. "I'm not going anywhere."
"No," he breathed. "'Course not. None of you ever did. All stayed 'till the end."
"Who? Danny, what are you talking about?"
Danny looked up at him again, eyes pleading for understanding and – forgiveness? "It's all my fault. Everyone around me dies. I'm a…I'm a monster."
And then his shoulders began to silently shake.
Not a second after Danny curled in on himself, Rafe was sliding down the wall, legs framing his trembling kid brother. Rafe pulled him close and tucked his chin over the mop of soft hair, wrapped both arms around his quaking shoulders. Danny sobbed until his breath hitched for reasons that Rafe could not understand, held tightly in protective arms but lost in his inconsolable grief. Drawing on memories long forgotten, Rafe rocked lightly, threading a hand through Danny's dark hair, and murmured comforting nothings; wondering as he watched his friend shatter if he was going to be able to put him back together again.
XXXXX
Headache. That was the first thought that crossed his fuzzy mind; that he had the mother of all headaches. He moved to pull the pillow over his aching head, but realised belatedly that there was no pillow. Probably because he wasn't in bed; no, he was lying on some hard and scratchy surface and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. The place reeked of alcohol, which, judging from the way his head throbbed, he probably consumed. Where the hell was he?
With that realisation came another; he wasn't alone. Startled, he nearly jumped but instead managed only to roll over before the latent headache exploded into something that felt like a hundred little demons with pitchforks going crazy in his head. Anyway, there was no need for alarm; it was just Rafe. For some unfathomable reason, they were both half-tangled together on the floor in the crawl space between the bed and the wall. Rafe was still asleep, one leg propped up on the bed and head bent at uncomfortable angle against the wall.
Danny remained still, deciding that he was nowhere near lucid, and waking Rafe would add another dimension to a problem he was not ready to handle. There were too many gaps in his memory; he last remembered drinking miserably in front of some stupid Navy recruitment message on the television. When did Rafe get here? Why did he let him in? Did he say anything stupid? And then there was the pressing matter of how he was going to change everything back to the way it was last week; how was he was going to push Rafe away again, stomp on his good intentions and generally repay years of brotherhood with a knife to the back?
XXXXX
Rafe woke up for the third time in weeks in some strange place. The usual surprise and shock at coming to in an alien environment had all but given way to weariness and the feeling of not-again. He knew before he even opened his eyes that he was somewhere not-home because his neck ached where it had been pillowed against the wall and he couldn't feel his legs.
He opened his eyes to see the unexpected sight of Danny staring right back at him from where he was lying on the floor over one of his completely numb legs and remembered. Danny must have seen that too, because he pulled himself up and staggered over to the only chair in the room and unceremoniously dropped into it. He looked terrible; older and wearier than he should, and Rafe recognised it as the weariness of trying to hold the world together all by oneself. He got off the floor too, flailing at the wall for support as the blood rushed back to his legs, and sat on the edge of the bed where he was almost face to face with his friend. Danny pointedly looked elsewhere, pinching the bridge of his nose in the classic pose of someone suffering a hangover.
"That was an impressive binge, man. Never thought you had it in ya."
"Just go away."
"Tell me something I haven't heard. Something about how you're the cause of it all. Maybe you should begin with what 'it' is."
Danny suddenly looked like a cornered rabbit and Rafe dropped the sarcasm. "Look, Danny, whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not gonna get angry or anything."
"It's not about that. Telling you isn't going to change anything. It's not even something I can change."
"Well, then, just tell me. You're the one who said that knowledge is a burden, right? That that's why bad news travels faster than good? You'd feel better if you stop bottling it all up and drinking like this."
"It's not like I deserve to feel better." This was murmured so softly that it was almost inaudible.
"Because everyone dies? People die, Danny. You and me, too, someday. I know it feels like all the people we know are dropping dead, but it's a war. There's not a single thing you can do about it. Doesn't make you a monster."
"It's not everybody else, it's you! You and Ev and my Mom and Dad!" Danny snapped suddenly. Shaking his head, Danny continued speaking, but kept his eyes downward. "You figured out that the reality we went to or whatever was one in which we never existed. When I woke up, I knew somehow that things were different, ya know? Didn't even try to get to the base. I just went home. And then I-"
"Met me." Rafe would have been happy to let Danny explain in his own time, but it was his way of showing that he was there.
"Yeah. I knew it wasn't really you, but close enough…you weren't in the force. You had this garage back home. You…you married Ev." He traced a scratch in the wood of the chair, and Rafe could see his hand trembling. "You had a kid. One whole, happy family."
