AN: Hello everybody; it's Monday once again (Nooooo) but that means another week of chapters (so yay). Once again thanks to everyone who's reviewed, and please enjoy the chapter.

***Waylon***

We were officially out of Colorado before I pulled the car over. The sun was coming up and I hadn't slept since the night before last in the hospital. I still had cuffs on my wrists and Miles was drenched in blood. The both of us still wore hospital gowns, there was no way we were getting a motel room, so I settled for a nap in the drivers seat.

Neither one of us had said a word. I wasn't sure Miles was capable of speaking anymore. I wasn't even sure Miles was still alive. I reclined the chair just a bit. I had to rest.

But sleep wouldn't come. I'd been dreaming everytime I shut my eyes, never were they pleasant. I don't know how many times I'd died on Gluskins table or been hacked to pieces by Munera. The number of time's I'd seen my family dead or dying had been lost on me as well. I sat in the car seat.

Sleep wouldn't come to me, my mind was too busy, to frantic. I had to find my boys and destroy Murkoff. That was all I had to do. Find Garret. Find Connor. That was all.

That was all.

"Where are we?"

I didn't quite get the chance to jump when I heard Miles speak this time. I was to tired, all my senses were too dulled.

"Somewhere in eastern Utah" I didn't have the energy to ask him what happened last night. At this point I didn't care as much as I should.

"Have you looked into any numbers on the phone?"

I hadn't touched it, though the thought of the thing had been nagging me. "no"

He picked up the black device and clicked the screen on.

"Locked."

"Let me see it."

He handed me the cell, if I had any luck in the world the agent hadn't had the mind to clean off her screen every time she got done using it. Tilting the phone back so that there would be glare I could make out thin finger marks. One looked continuous, flicking the screen back on I traced the pattern on the unlock screen.

The home screen popped up, I handed the phone back to Miles.

He fiddled around until he reached what I assumed was the contacts list. Then he started scrambling around the car.

"Seen any paper or pens?"

There was a pen in the drivers door compartment, which I handed to him. He found napkins in the center console. It took him a moment to adjust to holding the pen, but didn't take him long to record all the numbers there.

"We're going to have to destroy the phone" I let him know "they can trace it's location"

Miles didn't say anything at first. Then there was a fizzle and a small amount of arcing around the phone only then did he reply "done".

I leaned back in the seat again. "so we're not going to talk about last night?"

"Do we have to?"

I didn't look over at him, actually I had my eyes closed, I was so tired.

"Because I'd really rather not" He continued talking

Any sense of tack I might have had was long gone "We need to talk about it."

Miles sighted at first, then "Fine, sorry I went on a rampage in a street full of people."

"I'm not looking for an apology".

Wait, I wasn't?

"Really?"

"I need an explanation" I needed to stop nagging him before something I would regret happened.

"I don't really see what there is to explain, I mean it's pretty simple. Walrider plus stress equals bad things."

I wasn't stupid I knew that "But what about last night? You started wigging out and taking people hostage long before the walrider showed up"

There was a moment of silence. I still had my eyes closed, the only thing indicating that Miles was still there was the slight ruffle of cloth that I assumed was him adjusting himself in his seat.

"Did you ever hear any static in the asylum?"

I remembered having my eyes glued to that screen of sigils and symbols, remembered the first appearance of the Walrider. There in the darkened chambers I couldn't hear screaming that must have been there because of the roaring statics and screeches, I could barely see the horror through the white shapes.

"Sort of"

"Ok, well imagine whatever it was, and switch out the static for a voice."

"The Walrider?"

"Yes, it's been getting worse and having a full squad of cops being directed by a Murkoff employee, or whatever, didn't help."

"I understand that, but it looked really unprovoked"

"By that I'm guessing you mean: 'how do I know you're not going to go crazy and turn me into past on the wall'?"

That was exactly what I meant.

"Honestly, you don't."

"That doesn't make me feel any better"

"Sorry, either way I'm not going to do anything."

"You sure about that?"

"What do you mean by that?" he sounded taken aback

"To me it seems like you've been buddying up with that thing." There I said it, let the chips fall where they may.

"Trust me, I can't stand it. To tell you the truth, it's like having an annoying house guest with homicidal tendencies" there was a sad attempt at a joke in there. I wasn't laughing.

"Really? Because it looked like you were on pretty solid terms with it in the hospital. You did walk straight through it and have it go back into you without flinching, and… it's just weird. Ok?"

"Well, I needed it to get the job done."

"You ever stop to think that the more you use it the bigger a hold it'll have on you? Isn't that a common movie cliché?"

"The Walrider doesn't have a hold on me. I'm still in charge."

I opened my eyes after that comment.

"You're still in charge?" I hoped my incredulous tone made it through

"Yep. As long as I can tell the Walrider to stuff it and stop talking I'm perfectly in charge."

"You just went on a killing spree on main street. You. Are. Not. Incharge."

"I'm fine"

"No you're not"

"Yes I am"

"We're arguing like twelve year olds"

"I'm still ok though."

I huffed in annoyance, this wasn't going anywhere. Sitting up I blinked a few times and turned the car back on. "You're hopeless. Where are we going?"

"You're not seriously going to drive right now."

"Just give me an address"

"Now you're just being stubborn"

"Where in Salt Lake?"

"You're half asleep, turn the car off."

"No."

I wasn't seeing strait, and it barely registered on me when Miles unbuckled and got out of the car. Without my noticing he came to the drivers side door.

"Get in the passenger seat, I'm driving"

"I can drive just fine"

"You were napping during our conversation"

"I would have noticed that"

"There were nearly five minutes between each of your responses"

Really?

"Out of the seat you go, c'mon."

"I'll be fine."

Apparently he didn't buy it because next thing I knew I was being picked up out of the drivers seat.

