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~1
The first time it happens Nick is laying in his bunk on the first night they’re all together at the ranch. He feels a chapped pair of lips brush against his own in a soft, hesitant kiss, and he just blinks in surprise at the phantom touch. Because while he’s used to being the object of a fantasy, has been the object more times than he can count, it’s the middle of the damn apocalypse and he hasn’t felt something like this in over a month.
The feel of the lips returns a beat after they disappear and now there’s a hand gently holding his right cheek. If the size of it is anything to go on, then it’s another man that’s fantasizing about kissing him right now. As much as he hates to admit it, given that he’s on a ranch full of racist rednecks that wanted him dead a day ago, it’s surprisingly nice. Sweet even. Whoever it is genuinely just want’s a tender moment with him and he can feel it in the way they’re going about this fantasy.
There’s a hand on his left side now, warm as it slips around the small of his back to pull him flush against the frame of someone slightly taller and broader than him. Definitely a man. The fantasy doesn’t go beyond them holding each other and sharing soft kisses. It’s oddly pleasant, he thinks, given most people who are so brazen as to fantasize about another person like this would be fantasizing about things more heated and explicit. He can’t remember every experiencing a fantasy like this before. Not even as an innocent young teen.
A few moments later the fantasy has ended and Nick finds himself trailing the tips of his fingers over his lips as he wonders who the hell could have been thinking about him like that in a place like this. Instead of dwelling on it he heaves a sigh and rolls over to try and get some sleep.
~2
The second time it happens is after his little hunting trip with Troy and the militia. He’s just got back to the bunk house from trying to help put out the fire they came home to find, and he smells of smoke and earth and he thinks maybe a little hint of Troy’s aftershave from their scuffle.
He’s standing in the shower when he feels phantom limbs wind their way around him from behind and pull him against a frame that feels like the one from the last fantasy. They’re both fully clothed, and whoever it is that’s holding him just rests their chin on his shoulder and heaves what feels like a heavy sigh as he relaxes against Nick.
Nick feels the fantasy version of himself place his hands on the arms around him and lean back into the embrace, his head lolling back to rest on the other man’s shoulder. He feels the movement and rumble of the person holding him as he speaks; no sound coming as fantasies don’t have sound for the object of them, but he thinks they’re probably talking about what happened tonight with the fire, as he feels their hold tighten and a slight tremble that runs through their frame.
He feels a kiss on the cheek before the fantasy ends. Whoever this dreamer is has facial hair, he notes as he brings a hand up to touch his cheek where he can still feel the phantom brush of lips and whiskers. With a shake of his head he goes back to washing up, the waters already run cold and he just wants to go to bed.
~3
The third time it happens Nick is curled up in bed with Luciana, unable to sleep because his mom and the militia should have been back hours ago. He’s lying on his back, Luciana curled at his right side with her head on his shoulder and an arm over his waist. He nearly jumps out of bed when he feels himself being pulled into a tight hug.
It’s definitely the dreamer from the last two times. And they’re wearing what feels like the tactical gear the militia wears. Almost as if they realized their clothes would be a giveaway, the bulky gear is gone and Nick is being hugged tightly to a chest clad in just a soft t-shirt now. They have their face tucked down into the crook of Nick’s neck and they’re saying something. The version of himself that the person is imagining hugs back, rubs at his back reassuringly.
Like the previous fantasies it’s short, sweet, and leaves him with an odd feeling of comfort he hasn’t gotten from anyone else touching him since Gloria was alive. It makes him wonder who his dreamer is, and why they’re only thinking about these kinds of things from him. Wonder what’s going on with this guy that he sees Nick as someone he can seek comfort from. Especially when the whole ranch knows about him and Luciana.
Almost as if she knows she’s being thought about, Luciana curls closer to Nick and mumbles something in Spanish in her sleep. Nick doesn’t catch it, but it’s enough to get him to drop his train of thought and focus on the living, breathing woman that’s the whole reason he’s there in the first place. He falls asleep with both arms around her and a promise to do something about whoever is dreaming about him the next time it happens.
~4
The fourth time, Nick is handcuffed to a cot in the med tent; sick and delirious with fucking smallpox like the rest of the remaining militia. He feels phantom hands stroking through his now short cut hair and it doesn’t even surprise him. He leans into the not-really-there touch, wishing someone was there doing it for real. The dreamer is picturing them side by side in what feels like a large bed. The blankets and pillows feel so soft compared to the real ones Nick has and he honestly for a moment wishes this was real. He lets his eyes slip closed as he sinks into the feeling of safety and comfort from the fantasy.
The hand in his hair continues to stroke in a slow, soothing way that lulls Nick into the first real sleep he’s gotten since Luciana left. He doesn’t count passing out from sickness as getting real sleep. He relaxes and nods off so quickly that he doesn’t notice Troy watching him with a small smile from the other end of the tent where he’s supposed to be listening to Jake talk about their options for dealing with the dead.
~5
The fifth time it happens is the night after Nick shot Jeremiah. He’s drunk; having stolen a bottle out of Jeremiah’s kitchen on his way out the back door. He drank a third of it that night and he drank another third tonight. He’s lying on the makeshift bed on the floor of his little half fixed-up house when he feels his dreamer wrap around him and bury his face in Nick’s neck.
For a moment Nick is so tempted to let himself just go with it like he has the other times, but right now his mind is telling him he doesn’t deserve even the comfort of human contact, even from a fantasy. Not after what he’s done. Greater good or not he did kill a man.
