Big Damn List and New World Order, working together for the betterment of fandom-kind.
Title: In Dreams
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Booster/Beetle
Prompt: "Work."
Word Count: 3219
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: A New World Order fic that came about when phoenixfire_lia and I realized that Ted seemed to be getting the brunt of the hurt/comfort we were writing. So it was decided that to be fair, we needed to hurt Booster. ...I came up with this. Angst! :D
In Dreams
In his dreams, he is a hero.
Wind blowing through his hair as he soars above the world, he is admired and respected. People see him and know that everything is going to be okay.
People rely on him, and he never lets them down. Never.
His alarm goes off and he rolls over...reaching for something. Someone. But his bed is cold, the heater probably died again last night, and he hasn't shared it with anyone since he moved to Metropolis.
Michael Jon Carter reluctantly gets out of bed and gets ready for work.
In his dreams, he is a hero. In reality, he is a failure.
---------------
Hands stuffed deep in his pockets to ward off the winter chill, Michael tilts his head down so the brim of his hat will hide his face. He can't remember the last time he walked down the street with his head up. It's been years since the scandal died down, but people still recognize him.
A harsh wind blows downward, slithering under his collar and making him shiver. Michael hunches his shoulders against it and hopes that...someone...bundled up today. Shaking his head to dispel the odd thought, he trudges up the steps to the museum.
The previous shift breezes out as soon as they see him, calling over their shoulders that the boss-man is out for blood today. Sighing a little, Michael clocks in and hangs up his coat. Mr. Hall already doesn't like him.
"Carter!"
The harsh voice echoes over Michael's ears and he winces before turning around. His boss is stomping toward him, glaring as if Michael's presence has personally offended him.
"Why aren't you doing your rounds yet?" he demands.
Stuffing away his disbelief so it won't show on his face, Michael replies, "I just got in."
"Then you're late," Mr. Hall says with vicious satisfaction.
Michael glances at the clock, which is just teetering over to one minute after his shift begins. Looking at his boss's face convinces him to not point that out. "Sorry, sir," he mumbles.
"Damn right you are," Mr. Hall growls, then flings something at him.
Quick reflexes allow Michael to catch the object instead of getting hit in the face with it. It's a damp rag. His confusion must show because Mr. Hall smirks at him.
"Janitor called in sick," he says. "You're filling in while you do your rounds tonight."
Michael stares at the rag, then up at Mr. Hall. "Do I get paid extra?"
His boss just laughs meanly and walks away, while the rag slowly drips down Michael's wrist.
---------------
Night shift is lonely, but at least Michael doesn't have to hide his face. His co-workers already know who he is and what he did and have long since lost interest in giving him grief about it. All but Chen, who doesn't follow sports and never cared in the first place.
In any case, he hasn't even seen the other security guy on his shift since he got in so it doesn't matter either way. He can't recall the guy's name at the moment, but Michael's pretty sure he's decent enough.
His footsteps echo as he enters one of the Justice League rooms, pushing the janitor's cart in front of him. He can't say why, but he's always liked this one the best. Sure the other Leagues had the so-called "holy trinity of heroes," but there are some days Booster finds himself glaring up at the Batman statue. For some reason he cannot fathom, he always feels like the superhero did something unforgivable.
There are a few empty spots tonight, with signs up that the exhibits have been removed for maintenance and will be back on display soon, thanking museum patrons for their patience. Michael doesn't mind much, it makes it easier to clean around the other displays, but he still thinks the room looks incomplete without them.
Getting out the mopper, Michael sets the power to gentle clean and carefully guides it around the statues. For the rest of the floor it can be set to automatic, but the museum is too cheap to get one that can navigate around the displays without bumping into them.
Once he finishes that and sets the mopper to clean everywhere else, Michael gets out the damp rag Mr. Hall threw at him earlier and starts wiping off the statues. He saves the Blue Beetle for last.
