Chapter Text
Herc had good days and he had horrible days, never anything in between. He was either non-responsive or screaming and thrashing, so manic that he had to be sedated to keep from hurting himself. It had been that way now for months, and each time Stacker Pentecost visited the asylum it hurt worse.
Some days when he visited, Herc recognized him. When he did, his eyes welled with tears and he screamed about illusions and how it couldn’t be Stacker, Stacker was dead. No matter what Stacker said to Herc on those days, he continued to scream denials, screamed for them to stop toying with him. Sometimes Stacker wondered if coming to visit Herc was doing more harm than good.
Other days Herc muttered names that nobody recognized and asked after a son that he never had. When any of them asked about about any of the names, Herc never answered, simply shaking his head solemnly. Then were the days in which he spoke of monsters and terror, of portals in the ocean and giant machines protecting humanity. Those were really the days that made Stacker lose hope, the days that made him wonder if he’d ever get the man he loved back.
However that day, the first day he’d been able to make himself come and visit in a few weeks, Herc was different. There was a clarity in those blue eyes, a weary exhaustion that immediately made Stacker frown as he sat down. Herc actually looked at him, really saw him, for the first time in months, since the madness had first settled in. They sat in silence for a few moments, staring at one another, before, surprisingly, Herc parted his lips and spoke.
"How’s Max been?" Herc questioned, offering a tired smile.
Stacker’s shoulders sagged a little in relief; maybe Herc was finally getting better. “He misses you.”
"Can I see him sometime?" Herc questioned, looking so weary and pained that it made Stacker’s chest ache.
"Sure. I’ll bring him." Stacker agreed, hesitantly reaching across the table to gently grip the Australian’s hand.
"I’m almost out, Stacks. My head’s hell, but I’m fixin it."
"I’ll wait for you."
"I know… I can always find you—" Herc paused, then looked pained, then smiled sadly. "Sorry."
"What were you about to say?" Stacker questioned; now that Herc was calm, maybe he could talk to him, even if it was about the strange world that he could only see in his mind.
"…I can always find you in the drift." Herc answered, looking wary.
"What’s the drift?" Stacker questioned, gently squeezing his husband’s hand, offering a rare, small, encouraging smile.
"It’s nonsense, that’s what."
"Tell me about it."
Herc stared at him for a long moment before smiling a little. “Fine, fine. Well…”
As Herc began to talk, Stacker thought he saw some of the life come back into his eyes. He saw his husband’s shoulders relax, saw some of the weariness seep out of him. If learning about the world that had trapped Herc’s mind helped heal him, then he would learn about it.