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You hold truth level with your eyes, trying to tell why your lies had ever turned into it.
Commander Gabriel Reyes, who stands, decked in camouflage and grief fueled anger asks, "Who the hell is Cole Cassidy, and why does he have to die?"
Cole can't respond, because he-which-was-what-was formerly the Commander is currently changing again out of reach of Cole's shaking hands.
He, Reyes, father to Cole, has begun to look more like an owl. An omen of death, or some great beast in the stories that calmed his fuck-up self of a 'foster' son. Cole has no idea what is going on, but knows that it's nothing good.
The confusion is gone, replaced by crippling dread and deep, pitch black eye sockets staring into him.
Gabriel's medicine, the one for his cancer, is killing him.
Cole can still control dead eye, but Jesse can't. Hasn't been able to since whatever tech they put into Gabe's head went rogue.
He turns around in the dream, and there is a wall of advancing black rushing forwards. Everything evil in the world. Advancing towards him. Rushing up to meet the sky like a tsunami.
He runs, tossing the truth to the ground. He runs. Cowardly Cassidy. He runs.
It catches him. He falls, pressed to the ground as Whatever was Reyes becomes Whatever was Reaper. The darkness shifting.
It is heavy on his back, and he can't breath, or move.
Darkness blots out the high noon sun.
He opens his eyes and everything remains consumed by that darkness.
He's in his quarters now, trapped in bed. Reaper is there in the room, lurching at just at the edge of his vision. Stuck on his stomach, Cole tastes bile in his throat.
Its face is rotted, dark and shifting as pieces fall off of its brow and turn into black dust.
His torso is bloated and lumpy and diseased. Its arms spindly and twisted, offering out the pale of the owl mask towards Cole.
"It's either this, or you rot," he threatens.
Frozen with such a tremendous weight, not even able to shift slightly though he is trying, Cole feels the panicked claws of Deadeye reaching even despite the charms in the room.
The weight of the eyes isn't enough anymore. Oh shit.
Everything surrounding him is in such horrific detail. His heart pounds against the bed. He ain't never been more afraid in his life. There's something at the other edge of his vision, twisted, sharp metal warped and reflecting an unseen light that is slowly petering off.
A knife? A gun?
The light isn't dying yet, but he might be soon. His breathing slows, shallow and barely present.
He can feel Hanzo roll over, and he wants to ask for help. His throat is too clenched to speak. The fear dried up his mind and tongue.
"Cole, can you hear me?"
His voice. It's enough.
The spell is broken, the thing keeping Cole held down has stopped, but his nerves are still shot.
His hand slides across the slick sweat on his bare belly as he tries to move to get up. It feels like oil. It feels like he's just shed the outer layer of himself, and this is his slimy interior, exposed to air for the first time. It's like shedding snakeskin.
He kicks until his feet are free from the blanket.
Hanzo watches him carefully.
He rushes to stand up, lurching. Gotta check to make sure that what he saw isn't there anymore.
Staying up on his trembling legs is clumsy and hard, but he manages. He stumble until he can find the wall, leans on it, steadies himself.
Reaper isn't in the corner, but that doesn't mean they aren't compromised. He's dying, his chest hurts and it's hard to breathe. He's supposed to be better than this.
His temples hurt, his jaw hurts, his cheekbones hurt. His chest hurts. He's dying.
Hanzo is up now, sitting at the edge of the bed, ready to leap into action but waiting. He's being careful not to crowd Cole, and it shows in how tensely he waits.
"Fuck," Cole hisses. "God."
"Cole," he says, softer and more hesitant than usual. "What do you need? How may I help?"
"Need to--right now--bathroom is safer," Cole replies inelegantly. "Grab my gun for me, please--in a bit I gotta do-- gotta do a check of the house."
Hanzo stands now. Once he has retrieved Peacekeeper he lets Cole pull him into the bathroom with him. He looks concerned, but warm and gentle. He won't yell at Cole for this bout of irrationality.
Cole can tell he fears for him, fears what woke him. He fears what overtook Cole in the night.
With a click, lock the bathroom door, then set a glass on the handle so that when it opens it will shatter.
Hanzo looks concerned, and it makes Cole want to offer him kisses and sweet things to reassure him that they are alright, but Cole also needs to bathe the nightmare from his own bones.
He needs safety of his own right now, and Cole can't even give him any of the spare safety he usually holds onto. Cole is using all of it up.
He can wait. He can comfort Cole right now.
The porcelain of the bathtub is cool when Cole lowers himself into it, still fully clothed.
He opens his arms and legs. Hanzo doesn't understand until he beckons him closer.
He slots into the space made, lets Cole wrap one arm around his middle. He doesn't say anything about a shaking prosthetic pointing Peacekeeper at the door, simply resting his hand over the sweating one on his stomach. He doesn't say anything about how breathless Cole is, or how his legs are shaking so hard that they knock into his.
"Would you like to talk about it?" he asks, squeezing Cole's hand.
Cole nuzzles his cheek into his hair. "Nightmare, I think-- saw Reaper in our bedroom but he was different."
"I saw nothing," he replies, voice low and soothing. "You seemed to be having sleep paralysis, we are okay."
Cole hums in response, turning to smell at his hair. He smells like shampoo and soap, but that might also be the fact that they are in the bathtub.
Hanzo is good at being a comforting reality check.
"What year is it?" he asks Cole.
It takes an embarrassingly long time to answer, mostly because his brain is still halfway stuck in the panic.
"Twenty eighty-two."
"What day of the week is it?"
Cole frowns. He has no idea what time of night it is, so that changes the answer.
"It's either Monday or Tuesday."
Hanzo pats his arm. "Tuesday, but I will forgive that one."
"Thank you kindly."
"Is there anything you want or need?" He stares at the door.
"A shot of whiskey or a lobotomy."