Staring up at it, Michael wonders what it is that keeps drawing him to this hero. His heart pounds faster whenever he looks up at that smiling face, and his skin tingles when he reads the small bio on the wall next to it. It's just silly, he knows, having a crush on a man who's been dead for five hundred years. But somehow he has trouble thinking of the Blue Beetle as dead, and his breath catches and his eyes sting whenever he does.
Tonight he runs the cloth over the cold stone almost lovingly, eyes searching out any dirt or dust with vigilance. It's all he can do, and he tries not to look at that playful smile.
His heart breaks a little every time he thinks he'll never be able to hold the man whose statue he guards.
---------------
The morning shift is late, though Michael hardly notices. He's just barely finishing cleaning when they straggle in, and he has to hurry to finish and turn in his nightly reports.
Chen offers a yawned greeting as Michael is putting on his coat, and he nods and returns the greeting with a weak smile. The sun is just starting to cast an orange haze over the grey morning sky when Michael exits the museum.
When he gets home, he stands there for a long moment, staring around his apartment. It's Tuesday and he can't shake the feeling that he's forgetting to do something very important.
With a grimace, he resolves to make sure he has all his bills paid up when he wakes up tomorrow. That's probably all it is.
His home is still cold and he also resolves to talk to the landlord about fixing the heater. Tomorrow. Hanging his hat up with his coat, he decides he can make due with an extra blanket for now.
Michael can't understand what it is about the cold that suddenly fills him with a worried sense of urgency. He's always been fairly warm-blooded, so he's not in any danger of freezing to death while he sleeps. And he certainly doesn't understand why that same sense of urgency ties a knot in his throat and makes him feel like he should call 'Shel, call family, and make sure they're okay.
Which is silly, because the last time he called she didn't pick up and never called back.
As Michael stares at his empty bed, a cold lump of misery sitting in his stomach, he tries not to think about how wrong it looks. Or how lonely he feels.
His day ends just as it began, and how so many before it did.
---------------
In his dreams, he is not lonely.
Warmth cascades over him as fingertips trace over his jaw, hands cupping and holding as slick lips slide over his, tongue plundering and searching his mouth. His hands glide over sweat-damp skin, gripping hard, shifting muscles.
Words wash over him, sending shivers down his spine. Words so familiar they're seared into his mind with kisses and touches and unbroken promises.
Whispers and gasps fall from his lips with abandon, his own words so habitual they sink into warm skin without conscious thought. Pushing in and in until he can't find where one ends and he begins, he cries out his pleasure, an answering voice ringing in his ears.
He is loved, here. He is desired and accepted unconditionally.
His alarm goes off and his back arches as its shrill call drags his climax into his cold, empty bedroom. Heart pounding, Michael pants softly as the chill air clings to his sweat. So real, it was so real. He squeezes his eyes shut at the wave of loss and longing that sweeps through him, leaving him emotionally wrung out.
Michael needs to get a shower in before work, and he prays the water is being heated better than the rest of his apartment.
In his dreams, he is not lonely. In reality, he has never been more alone.
---------------
The sun has long ago set, leeching its warmth from the world. Metropolis is never dark, but at night the shadows are deeper and more desolate.
Michael shoulders his way through a strong wind that threatens to steal his hat. Only a quick grab at the bill of it, tugging it down harder on his head, keeps it from blowing away.
Mr. Hall informs him, once again, that the janitor's still out sick, looking disgruntled as he does so that he can't also yell at Michael for being late. By no stretch of clock-reading can three minutes early be interpreted as late.
In addition to his duties as a guard, Michael will again be cleaning the museum. He wonders what the labor laws are regarding being forced to do two jobs at the same time while only being paid for one, but he doesn't really have any other options. He was lucky to get the job in the first place and Mr. Hall knows it.