"Because she hadn't met you. I mean, who knows what-"
"Then I met my Mom."
That stopped him short. Rafe inwardly cringed at this piece of information, knowing full well that Danny was especially attached to his mother despite barely remembering her. It explained why he was drinking himself blind.
"For a week or so, I had a mom. Do you have any idea what that's like? And my dad? He wasn't a drunk, beat-up wreck. He was just like yours. And you guys were neighbours."
"I'm guessing this reality sucks in comparison, huh?"
"It was the happiest week of my life. I mean, it's everything I ever wanted, everything I never dared wish for because I sure as hell would never get it. We; you, me and Ev, we sat down and had dinner together and it wasn't awkward or scary. You were making jokes and we were laughing and everyone was just so happy. You weren't angry with me and nobody was in any danger of dying." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that allowed him a short break from explaining.
"But why'd you lie about the girl then? And why won't you talk to me?"
"The last night I was there, there was a party. My parents were there and we were all talking about random stuff. Then my Mom tells a story about how, 23 years ago, some psychic told her that if she had a kid then, it would be the end of her. So she waited a year or so and had a daughter. And everyone lives happily ever after. That's what I was talking about. If I was never born, everybody's lives would be perfect."
And there it was; the reason for everything that had been wrong since they got back. The reason for the drinking, the sulking and the alienation. The reason he didn't want to be with Evelyn. The reason Danny wouldn't talk to him. He never imagined that Danny was as protective of him as he was of his friend; it was enlightening, and as much as he was being such a girl about all this, more than a little touching. And so silly that he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Good God, is that why you've stopped talking to me? Because maybe your Mom could have lived if you were never born?"
"Don't you get it? Everyone I'm around comes off worse because of it. You're all better off without me, so I'm doing what's right."
"I didn't realise you hated me that much."
Danny looked up at him again, completely confused. That was good; it meant that he was thrown off, to some miniscule extent, from his depressing line of thought. "Huh?"
"I mean, I never knew you'd hold that kind of thing against me, after everything we've been through."
His expression had changed from confused to incredulous. "Are we even talking about the same thing here?"
"If I'd never been around, you'd have gone to Stanford. On a full ride. You hear me? They gave you, some backwoods Bible-belt kid a full scholarship to study law at Stan-snooty-ford. You were earning more than we'd make our entire lives before you were old enough to drink!" And then, before the age of twenty-three, you've got an entire department under you and serial killers on the run from you. I mean, I don't think you'd have stopped short of being president."
Danny snorted at that, but he looked like he was thinking about what Rafe said. "If I don't end up murdered."
"That's not the point." So he was glossing over the truth a bit, but it wasn't lying. It was just leaving out the bits which didn't support his argument, such as the fact that the detective was manic-depressive at the least and a full-blown sociopath at worst. "Point is, without me, you'd have been great. Like, history book kinda great. Given time, you could have changed the world."
"Who cares?"
"Right back at ya. So I owned a garage and married Evelyn. Who cares? I'd never have gotten into the force if it weren't for you. I know I'd have been happier or whatever, but if it means that I never got to fly, never got to see the things I've seen, I don't want it. I don't want the kind of happiness that comes out of ignorance. And if not knowing you is the only damn way I can be happy, then fuck happiness."
It was true. It didn't matter if Danny was the anti-Christ himself here to spectacularly end the world in blood, flame and anguish, he couldn't imagine not having him around. Couldn't imagine not wanting him around. It was difficult to imagine, though, that his friend was remotely evil when he was sitting there looking like a kicked puppy. And he was going to strangle his friend if he was going to continue turning this into the girliest let's-talk-about-feelings moment of the century.
Danny looked shocked. He opened his mouth to say something, but gawped speechlessly for a moment before pulling his jaw off the floor and shaking his head. "You're insane."
"At least I'm not a moron."
"You're the one who wants to hang around a walking bad luck charm and I'm the moron?"
"So you're talking to me now?"
Rolling his eyes, Danny muttered something unintelligible, but he was half-smiling and that was good enough. It was good to see him smile again.
"You're okay now?"
He nodded, but added softly "I just miss my Mom."
And there was that kicked puppy face again. Sometimes he wondered whether Danny knew the effect that look had on people and was really good at turning it on at the right times. Half-amused, Rafe leaned forward and affectionately mussed his hair. "But Mommy's right here."
Danny backed away from him so fast that the chair rocked, looking shocked. "The hell does that mean?"
"You forgot!" Rafe was trying hard not to laugh, but he was surprised that Danny did not remember.
"Forgot what?" He still looked like the toaster had started talking instead of making toast.
