Author's Note: Do I address the six-year hiatus or just pretend it's totally normal and didn't happen? I'll go with the latter! (seriously, though, thank you to everyone who reviewed during this time - I never forgot, just lacked the motivation what with...life and kids and stuff) But, here we go; back to it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

"You don't just concede defeat in these circumstances.
You take every second you can find and use it to
pray for another few seconds. Hope is a cruel bitch."
-Ryan C. Thomas, The Summer I Died

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"What?" Wildwing's mind buzzed, too many thoughts fluttering through at once. The platelets in his mind grinded, a deafening sound that felt like a permanent rumble, now, aftershock to aftershock, ground zero lodged firmly in that day all those months ago.

"Dr. Miller said he could, uh…help us."

Help. A laugh bubbled up in his throat, nearly choking him. It tasted bitter, but not quite sour enough to be sarcastic. No, just a hum of bitterness, lackadaisical and exhausted. Help, huh? What a beautiful, foreign concept. The letters floated up in his mind. He could barely decipher the meaning. "Huh."

It was not the response she had expected, if the turn-down of her mouth was not enough of an indicator. Not quite a word, certainly not a hopeful one. One syllable, nearly just an exhale, but he knew how it sounded. There is no help.

I'm giving up.

Shame wrapped its cold fingers around his gut, and he tried again. "Help? How?"

Her face brightened a touch, and she continued. "Dr. Miller, he, uh, I got in contact with him. He should be here soon." She punctuated the thought with a nod, a glint of a smile passing over her eyes. It should have brought comfort, and he knew it, but he had to drop his gaze.

"What…?" He closed his eyes, pinching at the delicate space between them. Irritation, now front and center, pummeled that feeling of shame and kicked its ass right out. Everything around him seemed to buzz with an aura, pushing him from extreme to extreme. There was no range to him anymore, no zero to one hundred scale, just zero or one hundred, nothing or everything. As if he was not feeling fucked up as a leader as it were. Throw in surging emotions with a dash of overreaction and just a tad of hopelessness. Ah, yes, the perfect recipe for a team captain. Delicious, if not a bit rich.

He pulled his hand from his face, swallowing a hard gulp of breath. "Help how?" he asked again. Steady voice, firm in its inflections but kind. Good. He had not lost it completely, not yet.

Her jaw rippled, but her smile remained firm. "Um. I don't really know the specifics. He did seem pretty sure why they would want the…the microscope."

"Okay." Wildwing's hand itched to scramble up to his face again, to relieve the sudden throb in his head by attending to some pressure points. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest. She peered at him, silent. He responded in kind, but had to drop his gaze away after a beat. She wanted something (yeah, appreciation, you dick), but he couldn't summon it, even as a charade.

"So," she continued, apparently more affected by the silence than he (I win, he thought, and nearly flinched at the bite of his subconscious), "I think he might be able to help on that-on that end. I mentioned Nosedive to him, too. A little," she added, eyes flickering away for a moment, swift. "He…he seemed intrigued. Maybe he can help on that, uh, on that end, too."

Wildwing expelled a breath. That word, again; it was exhausting - the word, the very notion. After all, what did this Dr. Miller mean by "help"? The current case? Well, of course; it had been his laboratory, after all. Did he mean something beyond that? He was a scientist, and a damn good one, according to Tanya. She had mentioned some eccentricities, but, hell, being a scientist almost guaranteed that personality trait, didn't it? He filtered through the thoughts, assembling them into a word: "How?"

"I'm not sure." Tanya's face scrunched, as though her mouth was soured by the words. "He seemed certain on why-uh-why they would want it. Like it had a sp-specific use."

"All right." Wildwing refused to work himself up over the doctor's visit; it sounded as though the level of help fell more onto Dr. Miller's side than his brother's. His mind tingled as he attempted to push objectivity and leadership to the front line. It seemed an impossible task. Oh, it was so simple to think - it's not all about you or Nosedive; the earth itself could potentially be in danger; think of the billions of those affected - but there was reality to consider. His reality. Yes, there were those potential billions that could be affected, but there was only one he gave a damn about.