Michael takes his time in the Justice League room, smiling a little at Ice's shy pose. One wouldn't think it to look at her sweet face, but her abilities were some of the most powerful in the League. Not that the average museum patron would be aware of that, since her bio has been taken down for either repairs or editing. Quite a number of the mini-biographies are gone, leaving blank spaces on the walls.
That combined with the missing displays makes the room look strangely empty, though easily over half of the exhibits are still up. Michael wishes he could remember which ones are supposed to be in those vacant spaces.
Then he gets to the Blue Beetle statue, grinning like it knows some wonderful joke he's not going to tell until asked. Every inch of him solid and strong, Michael's mouth goes dry staring up at him. His skin flushes as his thoughts wander to the dream his alarm woke him from, and he suddenly knows who his dream lover was.
"Get over it," he mutters to himself, rubbing a hand over his face.
He shakes out the cloth he's been cleaning with and reaches into the janitor's cart for the cleaning solution. The bottle is empty. And, with a groan, he realizes he can't remember where the maintenance closet with the chemicals is.
A nearby door, tucked away to the side, says "Employees Only." That's probably his best bet so Michael checks on the mopper and makes sure it's set to automatically shut off after a half hour, then shoves the door open.
There's darkness and dim pools of glowing yellow light beyond the door, walls swallowing any outside noise and layering the room in thick silence. Michael's footsteps echo eerily as he moves forward with sudden caution.
Something about the room makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
It's cold in the room. Not the natural cold of winter like outside. This is a chill that permeates the cement underfoot and rises up in a solid block of frozen dread, bypassing clothing and skin and sinking straight into the body's core.
A shudder attacks Michael and he wraps his arms around himself as he continues forward. His hindbrain is clawing at him to back out quickly, but something else tugs him inexorably further.
The nearest hazy circle of light makes him pause. A small stack of the missing biographies from the Justice League room sit barely illuminated. Squatting down beside them, Michael picks up the top one, eyes scanning over the words. Most of it is familiar, but there are parts he doesn't remember. Parts that bring with them a creeping sense that he's forgotten something far more important than a few trivial facts in the life of a long-dead superhero.
The others are like that, too. Snippets of lives added on at the end where previously they ended at their heroic deeds and retirement. Marriage, children, supergroups beyond the League.
Michael sets the bios aside and stands up again. This time his spine is straight and his expression resolute. Somewhere in this room, something is calling to him. Something he wants to find. Something he needs to find.
Then the shadows part and all he can see is a single statue, lit on all sides from no visible source. Standing together, close, like family, are four figures. A man, his grin so painfully familiar Michael's eyes sting with longing. Two women, identical save for small details, that make his chest ache with the need to hold them.
And another man, taller than the rest, grinning with his family.
Him.
Breath catching, his eyes widen in shock. And then suddenly he's no longer standing in that cold, dark room, he's somewhere that fills his mind and body with warmth and love. Blue eyes glance up at him and crinkle with a grin, turning an already handsome face breathtaking. Tiny limbs snuggle up against his ribs on one side, tucked under his arm. His other arm lays over broad shoulders, his hand falling on a small head of soft hair. He doesn't need to look to know the girl leaning against him looks the same as the one on the other side of Ted.
Ted.
Sonny, closer to him, has her blond hair pulled into pigtails with red bands that have small plastic ladybugs attached to them. Jo's hair will be gathered in a ponytail by a band adorned with a smiling plastic bee. Joanna and Sonya, his girls, his babies, listening with fascination to the bedtime story on Ted's lap.
His family.
Booster comes back to himself with tears cooling on his cheeks. His chest burns with homesickness and his skin feels tight.
"I want to go home," he whispers, reaching out to touch the statue. "I miss you..."
---------------
"Booster!"
"...Ted?"
The world lurches to a halt, fuzzy at the edges as he tries to get his eyes to focus. A blob of peach and blue resolves itself into the Blue Beetle...into Ted. He's not grinning, but he's got the statue beat by being real.
