At least the rain had stopped.
Scotty didn't mind rain -- he grew up in a place where rain was more common than sunlight -- but he was still glad it had let up. And even though the sky was still overcast, and there frankly wasn't much to see out the window, he still stared at it. Watching clouds drift.
He didn't so much like where his half-baked brain drifted today.
It started with a dream, or nightmare, some time after dawn, after Harold had gone to work. Something about a mountain top, something about snow, and the overall sense of terror and paralysis, all at once.
"I thought I was dead. Have you felt that before? I was laying in the snow and I could see where I needed to be, but I couldn't move. And then they took me and I woke up in this... complex."
"Aye."
After he woke up, twisted up in the blanket and panting, he figured out why he had dreamed that. It rather increased his determination not to go dreaming anything else, and he stumbled to the bathroom to dig through the medicine cabinet. There was a first aid kit, and he found something with a Q on it that said it was a 'night time coughing, aching, sneezing, stuffy head, fever, make you thank your deity that you only taste this while sick, knock you into a coma so you wake up after the symptoms have passed' medicine. Imported from Nexus Point 2653?.
Scotty did conclude that he might have been hallucinating the label.
It wasn't night time, but he figured that it didn't matter so much. Though the part of the slogan about its taste might have been an understatement. He eyed the bottle after taking a slug of it and concluded that even if he hallucinated that label, there was no way his own mind could cook up anything that could taste that bad and then not warn properly for it.
Then he stumbled back to bed. Watched clouds. Felt... decent. Warm, for the first time in a few days, curled up in blankets. Very, very sleepy. His eyes kept drifting closed. Not too shockingly, he half-dreamed of a giant, neon looking Q in green, up on top of a building like an advertisement.
No mountain top this time. He was... in Rhy'Din, the city. In Aberdeen, two or three realities away. He was...
...where...
He managed to pry his eyes open, barely. He was in their room, in the Red Dragon Inn, and it was day time. And overcast. Harold was at work. Just over there, a short walk across the Marketplace away.
He should go check.
Just to make sure.
He got up, feeling heavy. Too heavy, really. Mostly naked, but he didn't feel cold anymore. Just heavy, and warm. Opened the door, down the hall. Something moved ahead and he scrubbed at his eyes for a moment and it was gone again. But curiosity piqued, he headed down the steps.
Something giggled, and ran. He wasn't fast enough to see it, but he followed. Across the commons, and it darted in and out of the blanket fort, absent a few blankets, before running to the door.
Harold.
He knew it, as clearly as he knew anything. It was Harold, except he was a child, and Scotty thought that he might get himself hurt out there. So, he picked up pace -- moving through concrete -- and followed out into the night and the rain. There was a glow. That silly Q. He was in Rhy'Din, and Aberdeen.
The little figure of his now de-aged fiance ran, but he didn't worry about making Harold into a grown up again, not yet, he just wanted to keep him safe. He'd be at Mai's. He would go to work. Right? Scotty followed. Ran across the Marketplace, across Union Street, in the rain.
The miniature Harold had disappeared, but his giggle was still audible. There was Mai's shop, and he fumbled with his keys, dragging them out of his coat pocket and unlocking the door. Ran inside. The giggle turned into a scream.
He followed down the hallway, frantic, slipping on the waxed floor under bright lights; bolted right through the sensor grids and past vague figures dressed in bright, happy patterns, around corners and there was Harold, screaming and Scotty snarled silently, no warning, launching himself with bared teeth at the big people holding him and trying to calm him down with soothing tones that were as fake as everything else here.
Launched himself, fists and feet and teeth and whatever natural weapons he had, and they were bigger than him, but he fought anyway. Harold was crying. But Montgomery didn't even have it in him to cry anymore. He just fought. Breathed. Like at any moment, he would have that taken from him.
There was a hole in the sensor net, and when he got them both free, he dragged Harold through that and to a door and tore his fingernails on the panel, prying it free. Tripped it open. Shoved the panel back into place, then tried to wipe the streak of blood away with the sleeve.
They huddled in there, together. Curled up, two little scared things in a closet with plants in it. Montgomery shushed. They had to stay quiet. No whimpering or crying or any sound, or they'd be caught.
In reality, Scotty was still in bed, now curled around Harold's pillow, holding on tight.
