Author's Note:
I've been mean, I know. I've been posting this on sd-1 and forgot about
ff.net. I'm going to catch you up here with the full parts.
Part 2b
There was nothing on TV.
For a man who was rarely afraid of anything, especially anything remotely related to the supernatural (it was his Aunt Trish's influence that made him a little cynical when it came to ghosts and such), he certainly wasn't acting like it. He'd already picked up the phone twice, once to call Weiss and check that he wasn't loosing his mind, and the other, to call the aforementioned aunt to see what he was supposed to.do, if anything. But the logical part of his mind soon came back to save him from some downward spiral that resulted in being shut in paranoid old man and told him to stick it out.
Just don't go to sleep.
This wasn't a smart decision, since even the rarely-sick Vaughn knew the lack of sleep was only going to make things worse. In the long run, he valued his sanity more than his health, and while the cold would pass in time, insanity wouldn't. Not that he was going crazy. It was just the fever he could feel as he sat on his couch, the throw in the tossed next to him position until he got the chills again. This was a miserable existence. At least he wasn't asleep, reliving the last part of the dream. That was key.
He lazily pulled the throw back over himself, feeling the beginning of a chill coming on, and mentally calculated when he could take another dose of aspirin again to take care of his fever. What would happen if he took more at 3 and a half hours, 3 hours and 51 minutes? Was there some kind of internal clock that said, uh oh, no way? He checked the clock again. God, he was going to kill Sydney for getting him sick when he got better. Or at least try to.
Vaughn's eyes began to slip closed, unable to resist the urge to get rest and heal, prompted by the thought of being better.
The apparition appeared again.
Vaughn jumped up, pushing himself up onto the back of his couch. For all the years he wished he could see his father again, he never imagined he would be haunted, never imagined that it would ever come true.
"What the - ?" he demanded. The figure of his father simply pointed to the desk, slowly coming into focus. The son's mouth opened wide into a horrified expression, being faced with the charred remains of his once patriarch and now hero standing in front of him, a bony arm pointed at the desk. He sat frozen, unable to pull his eyes away as if it were a train wreck seen on the side of the road. The figure, for he refused to admit this man before him was his father, took a step forward. Clumsily, Vaughn struggled to back up even more, and ended up falling back over the back of the couch.
When he got up, the figure was gone.
He sighed in relief; his eyes momentarily slipping closed as he attempted to grasp some hold on reality. A shaky hand ran down his face, a usually calming subconscious motion that brought nothing to him this time. He slowed his breath, hand resting on his chest. He didn't believe in all this, so why was he so upset, he asked of himself, turning to lean against the tall back of the couch before his legs gave out on him.
"Please read it," the voice said, his whisper floating over Vaughn's shoulder. His eyes snapped open, the apparition inches from his face, hand reaching out for him. He screamed, his mind arguing with itself. This was his father, the man for years he'd wished to reach, to speak to. He had so many questions to ask him, to demand the answers from him. But this - thing before him wasn't his father, was he? With the conflicting views occurring so fast inside his head, he lashed out, pushing everything away from him. All he could see was red, a deep rooted red anger obscuring the world from view.
The apparition could apparently fight back, making Vaughn's self- preservation all the more harder. He didn't even know how he was moving, or what he was doing. He just needed it to get away, to leave him be! The fighting persisted until he heard a crash, and an oof, and realized that ghosts don't make things break. The red haze cleared, his legs giving out beneath him, reducing him to nothing more than a pile leaning against the couch facing the remains of his sideboard and a very bruised best friend.
Silence stretched between them until Weiss spoke, extracting himself from the wood splinters around him.
"Mike?" was asked in a soft, uncertain tone.
"Yeah," he responded, voice horse, soft, raspy. Knees drawn up, his green eyes were focused on a spot just over Weiss' shoulder.
