Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

"I listened to them fade away till all I
could hear was my memory of the sound."
-Ken Kesey, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

PART III

CHAPTER TEN

The adjustment period, he discovered, was the hardest part. There was a certain bizarre sensation that now burned over his extremities. Not quite scorching, but something more like lacking. Nothingness. Not the absence of pain, nothing quite so simple as that, but rather the absence of all.

Darkness surrounded him, and that made sense, but there was something to it. A thickness, pressing against him, swallowing him up. Pressing against what, he wondered. His body had deserted him, after all. Phantom limb syndrome, perhaps, pressing only again the memory of was.

Ah, yes, he remembered – as all the dead do, of course; you can't very well be dead without having had a life. His mind fixated on being a child and getting strep throat. That feeling he would get – regret – for not appreciating how it felt to be healthy. The memory of lacking pained irritation at every breath. That memory…that was how being newly dead felt. A newfound gratitude for the sensation of living.

But it was all just that: a memory.

Of all the things he could remember, he could not manage to fixate on when, or how, he had died. Something had been following him, and he could recall the fear and the pain and the sound of it all. He remembered the grass and the stupid trees, but nothing more. A heart attack? Surely not. He defined youth and had maintained, even then, good shape, and Tanya had been watching his vitals like a hawk. Perhaps he had passed out and missed the final blow.

Frustration ghosted through him, and then faded.

But that scratching. That sound. It had been inside him, crushed deep into his skull, that sound. It had vibrated and buzzed inside his head, impossible to miss. Maybe that had done it. It had been overwhelming, deafening, to the point where he still wanted to dig his nails into his scalp and pull that…that thing, that sound, out. He itched for it, even now. But being dead meant no more fingers…so much for that.

The scratching had gone, now replaced by a sound somehow more distressing. They still talked to him. He could hear them. Their voices now muffled, smothered by the gap that now separated them. That did strike him as odd, but maybe it was all part of the process. He had never been dead before, after all, so he couldn't exactly label himself an expert on the matter. He wished they would stop. It was disorienting.

His body, he assumed, must now be lying in the infirmary. Where else could it be, after all? Tanya would have to do something about that sooner or later. Things, even his body, precious as it was to him (or had been), would not last forever. A shame, that. Of course, the thing had up and given up on him in the end, so maybe he shouldn't be so attached.

What would happen to it? Would they bury it? It had never been something he had considered before. You never expect to die in your teens, even in spite of all the crazy shit he had been through in his life. A burial…a nice ceremony with his body lowered down, down into the ground, where it would stay forever until time eventually did what time does, erasing him from existence—

No, no thank you. He would rather not.

Though, what was the alternative? He had heard of some humans wanting their bodies rocketed off into space and that would be pretty sweet. As close to having a burial at home as he would get. His mind tickled and turned into something akin to a smile. A little too late to choose your resting spot, bub, he thought. That's up to them, now.

Them. Oh yeah. The team, his brother. He had left them behind, but it hadn't been intentional, not at all. He would go back and change it, if he could. At least for his brother's sake. He had never deserved all this. Something pulled in his chest and he remembered. Sadness, or something like it. The feeling was so close, but just out of reach, just beyond his fingertips. He could graze it and, oh yes, that's right, that pit in your stomach, the sucking in your chest. The memory did little to pull it back, however.

He missed it, that feeling. Well, how about that…

He continued to drift, now ready for it to stop. The constant sway only prolonged his acclimation to the new environment. It was as though he was hanging in mid-air, limbs swinging. A fleeting thought brushed through him – nausea – and then disappeared.

Then, eyes cracked open and he found himself, as he assumed, in the infirmary. Tanya's wide-eyed gaze hovered above him, and his face pulled into a surprised frown at her choked sob.

"Thank Drake, you're awake."

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking down at his hands, then his chest, down down to his feet. That was unexpected. He was still in his body. He flexed a hand, curling the fingers inward and releasing. Still had control.

"Weird."

"Huh?" Tanya's face, etched with worry, peered into his.

"Oh. Nothing." Still could speak, too. He could not pinpoint why that particular aspect surprised him. He had control over the body, of course he could still speak. A hand flitted up to his neck, pressing into the skin, dimpling it. He couldn't feel it. He jerked his hand away. The disconnect overflowed his senses, making him sick…

"How are you feeling?"

