Count to Three: Part 1

[l_s_d_me]

Title: Count to Three
Author: l_s_d_me
Fandom: Generation Kill/Dark Tower!AU
Pairing: Brad/Nate; Ray and Walt (as hetero soul mates)
Word Count: 45,600
Rating: R/NC17; for sexual situations and violence/deaths
Summary: Nate gathers Brad, Ray, and Walt from different points in time to save the world.
Disclaimer: All information is false, and not written for profit. Footnotes at the end.
Notes: No prior knowledge of the Dark Tower series is needed to understand this - It'd just be a plus if you did. I have to thank deedlit50 for beta'ing her heart out on this, and i love her for it. To alethea293 because this wouldn't have been finished without her and she put up with my whining about this for eight months. michelleantonia And timeofnoreply for even existing and giving me hope when all was lost. With the biggest thanks to mcl4r3n who, when i said i had an idea for a gk/dt crossover she was the one who understood what i was going for.

Title: Count to Three
Part: Part 1
Author: l_s_d_me
Pairing: Brad/Nate; Ray and Walt

Time means nothing.

The first time it happened Nate blacked out for hours. The second time he was prepared but confused. The third time he ran until he was drenched in sweat and staring out into a landscape that hadn't been seen for half a millennium.

That was then.

Now Nate was running for a different reason. His shirt stuck to his back as he tore through the woods, dodging trees and thorny vines he knew would mean his death. Moving at this speed was made even more difficult with the rain obscuring his vision beyond a few feet in front of him. As he ran the Shadow drew closer to him, the air becoming frigid as steam rose off his burning frame. Nate clutched the pistols he held to his chest, if he lost them then he would lose everything else.

This wasn't the first time Nate had encountered the Shadow while shifting through time. It was just as fluid as the ages were, but it was much more deadly.

Nate could sense the ground shift beneath him, carving down into a dangerous slope. In the next three strides he built up speed. His left foot pushed hard off a root sticking out of the earth as he propelled himself up and out right where the ground dropped. He gripped the pistols until there was an imprint of them in his hand. A sharp cry breached the silent woods as Nate fell. Nate didn't need to see the ground to know he was nearing it, he could sense it. Three, he thought as he cleared his mind; Two, and he relaxed his entire body save for the grip he held. Preparing. One.

***

Brad was fifteen when he struck out on his own. His parents didn't care. Time had moved past the point of putting age and maturity as one.

"Good luck, Bradley," his father had said. "I hope to see you again one day."

Brad shook his hand before he left, sliding on his leather jacket as he walked towards the front hall. The only thing his mother said to him was a simple "lock the door on your way out," yelled from the kitchen. Brad stopped and looked towards where her voice had come from as he thought about whether or not to hug her goodbye. He kept walking.

The next ten years were spent drifting. Brad went everywhere and nowhere on his bike. He lived out of a backpack he picked up sixty miles outside of what used to be Missouri, when the states were still divided into their old names. Saint Louis was still called Saint Louis though, and Brad appreciated that. There wasn't much else he appreciated. The world was dull, the people were untrustworthy, and nothing ever changed. Brad loved his bike though, and most days that was enough for him.

Most days.

Still. There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Behind all the bullshit something told him that "most days" wasn't good enough for him. He needed more; was destined for more. But destiny was for fools and had drifted into legend long before Brad was even weaned from his mother. Long before time was still time and was counted by minutes and years.

Brad made do though. With what he knew about the world, and instinct, he could get anywhere. And anywhere usually got him hustling at pool or darts.

“You’re the son of a whore, Colbert,” Craig growled at him as he handed over five hundred dollars.

“Tsk tsk, Schwetje,” Brad said, pocketing the money. “That’s not very nice, there are children around.”

There weren’t. There wasn’t anybody there except for drunks and prostitutes.

Craig looked around for a second as if expecting to see toddlers crawling at his feet. Brad rolled his eyes before downing the rest of his drink.

“Just get out of here,” Craig said as he brought his eyes back to Brad. “And I’d think twice before coming back.”

As Brad slid his jacket back into place he eyed Craig. Their relationship had never been good. Brad would roll into town on his bike, stay a few days making money by besting drunks at bar games, and then leave. Craig hated him.

“Don’t blame me because you learned to play darts from a blind monkey with its hands tied behind its back.”

Craig puffed his chest out indignant. “I learned to play from my father!”

“Like I said,” Brad stated as he walked out.

He could hear Craig yell as he kicked his bike’s engine to life. He’ll never learn, Brad thought to himself as he pulled into the street, not knowing where he was headed, not caring.