"Ted?" Booster whispers, head swimming. He can feel swift, sure hands running over him, unhooking him from that cold nightmare world. One hand comes up to cup his cheek and Ted's close, so close he can feel warm breath against his lips.
"Yes, Booster?"
Shadows are creeping over his eyes and he wonders if it's still night. "I forgot," he says, voice fading. "I forgot to take the girls to school..."
Ted smiles sadly and it's the most beautiful thing Booster can remember ever seeing. "It's okay. They're okay, Booster."
"Good...they had a spelling test...."
Then the darkness spills over him, rushing past his ears and leaving him dead to the world.
---------------
In his dreams, he is a hero.
"Higher, Daddy! Higher!"
Childish giggles sprinkle over him, making his heart soar. His world is washed with warm yellow sunshine and contentment soaks down to the marrow of his bones. Little voices make whooshing sounds as he flies his babies around a tree.
The man standing under the tree, auburn hair shining orange in the light, tilts his head up to grin at them. Tiny hands wave down at him along with cries of "Look, Beeba, look!"
His feet touch soft grass and little bodies squirm free to race through daffodils to hug the other man's legs and chatter excitedly, asking if he saw them. He did, he tells them, and looks up to smile and say they have a wonderful daddy.
His alarm goes off and...no, not his alarm but something mechanical. The sound has come and gone already, leaving behind only the sound of quiet snuffling beside his ear. He's warm, his arms weighed down by soft lumps.
Groggily opening his eyes, Booster sees twin heads of blond hair curled up against him on both sides. His girls, his baby girls. His eyes blur with moisture, relieved to see them safe and whole and there.
A quiet snore alerts him to another presence in the room and he glances to the side of the bed where Ted has fallen asleep in a chair. The bed isn't big enough for all four of them, so he obviously let the girls cuddle their daddy. Cuddles make the healing go faster, it's a scientific fact.
A tender smile spreads over Booster's lips as he stares at his husband. There are shadows under his eyes, his hair's a mess and he hasn't shaved, and there's a hint of drool at one corner of his mouth.
Booster has never loved him more.
Ted starts to slide off the chair, then abruptly jerks awake, rapid blinks revealing startled blue eyes.
"Ted," Booster murmurs.
Jerking again, Ted turns to look at him, a grin stretching his face. "Michael," he breathes.
Booster closes his eyes for a moment. In that...place...he was Michael Carter. A lonely failure. But to anyone who called him by name, he was usually just "Carter." And Ted speaks his name with such love in his voice, it burns away any shame staining it.
"What happened?" he asks.
The grin slides from Ted's face so quickly he almost wishes he hadn't said anything. "Virtual reality," he says flatly, eyes falling to the bedsheets. "You were kidnapped, hooked into it, and trapped there. Though we think you may have found a fail-safe that allowed us to get you out."
The statue. A shining beacon of home in a cold, cruel world.
Booster wonders if they were able to see inside his nightmare, but he'll wait to ask that. As soon as he's home, in bed with his husband, he'll ask from the safety of warm darkness, letting Ted hold him and whisper in his ear that he's safe, he's home, and they'll never leave him. Never.
For now, Booster can ask something else. "Who was it?"
This time Ted looks away completely, face tight with frustration. After a long moment he finally answers, "We don't know." He looks up, eyes locking onto Booster's with a promise in their depths. "Yet."
A chill scatters up Booster's spine. They're still out there. Whoever stole his family and his life and his dignity...they're still out there somewhere.
They could do it again.
His thoughts must show on his face because Ted is suddenly on his feet, bending over the bed to stroke Booster's hair and cheek. "We'll get 'em. I swear to you, Michael, we'll get them. No one is taking you away from me. Never again."
And Booster believes him. Tilting his head to press a kiss to Ted's palm, then up to receive the man's gentle kiss on his mouth, he believes him.
Laying with his beautiful daughters pressed against his sides and his beloved husband's lips on his, he knows the loneliness doesn't stand a chance.