He would have laughed at the question, but the feeling – the sarcastic, joking urge – seemed to have gotten lost in transit. Dozens of answers flashed through his mind, feeling weird, feeling empty, feeling pretty dead, but his head refused to let the words pass from his mouth. Instead, he shrugged.

"Y-you've been out for almost two days," she said, turning her back to him. The scritch-scratch of her pen hitting paper was, for a moment, the only sound in the infirmary. Nosedive looked back down at himself.

Two days? Surely decomposition would have set in by now. He pressed his fingertips into various patches of skin along his body. No sensation, true, but he was whole. He dropped his hand away once again. His head began to swirl. He wished Tanya would stop talking.

"Two guys found you in the park. They reco-rec…knew who you were and called us," Tanya said, her eyes focused on the notebook on her desk. "Do you remember that?"

He shook his head. "No," he added, staring at her back. He hadn't remembered seeing anyone. He remembered the breath – that long, shaking breath – and his heart doing a fairly good job of chiseling through his chest. He remembered the pain, yes, and when it all just…stopped. That, he remembered. "No, I didn't see any guys."

There was a pause, then, filled only by the occasional breath and the very shifting of the earth. Tanya turned, slow, and her gaze rose to meet his eyes for the first time since he had awoken. Her eyes had lost the watery glaze, her brow now furrowed. If it had not been for the constant tremor of her hands, she would have looked completely intimidating.

"Listen." Her hands grasped at the teen's shoulders, pulling him forward and lifting his torso from the cot. "I don't know what's happening with you. I'm sorry, I am. You have no idea how much. No one should go through what you did, but you have to…you have to stop." She released him, allowing him to fall back onto the cot.

Nosedive watched her, bemused. Her head had dropped again, hands still shaking with either anger or upset, and he couldn't quite determine which. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "I'm sorry." The words came with surprising ease, as though running on autopilot. "I just…" He shrugged. "I just wanted some fresh air. I had been feeling so…I don't know. Bad." He exhaled a small puff of air, mimicking a laugh. "Doesn't matter now, I guess."

Tanya rubbed her temple, a fresh sheen coating her eyes, visible even beneath her lenses. "I know. But you have to…let us know when you're feeling, you know, that way. Okay? At least for your brother…"

Nosedive shrugged again. "Won't be a problem now."

"Good." She sighed. "Listen, uh, it's late. Early. Whatever. You need your rest, and so do the others. Please, sleep. I'll let, um, everyone else know you're awake and alright in the-the morning."

"I don't need it."

Her frown returned. "You do. At least try."

He readied another protest, but cut it off at her expression. There was no use arguing. Instead, he nodded, shifting down into a sleeping position. He closed his eyes. It would only do to placate her. It was too soon; she couldn't see it yet. He couldn't fault her for that. Apparently satisfied, he listened to the soft, even staccato of Tanya's boots as she exited the infirmary. The light beyond his lids dropped low, and a whoosh acknowledged her exit.

His eyes snapped open and he pushed himself upright. For a while, he stared into the darkness. Tanya didn't want to tell him the bad news, he supposed. Or she was unable, unwilling to see it. Too soon.

It took a moment, but the strain in his eyes dissipated, and objects in the room began to take form. First an outline, then a silhouette, and then, finally, details. He peered down at his hand. Tanya had slipped a small tube into a vein atop his hand, taped firm against the feathers beneath. It was difficult to tell in the near-darkness, but it seemed to be a clear solution coming through the IV. Two days, Tanya had said. She must have attached the IV to make sure he did not go dehydrated. Silly, but considerate.

He, with ease, slipped the IV out of his hand. Tanya had every right to be confused, unadjusted, but that didn't mean he had to be. He frowned. A small bead of red appeared, pooling atop the injection site with a lazy breath. Blood. That made no sense. He was no scientist, but he understood the logistics of what had happened to him.

He sighed, wiping his hand on the front of his shirt, red smeared against white. He swung his legs around the cot, letting them graze the floor. He swayed. Too much movement. His head whirled into a blur. He pushed himself off the bed, ignoring the sudden buckle in his knees and the teeter in his strike as he walked. Everything was much too heavy, pushed down by dead weight.

