Work Text:
Having hard times looking for a quiet and visually stable nook, Dylan finally crashes on a cold concrete floor. Pressing himself against a shabby wall. Closing his weary eyes and exhaling.
His newfound abilities are taking a toll on him. Using them is not as easy as it looks. Now his body is aching all over, like he's been violently kicked at his ribs back at school.
— Zoe... you here? Are you okay? — taking a walkie talkie out of his inner pocket, Dylan squeezes it tightly in his hand, clinging to it with his gaze. This feels better than just talking to the wall.
Continuous static and unreadable noise instead of an answer make his heart painfully flutter. The static suddenly sounds like the Hiss incantation...
— Zoe, come in! — Dylan shouts, losing control of his voice.
Shit. It can't be true. Not now. It's too soon.
— Sorry! The transmitter is fucked up, I have to request new one, — finally a cheerful voice comes out from the speaker.
Exhaling audibly with relief, Dylan smiles softly. And feels like he's somehow getting better. Feels like this nasty pain goes somewhere into the background, leaving a room for warmth.
— I'm so happy to hear you, — he says ingenuously. Letting out what's been inside for a while.
— Shush, you dummy! It's not for work communications, — Zoe chuckles and then suddenly falls silent, — ...Me too.
Her last words drown in the static but Dylan is certain he heard it right.