It was this cognitive conflict that kept him up at night. Yes, there were scrambling of other worries, but those had dulled down into a white noise. The greater good, if he could even stomach the phrase, now that sent his brain a-flutter, and from the brain to the stomach to the heart. Too many organs that throbbed as he lay in bed. No wonder he could not sleep.

"What'd you want to tell me?"

"Oh, right." He had very nearly forgotten. Jesus, where to begin? As every word had left his brother's mouth, his entire worldview had begun to grow hazy. All of it, minus one thing, which was starting to clear, in spite of the many, many attempts to toss it to the background, hidden from view. It was a thought that had sprung up at random intervals, but it had never quite disappeared. It had been breathing on his neck more often, lately, and he hated himself for even considering it. Nosedive might not get better. This might just be…it. His life now.

He mentally slapped himself, and continued. "Nosedive…he…" He paused, unsure how to continue. "I don't even know how to phrase it. I finally got him to talk, to open up, you know, and…I knew it had been bad. We all saw him, so there was no question about that, but hearing him tell it. God. And the way he told it, like it was no big thing."

"Maybe he's just coming to terms with it."

He shook his head. "It's not like that. There's…" He waved a hand over his face, up and then down. "…nothing there. Plus, there's something else." She raised her shoulders in question. "He said he was…seeing things. Hearing things. That something was trying to drive him crazy, and that it had. What…what does that possibly mean?"

Her brow furrowed in thought and she brought a hand up to her chin. "I-I have no idea. That's…bizarre. He never had…not before anyway. Not that I saw or that he…that he ever mentioned."

"But he wouldn't have mentioned it, would he? Shit, he had to be in that weird, zombie state just to tell me now and it sounded like it had been going on for a while. Why wouldn't he…?" He cut himself off, letting the rest of the question burn a hole into his tongue.

Tanya's gaze softened, and she patted him on the shoulder. "He just didn't want to worry you more than he had."

"Who cares about that? I'd rather be worried and know what the hell is going on with my brother." Tanya did not reply, but the pinched look on her face said enough.

Guilt unfolded in his gut once again, like a flower's blooming petals opening wide, pressing sourly against his stomach. He could not help it. He missed the normalcy. Yes, Normal did tend to mean something a bit different for them. But there had been consistency to it. Before - and what a shitty word, "before", a blood relative of "what if" only with less imagination - he had had a one track mind. Defeat Dragaunus, get home.

Sidetracks and rabbit holes had interfered since their arrival, yes, but the overall mission had remained set, until...

Until.

His brain stopped there, as it always did. That one word, a sound nothing more than the roll of a tongue, thick at the end, was enough. It was almost accusing, a how could you, how could you let something like this happen, how could you make things so awful? And none of those questions were directed toward himself. It was so easy-too easy-to blame Nosedive. It was borderline therapeutic. At least until the crushing guilt would fall onto his chest like an anvil. He knew there was no blame...not on their end. But those moments when he could look at Nosedive and think of something, anything, besides a strange sense of mourning...why, there was calm there. Or, perhaps, that pain had become so normal that anything but felt almost serene.

Something prickled behind his eyes. Again, he thought, this was why he could not sleep. Perhaps he didn't deserve to.

Tanya, sensing the internal blame game, shot Wildwing a look that brought him out of his thoughts. For half a second, he was nearly convinced that she was psychic. "So," she said, "about Dr. Miller...I instructed him to meet at the entrance of the arena. And-and I wanted to talk with him just a little bit about the microscope before I brought up Nosedive. Or..." She stole a glance at Wildwing with a gaze that he could not read. Strangely firm as though attempting to see past his eyes, into the very depths of his emotions. good luck, he thought. Like those could ever be pulled up. "Would you rather I didn't?"

He knew why she asked. No one knew, besides them, and perhaps those strange humans that Nosedive was friends with, about what exactly had happened. Although, it seemed more and more clear that perhaps even they did not. Even so, Wildwing could not deny that the very idea of letting someone else in was a bit difficult. But it was less about someone seeing his brother at his lowest, and more about reality. Having to face it. Someone else, a doctor especially...they would have their opinions, perhaps accurate opinions. Not that he did not trust Tanya's diagnosis and intelligence. It was not about that. An outsider's eye telling him that it was unfixable. He was not ready for that. It would make it all far too real.

