AN: Happy Friday guys, also remember how the week was starting off on a bang? Well, it's ending with a slightly more literal one too. Anyways, another huge thank you to those who review, I hope everyone enjoys the chapter.

***Ch 23***

I ended up shaving to pass the time. Then I washed my hands. Then I paced a bit. Then I considered going back into the other room but thought better of it. It felt like years before Schaefer knocked at the door.

"Miles? What are you doing in there?"

Ok, you're not going to jump him. Everything is perfectly fine.

I cracked the door open.

"I'm just doing my business."

"It's pitch black in there."

Really?

"Oh wow, I didn't notice."

He realised how stupid the comment was "right. Eyes, sorry. Anyways I need to use that, get out."

He had no idea how close he came to deing last night. I stepped past him, careful to avoid bumping into him. The door shut, leaving me in the main room.

I hadn't slept a wink. Whether that was from the dreamers, the Walrider, or myself I had no idea, but either way I felt like my eyelids had been replaced by sand paper. It didn't take long for Schaefer to come back. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee. A shot of vodka went into the drink.

"Jesus christ, you just woke up."

"And I like a little something to get me through the day."

This was a losing battle, "fine, the dreamers are somewhere on the south side of town, if you get an excuse to go down there I would bring back up."

I had spent half of last night telling myself not to think about the dreamers and the other half doing nothing but thinking of them. Just Like the at the hospital I knew where they were like I knew where my feet and hand were. It was as if the others were just an extension to myself and me a part of them.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle. A tiny amount of liquid sloshed around the bottom. I downed it in a small mouthful.

"I thought you were judging me for day drinking."

"It was a bad night" my skin was still crawling.

Schaefer snorted. There was a little clatter of metal. What was he doing?

"Right, here hold this for a second."

I put my hand out to grab whatever it was.

There was a quick clink of steel on steel. Something cold clasped shut around my wrist.

"Hey, what the hell?" I rattled my arm against the handcuff, "Schaefer, let me out of this."

"Sorry Miles, I have to go to work and I don't trust you to be good while I'm out." He was making his way to the front door.

"Come on!"

"You'll be fine. You can turn the sink on if you get thirsty. I'll be back later"

"Don't leave me-!" the slamming door cut off the rest of what I had to say.

Ok. Don't freak out. Just calm down. Everything will be ok.

That son of a bitch!

I could be doing literally anything. I could be chasing down dreamers, trying to figure out what the fuck Murkoff did to Connor, but no. I'm sitting here tied to your sink!

What a shame.

"And where the fuck have you been!"

You're always in such a good mood when I show up.

I took a breath "just get me out of the cuffs, we have work to do."

My vision was coming back to me, courtesy of the Walrider.

Trying to be reasonable with you always was a fool's errand. A little bit of swarm tricked out of my hand and twisted into the cuff, unlocking it from the inside.

"It wouldn't be me without terrible ideas."

Too true.

I walked out of the kitchen. Schaefer was a cop in the midwest, there was no way he didn't have a personal firearm somewhere in the apartment. There wasn't anywhere that looked obvious in the living room so I stepped into the bedroom.

It was much cleaner than the rest of the house, to the point where it probably hadn't been walked into by anyone in a couple of weeks. How many nights had Schaefer fallen asleep in the arm chair? Shaking the question from my mind I made my way through the room.

Under the bed. There's a safe.

"I thought you weren't helping."

I wasn't but you don't understand how boring these things are. At least with you I'll have some fun before needing a new host.

"You're the same ray of sunshine as ever."

You still have a death wish.

I turned over the mattress to find a small gun safe. A handful of swarm slipped out and through the metal. As I crouched down to open the little box I caught sight of myself in a mirror that hung over a dresser.

My hair was wild and I was still wearing a gown from the hospital. The reversed eyes didn't do anything to help my image either.

I opened the box and picked up a revolver.

Step two, change clothes.

I went to the dresser and rummaged around until I found something that should fit. Schaefer wasn't small, but he was a couple of inches shorter than me. I settled for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Now I only mostly looked like an escaped lunatic. I went back through the drawers. A pair of gloves was tucked into the corner, I pulled them out.