"You really forgot! I can't believe it."
The moment Mrs. Schurley told them that to pick up their crayons and get to work, his heart was troubled. Making cards were all well and good because they meant a break from the usual tedium of reading and writing of their grammar classes, but the problem with cards is that they are usually meant for someone. That was still well and good, because there would really be no fun in making cards if no one was going to be happy about all the work you put into making one. And there was the problem; what if you had no one to give it to?
It was Mother's Day tomorrow. Mrs. Schurley, married with kids, had been banging on all week about the general importance of mothers; how they always loved you no matter what, how they took care of you when you were sick, how they always knew something was wrong and could make everything better or at least try very, very hard, blah blah blah.
As much as he excited about making the best card for his mother, Rafe, even at the tender age of 7, couldn't help but feel that it was unfair that they were doing this when Danny clearly could not take part. Why put him through the pain of making a card for his mother when he didn't have one? He looked up from his own card, which he was currently emblazoning with multi-coloured planes, and at his friend. Danny was working on something too, eyes narrowed in concentration; he didn't look miserable. Content, Rafe went back to work, making a mental note to ask him about it later on.
He remembered the mental note when he came up from breakfast and found a dark green card slotted between the pages of his favourite comic book. It had 'Happy Mothers' Day' scrawled in front, and a large 'thanks for everything' on the inside. He understood. Perfectly. That whatever it is mothers do for their kids; feeding them, making sure they're more than okay, just plain being there for them, he's done it for Danny, and he always will.
"You gave me two cards I think, before we outgrew the whole making cards in class thing."
"I have no memory of any of that," Danny mused, still looking somewhat surprised.
"Yeah, well, I do. Shoulda' seen your face just now. What the hell did you think I was talking about?"
"Whaddaya think? First I wake up with you sprawled all over me, and then you make that creepy-ass comment. Freak."
Rafe burst out laughing, and after a while, Danny did too.
XXXXX
The bar was empty in the morning but for the perpetually drunken old man slumped in a corner. They sat at the counter in an amicable silence, enjoying the respite the darkened bar offered against the glaring sun outside. Danny's duffel bag rested on the ground between their barstools, and Rafe had their train tickets back to Jersey. Rafe had grumbled about making the same trip for the third time already; apparently, while he stayed in Tennessee for the duration of the 'trip', his alternate self had dragged his friend all over the country.
Danny slumped over the counter, buried his face in his arms and groaned. "I am never drinking again."
"Then you've come to the wrong place, sweetheart." The bartender smiled at him affectionately, leaning forward on the counter. She looked like a nice lady, almost motherly with her salt and pepper hair, but with a twinkle in her eyes that said she more devil than angel. Certainly much nicer than the stone-faced log that was in here last night.
"Well, I'm drinking and he's stuck with me, so we're right where we should be," said Rafe.
"You're right about that," she quipped coyly. So she saw him as a kid and Rafe as a potential conquest? So funny and yet so sadly typical. "What can I get ya?"
"A beer."
"Anything for you, hon?'
"Got anything without alcohol?"
She smiled. "I doubt it, but I'll see what I can find."
The phone rang before she could get their drinks and she rushed off to answer it. Rafe turned to him and said "Does she look familiar to you?"
"Nope."
"'Coulda' sworn I'd seen her somewhere. But forget that, did you see the way she was looking at me? Damn, I still got it."
"If 'it' means ogling women twice as old as you, yeah, you've got it. Congratulations. Maybe you'll get the plague tomorrow and then you'll really have something to crow about."
"Aww, you're just jealous that you're not getting some."
"You wanna rethink that? That of the two of us, I'm the one not getting some?"
Rafe pulled a face. "Oh, God, that's just gross. Now I've got a horror movie in my head, thanks."
He laughed, and for the first time since he came back, didn't wish that he could have lived forever in that alternate reality. It felt good to banter with Rafe and not have to pretend not to know him.
The bartender came back and slid two glasses towards them; one was a tall beer glass, frosted and filled with foamy beer and the other was a shotglass, filled with what looked to be whiskey. He looked up at her hoping for an explanation and she merely stared at him, as if nothing was out of place. "Erm, is that whiskey?"
"Yeah." She held the bottle in one hand, as if expecting to pour him another.
"I didn't order this, remember?"
She blinked for a moment, and then smacked her forehead. "Goodness, I've got the wrong one!"
It wasn't a big deal, and he really didn't mind. Danny was about to tell her this when Rafe practically leapt from his seat and caught hold of her hand. "Who are you?"
She half-shrieked and tried to tug her hand out of his grip, but he managed to hold on. "Let go of me!"