"What the hell was that?" his friend asked, picking himself up. Vaughn's red-rimmed eyes followed the movement, looking up at him like a lost child. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe," his friend said, pulling Vaughn to his feet and wrapping his arm around the taller man's shoulders, "you should get some sleep."
"No," Vaughn protested, pulling himself away from Weiss' help. "I can't sleep."
"C'mon. You have to," Weiss responded.
"No! I can't. I - " he paused, his mouth shutting. His mind was so muddled, so incoherent that he couldn't figure out how to express what he felt, what he knew.
"I what? Seriously, Mike, there's only so much asking I can do. If you don't wanna tell me, fine, I can take that, just - "
"If I sleep, it returns. I need to know the ending," Vaughn interrupted him. His eyes lit up as an idea came to him, and he ran to the table where the journal still sat, untouched, in the middle of his table. He scooped it up and shoved it in his pocket before retrieving his wrinkled suit coat from the ground and donning it.
"Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?" Weiss inquired, holding out a hand as if he could stop him. A bruise was already forming around his right eye, the sickening yellow color coming out in full force as foreshadowing to the later dark purple. Whatever was bothering his friend was strong enough to cause him to lash out so violently that even Weiss was a little nervous around him. While he'd run scenarios through his head while driving over to check up on his friend (he was acting under direct orders from Sydney, who actually considered smuggling herself in the trunk of his government-issue sedan), but being attacked once walking in the door was not one of them. Of course, when he walked in and saw Vaughn just standing there, a look of confusion and horror so strong on his face, Weiss knew something was horribly wrong. And when he started getting wild, erratic punches and kicks thrown at him, he was caught totally off guard.
But if he thought he was getting out of this apartment in his condition, he was sadly mistaken. That's what best friends were for. To protect. But Weiss wondered if he could protect Vaughn from his own demons.
"I have to go. I have to solve this before I loose my mind!" he exclaimed, exasperated. Weiss dwelled on that for a moment, observing his friend's behavior. He wasn't standing, rather, he was leaning on the couch for added support while making it appear as if he were standing on his own.
"All right, all right, dude. If you can make it to the door, go." Vaughn started walking, his hand running along the back of the couch. "Hands in your pockets."
"Weiss - "
"Yep, you can go. Go right ahead. Go. Meanwhile, I'm gonna find some ice to treat this black eye," he almost whistled, heading off to do just that. Vaughn contemplated escape, but was overwhelmed with guilt for what he'd done - no matter how unconsciously that action was - and stopped. He turned as if he were going to make his way into the kitchen to help his friend.
But all Eric heard was the slamming of the door.
"Damn it, Mike!" he cried, running out of the kitchen, ice cubes falling from his makeshift ice pack as he stumbled over the sideboard's remains, hoping he could catch up. He tripped over a piece of wood, but caught himself as he pulled open the door. Rushing to the staircase, he leaned over it to find Vaughn, the man already gone from the building. Sighing a nervous sigh, Weiss turned around and pulled out his cell phone while holding the paper towel wrapped ice up to his eye.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up," he muttered quickly, the words running into each other.
"Are you going to drive me or what?" Vaughn's voice came through as soon as he answered, his caller ID prompting him to disregard the normal telephone greetings. That's what else best friends were for. Helping when help was needed. A smile spread across Eric's face as he took a step over to pull shut the apartment door.
"Where are you?" he asked, starting down the steps, thankful his friend lived on the second floor and not the fifth, or sixth. Then the elevator would be required, since Weiss got enough exercise walking from his car to his desk every day. What more was needed? His eye was throbbing now, telling him the busied had progressed into something questionable. He would have to whip up a cover-story from here to wherever they were going.
At least it had stopped raining.
. .
He was a sniffling mess walking down the dark, sleek hallway in his rumpled suit and perplexed expression. Usually, when someone was heading where he was, they would be stopped, albeit politely, and asked what their business was. With eyes as determined as his, no one approached him, yet they all gave him their attention as he walked past. He was a man on a mission, and could not be swayed even by the man trailing after him who wore such a deep expression of worry it could be surmised that his face would freeze in that position. It appeared unnatural on such a usually boisterous man, supernatural even. For something to worry him so deeply, it must be terrible.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Weiss asked, speeding up to match his friend's pace.
