Chapter Text
Waylon swallowed nervously, watching the figure in front of him turn on their heel and come towards him.
He was sitting at a table, his hand laying flat on the surface of it, his cane nowhere in sight. Heart beating faster as the other came closer, he breathed in through his nose, letting it out in a whoosh of air from his mouth. When they sat down, he nearly vaulted out of his chair, struggling when the strong fingers of Eddie Gluskin wrapped around his wrist.
"I'm sorry, Darling, you really must find me detestable."
It was his voice, his mannerisms from the hospital, the slight British-lisp to his words that Waylon remembered, but it wasn't him.
Couldn't be him.
His skin and clothing were clean of blood, his eyes a vibrant blue without any of the damage that had been done to them. His hair was neatly swept back, kept in place with a small amount of gel, and he actually wore clothing that looked nice. For some reason, Waylon relaxed, albeit cautiously, as he studied the man before him.
"You never did meet me at my best." Eddie continued as if he hadn't tried to get away from him. "And I really do apologize for that."
"...I don't think it was your fault." Waylon answered, his free hand drumming on the tabletop. "There were things done to you, and it wasn't because you deserved it."
"I am glad you think so," Eddie pressed his hand to his heart, smiling warmly. It wasn't the toothy smile he had used when he'd first met Waylon outside of the incident in the testing chamber, but something softer. "It warms me to know that you think that. That hospital was a cruel place, such things done to a man...It was inhumane."
Waylon met his eyes, holding that brilliantly blue gaze. "Is this a dream?"
"I suppose." Eddie shrugged, letting go of Waylon's wrist. "I have always wondered if the dead could dream. Do you think we can? Or is death the end of those who have passed? I'm not sure I like the idea of coming to an end before my fiftieth birthday. Do you know when you are supposed to die, Darling?"
Still holding his eyes with his own, Waylon frowned. "You never learned my name."
"I did not. You were only ever a memory and my Darling." Eddie's hands clasped together in his lap. "What is your name, may I learn it now?"
"Waylon Park." he found himself answering. "And this isn't even the weirdest thing I've gone through."
"Of course it isn't," Eddie laughed, a throaty and real sort of noise that was tinged with sadness. "You survived that dreadful place. You managed to make it out of Mount Massive Asylum, darling Waylon. And now, I fear," he stood slowly, leaning forward slightly. "You must wake up and run some more."
He pressed a kiss to Waylon's forehead, sending a jolt through his body.
He landed on the floor with a thud, his arms flailing as his legs tangled in the blankets. Outside his motel room, he could hear the footsteps of a group of people, his drawn curtains almost glowing from the light shining through them.
Dimly, he could hear someone shouting, and it dawned on him slowly that it was a call to order, someone telling others to search the rooms.
Breathing heavily, he yanked his glasses off the bedside table, thankful he had fallen asleep in his clothing the night before. With quick motions slurred by exhaustion, he pulled on his shoes, hopping across the room towards his bags and cane where they stood by the door. Pulling open the curtain a crack, he looked outside, watching the movements of what looked to be a SWAT team but probably wasn't.
Hissing out a curse, he dragged his bag onto his back, pulling the other onto his shoulder and making for the back window as fast as he could. He had paid for the three nights he had stayed upfront, knowing deep down that any longer than that would be hazardous to his health.
Murkoff had resources all over the world, and he gulped down his nerves as he hitched his legs out the window, dropping his duffel bag down first. It was packed with clothing and cords, a softer landing than the almost frozen ground. Before he could get very far, a hand curled into the collar of his sweater, dragging him back and against the wall.
The heat of the body pressing close to his, one hand over his mouth, nearly made him panic.
"Shut up, would you?" a voice hissed, the hand on his face going tighter for a second. "They have dogs with them, and I don't think that someone with a crippled leg is going to want to try to outrun them!" the other man looked around wildly, his face covered in stubble and dirt as he-
His eyes were nearly all black.
Waylon took a deep breath, his own eyes going wide as he studied the man holding onto him. The hand over his mouth was missing a finger, and it took a few moments, but Waylon recognized him.
