Work Text:
Dylan's dreams never stayed nice for long.
Tonight it was the High Risk Chamber - white lights too bright, the smell of antiseptic, the stress building behind his eyes. Roberts' voice cut through it all like a blade.
"P6. Look at me when I'm talking to you."
Dylan tried. He always tried. But the man's hand still closed around the back of his neck, fingers digging in just hard enough to make the world tilt. The words came next, the same ones that always did: worthless, broken, waste of Bureau resources. Then the shove. The floor cold against his split lip. Old and new bruises alike stinging with pain.
"Dylan."
That... wasn't Roberts' voice? This was higher, thinner, cracking at the top. Someone was afraid, and Roberts had never been afraid. At least, not until...
"Dylan!"
He jolted upright. The Watchtower's bright orange paint swam into focus. Not the Oldest House. He wasn't there.
Zoe was kneeling beside him, one hand still on his shoulder, the other hovering like she wasn't sure whether to pull back or hold on tighter. Her eyes were wide, clearly worried.
Dylan's chest heaved. Adrenaline still sang under his skin, sharp and useless. He rolled from the chairs he'd been laid across, shoving himself upright on unsteady legs. Zoe stepped back just enough to give him space, but stayed close.
"It's okay," he managed, voice rough. "I'm-"
"Are you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Okay." Zoe's eyebrow arched. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Dylan's mouth opened. Closed. The trembling in his hands hadn't stopped.
Zoe stepped closer. "Dylan. I need you to tell me that it's okay. But... only if it's true."
"I am okay," he insisted. "...ish."
"Okay-ish?"
He swallowed. The memory still clung to his mind - Roberts' grip, blood spotting his skin, the feeling of bruises that were never allowed to heal. "It was just a nightmare." At her look he shook his head. "A... memory. But it's the past. And the person in it is dead. Has been for a long time."
"...ah."
Zoe didn't push, she just nodded once, then crossed to her desk, shut the open files, and killed the music that had been playing.
"Well," she said, turning back with a small, crooked smile, "my work schedule suddenly cleared up. How about we go for ice cream? On me."
Dylan felt the corner of his mouth lift despite the residual shake in his fingers. "Well, considering the FBC still hasn't paid me for my contract work..."
"Oh, yeah." Zoe clapped him on the back as they started toward the door. "Don't expect that anytime soon. FBC payroll is... slowww. Took me months to see my first check. And I was a normal person. Not-" She gestured. "Well. You know."
Dylan rolled his eyes, but still smiled. The nightmare was already fraying at the edges, replaced by the promise of cold mint and the company of someone who saw him for more than just his powers.
For now, okay-ish was good enough.