Hey, make an arm shape.

You can't be serious

Just do it. I don't know if the other police are looking for me but I imagine more than a few people would be very unhappy to see me. No one will expect me to have two hands.

There was an annoyed buzz.

Besides. I like having two arms, they're useful.

It won't last long but fine.

Most of the swarm that I still had on me flowed out in a dense stream to fill the other sleeve of my shirt. It was clunky and moved either too much or too little at any given time. Getting the glove over what passed for a hand was a feet in of itself.

"You're losing your touch." my not-really-an-arm kept wavering.

I'm split between three places, give me a brake.

"Fine." I pulled on a jacket and grabbed a pair of sunglasses before leaving the trashed bedroom behind.

I didn't hesitate to leave the place. I didn't even lock the door behind me.

Hoping that the officer gets robbed? You've gotten even more petty.

You mean that as a compliment.

Maybe.

I walked on. The other two dreamers weren't together anymore. One had gone somewhere to the west, the other was still in town. I walked south to it, the revolver weighted heavily in the jackets pocket. Now that I got a good look at it the town wasn't that big. The hospital I had been in was probably the only one in town.

There aren't that many people here

That means it's more likely from someone to recognize me.

I don't think that's going to happen.

I've had worse luck before.

The roads were mostly empty due to it being the middle of winter, most people were probably staying in for the holidays too. I still couldn't help but feel exposed.

How long do I have before you get pulled away again.

Good question.

Of course. I checked again on where the nearest dreamer was. A mile away? Two? Just over two. It was somewhere cold, what a shocker.

I left them in some sort of park. They'll be on the move soon enough though.

One of them already is.

I shivered in my jacket against the wind. I should have gotten more layers. As I walked I got a better sense of where the other dreamer was. It was inside, but still near trees. In a park? I looked at the street from under the sunglasses. There was a street sign that said that Thirty Acre Park was to the right. I went down the road and hoped I was going the right direction.

It had to know where I was too. Why wasn't it moving?

Don't question it. You read too much into everything.

Being paranoid was how I payed the bills.

I got to the edge of the park. A sign said that the camping area was closed for the season. That sounded like a good place to start as any. I plowed through the snow that came up to my knee.

It's a good thing you finally got around to patching my leg up or this would be impossible right now.

I already told you I'm being pulled in too many directions at once, you should be happy with what you've got.

There was a rash of annoyed static that I would never admit I had almost missed.

What looked like an office or ranger station sat in a clearing ahead. One of the windows was broken in. The other dreamer was in there. I knew it like I knew that snow had melted and started seeping through my shoes, like I knew that my hand was curling around the pistol in my pocket.

I drew the hunk of metal and took a few more steps towards the building.

I listened from just below the shattered glass. There was no sound to speak of. I rose from my crouch and turned to look into the darkened building. With my free arm I moved the sunglasses way to see better through the dark.

It sat in a pile of tangled limbs in the far corner of the room. I considered it from my place outside. It knew I was here, though it didn't stir. I had never used a gun before, even from this close I would probably miss. Trying my best not to startle the thing I climbed through the window. I landed heavily on the concrete floor. The dreamer uncurled from its place on the ground.

I fiddled with the pistol without looking away from the thing.

Wait for it to lunge. Don't miss.

With gangrened limbs it pushed its way to standing. My vision wavered for the smallest of seconds.

Don't you leave me now.

There was no verbal response but I kept sight of the beast slowly coming closer. It closed the distance in an agonizing minute, I smelled the wet rot of its tattered flesh, one more foot and it would be running into my outstretched arm.

It looked down at me, a quiet creaking moan gurgled up from a collapsed lung.

Shot the gun. Now.

My hand wouldn't listen

I could almost see myself through its sightless eyes. For a stomach churning moment I considered leaving the thing be. It's easier to hunt as a pack.

The rotting dreamer had wrapped a freezing hand around my shoulder before I convinced my arm to move. It's hairless head came to rest near mine, if it's festing mouth could form words I would have been able to hear the slightest whisper.

I brought the weapon to rest just underneath the things chin, near my own ear. It held itself tighter against me, like a parent welcoming their child home for the holidays.