He keened inwardly. So selfish. "No. I mean, I think you should. If there's a chance he can offer some insight, advice...yeah, I think it'd be for the best to talk with him about it. All of it."

She nodded. "All right. Listen, Wildwing, I know how hard this has...has been for you. It's been...a lot. Too much. If you ever...uh...need anything-"

He smiled, and felt a swell of relief at how naturally it had come. As low as he had been - constant worry for Nosedive, a never ending pity party for himself - he had not lost himself completely. Positivity still lived there; it had just become quite the heavy sleeper. "I know. Thanks. For that and for bearing with me."

"Anytime, Wildwing." She smiled. "He's family, now. Any of us would do the same."

"Thanks so much for coming so quickly, Dr. Miller," Tanya said, extending a hand in greeting. The man smiled, returning the handshake; it was firm, confident. "I'm so sorry for bothering you like this, when you've got so much else going on-"

"Don't be silly." He flitted his hand, shooing away her worry. Tanya smiled. There were so many things she wanted to say, but they had all been quelled by the three words and a shake of the hand. She already liked the man.

He knelt down, craning his head as he looked at the boy. Nosedive stayed still, not so much as even a glance at the strange man before him. She would have thought him asleep if she couldn't see the white sheen of his eyes. "Hi." Dr. Miller had what could be referred to as a "counselor voice". Calm, each word practically urging you to lie down and sleep. Unconditional positive regard within every statement. Tanya figured the man could cuss her out and damn her to hell and she would still feel the urge to hug him in appreciation.

She looked on in interest as he spoke to the teen, voice low, too low for her to hear the specific words, but the tone was soothing.

"What's he saying?" Wildwing asked.

"Not sure. He hasn't responded yet though."

"Yeah. And watch: he won't."

She was about to shoot him a dagger or two when Dr. Miller said her name. She walked to where he knelt, bending her knees to crouch down beside him. "Where did you say it was? The pain?"

"What pain?"

Tanya ignored her captain, lifting her hand to gesture at the left side of Nosedive's head, about where the skull curved to the back. "Here," she said. She was about to inquire further when the doctor's hand shot out and pressed firm digits against Nosedive's head, right beside where Tanya's finger had gestured.

Nosedive gasped, uttering his first sound in hours. Eyes ablaze, he jerked away, nearly spilling off of the couch.

Wildwing had the doctor's arm in his grip before he knew it, had pulled the man up to yell into his face: "What the hell was that?" His grip tightened unconsciously, fingertips marring the dark skin.

"Fascinating."

"What is? Why'd you do that?"

"I wanted to see," he said, still peering at the teen. Nosedive was panting, hand clutched against his skull, but much more alert. "Tanya mentioned localized sensitivity. I had to see just how sensitive she meant."

"Had to?"

Dr. Miller didn't respond, simply kept murmuring, "Fascinating...nothing like it," eyes glassy, faraway. Pulling from Wildwing's grip, Dr. Miller stooped back beside the teen, ignoring Wildwing's barks of protest. "Nosedive," he said, and, my, what a calming tune the word was. Even Nosedive seemed to still, a hand dropping from his skull. "What did it feel like?" The man's eyes, a stark contrast to the low, sturdy voice, brimmed with excitement. The brown orbs seemed to have a life of their own.

Wildwing took a step toward the doctor, but found himself halted at the rise of his hand. The gesture, minute as it was - it had not even been accompanied by a look or word - had held command.

"What did it feel like?" He asked again, setting the lifted hand to Nosedive's shoulder. After a beat, Wildwing readied himself to get between the pair, a script prepared: "he won't say anything." but then, as though sensing his thoughts, wanting to prove him wrong, there is a response.

"Hurts."

Wildwing nearly dropped to the floor at the voice, so foreign yet so decisively familiar. He had been half convinced that he would never hear his brother's voice again; at least not in the realm of new pristine vocabulary.

"How so?"

"Like...something stabbing...sharp...I don't know."