And he then he rode.

For months he crossed the country back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He drove through the rain, through drought, through back country woods that smelled like true nature.

He rode.

Until one day he was sitting in traffic, in one of those rare cities where people were everywhere, when his head cleared. He didn’t feel lost, he didn’t feel angry. It was peace, a calmness that shot through him. He looked to the side and knew what the source was immediately. It was a man. Brad could feel it coming off of him.

It wasn't that Brad was staring at him, he wasn't. It's just that he couldn't look away. He didn’t know what caught his attention. Brad was just sitting at a stoplight on his bike when this man walked by. There was something about the way he moved that made Brad follow him with his eyes. He didn't fit in with everybody else moving along the sidewalk this time of day, but at the same time he fit in better than any of them.

A horn blared behind Brad, impatient drivers wanting to get to their location as fast as possible. As Brad picked his feet up, hitting the gas, the man turned and looked at him. His attention was caught by the honking, nothing else, Brad thought. But his eyes went straight to Brad and even at this distance they looked like a color green that didn’t exist in this world. Brad watched him as he turned a corner between shops, disappearing from view.

The minute he was no longer in front of Brad, he felt a pull in his gut to follow. He'd never felt anything like this before; a sensation so absolute, so strong within himself.

Brad could see it in his mind's eye - getting off his bike, leaving it there in the middle of the busy road while he searched down the man with the green eyes. But he ended up just sitting there frozen trying to resist the pounding in his chest. It was nearly painful for him. Why was this happening to him and who was this guy? Brad physically shook his head back and forth, willing the feeling deep inside of him to subside.

His hands shook as he forced his attention to the front. He started his bike again before glancing once more at the darkened alley. Brad knew he was still there watching him, he could feel it covering him like a blanket. As he pulled back into traffic the air felt like soup against his skin, thick and unyielding against what his mind and body wanted to do, needed to do.

***

Nate could feel it everywhere, the eyes on him.

He was hyper aware of the man on the motorcycle watching him. A shift of his shoulder and his gait changed, a move that Nate knew would make him practically disappear within a crowd. But the man never looked away, never blinked. A horn blared and Nate turned to look, thinking he would see the motorcycle moving past him in the road. But he was still sitting there, his eyes piercing right through Nate's guise.

Nate's breath caught in his throat, knowing at once that he was one of them; one of his.

So this is how it starts, ran through Nate's head over and over again.

With the turn of a corner Nate slid in between two buildings. He liked to go unnoticed in the world. He had seen enough of it in enough times to know that getting noticed wasn't always the smartest thing to do. But he couldn't leave him, not this soon. So instead of continuing down the alley he stopped in the shadow of two buildings and watched him. Nate could see it all there on his face; the pull, the struggle, and if Nate had any doubts before they were gone in an instant.

The first of the three, Nate thought as a small smile curled his lips.

***

Brad made it to his room using little more than muscle memory to get there. It took him but a minute to throw the windows open and kneel down to breathe in the cool air. His head sunk against the window sill as he tried to calm himself. As soon as he closed his eyes the green eyed man would swim to the front of his mind. Brad didn't think he knew him, but there was something about him that called to Brad like a song.

As Brad eased himself onto the bed he wasn’t expecting to fall asleep. He didn’t even bother to remove his jeans and boots. He lied there thinking about what he had felt, deciding that the next day he would ride around until he found that man. Brad didn’t remember sleep taking him.

"BRAD!" Nate yelled as he struggled to break the hold on his neck that the Beast held. Brad spun his head around quickly assessing the situation. There were four Beasts after them. Nate had killed one in the initial scuffle, but there were two to his left fighting with men Brad couldn't see clearly. He hoped they were okay.

He turned his attention back to Nate; whose eyes were watering as he struggled for breath. Without thinking about it Brad raised his hand, the ancient revolver's aim was true as ever as he shot. Squeeze. Turn. Squeeze. Turn.

Instantly Nate was beside him as they walked down the street. The sun shone down on them, sweat wetting their brows. Brad didn't know where they were. This place was as foreign to him as anything he could even imagine.

"Where are we?" he asked Nate.

Nate's gaze leveled on him. "I believe the thing to ask, Brad, is when are we."

"Then when are we, Nate?"

"1988."

"Why?"

"We need him."

"Need what?"

"I need you to get up."

"What?"

"UP! WAKE UP BRAD!"

Brad shot up in his bed.