In his dreams, he is a hero. In reality, he is home.
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Booster/Beetle
Prompt: "Work."
Word Count: 3219
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: A New World Order fic that came about when phoenixfire_lia and I realized that Ted seemed to be getting the brunt of the hurt/comfort we were writing. So it was decided that to be fair, we needed to hurt Booster. ...I came up with this. Angst! :D
In Dreams
In his dreams, he is a hero.
Wind blowing through his hair as he soars above the world, he is admired and respected. People see him and know that everything is going to be okay.
People rely on him, and he never lets them down. Never.
His alarm goes off and he rolls over...reaching for something. Someone. But his bed is cold, the heater probably died again last night, and he hasn't shared it with anyone since he moved to Metropolis.
Michael Jon Carter reluctantly gets out of bed and gets ready for work.
In his dreams, he is a hero. In reality, he is a failure.
---------------
Hands stuffed deep in his pockets to ward off the winter chill, Michael tilts his head down so the brim of his hat will hide his face. He can't remember the last time he walked down the street with his head up. It's been years since the scandal died down, but people still recognize him.
A harsh wind blows downward, slithering under his collar and making him shiver. Michael hunches his shoulders against it and hopes that...someone...bundled up today. Shaking his head to dispel the odd thought, he trudges up the steps to the museum.
The previous shift breezes out as soon as they see him, calling over their shoulders that the boss-man is out for blood today. Sighing a little, Michael clocks in and hangs up his coat. Mr. Hall already doesn't like him.
"Carter!"
The harsh voice echoes over Michael's ears and he winces before turning around. His boss is stomping toward him, glaring as if Michael's presence has personally offended him.
"Why aren't you doing your rounds yet?" he demands.
Stuffing away his disbelief so it won't show on his face, Michael replies, "I just got in."
"Then you're late," Mr. Hall says with vicious satisfaction.
Michael glances at the clock, which is just teetering over to one minute after his shift begins. Looking at his boss's face convinces him to not point that out. "Sorry, sir," he mumbles.
"Damn right you are," Mr. Hall growls, then flings something at him.
Quick reflexes allow Michael to catch the object instead of getting hit in the face with it. It's a damp rag. His confusion must show because Mr. Hall smirks at him.
"Janitor called in sick," he says. "You're filling in while you do your rounds tonight."
Michael stares at the rag, then up at Mr. Hall. "Do I get paid extra?"
His boss just laughs meanly and walks away, while the rag slowly drips down Michael's wrist.
---------------
Night shift is lonely, but at least Michael doesn't have to hide his face. His co-workers already know who he is and what he did and have long since lost interest in giving him grief about it. All but Chen, who doesn't follow sports and never cared in the first place.
In any case, he hasn't even seen the other security guy on his shift since he got in so it doesn't matter either way. He can't recall the guy's name at the moment, but Michael's pretty sure he's decent enough.
His footsteps echo as he enters one of the Justice League rooms, pushing the janitor's cart in front of him. He can't say why, but he's always liked this one the best. Sure the other Leagues had the so-called "holy trinity of heroes," but there are some days Booster finds himself glaring up at the Batman statue. For some reason he cannot fathom, he always feels like the superhero did something unforgivable.
There are a few empty spots tonight, with signs up that the exhibits have been removed for maintenance and will be back on display soon, thanking museum patrons for their patience. Michael doesn't mind much, it makes it easier to clean around the other displays, but he still thinks the room looks incomplete without them.
Getting out the mopper, Michael sets the power to gentle clean and carefully guides it around the statues. For the rest of the floor it can be set to automatic, but the museum is too cheap to get one that can navigate around the displays without bumping into them.
Once he finishes that and sets the mopper to clean everywhere else, Michael gets out the damp rag Mr. Hall threw at him earlier and starts wiping off the statues. He saves the Blue Beetle for last.