Nosedive cracked his eyes, casting a glance at his brother before settling his half-lidded eyes at the doctor. Even that moment of eye contact, brief as it was, spoke volumes. Wildwing pushed away the twinge of a smile that pressed against the muscles in his jaw. It was not the time - so few answers, too many questions, and he did not want this man thinking he was in charge - but he had seen it: a glint of familiarity. About three tons of pressure fell away, enough that even that all-too-familiar feeling of guilt was squashed - not fully, but enough to provide some relief.

Though...he tried to shoo the thought away, that sudden drain of the glass, suddenly half full. It had been half empty for so long, it was hard to see the glass from a new perspective. He tried to debate the idea of pessimism versus realism many times - mostly during those sleepless nights.

Nosedive grimaced, giving his head a swift shake. "God, what the hell was that...?" His eyes had brightened slightly, more awake, aware.

"I'm not sure," Dr. Miller said, cupping his chin with a hand.

"Not sure?" Wildwing's voice held steady. His arms were crossed tightly against his chest as a makeshift straitjacket, holding himself firm. "No, you knew. You knew something would happen and it did."

"It's okay." Nosedive gave his head a shake, pushing himself back onto the couch. "I mean, that was bad, but I feel better." He looked it, too. The vacant stare had faded, even his voice had regained clarity.

"That's not...I mean, I'm glad - you have no idea - but...something happened." He turned his gaze to Dr. Miller, who sat beside Nosedive, a thoughtful, inspecting gaze sweeping the teen. "You knew something would happen, doctor."

"An educated guess," Dr. Miller replied, without so much as a glance at Wildwing. "Ms. Tanya said it had hurt there previously; it still does."

"Then why was it so 'fascinating', as you said?"

"The severity, the localization. Don't get me wrong, I have my theories, but nothing solid. Theories, nothing more."

"Would you be willing to share some of those theories with us?" Tanya asked, stepping between the doctor and Wildwing. She had seen the flex of his jaw, the frown. "Does it have to do with...with what they stole?"

"Maybe. It would make sense. You said his changes had happened after the abduction, yes?"

"Yeah, but the torture may have had a lot to do with that," Wildwing muttered. He could not tell if the doctor was being intentionally withholding or if he was simply that flaky. That faint beam of optimism that still burned within him pushed toward the latter more so than the former. It did not do to ease his frustration, however.

Nosedive gave a small cringe at the words, but Dr. Miller waved a hand. "Yes, understandable. But you say you've been hearing voices? Seeing things?"

Nosedive pulled back, face paling. "What? I...uh, no. I never said that..."

"You did," Wildwing said. "When you...weren't yourself." At Nosedive's frown and accompanying head-tilt, Wildwing asked, "Let's try this instead: what's the last thing you remember?"

"Dragaunus," he said, and Wildwing nodded, a silent urge for him to continue. "I remember that, most of it, anyway. The pain, all that. That's hard to forget. I remember getting better, then not getting better. Then getting worse. I mean, like…" He paused, frustration etching his features as he waved a hand. "I don't know. I can't explain it. I remember it, but I don't. It's like a fog, like it happened to someone on TV and I watched it a few years ago so I kind of know what happened, but not really. You know?"

He signed. The three in the room were looking at him, not responding, obviously waiting for him to continue, but he was not sure what to tell them. That was about it. It was as though the past months had been on fast-forward; he could glimpse them and pull the moments from his memory, but they were covered in static. Him, trapped on Dragonaus's ship, then him, lying in his own bed, unable to sleep (with that pressing sensation in his gut that something was there), then him, in the park, succumbing to a panic attack caused by some unknown force. He could see it, could recognize and acknowledge that it was him (who else would look that good and that horrifyingly freaked out at the same time, after all? he asked himself, desperate to keep a hold of this feeling of him - the old him), but his connection had been lost, wires severed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what else to say." Panic flashed across his face and he looked toward his brother. "Is it gonna happen again? These…"

"...episodes?" Tanya offered, and Nosedive nodded. "I don't...well, I'm not sure. Consi-consid...uh, looking at the past few months, I think it'd be...well, it'd be likely, yes."