He never made a sound.
Scotty didn't mind rain -- he grew up in a place where rain was more common than sunlight -- but he was still glad it had let up. And even though the sky was still overcast, and there frankly wasn't much to see out the window, he still stared at it. Watching clouds drift.
He didn't so much like where his half-baked brain drifted today.
It started with a dream, or nightmare, some time after dawn, after Harold had gone to work. Something about a mountain top, something about snow, and the overall sense of terror and paralysis, all at once.
"I thought I was dead. Have you felt that before? I was laying in the snow and I could see where I needed to be, but I couldn't move. And then they took me and I woke up in this... complex."
"Aye."
After he woke up, twisted up in the blanket and panting, he figured out why he had dreamed that. It rather increased his determination not to go dreaming anything else, and he stumbled to the bathroom to dig through the medicine cabinet. There was a first aid kit, and he found something with a Q on it that said it was a 'night time coughing, aching, sneezing, stuffy head, fever, make you thank your deity that you only taste this while sick, knock you into a coma so you wake up after the symptoms have passed' medicine. Imported from Nexus Point 2653?.
Scotty did conclude that he might have been hallucinating the label.
It wasn't night time, but he figured that it didn't matter so much. Though the part of the slogan about its taste might have been an understatement. He eyed the bottle after taking a slug of it and concluded that even if he hallucinated that label, there was no way his own mind could cook up anything that could taste that bad and then not warn properly for it.
Then he stumbled back to bed. Watched clouds. Felt... decent. Warm, for the first time in a few days, curled up in blankets. Very, very sleepy. His eyes kept drifting closed. Not too shockingly, he half-dreamed of a giant, neon looking Q in green, up on top of a building like an advertisement.
No mountain top this time. He was... in Rhy'Din, the city. In Aberdeen, two or three realities away. He was...
...where...
He managed to pry his eyes open, barely. He was in their room, in the Red Dragon Inn, and it was day time. And overcast. Harold was at work. Just over there, a short walk across the Marketplace away.
He should go check.
Just to make sure.
He got up, feeling heavy. Too heavy, really. Mostly naked, but he didn't feel cold anymore. Just heavy, and warm. Opened the door, down the hall. Something moved ahead and he scrubbed at his eyes for a moment and it was gone again. But curiosity piqued, he headed down the steps.
Something giggled, and ran. He wasn't fast enough to see it, but he followed. Across the commons, and it darted in and out of the blanket fort, absent a few blankets, before running to the door.
Harold.
He knew it, as clearly as he knew anything. It was Harold, except he was a child, and Scotty thought that he might get himself hurt out there. So, he picked up pace -- moving through concrete -- and followed out into the night and the rain. There was a glow. That silly Q. He was in Rhy'Din, and Aberdeen.
The little figure of his now de-aged fiance ran, but he didn't worry about making Harold into a grown up again, not yet, he just wanted to keep him safe. He'd be at Mai's. He would go to work. Right? Scotty followed. Ran across the Marketplace, across Union Street, in the rain.
The miniature Harold had disappeared, but his giggle was still audible. There was Mai's shop, and he fumbled with his keys, dragging them out of his coat pocket and unlocking the door. Ran inside. The giggle turned into a scream.
He followed down the hallway, frantic, slipping on the waxed floor under bright lights; bolted right through the sensor grids and past vague figures dressed in bright, happy patterns, around corners and there was Harold, screaming and Scotty snarled silently, no warning, launching himself with bared teeth at the big people holding him and trying to calm him down with soothing tones that were as fake as everything else here.
Launched himself, fists and feet and teeth and whatever natural weapons he had, and they were bigger than him, but he fought anyway. Harold was crying. But Montgomery didn't even have it in him to cry anymore. He just fought. Breathed. Like at any moment, he would have that taken from him.
There was a hole in the sensor net, and when he got them both free, he dragged Harold through that and to a door and tore his fingernails on the panel, prying it free. Tripped it open. Shoved the panel back into place, then tried to wipe the streak of blood away with the sleeve.
They huddled in there, together. Curled up, two little scared things in a closet with plants in it. Montgomery shushed. They had to stay quiet. No whimpering or crying or any sound, or they'd be caught.
In reality, Scotty was still in bed, now curled around Harold's pillow, holding on tight.
He never made a sound.