Neal nods, relieved, hoping for a slow morning of curling around each other in bed until the bathroom or breakfast calls too strongly to ignore. He locks and chains the door as soon as they’re inside, coming over to Malcolm again and wrapping him up in a hug that’s almost like a kid snuggling a teddy bear.
“We’re okay, right?” It’s murmured against Malcolm’s hair. “We’ll be okay.”
He shivers. “I feel like something horrible is going to happen and I don’t know what.”
“We’re okay. I mean. I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking,” Malcolm tells him, hands grasping Neal’s shirt at his ribs. “That feeling of foreboding is common after trauma, too. You should talk to someone, but I’m not going to make you. It won’t help if you’re not ready to try to process it.”
"There's no other explanation," Malcolm points out. "But that's not even the point. It's about what hurt you, not whether they think that it should have."
Tomorrow. Not tonight, not something to worry about yet.
"Let's go to bed," Neal says softly. He's not even sure he's up for anything particularly active. He just wants the world to stay away for a little while.
"That's what I was hoping you would say," Malcolm tells him with a sweet smile. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over one of the dining chairs and heads towards the bedroom with a look over his shoulder to ensure Neal is following.
Neal sheds his own clothes except for his boxers as he follows, feeling worn to the bone and prepared to sink into the softness of the bed. As soon as Malcolm is settled, Neal joins him, sliding down enough that he can rest his head on Malcolm's chest.
Yeah, Malcolm might be the smaller of the two of them, but that doesn't mean Neal can't fake being the little spoon now and then.
Neal blinks, sleepily surprised at how nice Malcolm's voice is. He closes his eyes, lets himself listen, and it's minutes before he's asleep.
The dream starts the same way it did before. Mathias, a summer sky, a feeling of emptiness so profound that it makes Neal feel sick to his stomach. The worst part is, he remembers the other dream. He turns to see Raylan walking toward him again, shadows flickering over his body like little flames, dissolving the skin underneath and burrowing inward. Every once in a while a shadow, fat with god know what, drops off of Raylan and oozes away toward the houses.
"Raylan?" Neal can barely make himself whisper the name. The other man doesn't react. Keeps walking toward him. Neal backs up, not wanting those shadows anywhere close. "Raylan, say something. Please say something. Please tell me this isn't real."
Malcolm hasn’t fallen asleep. He’s thinking about the case. Alessa. Christine. A chance to steal the baby not taken. There’s a piece missing. He’s missing something.
He realizes Neal is stirring. He rubs his hand on Neal’s arm.
He gives a sharp little exhale in his sleep, a panicked un-noise. Raylan isn't the only one in the dream any more. Others, some half-eaten by shadows, some practically untouched, have started to walk out from between the houses. Doc, Daisy, Athena. Neal keeps backing away. Calls their names. Begs them to stop, or go away, or say something.
Finally he turns to run.
Malcolm stands in arm's reach of him, face practically eaten away, but Neal would know that voice in any world.
no subject
He tells Dani they’ll see her tomorrow, then hails a cab, giving them Neal’s address.
“We don’t need to start super early tomorrow,” he explains as they climb the stairs. “We have to wait for the background check anyway.”
no subject
“We’re okay, right?” It’s murmured against Malcolm’s hair. “We’ll be okay.”
He shivers. “I feel like something horrible is going to happen and I don’t know what.”
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
“You really think your therapist would… be all right? For this?”
no subject
no subject
"You think I should do it."
It's not really a question.
no subject
no subject
He closes his eyes, giving a breathy little laugh, trying to play it off. "I don't want to get locked up again for new and exciting reasons."
no subject
“What if what?”
no subject
He closes his eyes. “What if it’s the kind of thing where she decides I’m better off in a padded room?”
no subject
no subject
“Would you come with me?”
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Let's go to bed," Neal says softly. He's not even sure he's up for anything particularly active. He just wants the world to stay away for a little while.
no subject
no subject
Yeah, Malcolm might be the smaller of the two of them, but that doesn't mean Neal can't fake being the little spoon now and then.
no subject
no subject
The dream starts the same way it did before. Mathias, a summer sky, a feeling of emptiness so profound that it makes Neal feel sick to his stomach. The worst part is, he remembers the other dream. He turns to see Raylan walking toward him again, shadows flickering over his body like little flames, dissolving the skin underneath and burrowing inward. Every once in a while a shadow, fat with god know what, drops off of Raylan and oozes away toward the houses.
"Raylan?" Neal can barely make himself whisper the name. The other man doesn't react. Keeps walking toward him. Neal backs up, not wanting those shadows anywhere close. "Raylan, say something. Please say something. Please tell me this isn't real."
The cowboy just keeps walking.
no subject
He realizes Neal is stirring. He rubs his hand on Neal’s arm.
“Neal? Neal, wake up.”
no subject
Finally he turns to run.
Malcolm stands in arm's reach of him, face practically eaten away, but Neal would know that voice in any world.
"What's wrong? We missed you."
Neal screams himself awake.
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)