The situation was quickly spinning out of control and Danny hadn't the slightest idea what to do. Why on earth was Rafe attacking a random bartender anyway? And manhandling a woman like that? Which was why he surprised himself when he reached over the counter and caught her other hand, effectively trapping her. "Answer the question."
Her eyes darted between the two of them in fright, and Danny questioned in his mind the wisdom of what they were doing. If anyone were to walk into the bar now, they were doomed. He hoped Rafe knew what he was doing.
"Daniel would always order shots," Rafe said to him, and it suddenly made sense. He snarled at the lady in his grip. "So who are you and how do you know that?"
She pulled harder, but was no match for the two men holding her down; it looked like she was about to scream. Then, just as suddenly as Rafe had grabbed her, she stopped struggling and rolled her eyes. "Some days you should never have gotten out of bed. This is getting to be one of those days."
"For the last time-"
"Yes, I'm getting there," she snarled somewhat impatiently, and then turned to glare at Danny. He released her hand, knowing somehow that she wasn't going to run away; knowing that she somehow knew something about them, and not in a good way.
"Well, it's just that I was watching the two of you that night in the bar on the base. You know, where your whole company was there and the two of you were the only ones who let your drinks sit until the foam was all gone? You two were being pretty nasty to each other, and yet you left together. I thought it would be funny to see what would happen if the two of you were separated, that's all."
If she had just asked him what it was like to have the two of them separated, Danny could have told her a very unfunny account. Perhaps the more appropriate question was to ask what she was, instead of whom. "You did that to us?"
She smiled. "Oh yeah. The whole alternate reality thing was a last-minute stroke of genius. You're both really, really entertaining, you know."
"So that wasn't real?"
"Oh, it was real. As real as you and me, flyboy. That's exactly what would have happened if you were never born. Think of it as a time-warp thing. A week or a month may have passed in that reality, but barely a day in this one. Time is relative, just ask Einstein."
"What are you?"
"Well, that depends on whom you ask. Some cultures know me as a djinn, others a trickster and yet others a god. I uspet, disrupt and destroy, and I awaken. I am Heyoka and Eris and Anansi. And I am also a bartender."
As she spoke, the atmosphere changed, and Danny could feel it in his bones. He'd heard of the names she mentioned; frightening, powerful, ages-old beings who were intriguing to read about but to meet one was like having a nightmare come to life. His instincts told him to run and never turn back, but Rafe stood his ground and so did he.
And then she grew serious. "But after awhile, I gotta say, it was somewhat depressing. I mean, there are some things that you can fix and some things you can't. You gotta have the smarts to know the difference and the guts to walk away when you can't. You two don't seem to get that. Keep this self-sacrificing complex up and you'll be the death of each other."
"Listen, lady, I have no idea who the hell you are, but you ain't human and that's clear enough." There was one thing to be said about Rafe, though; he didn't scare easily. Sometimes he wondered if his friend would face down the devil if he met him. "But the thing about us humans is that unlike you self-serving Godlike bastards, we care about things other than ourselves. It called al…at…"
"Altruism," he picked up where Rafe floundered, knowing full well what his friend was going to say because it was what he felt too. "Sometimes we care about these things more than ourselves. And it may be the end of us, but we'd rather not live without them."
Rafe caught her collar and pulled her close, so that her face was merely inches away from him, despite the fact that she technically had the power to turn him into dust. "If you ever do that to my kid brother again, god or not, I will hunt you down and. Kick. Your. Ass."
It was a little embarrassing, having Rafe stand up for him like that; like he had gone through life and failed to acquire simple survival skills and would always be dependent on someone to look out for him, but at some base level, it felt good. Like nothing could ever touch him, not while he had Rafe watching his back.
He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and tugged lightly. "Come on, Rafe. Let's go."
Rafe shrugged his hand off and continued to glare at the trickster.
"Go on then," she said. "Don't want to miss your train now. And don't forget your bags."
XXXXX
"Ah don' pretend to understand ya, but ah really don' get this whole deal with them flyboys," the old man said as he watched the two pilots disappear down the road. "You mind pouring me some of tha' stuff?"
"I am not your servant, Pan and you aren't really old and drunk. If you want a drink, get your ass off the chair and pour it yourself. And stop talking like that, it's very unbecoming of you."
"Alright, mother." All sign of fatigue and drunkenness slipped from him; as he approached the counter, there was a sprightliness to his step that no man could possess. The rough, stubbled cheeks gave way to a smooth jaw line as the hunched back straightened out. Grey hair became fine gold, the likes of which had not been seen for many ages. "They don't seem to have done any wonders for your mood, either."
