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“You were very helpful,” Travis assures the man, patting his head. Then he stands up and pulls out his gun.
The guy cries, “But you s-”
“I lied,” Travis cuts him off.
Then he puts a bullet right between his eyes.
“Ready?” Keats asks from behind him.
“Sure am.” Travis turns to him as he reaches into his pocket. He tears apart his hidden treat and offers one half to Keats with a shit-eating grin. “Hot pocket?
Everyone is sitting in a circle, with Dr. Singh seated on the fireplace ledge. Carter stands in the center of them all, completely naked with a metal collar around his throat that connects him to the floor with a thick, rusty chain. Carter’s hands are slick with blood from trying to tug free.
“He’s dead,” Nolan sobs. “Travis is dead.”
Carter squeezes his eyes shut, wishing the truth away.
He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not dead.
He can’t be dead.
Carter won’t survive if he’s dead.
“He doesn’t even care,” Jake says. “Travis saved his life, and Carter doesn’t even fucking care.”
Carter flinches. He looks at Jake and opens his mouth, trying to tell him he does care. Of course he does. He loves Travis.
Except…
“He keeps pushing Travis away,” Casey points out. “One last time, right, Carter?”
No, no, no.
They both know it’s not real. He and Travis know it’s a lie. One last time? There’s no one last time for the two of them. They’re fucking forever, whether they like it or not.
“He’s dead because of you,” Nolan says. “He went after Mica because of you.”
He would have went either way!
Carter tries to scream the words, but no sound comes out. Not even a cry. Not even a puff of air.
He wants to argue. To tell them that Travis wouldn’t even be alive anymore. He planned on dying with the end of the case, not even coming to the safehouse. Carter fucking saved him, if anything!
He screams, and screams, and screams, but… still no sound.
No breath.
He can’t breathe.
Oh god, Carter can’t breathe.
Travis is dead, Travis is dead, Travis is-
Carter wakes with a hoarse cry. He fights hard against whatever is holding him down, not realizing it’s just the sheets until he has fallen on the floor. On his hands and knees in the dim light, sweat rolling down his cold skin, his body shaking for a million reasons, none of them the temperature, Carter tries to suck in air. His lungs scream at him, louder than his silenced screams in the nightmare.
It takes far too long to get himself under control. He’s dizzy by the end of it, still shaking furiously.
A drink. He needs a drink. Water, probably. Or maybe something stronger.