"If I am ever going to sleep again," his friend responded cryptically, continuing on at his hurried pace.
"Yeah, yeah, that's what you keep saying. Really, do you want to know the truth?" he pressed, still matching Vaughn's pace. Unexpectedly, his friend stopped in the middle of the crowded hallway, his eyes on fire.
"Yes, I want to know the truth. There are only so many scenarios I can run through my mind before I loose it, Eric," he said as people swirled around them, oblivious to their little drama occurring inside their workplace.
"You need to sleep. Come back when you've rested," Eric suggested. Vaughn rose his arms in frustration, letting them fall back to his sides with a small vwap.
"Have you not heard a word I've said?" he exclaimed despite a growing crowd of onlookers. "I can't. Not yet. It'll get worse."
"Fine, go on, buddy. But you're on your own," Weiss bit out. He hated himself the moment he said it, for Vaughn's face fell just a fraction, but enough for Eric to understand that his support was important to the sniffling man. Vaughn nodded slowly.
"Take care of that eye," he commented softly, turning on his heels to continue on in their original direction, not even giving Weiss a second glance. Okay, that was the second time in an hour span that his best friend had walked off on him, and while everyone had their share of bad days, this was bordering on ultra bad. Add to that the warm reception he'd received earlier, and Weiss was sure Vaughn wasn't operating normally at all.
Back up, Weiss thought as Sydney made her way through the large, window-lit hallway. He defiantly needed back up of some kind.
"Sydney!" he cried to catch her attention. She smiled as she made her way over to him, her expression shifting as the eye injury came into focus for her.
"What happened?" she inquired, always the worried friend. Just what he was at the moment.
"That's not important right now. I need you help."
"My help?"
"Yeah," Weiss said, "It's Vaughn. He's gone to speak to your mom. And I don't know what he's gonna do."
Part 2b
There was nothing on TV.
For a man who was rarely afraid of anything, especially anything remotely related to the supernatural (it was his Aunt Trish's influence that made him a little cynical when it came to ghosts and such), he certainly wasn't acting like it. He'd already picked up the phone twice, once to call Weiss and check that he wasn't loosing his mind, and the other, to call the aforementioned aunt to see what he was supposed to.do, if anything. But the logical part of his mind soon came back to save him from some downward spiral that resulted in being shut in paranoid old man and told him to stick it out.
Just don't go to sleep.
This wasn't a smart decision, since even the rarely-sick Vaughn knew the lack of sleep was only going to make things worse. In the long run, he valued his sanity more than his health, and while the cold would pass in time, insanity wouldn't. Not that he was going crazy. It was just the fever he could feel as he sat on his couch, the throw in the tossed next to him position until he got the chills again. This was a miserable existence. At least he wasn't asleep, reliving the last part of the dream. That was key.
He lazily pulled the throw back over himself, feeling the beginning of a chill coming on, and mentally calculated when he could take another dose of aspirin again to take care of his fever. What would happen if he took more at 3 and a half hours, 3 hours and 51 minutes? Was there some kind of internal clock that said, uh oh, no way? He checked the clock again. God, he was going to kill Sydney for getting him sick when he got better. Or at least try to.
Vaughn's eyes began to slip closed, unable to resist the urge to get rest and heal, prompted by the thought of being better.
The apparition appeared again.
Vaughn jumped up, pushing himself up onto the back of his couch. For all the years he wished he could see his father again, he never imagined he would be haunted, never imagined that it would ever come true.
"What the - ?" he demanded. The figure of his father simply pointed to the desk, slowly coming into focus. The son's mouth opened wide into a horrified expression, being faced with the charred remains of his once patriarch and now hero standing in front of him, a bony arm pointed at the desk. He sat frozen, unable to pull his eyes away as if it were a train wreck seen on the side of the road. The figure, for he refused to admit this man before him was his father, took a step forward. Clumsily, Vaughn struggled to back up even more, and ended up falling back over the back of the couch.