Staring up at it, Michael wonders what it is that keeps drawing him to this hero. His heart pounds faster whenever he looks up at that smiling face, and his skin tingles when he reads the small bio on the wall next to it. It's just silly, he knows, having a crush on a man who's been dead for five hundred years. But somehow he has trouble thinking of the Blue Beetle as dead, and his breath catches and his eyes sting whenever he does.
Tonight he runs the cloth over the cold stone almost lovingly, eyes searching out any dirt or dust with vigilance. It's all he can do, and he tries not to look at that playful smile.
His heart breaks a little every time he thinks he'll never be able to hold the man whose statue he guards.
---------------
The morning shift is late, though Michael hardly notices. He's just barely finishing cleaning when they straggle in, and he has to hurry to finish and turn in his nightly reports.
Chen offers a yawned greeting as Michael is putting on his coat, and he nods and returns the greeting with a weak smile. The sun is just starting to cast an orange haze over the grey morning sky when Michael exits the museum.
When he gets home, he stands there for a long moment, staring around his apartment. It's Tuesday and he can't shake the feeling that he's forgetting to do something very important.
With a grimace, he resolves to make sure he has all his bills paid up when he wakes up tomorrow. That's probably all it is.
His home is still cold and he also resolves to talk to the landlord about fixing the heater. Tomorrow. Hanging his hat up with his coat, he decides he can make due with an extra blanket for now.
Michael can't understand what it is about the cold that suddenly fills him with a worried sense of urgency. He's always been fairly warm-blooded, so he's not in any danger of freezing to death while he sleeps. And he certainly doesn't understand why that same sense of urgency ties a knot in his throat and makes him feel like he should call 'Shel, call family, and make sure they're okay.
Which is silly, because the last time he called she didn't pick up and never called back.
As Michael stares at his empty bed, a cold lump of misery sitting in his stomach, he tries not to think about how wrong it looks. Or how lonely he feels.
His day ends just as it began, and how so many before it did.
---------------
In his dreams, he is not lonely.
Warmth cascades over him as fingertips trace over his jaw, hands cupping and holding as slick lips slide over his, tongue plundering and searching his mouth. His hands glide over sweat-damp skin, gripping hard, shifting muscles.
Words wash over him, sending shivers down his spine. Words so familiar they're seared into his mind with kisses and touches and unbroken promises.
Whispers and gasps fall from his lips with abandon, his own words so habitual they sink into warm skin without conscious thought. Pushing in and in until he can't find where one ends and he begins, he cries out his pleasure, an answering voice ringing in his ears.
He is loved, here. He is desired and accepted unconditionally.
His alarm goes off and his back arches as its shrill call drags his climax into his cold, empty bedroom. Heart pounding, Michael pants softly as the chill air clings to his sweat. So real, it was so real. He squeezes his eyes shut at the wave of loss and longing that sweeps through him, leaving him emotionally wrung out.
Michael needs to get a shower in before work, and he prays the water is being heated better than the rest of his apartment.
In his dreams, he is not lonely. In reality, he has never been more alone.
---------------
The sun has long ago set, leeching its warmth from the world. Metropolis is never dark, but at night the shadows are deeper and more desolate.
Michael shoulders his way through a strong wind that threatens to steal his hat. Only a quick grab at the bill of it, tugging it down harder on his head, keeps it from blowing away.
Mr. Hall informs him, once again, that the janitor's still out sick, looking disgruntled as he does so that he can't also yell at Michael for being late. By no stretch of clock-reading can three minutes early be interpreted as late.
In addition to his duties as a guard, Michael will again be cleaning the museum. He wonders what the labor laws are regarding being forced to do two jobs at the same time while only being paid for one, but he doesn't really have any other options. He was lucky to get the job in the first place and Mr. Hall knows it.
Michael takes his time in the Justice League room, smiling a little at Ice's shy pose. One wouldn't think it to look at her sweet face, but her abilities were some of the most powerful in the League. Not that the average museum patron would be aware of that, since her bio has been taken down for either repairs or editing. Quite a number of the mini-biographies are gone, leaving blank spaces on the walls.