"Don't be silly, Pan. I'm delighted. Didn't you hear them just now?"
"What?" He tipped the bottle of whiskey into the beer glass, but when he set the bottle down, it was still full. "About how they rather be human because they can love altruistically? You know, that younger one had some idea who you are. I'm surprised he didn't bolt sooner. Makes you miss the old days, doesn't it? We had temples and offerings and their admiration…"
"My dear Pan, you heard but you were not listening. Did you not notice the way they were finishing each other's sentences? Or the way they were standing up for each other?"
"Yes, so?"
"So, they're friends again. Now that they know how much of each other they are, they're not going to let little things divide them anymore; they'll work together like they should. Those two are the only ones holding this insanely suicidal mission together. If they aren't at their combined best, Doolittle might just have to lead the raid himself and we can't have that, can we Pan? We need him in England after this."
"You're being terribly partisan about this whole thing, mother. I don't see what difference it makes to us if the Germans bombed the snot out of the English."
"I rather like them. Besides, the only people bothered about saving your various statues all over Europe are the English, not to mention that the so-called Druids are the only ones who have any sort of belief in you these days. You ought to thank me."
He lifted his glass in a toast to her. "Cheers, mother."
XXXXX
Danny had dozed off quite quickly on the train, head pillowed on his jacket, which was stuffed between his arm and the window. Rafe remained awake, mulling the words of that not-human bartender. It was very disturbing and also somewhat annoyingly humbling to know that there were beings in the universe capable of turning a man's life upside down for fun. He didn't recognise the various names she cited earlier, but she was right to call herself troublemaking whore. Poor old man; he really should leave the bar before she got bored again and decided to screw his life up.
A nudge drew him from his thoughts; Danny's long legs were folded on the seat, resting against him, and he was being unceremoniously kicked as his friend shifted in his sleep. Wondering how long he'd have to put up with the indignity, Rafe looked up to find the younger man blinking at him sleepily.
"Ready to join the living, Danny?"
Danny's head slowly swivelled left and right. "I don't see this 'living' that you speak of."
"Oh, that's so funny. Excuse my serious face; I'm laughing on the inside."
"Not half as funny as you threatening to kick Eris' ass. Do you have any idea who she is?"
"Something inhuman."
"She called herself Anansi, Heyoka and Eris. Anansi is the African god of mischief. Heyoka is an Indian concept, of a medicine man of sorts who, through jest, gets people to think about things they normally don't. Eris is the Greek goddess of strife. She's a real piece of work, I can tell you that. She started the Trojan war. They're all goddamn nutters, though."
"How the fuck do you know these things?"
Rafe couldn't believe that Danny recognised the long list of names she threw at them like some sort of badges of honour, or the somewhat awed tone that his voice had taken. Pagan gods, the lot of them, and Danny actually looked up to her? Somehow the lesson about false gods at Sunday school seemed to have bounced off that normally sponge-like brain of his. Still, who was he to blame Danny for anything, especially after what he'd done?
"Fuck," he said out loud, shaking his head.
"Something wrong?" Danny sat up, but still leaned against the window.
"Just…I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry you had to go through all that craziness."
"It's not your fault. What the heck are you apologising for?"
"It's what she said. She said that she saw us being nasty to each other and that that's why she wanted to fuck around with that, but I was the one who was mean to you. You were trying your level best to be my friend. And it was not like I had any right to be mad at you in the first place; it was just bitterness and I was taking it out on you because I could. Because you're the only one whom I could push away day after day after day who'd still be there. Because of that, because I was an ass, you had to go through all that crap. I'm so sorry for that."
Danny smiled sadly and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "You're more than my best friend, Rafe. You're my brother and I'm yours. If that's what it took to make us see that, so what?" He looked away and began worrying the ragged sleeve of his jacket. Rafe waited for him to pick up where he left off, but as more and more time passed, he realised that that was it.
"That's it? I open up my heart and let you see my fears and regrets and worries, and that's it?"
"What do you want? A poem?"
"Forget it. Moment's gone."
Rafe shoved Danny playfully and reached out to ruffle his hair again. Danny ducked, but not before Rafe managed to have his overly long bangs stand on end. Scowling, Danny used his fingers to tease it back in order, good humour betrayed by the rare smile on his face. "Jackass."
Rafe found himself grinning ear to ear. This was the Danny he remembered; this was the way he remembered them being, before England and Evelyn and the attack and the mission. This was them being friends and brothers like only they knew how. This was what had survived and would always survive after the world had been burnt away.
"Takes one to know one, Danny."