He staggered, coming to a stop against the wall. He sat. This was stupid. What was he going to do? Pace about all night on legs that were barely his own anymore? How pointless. He pushed out a breath, resting his head against the wall. He stole a glance at his hand; the bleeding had stopped…clotted, whatever. Or maybe that had just been the last of it. He closed his eyes. Against all semblance of actuality, and certainly against his will, he drifted off to sleep.

"He'll be fine," Tanya said. She and Wildwing were waling through the Pond toward the infirmary. Her morning had been filled with constant reassurances and, though it pained her, a sea of "I don't know." What had happened? Was it related to the previous ordeal? Would it happen again? There was simply no answer she could find. Aside from his hand, the boy was fine, physically. As far as something beyond that, there was just no technology for it. Those answers would have to come from Nosedive, and he was standing his ground on the matter, it seemed.

They entered the infirmary and Tanya flicked on the lights, enveloping the room in clarity. She pulled back; the bed was empty, the IV drip strewn atop the covers. "Wha—where?"

"He's here." Wildwing had lifted his brother from the floor into a haphazard standing position, his head lolling against Wildwing's shoulder.

"'m fine," he kept muttering. Wildwing helped him back into the bed as Tanya readied another IV drip. From the general weakness and exhaustion, he was still dehydrated, she told Wildwing. Though she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he had removed the damn thing in the first place.

Tanya laid his hand flat atop the cot and was about to reinsert the needle when his eye cracked open. He jerked away from her. "No."

The two older ducks exchanged glances. "No?" Wildwing repeated. "Why?"

"Don't need it." Sleep slurred his words, but there was an edge to them. Anger, perhaps, or annoyance. "Too late anyway."

The captain's mouth curled down. "No, it's not. Let Tanya put it in, or, by stars, I'll shove it into your hand myself." The words tasted bitter and cruel, but he folded his arms over his chest, never looking away from his brother's glassy, half-lidded stare.

"Fine. Stay in denial." He uncurled his arm and laid his hand back, allowing Tanya to attach the IV. Eyes closed, then opened, suddenly, in protest, but finally closed again.

"What's wrong with him?" Wildwing asked after a beat. "I mean, okay, I know all the basics, but this?" He gestured to the teen on the bed. "He's never been like this before. Even after…what happened…he was still mostly himself."

"I…I don't know." Those words again. A useless term. It was beyond her. Having known the boy for the time that she had, she agreed with Wildwing. He had never acted like that before, but then, he had never done so much as brush against the experience that he had, either. Even so…

"Listen," she added, voice dropping a notch. "I…I didn't want to say anything, you know, before. But I've been watching him, keeping tabs and all. I think there might be something, uh, seriously wrong—"

"Stop." Wildwing's eyes had narrowed and Tanya took an instinctive step back. "Of course there's something wrong. He, God, he almost died. And who knows what he went through with Dragaunus? You have no idea—"

"No, and neither do you. Because he hasn't said anything."

"He…" He rubbed a hand against his face. "He doesn't remember."

"Maybe that's the simple answer. Have you asked?"

"Yes." It was true, after all. He had. After Nosedive had finally awoken and begun his rehab, he had asked his brother to tell him what happened, near pleaded, to tell him what he remembered, if there was anything Dragaunus had done that Tanya needed to know. Nosedive had shaken his head and mumbled something about "don't remember."

And that had been that. His brother would tell him if there was anything to know, he always did. Why wouldn't he now?

"Wildwing, I'm sorry." Tanya's voice had softened, and she placed a hand onto her captain's shoulder. "I didn't mean, uh, anything by that. I'm just…just worried."

"I know. Thanks, Tanya." He turned to leave, then added, softly, "I don't really want to know, you know." He left, shoulders hung, as they had been for months. Tanya hated seeing him like that. As emotional of a toll as the countless ordeals had taken on Nosedive, Wildwing seemed to be taking it even harder. He was blinded, by the desire for vengeance, by exhaustion, by the very fact that he couldn't solve whatever the hell was happening.

Tanya sat and opened her notebook. She had taken detailed notes from the men that had brought Nosedive in. Good guys. The two of them had called the ambulance, then the cops, who had patched them through to the team. After verifying the lack of injury, Tanya had insisted that they bring Nosedive to the Pond. The two men had been kind enough to ride along and give her a report on what they had seen happen.