"...You're Miles Upshur." he whispered, hand clenching tightly around his cane. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I sent you in there, it was the coward's way out and-"
"Shut up!" Miles hissed again, his eyes narrowing. "Can't you see that I'm trying to keep your dumb ass alive? If they catch us here, we're both dead, so how about you sit quietly for a second?" he rolled his eyes, tilting his head as if listening to something Waylon couldn't hear. "How you survived a year and a half with Murkoff following behind you, I'll never know..." he grumbled.
Pulling away, he took the larger of Waylon's bags in his hand, easily hefting it over one shoulder with a strength that didn't match his frame.
"The last time I saw you," Waylon began as he practically galloped to catch up to the man, his cane slipping a little on the muddy ground behind the motel. "You were surrounded by a black cloud and it didn't look good for you."
"Project Walrider needs a host," Miles shot back, turning to drag Waylon up a small hill by the front of his shirt. "It wasn't going to let me die from a couple of bullet wounds to the chest. Or a couple of missing fingers." he let Waylon settle on his feet, then continued walking at a fast pace. "Thanks for taking my jeep, by the way."
"Oh, I didn't know it was yours. It just looked like my best shot at getting the hell out of there." Waylon winced when Miles lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sorry."
"No, seriously, thank you for taking it. It had my press pass and my ID and everything in it. Now, Murkoff doesn't know who Walrider's host is, and I was able to go into blackout mode to get away from them." his strange eyes glinted in the darkness. "Plus, I was sort of the one guiding the damn car out of there in the first place. Your leg was fucked, buddy, did you really think you were driving on your own?"
"I wasn't actually sure," Waylon huffed out, gripping a tree with one arm as he paused for a moment. "I remember making it home, my wife coming out at a run to see me, and then I remember waking up in a hospital."
Miles looked at him, allowing the stop for a few minutes. "They tried to kill you there, too, by the way. I stopped a couple of them from getting into your room, stopped one of them from putting something in your IV. I think they were planning on killing you with morphine or something." he sighed, brushing one of his four-fingered hands through his hair. "The only reason they let you upload that video file was because they thought they could corrupt it as it loaded in. Now they're hunting you down because they couldn't, and they're in a world of shit."
He pulled something out of his pocket. "A couple of letters were sent to you, by the way. I've been checking on the families of everyone involved in this, and a woman named Susannah Walker sent a letter." he grinned, an almost feral threat in the motion of it. "She's spearheading a bunch of different damage claim lawsuits against them. In particular, the ones about where their missing family members went."
"Miss Walker?" Waylon took the letter from him, smiling at it briefly before slinging his backpack onto one arm and unzipping it just enough to slide it in. "She's looking for her brother, I hope he survived. Did you ever run into any information about him? I know that some files were strewn about the place when we we're trying to get out."
"...He's..." Miles shook his head. "He didn't make it out. Walrider was still using Billy Hope as a host when it found me and Chris in a hallway down by the testing chambers. I've never seen a man so thoroughly destroyed before, and I haven't seen anything like it since, even with my poking into Murkoff's history. Poor bastard got shoved into an air vent..." he shuddered, waving away the memory. "Do you still have my camera?"
"I do, yeah." Waylon stretched, then started moving again. "Where are we heading?"
"You're heading for a hospital. When I said I was checking on the families involved, I meant yours too." Miles made a face. "As dangerous as it is for a man on the run to be that public, I think you want to be with her right now." he followed Waylon up the next hill, bracing him when he stumbled. "I'm starting to understand why you took the job with Murkoff now."
Waylon's face was pale and drained, his brow drawn down with worry. "Lisa's medical bills were just too much, and I was being laid off. They offered so much money, the first three days of pay alone would have been enough to pay off the bills and keep us going for a lot longer."
"She's not dying yet, but she's..." Miles pursed his lips. "I don't know the terms exactly, but it came back."
"We knew there was always a chance. They can't get everything when they go in and cut the cancerous cells out." Waylon rubbed at his cheek as Miles guided him across a clearing and into a car. "You got your jeep back. Good."
"You left it at your house. When I told her who I was, she let me take it back." Miles looked out the window, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the parking spot at a speed that almost threw Waylon out of his seat. "She asked me to find you. The boys are apparently at a family member's house while she's in the hospital."
Waylon nodded. "Good."
There was a silence between them for the rest of the ride, almost easy but decidedly uncomfortable, only ending when Miles switched on the radio a few counties away.