It's been several hours since the elevator incident, and night has fallen in Dearborne. Cheryl is curled up on the sofa, having finally managed to fall asleep, but she looks tense and ready to bolt at any minute. Ash isn't looking much better.

"We need to talk."

Those words are never good.

At first, there was darkness.

And then there was light, filtered in through thick swaths of fog. A dense carpet of leaves crunched softly underfoot.

GODDAMMIT, not this place again."'Fraid so, sugar ( Read more... )

He can't sleep.

He's had more than a few restless nights recently, but this one's been the worst yet. As he wakes from yet another nightmare, he mutters a curse.

"Screw this."He gets up quietly, careful not to wake any of the suite's other occupants, and enters the baby's room ( Read more... )

"Hey, Ash?"

"I'm off the clock. Whaddya want?"

"You comin' to the Christmas party?"

"Hell no. Like I wanna spend any more time with you people?"

"Yeah, whatever, man. Have a good night."

"You too."

"Um.. Ash?"

"What?"

"There's someone waiting for you out here."

Ash is sprawled out on the sofa, tossing and turning. Someone - probably Slack - has thoughtfully draped a blanket over him, but he isn't sleeping very peacefully.

Instead, he's dreaming. Of a mist-filled forest and a deserted, run-down cabin.

... Again.

The fluorescent lighting is out of commission as Ash and Slack step into the deserted S-Mart, casting shadows over aisles of forgotten merchandise.

Despite everything, Ash is grinning.

[after this]

It's a short trip, relatively speaking, from the front door of Milliways to the nearly empty S-Mart parking lot, but it feels like it should be a lot longer.

He lets go of Sheila's hand and gives her an apprehensive look.

Ash's apartment could best be described as a barely controlled mess. There are a few too many empty beer cans lying around and the carpet hasn't seen a vacuum cleaner in far too long, but that doesn't seem to matter as he carries Sheila through the door.

*materializes in the middle of a deserted S-Mart, circa 1993. It's not long after his disappearance, as the aisles are still trashed from the Deadite fight, but the space-time continuum clearly hasn't spit him out at the exact moment of his departure. He picks himself off the floor with a groan. Curiously, he's back in his work uniform*

That's it ( Read more... )

Okay,think. There has to be a way back... there was last time. All you need to do is find it.

*he stops pacing the room long enough to finally realize that his hand has disappeared again. As he stares at his arm, it slowly returns to normal*

Oh, fuck.