"Want to sit with us? I mean, it's cold out here..." Jake's sentence died away, uncomfortable intruding on Lucas' silence.
"No, I 'm okay." The blond Scott, still leaning wearily against his sheltering tree-you'd think he'd run as far and fast as he could from that campsite. Now, free at last, he couldn't seem to get his legs working. The damp cold seeped through the shredded jeans, disguising the cold sheen of sweat frosting his cheeks.
"Well, Nate and I'd feel- " Jake shuffled awkwardly, hands bunched in the pockets of his jacket, " Better if you came next to the fire. You don't have to go by Dan."
"We need to start back." The gaze Luke tendered him was cold, detached. "He's going to need a doctor."
"Well, he seems alright for now." Jake gestured with his chin, the burly form of Dan Scott, blanket swathed, berating Nate about his fire construction.
What had changed?
"Thanks for everything, but I need to be alone."
Recognizing the need sparkling in his friends eyes, Jaglieski back stepped. "Okay. Okay, Luke. Whatever you want, it's okay with me."
Watching from afar. Lucas rested his chin on tightly pressed knees, fingers circling his arms so hard it hurt.
The moon had risen, milkily opaque. He traced it's steady progress into the heavens, aware of a thousand sounds he might never have noticed before this trip.
Asleep. The kid was finally asleep, though how it could be restful, Dan would like to know. He sat up, practically singeing his blankets in an effort to keep the chill out. Nathan and Jake lie sprawled close to the live heat, almost entangled. Dan chuckled at the expression he'd heard somewhere, "a picture is worth a thousand words."
Thousand words. The medicine must be causing him to...somehow, unbidden memories kept resurfacing. Observations. Like, he probably hadn't even spoken a thousand words to Lucas. His son.
He's not my son!
I think he's the best I ever had.
Right. Shut up, let the drugs wear off.
A muffled sound made Dan's weary eyelids flick open. Luke, sighing as he slept. The kid had half-slid into a heap of arms and legs and light hair tufting against the night shadows.
Looked pretty beat up. Figures, couldn't even take care of himself for a few days in the woods.
My fault. I never bothered to teach him. I never bothered to teach him anything. He can't help what Karen's been pounding into him since he was just an impressionable kid...
Another disturbing flashback. Dan reached out, as if to force it back, wipe the vision spread before him into so much fog.
A five-year-old Lucas Scott, trudging down the sidewalk, eyes so large and blue you found yourself staring into them. But when you did, those weren't the eyes of a little kid.
He'd been shopping when Luke had crossed the street in front of him. They stood alongside one another, practically touching, waiting for the light to change. Lucas was the first person off the curb, almost before it was safe. Dan had reached out a hand to stop him, then realized who it was. And his fingers froze in mid air, unable to tell this child to wait. He couldn't even find the words.
It had seemed the case for every day thereafter. Lucas Scott, plunging ahead, sturdy and fiercely loyal, protecting his mother, independent and alone. Alone.
Dan rose cautiously, each step carefully placed.
The lithe, tanned body, smudged and dirty, wrapped about in torn clothing that couldn't even attempt to block the damp chill.
Though asleep, the face was not the face of slumber but wary and tense. A ragged red line decorated Luke's cheek, the pale blue and dark purple of faded bruises. Dan caught his breath, feeling a surge of something.
This isn't Nathan. This isn't your son!
Lucas twisted, sighing, one hand flung outward. Frost glittered against the moonlight, caught in light hair.
He looked sick.
Why hadn't those boys gotten him a blanket, something to wear? Dan angrily unwound a heavy covering from his broad shoulders. The pain made him hesitate. He'd have to go slower. And this was just the medication!
Well, to heck with it. He'd better move before it wore off. Before he became who he was...again.
Tucking it clumsily about the still form, touching cold skin. He'd never touched him. The thought made Dan weak. God, he'd never touched his own son. It wasn't as if he didn't see him ...on a million different occasions. Thousands of wasted opportunities. His grip on the blanket was shaky.
Take a deep breath.
Lucas, confused expression, sleep marred eyesight.
"What-" when he wiped the hand across his eyes, the nightmare would be gone. But, there must be something wrong with him. It hadn't felt like a nightmare.
He took the hand away.
Must have been. There was no one there.