When he got up, the figure was gone.
He sighed in relief; his eyes momentarily slipping closed as he attempted to grasp some hold on reality. A shaky hand ran down his face, a usually calming subconscious motion that brought nothing to him this time. He slowed his breath, hand resting on his chest. He didn't believe in all this, so why was he so upset, he asked of himself, turning to lean against the tall back of the couch before his legs gave out on him.
"Please read it," the voice said, his whisper floating over Vaughn's shoulder. His eyes snapped open, the apparition inches from his face, hand reaching out for him. He screamed, his mind arguing with itself. This was his father, the man for years he'd wished to reach, to speak to. He had so many questions to ask him, to demand the answers from him. But this - thing before him wasn't his father, was he? With the conflicting views occurring so fast inside his head, he lashed out, pushing everything away from him. All he could see was red, a deep rooted red anger obscuring the world from view.
The apparition could apparently fight back, making Vaughn's self- preservation all the more harder. He didn't even know how he was moving, or what he was doing. He just needed it to get away, to leave him be! The fighting persisted until he heard a crash, and an oof, and realized that ghosts don't make things break. The red haze cleared, his legs giving out beneath him, reducing him to nothing more than a pile leaning against the couch facing the remains of his sideboard and a very bruised best friend.
Silence stretched between them until Weiss spoke, extracting himself from the wood splinters around him.
"Mike?" was asked in a soft, uncertain tone.
"Yeah," he responded, voice horse, soft, raspy. Knees drawn up, his green eyes were focused on a spot just over Weiss' shoulder.
"What the hell was that?" his friend asked, picking himself up. Vaughn's red-rimmed eyes followed the movement, looking up at him like a lost child. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe," his friend said, pulling Vaughn to his feet and wrapping his arm around the taller man's shoulders, "you should get some sleep."
"No," Vaughn protested, pulling himself away from Weiss' help. "I can't sleep."
"C'mon. You have to," Weiss responded.
"No! I can't. I - " he paused, his mouth shutting. His mind was so muddled, so incoherent that he couldn't figure out how to express what he felt, what he knew.
"I what? Seriously, Mike, there's only so much asking I can do. If you don't wanna tell me, fine, I can take that, just - "
"If I sleep, it returns. I need to know the ending," Vaughn interrupted him. His eyes lit up as an idea came to him, and he ran to the table where the journal still sat, untouched, in the middle of his table. He scooped it up and shoved it in his pocket before retrieving his wrinkled suit coat from the ground and donning it.
"Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?" Weiss inquired, holding out a hand as if he could stop him. A bruise was already forming around his right eye, the sickening yellow color coming out in full force as foreshadowing to the later dark purple. Whatever was bothering his friend was strong enough to cause him to lash out so violently that even Weiss was a little nervous around him. While he'd run scenarios through his head while driving over to check up on his friend (he was acting under direct orders from Sydney, who actually considered smuggling herself in the trunk of his government-issue sedan), but being attacked once walking in the door was not one of them. Of course, when he walked in and saw Vaughn just standing there, a look of confusion and horror so strong on his face, Weiss knew something was horribly wrong. And when he started getting wild, erratic punches and kicks thrown at him, he was caught totally off guard.
But if he thought he was getting out of this apartment in his condition, he was sadly mistaken. That's what best friends were for. To protect. But Weiss wondered if he could protect Vaughn from his own demons.
"I have to go. I have to solve this before I loose my mind!" he exclaimed, exasperated. Weiss dwelled on that for a moment, observing his friend's behavior. He wasn't standing, rather, he was leaning on the couch for added support while making it appear as if he were standing on his own.
"All right, all right, dude. If you can make it to the door, go." Vaughn started walking, his hand running along the back of the couch. "Hands in your pockets."
