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The bunks are tiny.
It’s okay. They’d known that when they’d bought it, William circling the entirety of the RV three times before letting Vyncent sign anything. The bunks were small, the kitchen unfinished, the outside dingy. But like Ms. G says, there was always room for improvement. And improve they did– tripping out the seats and counters, adding in a number of William Wisp specials (the motorcycle wall is his magnum opus) and even installing an ejection seat. The Winnebago is a beautiful creation, truly the pinnacle of vehicular advancements, and William has only stalled it like four times.
They’d had to tighten up the bunk space in order to make room for all the rest of the cool shit. Initially it had been one bunk, but with some plywood, a drill, and thin mattresses, they managed to make it into 3 smaller ones instead. They were thin, more coffin-shaped than anything else. William felt the most like a corpse when he slept in his, arms held tight up to his sides and a blanket covering him from the chest down. It helps that he doesn’t sleep much, if at all– perks of being dead, he supposes. Dakota and Vyncent make the most use out of them, if they don’t just nap on the couch or in the passenger seat while William drives.
Sleep doesn’t come easy. Not for any of them, not after what they’ve been through. William knows each time one of them snaps awake in any way. He’s tuned into the sounds of their breathing, and when all is quiet in the dark, he listens closely as Vyncent’s breath comes short and fast or Dakota whispers familiar phrases.
He’s not sure if he’s glad that he doesn’t sleep anymore. Nightmares aren’t fun. Not sleeping means that William can avoid them, but he likes to keep up the illusion of life as much as he can, and not being able to dream hurts.
Dakota, at least, can sleep. And sleep he does. Out of all of them, he’s the one who passes out the most, worn to exhaustion by the frantic beating of his too-warm heart. William is slowly losing touch, but Dakota is red-hot and it’s hard to miss the sensation of his skin against William’s hand. Dakota’s touchy, too– always hugging, always holding hands, constantly brushing shoulders. It’s like he’s reminding himself they’re still here, a concept that William finds totally and unendingly endearing.
Vyncent sleeps less than Dakota, but more than William. He can snap from asleep to awake in an instant, without a moment of grogginess. William remembers conceptually waking up; foggy thoughts, confusion, blurry eyes. But Vyncent seems to ignore all that, instantaneously functional. His capability is kind of hot. (William stubbornly shoves that thought down whenever it rears its head, burrowing like a fox into soft soil and dragging the thought like a dead thing into his den.)
It’s not an unfamiliar sight today. William’s in the front seat of the Winnebago, the compass in one hand and his phone in the other. Vyncent is somewhere in the back of the Winnebago doing Vyncent things– William is ignoring him, but can hear him occasionally mutter back to the voices in his head– and Dakota is asleep.
Other than Vyncent’s occasional murmur, the van is quiet. They’re parked in a grocery store parking lot, the world moving around them, life going forwards as William attempts to pick and pry at the compass and make it more accurate.
It’s tiring, but it’ll be worth it in the end. For a moment the blue wisp inside spins rapidly before settling back in the direction it was initially pointed, and William leans back in his seat, sighing quietly. The GPS on his phone is very little help, but being able to see a zoomed out map of Prime is nice.
He takes a second and swipes around on the screen, pinching and pulling to look at different areas. They’re halfway to Freedom City, New Haven behind them. It’s only about four in the afternoon, sunlight slanting through the windshield– Dakota will wake up and want food soon, and then William might try driving at night when the highways are emptier. He’s getting better.
Kind of.
He zooms back in on their location on his phone and then, bored, swipes to his contacts. His finger hovers over Tide’s number for a second, then he scrolls to Harlem. Then he puts his phone away and shoves his face into his hands, pulling at the bottom of his eyelids.
“This is so useless,” he mutters lowly to himself, and hears a soft shuffle in the back. Then another rustle, louder this time. William keeps his head in his hands, thinking about the compass on the dash in front of him, vaguely wondering what Vyncent’s doing and very nearly about to get up and go bother him when–
Thud. Crack. Crash.
Someone is yelling. All William has to do is turn around to know it’s not Vyncent, because Vyncent is already on his feet behind him, racing toward the bunks. He immediately slings himself over the armrest and follows, skidding to a stop by the tiny openings. He gets there just as Dakota’s voice cracks and his eyes rip open, just as his friend tries to sit up and slams his head on the bunk above him.
“Dakota!” Vyncent says, and Dakota rolls, landing on the floor with a thump. Between his fingers, which are now cradling his face, William can see a spot of red. His blood runs cold.
Vyncent grabs at Dakota’s arms and that’s when the screaming begins.
