Honestly ,  the  guy  looks  like  Walker  may  have  ate  him  and  shit  him  out  a  couple  of  times  already .  

“  Did  anyone  lose  a  toddler ?  No ?  ”

“ Look  at  the  example  you’re  setting  for  Tommy ,  here .  Man  up .  Nobody  likes  a  quitter . ”

laughter bubbles out in a breathless gasp as blake turns around and sits facing forward in the car seat; he had been looking backwards, waiting to see black cars speeding after them, windows tinted to where one wouldn’t be able to see who was in it, but you didn’t need to see to know it was murkoff. an accidental blip on the radar had located the giant to their location, and they had had to run out of town with practically none of their belongs.  he was, for once, grateful that miles was a reckless driver, because he doubted they would have been able to lose them by follow traffic laws.  ❝jesus.❞ he starts to relax, nerves jittery with all the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the panic slowly beginning to wear off. ❝we almost just got royally fucked and you’re thinking about taco bell?❞ a crooked grin is thrown at the driver, head shaking slowly. ❝yeah, i think going through a drive through is the last thing we need to do right now.❞  

sympathetic gaze turns towards the other man (friend, partner, savior) and although his mouth opens to try and say something encouraging or soothing, nothing comes out. what could possibly be said? they’ve both experienced horrible things, nightmares that seem to never end even when you open your eyes - it’s no wonder they came out broken. he wonders if those cracks could be fixed, put back together with glue or gold glaze, made beautiful again. he doubted it. these cracks ran too deep. these cracks still bleed. there is nothing he can say, so he closes his mouth and he averts his gaze. how can you comfort someone when you can’t even comfort yourself? when you still wish it had been you that died? when you can’t even be grateful that you escaped? lynn’s face flashes briefly in his mind.  he shakes his head slightly before looking back up at miles. when did they both grow so damn old? it almost makes him want to laugh, if it weren’t so inappropriate. he shifts in his seat before sliding forward, out of it and kneeling before the other, his hands moving up to cup the man’s face - touch calloused, but soft. ❝hey - i’m here. i’m right here. we’ll... we’ll figure something out, you know? as long as we’re both together, we’ll manage.❞ it’s weak; but it’s still a promise.

❛   are you saying you don't trust me?  ❜  

         “ and i am a patient man. i want to provide the very best care to aaaall my patients, and if you can’t see that - well, i suppose i’ll be forced to take a more aggressive approach. neither of us want that now, do we ? ”

lynn is dead. it’s the first thought that registers in his mind when he hears the baby in his arms cry (though isn’t it odd that it never moves? it’s screaming up a storm but it’s little body is completely still), sitting on his knees, staring at her limp body. it’s the only thing he’s able to focus on, his failure to save yet another loved one due to his own cowardice, his own incompetence. she is dead and there is nothing he can do about it. he can’t even give her a proper burial, for god’s sake. the sound of footsteps is what knocks him out of such a mindset, drives back the fear into his veins like a needle does morphine, and he shoots up with child in arms, now hellbent on not letting another thing die. he almost takes off running, sure that this is another one of those fucking cultists (which one, at this point, does not matter) having found him, but something causes him to hesitate, to look back and see who it is.  he freezes in his tracks like a deer in front of headlights, all that fear instantly draining and sending him into shock. there’s no way this is real; this isn’t happening, but god is it wrong for him to hope it is? there’s a part of him, something logical that’s somehow survived all this madness, that reminds blake of an undeniable truth: miles upshur is very much dead. he never really knew the details of how or where he died, but he knows for certain that fellow investigative reporter met some sort of tragic end all those months (or has it already been years now?) ago. however, whatever that part of him says, it’s overwhelmed by the amount of relief and hope that spreads across aching bones at seeing a familiar face. ❝m-miles?❞ voice cracks, words spat out from dry, hoarse throat, ❝is that really you?❞