So, he focuses on the memories he has of the body that’s currently holding him, gets a vague mental image of a shadowy shaped like the man he feels but can’t see, and he pushes them off of him. Not hard, but just pushes. Thinks of them stumbling back a step.
In an instant the fantasy is over and he’s alone in his cold bed with nothing but the light of a dwindling candle and his stolen bottle of whiskey to keep him company.
~ +1
Troy is walking through the desert, the exhaustion and the ache in his hand a constant reminder of what he’s lost as he moves father and father from the only home he’s ever known.
It’s the morning after he was banished, and he’s so tired, but he can’t stop. The sun is climbing high and if he lies down now he will be cooked. In every sense of the word. So, he walks on.
All of the sudden he comes to a stop when he feels shaky hands grabbing his right hand weakly. He feels himself kneeling, one hand on what feels like a metal door frame as someone grabs his outstretched right hand like it’s a lifeline.
A moment later the fantasy version of himself is pulling those hands forward and now both his hands are moving quickly. They work to untie a rope around the wrists of the hands that had grabbed him, and in that moment it hits him.
Nick.
This is Nick fantasizing about him. Nick, who he overheard was going to be locked in a metal box and left for bake for two days as his punishment for helping Troy, because Madison refused to let him be banished too.
In the fantasy, he’s finished untying Nick’s hands and he’s pulled the younger man into his arms now. He’d pictured holding Nick nearly half a dozen times now, but this is so different. Fantasy Troy is still kneeling, holding Nick close as the younger man clings to him desperately.
Nick is mumbling against Troy’s throat, his grip loosening like he’s about to fall away. Sure enough the fantasy fades a moment later and Troy is left standing stunned. Logically, he knows it’s most likely that Nick just passed out. After all, he’s in a fucking metal box that’s heating up as the sun climbs higher. It knows that he’ll be let out that evening and he’ll be a little worse for the wear at first, but he’ll live.
The illogical side of Troy is what has him turning on his heel and heading in the direction that he knows is home. Because even with driving him hours into the desert, he can always find the ranch. It’s his home, after all. And while he knows going there is a death sentence, Nick needs him. Nick called out to him, and he’ll be damned if he abandons Nick after what Nick did to save him. His father’s blood on Nick’s hands doesn’t change how he feels about him in the end.
Sneaking onto the ranch was easy. The militia too busy watching Walkers men to watch the fences. So, at roughly 3pm Troy made his way across the now vacant cattle fields and over to the metal box that had been built to house Nick for his punishment. There wasn’t even a damn guard posted to make sure he was still alive.
For a moment he wondered if the lack of a guard meant they’d already taken Nick from the box, but a thud and small groan from inside made him think again. He made his way around to the front of the box and broke into a smile at the site of a disoriented but alive Nick looking out at him through a little viewing window.
“Hey, Nicky. You miss me?” He asked as he started to unlatch the door.
A groan escaped Nick’s lips and he blinked at Troy’s like he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing. “You’re not real…” He mumbled dismissively, letting his eyes slip closed again.
The metal door swung open with a screech, and Troy found himself kneeling much like he had in Nick’s fantasy. “Hey, look at me. I’m real.” He said, holding his hand out for Nick to take. “ Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Nick’s eyes cracked open again and he took another hazy look at Troy. “You were banished… They took you out n’ left you… Just my mind tryin’ to give me false hope…” He said before turning a bit so he was wedged in a corner as his eyes slipped closed again.
With a chuckle Troy reached in and took Nick’s hands in his. He took a moment to stroke them, getting Nick to open his eyes again and really look at Troy as he began to untie the ropes that bound his wrists. “You had a fantasy this morning of me saving your ass.” Troy said matter-o-factly as he finished removing the last loop of rope before tossing it aside.
“I hallucinated that…” Nick mumbled, eyes glued on where Troy held his hands and rubbed at his aching wrists soothingly. “S'not the same as a fantasy…Y'don’t share that shit…”
Troy shook his head fondly. “Well whatever it was I felt it. It was something you wanted or I wouldn’t have been hit with it in the middle of the damn desert.” He said before pulling Nick out of his corner and into a hug. He made sure to be gentle, not wanting to hurt Nick in his weakened state.
After a beat of tension, Nick melted against Troy and wrapped his arms loosely around the other man. “It was you…” He mumbled into Troy’s neck as Troy pulled him close. “The fantasies… They were yours…”
Troy nodded, only letting himself have a moment to enjoy this. “Come on. We gotta get you outa here and get water and supplies. There’s an old barn a mile out that we don’t use anymore, I keep a truck there for emergencies. I figure we got just enough time to get there and GTFO before they realize you’re gone.” Troy explained as he moves to stand, pulling Nick up with him and keeping his arms around him to keep him steady on his feet.
“Yeah?” Nick asked, blinking at Troy, more focus coming to his eyes now. “Okay… I have a couple jugs of water n some food at my house… ” He said, giving a nod more to himself than Troy. “You seriously want me to go with you?” He asked, not meeting Troy’s gaze now.
“I just risked my own ass to come spring you from being roasted like Sunday dinner. You think I’d do that if I didn’t want you with me, Nicky?” He asked, smiling in a way that made his dirt smudged face look young and a little goofy.
Nick smiled back after a beat. “Alright, let’s go.” He said, slinging an arm up over Troy’s shoulder. “Y'gotta help me though.”
With a chuckle Troy helped Nick sneak to the other end of the ranch where his little unfinished house sat unwatched and out of sight of the rest of the ranch. After taking a break to both get a drink and something to eat they wrapped everything they needed up in a blanket and left without being seen or heard from again.