"Weiss - "
"Yep, you can go. Go right ahead. Go. Meanwhile, I'm gonna find some ice to treat this black eye," he almost whistled, heading off to do just that. Vaughn contemplated escape, but was overwhelmed with guilt for what he'd done - no matter how unconsciously that action was - and stopped. He turned as if he were going to make his way into the kitchen to help his friend.
But all Eric heard was the slamming of the door.
"Damn it, Mike!" he cried, running out of the kitchen, ice cubes falling from his makeshift ice pack as he stumbled over the sideboard's remains, hoping he could catch up. He tripped over a piece of wood, but caught himself as he pulled open the door. Rushing to the staircase, he leaned over it to find Vaughn, the man already gone from the building. Sighing a nervous sigh, Weiss turned around and pulled out his cell phone while holding the paper towel wrapped ice up to his eye.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up," he muttered quickly, the words running into each other.
"Are you going to drive me or what?" Vaughn's voice came through as soon as he answered, his caller ID prompting him to disregard the normal telephone greetings. That's what else best friends were for. Helping when help was needed. A smile spread across Eric's face as he took a step over to pull shut the apartment door.
"Where are you?" he asked, starting down the steps, thankful his friend lived on the second floor and not the fifth, or sixth. Then the elevator would be required, since Weiss got enough exercise walking from his car to his desk every day. What more was needed? His eye was throbbing now, telling him the busied had progressed into something questionable. He would have to whip up a cover-story from here to wherever they were going.
At least it had stopped raining.
. .
He was a sniffling mess walking down the dark, sleek hallway in his rumpled suit and perplexed expression. Usually, when someone was heading where he was, they would be stopped, albeit politely, and asked what their business was. With eyes as determined as his, no one approached him, yet they all gave him their attention as he walked past. He was a man on a mission, and could not be swayed even by the man trailing after him who wore such a deep expression of worry it could be surmised that his face would freeze in that position. It appeared unnatural on such a usually boisterous man, supernatural even. For something to worry him so deeply, it must be terrible.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Weiss asked, speeding up to match his friend's pace.
"If I am ever going to sleep again," his friend responded cryptically, continuing on at his hurried pace.
"Yeah, yeah, that's what you keep saying. Really, do you want to know the truth?" he pressed, still matching Vaughn's pace. Unexpectedly, his friend stopped in the middle of the crowded hallway, his eyes on fire.
"Yes, I want to know the truth. There are only so many scenarios I can run through my mind before I loose it, Eric," he said as people swirled around them, oblivious to their little drama occurring inside their workplace.
"You need to sleep. Come back when you've rested," Eric suggested. Vaughn rose his arms in frustration, letting them fall back to his sides with a small vwap.
"Have you not heard a word I've said?" he exclaimed despite a growing crowd of onlookers. "I can't. Not yet. It'll get worse."
"Fine, go on, buddy. But you're on your own," Weiss bit out. He hated himself the moment he said it, for Vaughn's face fell just a fraction, but enough for Eric to understand that his support was important to the sniffling man. Vaughn nodded slowly.
"Take care of that eye," he commented softly, turning on his heels to continue on in their original direction, not even giving Weiss a second glance. Okay, that was the second time in an hour span that his best friend had walked off on him, and while everyone had their share of bad days, this was bordering on ultra bad. Add to that the warm reception he'd received earlier, and Weiss was sure Vaughn wasn't operating normally at all.
Back up, Weiss thought as Sydney made her way through the large, window-lit hallway. He defiantly needed back up of some kind.
"Sydney!" he cried to catch her attention. She smiled as she made her way over to him, her expression shifting as the eye injury came into focus for her.
"What happened?" she inquired, always the worried friend. Just what he was at the moment.
"That's not important right now. I need you help."
"My help?"
"Yeah," Weiss said, "It's Vaughn. He's gone to speak to your mom. And I don't know what he's gonna do."