He just collapsed, they said, in the park. They had seen him. After all, an alien duck walking alone did tend to catch the eye. He had freaked, as they put it. Nosedive had been walking along the path and just stopped, jerking around as though someone was following him. Then he had started to run, but from what, they never saw. He had been completely alone. At his shouts, they had started walking toward him. Then he just…collapsed, hands at his head, a blur of scratching and rubbing and screaming. He was unconscious by the time they reached him, drenched in sweat and dirt.

Tanya swallowed, eyes closing. Something had happened, all those months ago, and she still could not figure out what it had been.

"I don't really want to know," Wildwing had said. She had been so frustrated with him these past months, she had to admit. No matter the amount of love or suffering he displayed, his refusal to talk, really talk, to his brother had been eating at Tanya. At his words, she could have slapped herself. Of course he didn't. She, she realized, didn't either. She had not pressed Nosedive on the matter for the same reason. None of them actually wanted to hear the details of what had happened. No objectivity in situations like that. Just heartache and anger. The problem with being both a team and a family.

Ultimately, they were out of options. Someone would have to get the details. They were watching him deteriorate before their very eyes, piece by piece. Their own selfishness – and that was what it was…what else could you call avoiding a difficult conversation because it might make them upset – would have to be shelved.

"Tanya."

She startled, jerking her head back toward the cot. Nosedive's eyes were open, just barely, and she whipped her chair around to look at him. "Hey. Any, uhh, pain? What do you need?"

"Mm, no. No pain. No nothing." The words seemed to fall from his mouth with a lazy discourse. "Listen. I know what happened."

"Y-you do?"

He nodded, a somber up and down of his head. "I know you guys don't like to hear it…"

"No, no, it's fine."

"You're smart. I mean, you know what's going on, right?"

"I…I don't think I do." She had stood, peering down at the boy as he spoke.

"I died out there. I felt it. I don't know what did it, but there was something…here." He lifted his hand, brushing the fingertips against his skull. "Painful as hell. Not anymore, obviously."

"Something…"

"Mm." He nodded. His eyes had closed again and the silence and labor of his breath told Tanya he had fallen asleep once again. For the best. Exasperation bubbled up, and she signed. She ran a hand through her hair, then dropped it down to mimic the gesture to the teen's. Brushing blond hair to the side, she dipped her thumb to his temple, to the spot where he had gestured, and pressed. The touch had been delicate, an afterthought hinged on comfort, yet…he jerked, a spastic turn of his head, eyes crinkling, and a downturn of his mouth.

Tanya removed her hand, inspecting the digit as though her very touch had pierced him. As he relaxed, she pressed a finger against the opposite temple and mimicked the touch. Nothing. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid or a change in breathing.

Flitting back to her notebook, she scribbled a note to herself: contact Dr. Huggarman re: MRI.

Mind racing, she tapped the pen against the page. She could compare the new MRI to the ones she had taken all those months ago, see if there was a change. Huggarman had been kind enough to loan her his MRI – well, his version of an MRI; he never could be simplistic on anything, but it did what it needed to do – to check Nosedive's original injuries. Aside from some minuscule swelling on the brain, that resolved itself after a few days, there had been nothing. But that pain…that was new, unless he had concealed it the entire time. That was certainly a plausible solution. She ceased her tapping, the page now splotched with dark ink. Beneath her note, she added, ask Nosedive. After some hesitation, she scribbled it out. If he hadn't told her by now, it was unlikely he ever would.

For the first time since his brother had been found, Wildwing felt a flush of relief at the sound of Drake One. Nosedive had been released from the infirmary that morning after another day of observation. Aside from replying to questions, he had been silent, which was somehow even more discomforting than any of his physical injuries.

There was something so eerie about seeing his baby brother – a kid who had always been full of life, energy, and ambition – confined of a new life of…nothing. And, scarier still, at was at his own motivation. No matter the encouragement or prodding, he elected to either lie in his room or sit on the couch, looking at the TV without really watching.