Dr. Miller cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Tanya, but I will be due at my office in a bit, so if you have any further questions…"

Wildwing tore his eyes from his brother; it took a bit of effort. This was the first time in so long he had looked so himself, if a bit frayed about the sides. If his usual chipper demeanor had not been replaced with a blend of anxiety, confusion, and exhaustion, you would never have known what the past months had held. "The microscope, the one that Dragaunus stole, what does it do?"

So quick he might have missed it, if it were not for his scrutiny of everything around him lately, Dr. Miller glanced at Nosedive, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, so smoothly it was clearly nothing more than reflex. "It's an atomic force microscope. I wish it was as interesting as it sounds, but all I have been using it for is vision science - studying surfaces of the compound eye and the like. It's slow, however, so I do not even use it much. To answer your question, it allows you to see things at the atomic level."

"That's it?" Wildwing could not hold the irritation from his voice.

"I'm sorry. I wish there was more I could tell you. It essentially is what it is: a microscope. It's nothing especially unique in what it does." He looked back at Nosedive, who had cast his gaze to the floor, not listening. "Have you done an MRI?"

"Yes, right after we found him," Tanya said. "I was actually, well, thinking about doing another, comparing them to see if anything's changed."

"Good. That's what I would do." He glanced at his watch, then gave a half-smile, indicating it was his time to leave. "If you would, please call me when you get the results, or email them to me. I'd be happy to review them."

"Wait-" Wildwing said, holding up his hands. "You told...you told Tanya on the phone that you could help…"

"Yes, in that I could help tell you what was taken from my lab and what it does. I apologize if it seemed like I could do more." Wildwing stole a glance to Tanya, who returned the gaze, a blush appearing over her cheeks, and shrugged. "Please," he continued, "I do mean what I offered: that I will help how I can. My advice would be to do the MRI and then send me the results. I will let you know what I think. It'll give me some time to mull over my theories, see if they have any merit. Then we can reconvene."

"Th-thank you," Wildwing said after a beat. Despite his urges, he could not force the doctor to stay, nor could he force him to say more. Wildwing's gut - and it was a pretty good one, he thought - said that Dr. Miller knew more than he was letting on...or was that just his own hope, grabbing desperately to anyone with an answer?

Once Dr. Miller took his leave, Tanya turned to her captain, stuttering more than usual. "I..I'm so, uhh, so sorry, W-Wildwing. I thought that he, uhh, you know...I thought it sounded like he…"

"Don't apologize, Tanya. We'll take what he offered. I mean, he clearly knew something. Dive is acting better. Even if it's just for now, that's something. That's a change."

Tanya gave a weak smile. "I suppose. Now I guess the question is, what does Dragaunus need with a...an atomic microscope? It makes no sense."

"Eh, when has anything Draggy done ever made sense?" Tanya and Wildwing both jumped, turning to where Nosedive had walked up behind them. "Sorry, guys, I wish I had been more help."

Tanya nearly barked a laugh. All that had happened, all the pain, the chaos, the stress, the god-knew-what-else, and here Nosedive was apologizing to them. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's just another...stepping stone to figuring it all out."

Nosedive smiled, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, another piece to the puzzle, right? Until my brain fries again and makes me all zombie-fied again. Then what? More stress for you guys," he glanced up at Wildwing as he said this, "more trouble, more worry about me. If I were you guys, I'd be pretty tired of it."

"Dive-" Wildwing began, but Nosedive held up a hand, stopping it.

"Yeah, I know. If the situations were reversed I wouldn't feel annoyed, I'd be doing everything I could just like you guys, yeah, yeah. I know. Let me just wallow in some self-pity while my head is clear enough for it."

Wildwing smiled wanly. "Fair enough. Let's have Tanya get your MRI done, so at least we can say we're doing what we can, right?" He slung an arm over Nosedive's shoulders, grinning as best he could. He had to force it a bit, but not as much he would have an hour ago.

"Sure. Yeah. Good on you, Tawny?"

Tanya nodded, mirroring Wildwing's expression. "Let's go."