That combined with the missing displays makes the room look strangely empty, though easily over half of the exhibits are still up. Michael wishes he could remember which ones are supposed to be in those vacant spaces.
Then he gets to the Blue Beetle statue, grinning like it knows some wonderful joke he's not going to tell until asked. Every inch of him solid and strong, Michael's mouth goes dry staring up at him. His skin flushes as his thoughts wander to the dream his alarm woke him from, and he suddenly knows who his dream lover was.
"Get over it," he mutters to himself, rubbing a hand over his face.
He shakes out the cloth he's been cleaning with and reaches into the janitor's cart for the cleaning solution. The bottle is empty. And, with a groan, he realizes he can't remember where the maintenance closet with the chemicals is.
A nearby door, tucked away to the side, says "Employees Only." That's probably his best bet so Michael checks on the mopper and makes sure it's set to automatically shut off after a half hour, then shoves the door open.
There's darkness and dim pools of glowing yellow light beyond the door, walls swallowing any outside noise and layering the room in thick silence. Michael's footsteps echo eerily as he moves forward with sudden caution.
Something about the room makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
It's cold in the room. Not the natural cold of winter like outside. This is a chill that permeates the cement underfoot and rises up in a solid block of frozen dread, bypassing clothing and skin and sinking straight into the body's core.
A shudder attacks Michael and he wraps his arms around himself as he continues forward. His hindbrain is clawing at him to back out quickly, but something else tugs him inexorably further.
The nearest hazy circle of light makes him pause. A small stack of the missing biographies from the Justice League room sit barely illuminated. Squatting down beside them, Michael picks up the top one, eyes scanning over the words. Most of it is familiar, but there are parts he doesn't remember. Parts that bring with them a creeping sense that he's forgotten something far more important than a few trivial facts in the life of a long-dead superhero.
The others are like that, too. Snippets of lives added on at the end where previously they ended at their heroic deeds and retirement. Marriage, children, supergroups beyond the League.
Michael sets the bios aside and stands up again. This time his spine is straight and his expression resolute. Somewhere in this room, something is calling to him. Something he wants to find. Something he needs to find.
Then the shadows part and all he can see is a single statue, lit on all sides from no visible source. Standing together, close, like family, are four figures. A man, his grin so painfully familiar Michael's eyes sting with longing. Two women, identical save for small details, that make his chest ache with the need to hold them.
And another man, taller than the rest, grinning with his family.
Him.
Breath catching, his eyes widen in shock. And then suddenly he's no longer standing in that cold, dark room, he's somewhere that fills his mind and body with warmth and love. Blue eyes glance up at him and crinkle with a grin, turning an already handsome face breathtaking. Tiny limbs snuggle up against his ribs on one side, tucked under his arm. His other arm lays over broad shoulders, his hand falling on a small head of soft hair. He doesn't need to look to know the girl leaning against him looks the same as the one on the other side of Ted.
Ted.
Sonny, closer to him, has her blond hair pulled into pigtails with red bands that have small plastic ladybugs attached to them. Jo's hair will be gathered in a ponytail by a band adorned with a smiling plastic bee. Joanna and Sonya, his girls, his babies, listening with fascination to the bedtime story on Ted's lap.
His family.
Booster comes back to himself with tears cooling on his cheeks. His chest burns with homesickness and his skin feels tight.
"I want to go home," he whispers, reaching out to touch the statue. "I miss you..."
---------------
"Booster!"
"...Ted?"
The world lurches to a halt, fuzzy at the edges as he tries to get his eyes to focus. A blob of peach and blue resolves itself into the Blue Beetle...into Ted. He's not grinning, but he's got the statue beat by being real.
"Ted?" Booster whispers, head swimming. He can feel swift, sure hands running over him, unhooking him from that cold nightmare world. One hand comes up to cup his cheek and Ted's close, so close he can feel warm breath against his lips.