It was as though there was an entirely new presence alongside them. Borderline robotic, in familiar skin. The five older ducks marveled from afar at the prone figure on the couch, none yet brave enough to initiate conversation. What was there to say? "Hey, buddy, how's it going? Enjoying the show? Good, good. Want something to eat? Well, you need to." It had not taken long to become predictable. Static responses, generally one syllable, and when they could coax a full sentence from him, the tone could choke you into submission, one letter at a time.

At the sound of Drake One's alarm, Wildwing could feel the tension zapped from his teammates as well, and it did relieve him of his guilt, at least a touch. As the others near sprinted out of the room to check on the alert, Wildwing sat alongside his brother. He stole a quick glance at the screen – House Hunters, Dive, really? – and cleared his throat.

"That's probably Dragaunus," he said, cringing at how clumsy he sounded. "Will you be all right if we check it out?"

"Yeah."

"One of us could stay here, if you need—"

"I'm fine." How a voice so low and monotonous could invoke such nervousness in him, Wildwing would never know. Just being around the kid was making him anxious, and he hated himself for it.

Snap out of it, asshole, he chastised himself. You're the leader and his brother. Who gives a shit how you feel when he's sitting there like that? The internal speech pushed the anxious to the background, and he reached forward and snapped up the remote, turning the television off. "Dive."

"Yeah?" He continued to stare at the screen, now nothing more than their reflections and a fine coating of dust.

"Listen, you've got to talk to me. This…this isn't…" Normal? Right? You? The sentence trailed off; there were too many options, yet none seemed to fit. "You're not acting right."

Nosedive shrugged, and it took all of Wildwing's willpower to keep his hand in his lap instead of rubbing at the migraine building in his temples. "Hey. Look at me." With lazy resolve, Nosedive turned his head to look his brother in the eye. "Thank you. I know you told me you don't remember what happened, and I believed you. I do believe you. But I think…I think you do remember something. Even if it's recent, you gotta…you gotta let us—me know. You can't—"

"Wildwing." Mallory popped her head into the room. "Massive energy across town. We gotta go."

"Okay." He stood, feeling minor joy as Nosedive's eyes followed him. Small victories, he decided, were going to have to be his focus. "When I get back, we're talking. You're talking, okay?"

Nosedive seemed to consider this. Finally, he nodded. "Okay."

"Thanks, Dive. If you need anything, you've got the comm. Don't…don't go anywhere."

"Okay."

He stood, following Mallory. He paused near the doorway, wondering if he should turn the television back on. No, he decided; if Dive really wanted it on, he could turn it on himself.

"The kid going to be all right?" Duke asked, as they buckled up in the Migrator.

"Yeah," Wildwing replied, donning the mask. He hoped the conversation about his brother would end there. He couldn't risk any distractions while facing the Saurians. His desire to apprehend them had bubbled into something more, and he could feel it making him reckless. Desperate. He did not wear that color well, and he knew it. But he just couldn't shake it away.

Taking their cue from their leader, the other ducks readied themselves. "It's gonna be a couple miles up the highway, on the left," Tanya said. "It's weird, but it looks like they're at Miller's Advanced Materials." She frowned. "It's a research lab," she added at the sea of blank stares. "Engineering, mostly. Metal, uh, stuff like that.

"Not that weird," Mallory said. "They've stolen equipment lots of times before. You know they break the hell out of their ship on a daily basis."

"I guess, but this place is a small, local lab. They don't have that, uh, that much. They like to focus more on the micro engineering. Dunno what the lizards would do with that. Unless Dragaunus just got a pacemaker installed."

"Well, we'll just have to find out."

The Migrator screeched to a halt outside a small building. Tan, simple, nothing beyond ordinary…so unlike the Saurians' typical choice break-in location. They did tend to go for the dramatic: massive warehouses, missile launch sites. And yet, here they were, in front of what looked like an abandoned doctor's office. If it hadn't been for the sign out from bearing the name, they would have assumed it had been a GPS malfunction.

The team exited the Migrator, eying the building. In the mid-morning light, it proved difficult to tell whether there was anyone inside. Aside from their vehicle, the parking lot stood empty. "Duke, can you unlock the door?" Wildwing nodded toward the front entrance.

Duke flicked an eyebrow and grinned. With two clicks and a turn, the door swung open, and the ducks crept into the building, weapons at the ready. "Been here before?" Duke asked, voice low, casting a glance at Tanya.