Of all the things that he had forgotten, of all the singular moments that lay on his mental cutting room floor, he wished he had maintained the first time he had gone in the MRI. Unfortunately, that scene was gone, lying on the floor where trauma and something else had sliced and diced his mind. So, now, it was a brand-new experience, as nerve-wracking and claustrophobic as he assumed it would be.

Clunk clunk clunk

At least it was painless, he thought. Sitting still was next to impossible and he felt like he could hardly breathe, but it didn't hurt. That was something.

Clunk clunk scratch

He cringed. That noise. It wasn't the machine, which was unbelievably loud on its own, but the scratching had been louder somehow. Inside. Inside him.

Scratch clunk clunk scratch

Nosedive slammed his eyes closed. It's nothing, he thought, a mantra, just lie still and wait, soon Tanya's voice will be there, letting me know it's done, all over, and I can get out and it'll be all good, I can get some lunch, practice with Wing-

Scratch scratch clunk

His throat clenched. It was so loud, so damn loud now that he could barely hear the machinery around him. What the fuck was it? Was it the switch inside him, getting ready to slam from this to...whatever that other guy was? He forced himself to swallow, shaking his head.

"I know it's tough, but keep still, Nosedive," came Tanya's disembodied voice. "It'll be over in a bit, I promise."

"O...okay," he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He had meant what he told his brother and Tanya earlier: he was so sorry, so tired of being the one going through this something, of being the one constantly under everyone's cautioned eye. It was too much, borderline embarrassing, beyond exhausting. He loved attention, but not like this. This was all wrong, the wrong kind, and it was falling into the title of burden all too quickly. He almost wished Dr. Miller hadn't brought him out of it back into this clarity. At least in the fog, there wasn't this constant feeling of guilt and paranoia.

Clunk scratch clunk

He inhaled deeply, held it, then released. The noise was fading a bit, probably nothing more than his own worries vying for his attention.

Finally, the MRI grew silent and Tanya's voice came back over the speakers. "Okay, Nosedive, we're done. I'll come get you out."

He released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, opening his eyes. "Thank god." The noises - all of them - were gone, and it was as quiet both inside and outside of him as it had been. Tanya pressed a button and he began to slide out, ever more grateful the closer he got to outside.

He sat up, taking another deep breath. "You okay?" Tanya asked, eyeing him. "If you feel weird or anything at all, let me know."

"I know." Tanya nodded, then stepped out to allow him to peel off the gown and re-dress. He shook his head, then paused. No sounds. Maybe it had just been the anxiety, the almost claustrophobia of the MRI. But it had sounded so familiar, that scratching, filling his head with the dizzying feeling of déjà vu.

Tanya returned, the question still on her face. "I'm good," he said, "just felt a little...closed in in there." He smiled to punctuate his point. All good, that smile said. Tanya returned the smile with only the smallest degree of hesitation, then helped Nosedive climb off the machine. "So, doc, what are my results? Off the chain chaos in there?"

"Well, I haven't reviewed them yet. I wanted to...get you out of there. Seemed like you were getting, uh, a little anxious."

Bless you, Tanya, Nosedive thought. "'preciate that," he said.

"But I'll get them quick and then send them right over to Dr. Miller. I can't imagine it'll take long."

"Yeah, you're telling me." Nosedive hadn't remembered the before, but he remembered the after, after Dr. Miller had touched his head, bringing the pain and somehow clearing his head, even temporarily. When the pain had subsided a bit, all he had seen were those eyes, brown and curious, brimming with excitement, watching him like he was a rat in a cage about to press a lever, getting either a shock or a food pellet. Furthering science somehow.

His stomach lurched. He hadn't liked the look. Help or not, it had given him the willies. Wildwing, on the way to the MRI, had mentioned that Tanya had said the man was eccentric. And he had theories on him. Great, an eccentric rando to poke and prod at him, wind him up, see what he would do. He looked over and saw that Tanya was speaking. "Huh?"

"I said, go get something to eat. You haven't had a proper meal in who knows how long. Oh, and, uh, tell your brother I'll have the results, too." She cocked a knowing grin. "I'm sure he'll ask."