“No, stop!” Dakota shrieks, curling in on himself and simultaneously kicking a foot out. William has enough presence of mind to pull Vynce out of the way just in time to avoid the strike, and Dakota is still screaming, his voice filled with agony.
“Don’t touch him,” William rasps to Vyncent. And then, just to get him out of the way, “Go find his headphones. Check the console.”
Vyncent stares at William with a horrified expression for a moment. Then it settles into something more determined, and he detaches himself from William in a flash, disappearing up front.
William sinks to his knees a few feet away from Dakota. The linoleum paneling on the floor is cold underneath him.
“Dakota,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice calm. Dakota is still screaming and writhing on the floor, shouting wordlessly. “Dakota, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”
The screaming trails off, Dakota’s chest heaving in and out. His hands are still clawing at his own face, and his breathing is the loudest noise in the whole vehicle. William waits, his chest tight and fingers cold. Eventually, Dakota speaks.
“I couldn’t save them,” Dakota rasps. “I can see them, Will, I can see her, I can see their faces. I can see Ashe.”
“It’s okay,” William murmurs, his heart shattering into pieces he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to pick up. “Dakota, it’s okay.”
“I couldn’t save them,” Dakota sobs. He curls further in on himself. “What am I even good for?”
“Kota–” William stutters, unsure. But then he gets a peek of one bright eye peering at him through the mesh of fingers covering Dakota’s face, puffy and red and teary. William locks gazes with him, and then after a second of staring, he opens his arms in an invitation.
In a split second, faster than any normal person could’ve moved, Dakota is in his lap, in his arms. He nearly bowls them both over with the force of it, but William manages to keep them both upright as Dakota clings to him like a monkey. Arms around his middle, face buried into his shirt, Dakota sobs. William reaches up and holds him back, because what else is there to do?
“Are you okay?” William whispers after a second.
“No,” Dakota says. His voice is raw, and he hiccups once before asking, “Are any of us okay?”
A snort sounds from behind William, and then he sees Vyncent’s legs and then the rest of him as he comes around and kneels. He holds out Dakota’s headphones, and William takes them, slipping them over his ears. William feels more than sees him minutely relax. “Is that even a question?” Vyncent asks.
Dakota hiccups again. One of his hands loosens up on William’s shirt and he makes a grabby motion at Vynce, who gives William a look as he scooches in and leans against his side. Dakota latches on to him too, but his face stays buried in Will’s neck.
“Sorry guys,” he says, nasal and wrecked. “Sorry I’m such a freaking loser.”
“Don’t say that, Dakota,” William says gently. He keeps his voice the same level, even tone he’s had this whole time, manufactured to instill calm. “You’re not a loser.”
“It was such a bad dream,” Dakota says. Vyncent winces in sympathy across the way, and then hesitantly raises a hand. A second later he settles it down on top of Dakota’s head, and William watches as he pats him softly. “I’m so glad you guys are here.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Vynce says. He looks up at William, and William just purses his lips in answer. “Happens, uh– happens to the best of us.”
“Maybe you should sleep on the couch, man,” William says. “So you don’t slam up into the ceiling again. Is your head okay?”
“It’s fine,” Dakota says, even though William had seen the blood earlier. It’s clear he doesn’t want to move. “I’m fine. No couch. Besides, what about you guys? You get bad dreams too.”
“Well, yeah, but we don’t flail as much as you do,” William points out. “You can sleep on the couch, it’ll be cozier anyway. We’ll work it out.”
Dakota sniffs. William sighs, and knows he shouldn’t bother trying to talk about the logistics of making sure Dakota doesn’t kill someone in his sleep. He just holds him and goes back to platitudes. “It’s okay, Kota. For real. We’re here.”
“You’re here,” Dakota repeats quietly, sniffling harder. “You’re alive.”
Not really, William thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. He just runs a hand over Dakota’s back and stares at the cracked ceiling of the Winnebago.
“We’re alive,” Vyncent says. William looks at him again, drawn to his voice like a moth to a flame, and they lock eyes above Dakota’s head. Vyncent presses his lips together, face flushed with adrenaline, and glances down at Dakota then back up at William. William just shakes his head– he himself is shaken, his body tight and trembling as they sit on the floor together. They’re all a little broken, he knows, but seeing Dakota like this is singularly devastating. Vyncent’s face drops slightly and he leans in, pressing his nose to Dakota’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. William feels the heavy weight on his legs of Dakota, can feel the slight tug on his shirt, but there’s no warmth. No comfort from any of it. Dakota is still shivering, and Vyncent won’t– or can’t– look at him. William slides a cold hand over the back of Dakota’s head and wishes Ashe was here.
“It’ll be okay,” he lies, not believing a single word he says. “It’ll be okay.”