"No. I've met Dr. Miller before at 'Lectric Land. Nice guy, just a little, uh, eccentric. Brilliant at microtechnology, though."

"Any breakthroughs worth stealing?" Mallory asked.

"Not-not that I've heard of."

They froze at a sudden bang from down the hallway, followed by a smattering of muffled words. With a signal of a hand, Wildwing led his team toward the sounds. Their footsteps slowed as they heard the voices, much clearer, coming from a room at the end of the hall, on the right.

"—say to get?"

"That, right there."

"Okay, got it."

Siege and Wraith. Easily identifiable. Something creaked, and a metallic clang rang out. A voice snapped, chastising the other in a series of expletives and hisses. "Don't drop it, fool."

"Right, right, I won't. I got it."

The five ducks huddled around the door, Wildwing placing his hand on the door handle. They burst into the room, weapons held high, causing Siege to nearly lose his grip on the microscope in his hands once again. They spilled into the lab, feet thumping on the metal floor.

"Well, look who showed up," he said, baring a row of sharp white fangs in what could only be assumed was a smile. "What a surprise."

"Drop it, Siege." Wildwing's gauntlet targeted the orange Saurian, steady.

"Looks like you're one duck short." He barked a laugh. "What happened there?"

"I think you know better than anyone. I won't say it again. Drop. It."

"Not a possibility, I'm afraid," Wraith replied, his smile matching Siege's. "Lord Dragaunus would be quite dissatisfied. Besides, I believe you should be home, tending to the little one. Tell me, how is he?" Wildwing winced, despite himself. His aim hovered to the warlock, mind itching with desire. "Lord Dragaunus will be pleased to know he's still…out of commission," Wraith added with a smile.

Wildwing shot. Wraith clattered to the floor, clutching a shoulder. With a quick glance at his comrade, then at the rapidly approaching ducks, Wraith clutched at the teleporter on his wrist and disappeared, Siege in tow.

"Dammit!" Wildwing jerked around to Tanya, wild-eyed even beneath the mask. "They did something. I don't know what, but they did."

"Wildwing—"

"No, you heard them. They-they know he's still messed up. Find out what they did."

"I-I've tried…"

"Not hard enough!" With an exasperated grunt, he turned and kicked a stool, sending it clattering to the floor. "I'm sorry. Shit." Walking to the opposite end of the room, where Wraith had fallen, he gestured to the empty space that now adorned the countertop. "We gotta figure out what it was he took. I mean, why that microscope? Why not all this other stuff?"

Tanya nodded. She noted how well stocked the lab was: welding supplies galore, superconducting magnets, and a refrigerator full of various chemicals. Anything in the room could potentially benefit Dragaunus, and yet…just the microscope. "I'll get in touch with Dr. Miller as soon as possible. He'll have to know about the break in, anyway."

Wildwing sighed, placing his hands atop his head. Reckless, reckless. He should have anticipated something like that. No, he had anticipated something like that. The taunting, it had been so expected. And yet, to actually hear it…it had blinded him, reached into his brain and flipped the switch.

With a forlorn glance at his team, he composed himself. "Right, okay. Tanya, find out what that was they took. I'll contact Klegghorn and let him know about the break-in." The four ducks before him nodded, but remained silent. Those looks: pity. The team captain in him could have been trampled by those looks. "Listen, I'm sorry. This thing...with my brother. I'm trying to..." The words ran dry, and he held his hands out before him.

"It is understandable," Grin said, breaking the thick silence. "I think we all can admit we feel the same."

At the sea of nods, Wildwing managed a smile of relief. The captain's blood in him began to churn once again. "Thanks. Okay, let's get on it. The sooner we figure out what that thing does, the closer we'll be to figuring out what the hell they're planning. If it's getting that specific, it can't be far from completion."

In a wave of recounts, paperwork, and questions, Klegghorn acquired the break-in case. "That's all they took?" He gestured with a pen toward the empty space on the counter. His fingers were stained pink; they must have interrupted his breakfast…or one of his countless snack breaks.

"That's it." Wildwing felt the crushing weight of uselessness upon him. There was so little to tell, and the rest he did not know. He gave Klegghorn an apologetic shrug.