Nosedive gave a sarcastic sigh. "Oh, you bet he will. I'm surprised he wasn't in there with you, pressed against the glass."

"He wanted to be. I wouldn't let him. MRIs are stressful enough without someone, you know, right there."

"Surprised he listened to you." He and Tanya were walking back to the mess hall, and Nosedive's hand was itching to go to his head, where Dr. Miller had pressed. Fascinating, he had called it. Nosedive couldn't see how, seemed pretty standard: brain hurt, thus place outside of brain hurt, too. Okay, so he couldn't explain how it had snapped him out of his funk (or whatever you wanted to call it), but maybe it had just been the shock that snapped him out of it. It had hurt like a bitch, after all. He wanted to brush his fingers against it, just to see. Jesus. That curiosity shit was contagious.

He ate what Tanya instructed, doing his best to ignore the unnatural way the food seemed to sit in his stomach - after all, all eyes were on him, as usual, including Wildwing's guilty gaze. He was growing to hate that look, even if he couldn't remember the majority of its usage.

"Feeling better?" Wildwing asked as he pressed the last bite into hismouth. His body fought to reject it, but he managed to swallow it and keep it in its final resting place. He gave a thumbs up, and Wildwing looked relieved, satisfied.

You don't need it.

It was the message that kept trying to push its way into his head. Didn't need what? Food? His stomach and standard appetite would beg to differ. But that was the message; he wasn't sure about a lot of things going on inside and outside of himself, but he felt confident about that.

It's already over. You don't need it anymore.

Scratch scratch

He pitched forward, sending the fork skittering across the table, about clipping his brother in the arm. "What the hell, D-"

"What is that?" He meant to ask it to himself, but the words spilled out, partly from frustration, partly from fear.

"What's what?" Wildwing was looking at him, that guilty look morphed into its distant relative: concern. "What's wrong?"

Nosedive paused, ears craning to hear that sound again, but it never came. Never came when he wanted it to. "Nothing. I thought I heard something."

"Again?"

Nosedive closed his eyes so he did not have to stare at that look. "Again what?"

"I told you, you said...you said earlier that you were seeing things and hearing things. Is this what you meant? Is it happening right now?"

"Oh, that." Nosedive shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I thought I heard the guys here. Where are they?"

Relief passed over Wildwing's eyes. "Oh, right. They're out, talking to Klegghorn about the break-in. Trying to get as much information as possible so we might be able to track those lizards down."

"Oh. Good." He wanted to tell him, but the doubt had surfaced: what if it was nothing, was it really worth adding stress onto his brother's plate? Like he hadn't put a full course and then some on there already… "By the way, Tanya said the MRI stuff should be ready soon. She'll let you know." He stood up and faked a yawn. "If it's okay, I think I'm gonna take a rest. That MRI - super not fun, it made me weirdly exhausted."

"No problem, little brother. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

He nodded. Once in the safe haven of his room, he studied himself in the mirror. He stared at that spot on his head that Dr. Miller had pressed. It looked so innocuous. His fingers itched.

You don't need it.

It's already over.

His fingers flew like startled moths to his head, first rubbing then pressing his head.

The pain was instantaneous.

He felt to his knees, hand still pressed to his head, in a vain attempt to press the pain away, out of his head, far far away. And the noise, no longer a scratch, but a long screeeeeee like nails on chalkboard, but it was coming from him, from that same spot that he just had to touch. Sweat beaded along his hairline as he crushed his eyes shut to keep all sounds inside where they belonged.

Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Nosedive exhaled, pushing the air from his lungs as though expelling it all from him. He was exhausted, as tired as he had claimed to be not ten minutes prior. Heavy-footed, he trudged to his bed, collapsing in a heap of sweat and sore muscles and a dull, barely-there pulsating skull.

He slept, dreaming of himself, of bugs scurrying across his floor, tip-tip-tapping along the floor; he dreamed of himself, except this time it wasn't quite him, it was him, but he was saturated to a dull black-and-white, him, but not quite him. Him minus the life that made him. It's already over, the not-quite-him whispered. It's all gone already. You're just prolonging what's already happened. Sorry, bud...you're already gone, you just haven't realized it yet.

To be continued...