"Yes, Booster?"
Shadows are creeping over his eyes and he wonders if it's still night. "I forgot," he says, voice fading. "I forgot to take the girls to school..."
Ted smiles sadly and it's the most beautiful thing Booster can remember ever seeing. "It's okay. They're okay, Booster."
"Good...they had a spelling test...."
Then the darkness spills over him, rushing past his ears and leaving him dead to the world.
---------------
In his dreams, he is a hero.
"Higher, Daddy! Higher!"
Childish giggles sprinkle over him, making his heart soar. His world is washed with warm yellow sunshine and contentment soaks down to the marrow of his bones. Little voices make whooshing sounds as he flies his babies around a tree.
The man standing under the tree, auburn hair shining orange in the light, tilts his head up to grin at them. Tiny hands wave down at him along with cries of "Look, Beeba, look!"
His feet touch soft grass and little bodies squirm free to race through daffodils to hug the other man's legs and chatter excitedly, asking if he saw them. He did, he tells them, and looks up to smile and say they have a wonderful daddy.
His alarm goes off and...no, not his alarm but something mechanical. The sound has come and gone already, leaving behind only the sound of quiet snuffling beside his ear. He's warm, his arms weighed down by soft lumps.
Groggily opening his eyes, Booster sees twin heads of blond hair curled up against him on both sides. His girls, his baby girls. His eyes blur with moisture, relieved to see them safe and whole and there.
A quiet snore alerts him to another presence in the room and he glances to the side of the bed where Ted has fallen asleep in a chair. The bed isn't big enough for all four of them, so he obviously let the girls cuddle their daddy. Cuddles make the healing go faster, it's a scientific fact.
A tender smile spreads over Booster's lips as he stares at his husband. There are shadows under his eyes, his hair's a mess and he hasn't shaved, and there's a hint of drool at one corner of his mouth.
Booster has never loved him more.
Ted starts to slide off the chair, then abruptly jerks awake, rapid blinks revealing startled blue eyes.
"Ted," Booster murmurs.
Jerking again, Ted turns to look at him, a grin stretching his face. "Michael," he breathes.
Booster closes his eyes for a moment. In that...place...he was Michael Carter. A lonely failure. But to anyone who called him by name, he was usually just "Carter." And Ted speaks his name with such love in his voice, it burns away any shame staining it.
"What happened?" he asks.
The grin slides from Ted's face so quickly he almost wishes he hadn't said anything. "Virtual reality," he says flatly, eyes falling to the bedsheets. "You were kidnapped, hooked into it, and trapped there. Though we think you may have found a fail-safe that allowed us to get you out."
The statue. A shining beacon of home in a cold, cruel world.
Booster wonders if they were able to see inside his nightmare, but he'll wait to ask that. As soon as he's home, in bed with his husband, he'll ask from the safety of warm darkness, letting Ted hold him and whisper in his ear that he's safe, he's home, and they'll never leave him. Never.
For now, Booster can ask something else. "Who was it?"
This time Ted looks away completely, face tight with frustration. After a long moment he finally answers, "We don't know." He looks up, eyes locking onto Booster's with a promise in their depths. "Yet."
A chill scatters up Booster's spine. They're still out there. Whoever stole his family and his life and his dignity...they're still out there somewhere.
They could do it again.
His thoughts must show on his face because Ted is suddenly on his feet, bending over the bed to stroke Booster's hair and cheek. "We'll get 'em. I swear to you, Michael, we'll get them. No one is taking you away from me. Never again."
And Booster believes him. Tilting his head to press a kiss to Ted's palm, then up to receive the man's gentle kiss on his mouth, he believes him.
Laying with his beautiful daughters pressed against his sides and his beloved husband's lips on his, he knows the loneliness doesn't stand a chance.
In his dreams, he is a hero. In reality, he is home.