"Hey!"

"You'll thank me later"

I was on my feet, but barely; Miles was half dragging me to the other side of the car. I got thumped down into the passenger seat, not long after Miles was in the drivers side putting the car into drive.

"You just take a nap, I'll wake you up when we get there."

"I don't need a nap" I already had my eyes closed.

"… sure you don't".

***Miles***

I had no idea where I was going.

The countryside had changed from the surrounding mountains of Colorado to the half mountain half desert terrain of east central Utah, the sun was high and the clock read ten minutes until noon, I'd been driving for just over two hours. Conversation was non existent, with Waylon asleep and the Walrider upsettingly silent. It had chimed in once during my switching to the drivers seat, but there'd been nothing since then. Even the radio only gave static.

I needed to get a change of clean clothes before going into any sort of town. There was no way I was going to try stealing some again. That left me one option.

I'd have to stop by Tims house

This wasn't going to be fun.

He lived in a small suburb on the east side of Spanish Fork, I figured I'd have to take 89 into town, it'd probably be smart to show up past dark if I could manage it.

I'd have some explaining to do. He wouldn't be happy to see me, especially after last Thanksgiving. Theresa might take a swing at me.

But hey, family is family. Right?

While taking my turn at the junction onto highway 89 a number of doubts and worries collided in my mind.

There was no guarantee that Tim wouldn't just call the cops. Getting to a computer was an issue too, I needed to get the footage to the public. I needed to edit it, to write an article, to get that shit on the air.

Then there was the Walrider. The last I'd heard was a smart ass comment about Waylon trying to drive while asleep. Since when did a nanobot ghost demon monster thing make jokes? Also, what exactly was it? There was a machine involved in there somewhere, but any other details were up in the air. It was over a week later and I still had no idea how the thing worked.

And Waylon. He hasn't been his twitchy self. The determination on taking down Murkoff seemed out of character for him. I'd only known him for about twelve hours before shit it the fan with his family, but it was clear that he was no hero. That and the dreams during his stay in the hospital were damn terrifying. I don't even know how I saw those. There had to be an end to how much one person should be able to torture themselves.

I needed something to clear my mind, driving wasn't doing half the job I'd hoped it would. The fucking radio wasn't playing anything. The road was empty as far as the eye could see. Anything would have been nice, even a dull ache or hunger pains that would let me know I'm still capable of feeling would be appreciated.

Driving down the road I passed the city limit sign for Mt. Pleasant.

Wait, what? I was almost halfway to Spanish fork after coming from Interstate 70. More importantly I had passed through Ephraim. When did that happen?

The clock read just passed one. Had I lost track of time that easily?

Shaking my head to wipe away the confusion I had no choice but to chalk it up to Walrider voodoo.

I didn't like this. If I was going to skip out on an hour of time I wanted to know about it. More importantly, the last time I checked out like that was in Waylons living room when the Walrider was in the drivers seat. Had I zoned out and left it in charge?

I'd have to pay close attention to the road, I couldn't let that keep happening.

I passed the Spanish Fork city limit sign.

Son of a bitch.

The clock read a quarter past three, the radio had a signal; some talk show was playing. The suburbs were coming up soon. It was the middle of the day, past lunch but before everyone got off.

So much for showing up past dark.

It didn't take me long to find his house, it'd been a while since I'd last visited, but I still remembered the way. Pulling into the drive I found Tim's beat up old truck, he was home at least.

Things hadn't changed too much. The lawn was a dead winter brown, there were still Christmas lights up from I don't know how many years ago. The bushes by the windows were semi well trimmed, just like the last time I visited. Tim may not be high class. He may not even be middle class but he worked hard for his kids, so I usually didn't give him guff for the less than stellar lawn.

It was taking me longer than I thought it would to work up the nerve to go inside. I realized that every moment I spent outside was another moment someone might notice my less then… clean, attire. But I really didn't want to confront Tim.

I realized I was stalling.

Ok, up I go. Just get out of the car and head up there. To the door. One two three up!

I was still sitting in the car.

"Ok, time to cut the crap" I said to myself before unbuckling the seat belt and stepping from the car. Leaving the little sedan I took stock of myself, the blood and who-knows-what-else that was splattered in my hospital gown had already dried to a rust brown that might have been mistaken for sandy mud. Walking towards the house I passed the passengers side door.

I should probably wake Waylon up, leaving him out here for long wouldn't help anything, worse case scenario he wakes up and gets himself into trouble, best case scenario he stays asleep and then gets pissy when he wakes up and realizes I'm in fresh clothes and he's still stuck in a gown.

I reached through where the passengers side window should have been.

"Hey, Waylon. Wake up princess"

I shook his shoulder

"...wha-miles. Where are-"

"Have a nice nap? We're in Utah, at my brother's house."

"Why are we at-"

"It won't be for long. When we get inside, just keep your head down and don't talk to anybody"

He was unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door while saying "why shouldn't I talk to-"

"Just trust me on this one" I didn't want to let Tim know what was going on. If he found out the details now there was no way he'd help me. It was better to let him figure things out on his own. Preferably a couple hours after I had left town.

"... right, trust you"

That was hardly called for.

I walked on, acting like I didn't notice the comment. I got to the door first and, after stalling for a second by admiring the plain white painted wood, I knocked. Waylon shuffled up behind me. It seemed like a lifetime before there was any noise from inside. In the yearlong seeming seconds it took for the door to open my stomach did a couple of somersaults. I could break into an asylum in the middle of the night but couldn't walk up to my brother in the middle of the day, go figure.

The door seemed to swing open too slowly to be believed. After the eternity I stood face to face with my younger brother for the first time in nearly a year.

"Hey Tim."

Upon seeing me his eyes narrowed. His weight shifted, and he threw a right hook straight into my jaw.