Chapter Text
When Howard first awoke, the only thing he could feel was another person’s fingers entangled with his own. That was it. His vision was entirely black, and there was this sense of weightlessness, of calm.
As time passed, (whether that was minutes, hours, or days, Howard didn’t know,) a new feeling developed. Pain, this time. An aching, persistent throb in his head. Through his head. With an instinctive motion, he brought the hand that wasn’t being held up, attempting to feel around for some issue. Had Jimmy knocked him unconscious? Where was he now? Just thinking of Jimmy and Kim’s face gave way to a festering dread in Howard’s stomach, almost a kind of sickness. Howard attempted to shift, and apparently with the previous movement of his arm he unlocked the rest of his body as well, rolling onto his side and facing the direction of whatever had hold of his hand.
He could feel the earth below him now, but it was not the familiar feeling of laying on the hard dirt he had known before, this was closer to floating on one’s back in a still pool. He could go further down if he wanted to, if he pushed; Howard didn’t linger on that thought. Maybe he was in a pool. A very grainy, dirt-like pool.
“...qué..?”
The sound almost made Howard flinch back. The voice was faint, but it rang in Howard’s ears like a church bell. The other person gave his hand a firm pull, attempting to dislodge them, and they seemingly both realised at the same time that they couldn’t separate their palms. Howard tried it as well, just for good measure, and got the same result.
“Dónde estoy? Eres tú, Gustavo?”
Gustavo?
Howard had taken some years of Spanish in high school, but not enough to carry any kind of meaningful conversation. Still, he was not Gustavo, at least he didn’t think so, and he should clear that up.
“No.” Howard’s voice was mumbly as well, his eyes staring intently into the darkness where he predicted the voice was coming from. He could recognise it, somewhat, but couldn’t pin down exactly where he had heard it before. His head raced through hundreds of faces in rapid succession, did he really know all these people? His brain looped back around to the faces of Jimmy and Kim, staring just past Howard with horror. The memory ended there, and it frustrated Howard that his own brain was holding things back from him.
“Who are you, then?” The man spoke again, this time in English, and Howard let out a small sigh of relief. His voice had apparently conveyed that he was not the Gustavo this man was searching for.
“Howard Hamlin, of Hamlin Hamlin McGill.” Howard responded quicker than he could think of what to say, the words coming on instinct. Every sentence that passed between them seemed to trigger a fresh wave of memories, all somewhat foggy. Like a dream.
‘Who are you?’
‘Me? Nobody.’
The ache in Howard’s head worsened, but it seemed to rise and fall at random intervals rather than following the drum of his heartbeat, as he’d previously experienced with many migraines over the past few years. Wait, heartbeat? Howard’s free hand moved from where it was resting on his forehead down to his chest, pressing firmly on his left side. Nothing. Even the weight of his own hand felt lighter than he expected, like pressing into a mattress.
Howard jolted up, sitting upright now. He could feel the other man being tugged up as well, but he didn’t care about that.
“Where are we? Do you know where we are? How– did something happen to me? I can’t– I’m going to be sick.” Howard's breath came in and out, sharp and fast. If his therapist was here, he would tell Howard to count down from ten, to identify his feelings and sit with them. Scared, Howard was feeling scared. His hand went back to his head, around the temples now, his fingers grazing a circular wound a few inches above his ear.
The man to his left, from sound alone, was not matching Howard’s worry. Howard felt him shift into a proper sitting position as well. Instead of answering any of Howard’s questions, the man spoke.
“We’re dead, hombre.”
“No, that’s not–” Howard stopped himself, took a deep breath, exhaled. That’s not possible is what he wanted to say, but evidently it was, because here they were. Okay. Lay it all out. He was dead, in the ground it seemed like, with some other man who he still didn’t know.
“Lalo.” The other man, Lalo, said, as if reading Howard’s mind. “You asked my name, it’s Lalo.” He didn’t offer his last name like Howard did, which made him feel a bit of embarrassment for his earlier introduction. He could feel Lalo moving, working his way up, it seemed like. Howard followed, still not feeling the most even on his feet but anchoring himself on Lalo’s grip of his hand.
Lalo’s head came up from the dirt first, then Howard’s. They were, indeed, in the dirt. Howard pushed himself completely out and looked around. At first, he thought he was in some kind of cave, but quickly realised it seemed to be some kind of construction site. There was a metal staircase leading to a small opening, moonlight streaming down into the hole. Being able to see now, Howard looked down at himself, being able to see the dusty ground through his translucent legs. Lalo brushed himself off beside Howard, and Howard turned his head to look at the other man, his eyes trailing Lalo’s movements before resting on his face.
‘Howard, please go, please.’
Howard moved before he had the conscious thought to do so, lunging at Lalo and tackling him to the ground, automatically rearing his hand back to strike. Lalo was no small man, but Howard easily had a few inches on him. Memories rushed back, none of them particularly pleasant. Memories of anger, then fear, then–
‘What’s this about?’
Howard landed a hit on Lalo’s jaw, unable to tell whether it damaged him at all, but that wasn’t the point. Anger, that was the point. It trumped all the feelings of dread and helplessness, consuming his mind until he could only think of one thing: retaliation. This man took your life. What if he did the same to Jimmy and Kim? How many others have died at the hand that Howard is holding?
‘I don’t know what I’m in the middle of here… there’s really no need for–’
Howard was straddled across Lalo’s waist, landing punch after punch as his eyes began to blur. His next hit hesitated, trying to blink away the wetness that had taken over the corners of his eyes. His life. His reputation might have been ruined, and his marriage was falling apart, but a man always had his life. Howard collapsed forward, openly sobbing now, pressing his face into Lalo’s shoulder. Howard dug his nails into the back of Lalo’s hand, gritting his teeth even as tears flowed freely. His life.
Lalo was still, if he was in any pain from what Howard had done, he wasn’t showing it. His own free hand moved to Howard’s shoulder, giving him a few light pats, like he wasn’t quite sure what Howard wanted from him.
“Aah, there, there.” Howard could hear the smirk in Lalo’s voice, and he shifted to hold himself up again, looking down at Lalo’s face. A beat of silence passed, then a look of recognition suddenly dawned on Lalo’s face, and he smiled like he was greeting an old friend. “Oh! You were that lawyer at Goodman’s place!”
Howard reared his fist back to hit him again.