Bang.

The gun cut through the monster's low moan. Its tired body went limb and heavy.

A blazing pain shot through my own head, like I was the one with a piece of lead ripping through my brain. I pulled the trigger again.

And again.

Again.

I still had the dreamers leaking body on top of me when the pistol clicked empty. The fresh blaze of pain hadn't faded from my skull. When the ringing in my ears finally stopped I pushed the ragged collection of bones, rot, and skin off of me.

I let the gun clatter to the ground and I buried my face in my hands instead.

Shit!

Something new and unwelcome slithered under my skin. A wave of fresh nausea rolled through me; I gave up and dry heaved for as long as my body would let me.

Kill the dreamers, it will be fine. I'll figure it out when I get there. The walrider mocked me from the edges of my mind.

"Not now." I said from my heep on the ground through gritted teeth.

There's only two of you now. I can afford to wait a little longer before having to disappear.

Two? The other dreamer was coming. I could feel it sprinting back from whatever it had been doing to the west. The gun was empty, I had the second thing trapped in my skin. Even I had to admit I couldn't face the third one now.

I stood and held in another dry heave.

I stumbled to the door, unlocking it from the inside to get out. The snow wasn't helping my escape.

If this is how you handle taking in a second dreamer I don't know how you think you're going to deal with all three.

"You're not helping." I leaned against a tree to steady myself before moving another heavy leg.

I couldn't deal with two more miles of this.

Do you even understand what you're going through? The dreamers aren't like me.

I figured that out when I didn't have another asshole talking to me from inside my own head. I didn't dare open my mouth out of fear of heaving up stomach acid.

Annoyed static started to grow from nowhere.

Why even bother, you lasted for just over a year. That's a new record for me.

You're not getting rid of me that easily.

I trudged on a few haggard steps at a time. It was slow progress, but at least it was steady.

If the walrider had eyes they would have been rolling at me, they're a disease. A hunger that will wither you away into nothing and make you go mad.

You could have told me that before I decided to go on a dreamer hunt.

If I had you would have just tried to find a way to heal them. You're moronic heros complex has gotten you killed.

I'm not dead yet.

The scenery changed from that of the park to the streets that lead back to the apartment

Only barely. I'm not immune to this either, it won't be long until it infects me too.

So you go from homicidal to… what, slightly more homicidal? I think you'll live.

It might be worth staying around just to watch you go mad.

Thanks, you're my best friend too.

I stumbled on in silence. I was coming up to the fence around the apartments. It couldn't be long past noon. When would Schaefer get back from work? Probably some time later. I would have to figure out how I was going to explain the trashed bedroom and soiled cloths. He would probably be wondering where his gun went too.

Wait a second.

I leaned against the railing to the stairs and caught my breath.

Damn it! I left the gun in the park.

Fantastic.

"Shut up!"

I heaved as soon as the words stopped. Stinging clear liquid came up my throat and splattered against the frozen ground.

"Not. A. Word." I muttered between breaths as I made the ascent up the stairs.

The third floor might as well have been Everist, but I made it all the same. The door was unlocked like I had left it, apparently Schaefer didn't come home for lunch. I locked it behind me before tumbling past bottles and crashing onto the couch.

The ceiling swirled above me, the effort it took just to breath was enough to make me gasp for air.

The last dreamer was getting to the park right about now. It skittered into the door that still hung open in the winter air. It found its other half dead in a pool of its own filth. Was that a hint of rage I felt from miles away? Sadness? Fear?

I had to be imagining it.

The dreamer was a dried husk of the man that used to live in the same body. I'd felt a hint of that madness, the urge to rip into someone. It wasn't like the walriders messy, but mindful rampages. The dreamer knew nothing but wild abandon and an unending hunger.

My chest almost refused to fill with air.

My vision was fading back to black, the imitation arm was dissolving and slipping back into my body.

I lost sight of the ceiling and closed my eyes.

Just before I was gone completely I couldn't let go of a nagging thought.

The rotting dreamer hadn't considered attacking me. I was just another piece of themselves as far as the dreamers were concerned.

If they weren't after me, why did they go to the hospital?

Why did they go to the Pierce's?