"All right. I'll deal with the, well, human part of this for now. I'll call this—" He flipped his notebook a few pages back with a flick of his thumb. "—Francis Miller and let him know what happened to his lab."

"Could you also have him contact us when you're done? We need to find out what that microscope does. It's got to be significant."

"Obviously." He cracked a smirk, flipping the notebook shut and shoving it into his pocket. "Yeah, I'll let him know to call you."

The lack of resistance took Wildwing aback for a moment. Not long ago were the days where such a request would have ended in an hour-long argument between them. Not anymore, though. The abduction had caused a shift in the man. He had dedicated more time than anyone, Wildwing notwithstanding, to searching for Nosedive. Apparently the man was capable of more emotion than they had realized. Who'd have thought?

Nosedive was still sitting on the couch when they returned, though, to Wildwing's relief, he had cut the television back on. He had not yet found the urge to change the channel, but Wildwing still mentally added a tally to his small-victories list. He looked back at his team and gave a quick jerk of his head toward the door. "Uh, right," Tanya said, "I'm gonna go check Drake One, keep an eye out for any other energy surges." As the others stumbled over their thinly-veiled excuses and exited the room, Wildwing took a seat beside his brother.

"Hey, Dive, how's it going?" Nosedive shrugged, so Wildwing pressed on. "What's that mean?"

"Fine, I guess."

"You remember what I said before we left?" Another shrug, and Wildwing felt a prickle of annoyance in the back of his mind. He batted it away. "You need to talk. Tell me what happened. At least what you remember." He paused, studying his brother's face. He never turned from the television, but at Wildwing's words, his expression changed, so slightly, mouth cringing, eyebrows crinkling. "You remember, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Why...why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because I just...didn't want to."

"Can you tell me now?"

With a heaving breath, he dove into the story. The pieces he could recall, jumbled as they were. He barely seemed to take air, just pushed the words into existence in a long, monotonous sentence. The buzzer, the beatings, and the total lack of questions. The only time his expression changed – eyebrows curling in confusion – was during the latter. "They just…didn't seem to want anything, you know, like it was just some weird game, and I guess it could've been, who knows." He closed his mouth and sank into the silence.

Wildwing attempted a response of sorts, but the story had snapped the link between his brain and mouth. He turned his head and peered at the floor. The anger that had taken charge in his gut at the beginning had been completely trampled by guilt. And atop that guilt was another layer of guilt, though a different flavor. His feelings of regret were completely self-motivated – what hadn't he done, why had he messed up – and it felt so damn selfish that he felt guilty for feeling guilty. What a double-edged fucking sword.

"It worked, you know?"

Wildwing jerked his head back toward his brother. "Huh?"

"I can't…I don't know. It's all gone."

"What is?"

"Everything. Me."

"I…uh…anything else I need to know?"

"I was seeing things before. Hearing things."

"What kind of things?"

"Something…" A hand flew to his head, massaging the temple. He winced at the touch. "It was trying to make me crazy, trying to kill me. I tried not to let it, but it did."

Wildwing shook his head. Surely the movement would make the words suddenly make sense. "It did?"

"Yeah." Nosedive shrugged. What can you do, you know? it seemed to say. A damn good question. It all sounded so simple the way Nosedive told it, a tale as old as time, but nothing about it made sense.

Wildwing stood. "Um, okay. I don't…I'm gonna go get Tanya."

"Okay." Wildwing barely recognized the word as he walked, quick-striding, toward Drake One.

He had been wrong. Jesus, and how. Admittedly, he was a bit closed off to the notion, it was his brother, after all, and that alone was a touchy subject. But it was more than that. It created a path, from incident to something wrong to…change. A possibly irreversible change, and he couldn't handle that. The change had been there, too, all these months, peeking through, and now…it had finally shown its face, ugly and terrifying.

It couldn't go ignored anymore, not by him, not by anyone. Not if there was any chance on wiping that face away and dragging the old one back, kicking and screaming if he had to.

"Tanya." He found the blond sitting in front of the Drake One screen, as she had been since returning from the laboratory. He was about to continue, when he was cut off by her words.

"Wildwing! Good, I was about to come find you. Dr. Miller just contacted me. He says he might be able to help us."

To be continued…