"What the fuck," Brad breathed out. He could feel his heart trying to pound out of his chest, causing his whole body to vibrate. The sound of the man with green eye’s voice, Nate apparently, was still ringing in his head telling him to wake up. Brad was awake now, but for what?

He slid off the bed, looking around the room slowly. Nothing seemed out of place. It was dark out so Brad left the lights off as he moved about letting his eyes fully adjust to the night.

That was when he saw it. Darkness. Movement. A Shadow. Brad tilted his head in an attempt to focus his eyes more sharply on what he thought he was seeing. It was a pulse more than anything; a blackness slightly expanding and retracting in regular intervals. Brad crouched to the ground, hovering there in his cat-like stance waiting to see what would happen next.

Suddenly it shot forward as if pulled from the middle by a string. Brad fell to the ground, rolling to the side.

He stood up, eyes searching everywhere. His body was too wired, too on edge. Brad consciously worked on relaxing, slowing down his breath one inhale at a time. That was when he finally saw it. The air was vibrating around the edges. The longer he stared at it the clearer it became. Yes, it was a Shadow, but there was more too it. Parts of it seemed to have a shape, slightly human but more distorted.

The room seemed lighter in comparison and Brad could see almost as clearly as if it were day. He glanced at the door. Getting out through it seemed possible, but then he would be stuck with it in the hallway. The window was Brad’s best bet for getting past this thing. He took one final deep breath before he lunged towards the window. Brad could feel it up against his back, ice cold, sucking the energy from him.

The air outside seemed steamy after the feel of the Shadow behind him. He was almost completely out the window when it felt like his feet had been thrust into nitrogen, nearly freezing on the spot. Brad twisted to the side, grabbing the pipe outside his window he pulled himself free. He wanted to lower himself slowly, but couldn’t risk waiting. With twenty feet left to go he dropped.

He hit the ground rolling, trying to keep pressure off his feet as much as he could. Brad looked up to see the Shadow sliding down the wall toward him.

“BRAD!” someone yelled from behind him. “Catch!”

Brad moved just in time to reach out, a revolver settling into his hands. Without thinking he brought it forward and shot.

The scream that pierced the air rattled him as the creature sucked in on itself, disappearing into nothing.

Brad fell back, breathing hard against the grass. He didn’t hear the footsteps but someone was there; the man with the eyes. Nate, Brad reminded himself. Nate looked down at him, a curious smile playing on his lips. He reached out a hand to Brad, waiting. Brad knew this was the moment his life had been building for. This man and wherever life leads from here would be all part of the plan. A plan he never knew existed but had now sunk its teeth so far into him that he didn’t know how he had ever survived doing anything else.

When their hands touched Brad felt it all there: time, age, peace. Seeing Nate this closely was a completely different experience from earlier. He was taller than Brad had originally thought and looked older, harder. His hair was cropped short, regulation almost. But the eyes, they still appeared to be something different, something new that Brad had never seen before.

“Hello,” Nate said. “I’m pleased to meet you Brad.”

Brad had a million questions so he went with the easiest one. “How do you know my name?” he asked, still holding onto Nate’s hand.

Nate shrugged, smiling almost imperceptibly. “How did you know how to land so as not to break your legs? How did you catch the gun when I threw it? How did you hit the Shadow right where you needed to without knowing?”

Brad looked at him dumbfounded; he hadn’t realized what he just did seemed improbable. He huffed out a laugh, causing the smile to grow on Nate’s face.

“Some things you just know, Brad,” Nate said filling in the blanks. “Come on, we should get out of here.”

As they walked away Brad glanced up at his window. It still looked ordinary, as if nothing other-worldly had just happened. Nate stopped abruptly, almost causing them to run into each other.

“I’m Nate by the way,” he said, catching Brad’s attention once more. “But then, I think you already knew that.”

***

"A record?" Brad asked, his brow creased in concentration.

It only took about fifteen minutes to get to Nate's apartment. It would've taken longer but Nate led Brad through a bizarre series of shortcuts that cut the time in half. When they arrived he made Brad put his feet in a tub of hot water. "I've seen those Shadows freeze body parts off faster than you can blink," Nate had said. "You need heat."

Brad had tried to object, telling Nate that he was fine. Nate knew he was lying, knew his feet had to hurt like hell. He shook his head and pushed Brad towards the bathroom. "Come on, Brad. Get in there," Nate said, his hand resting on Brad's shoulder. He tried to send reassurance to him through his touch. Brad looked at him for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth as he tried to settle on a decision. Nate just stood there as he let Brad work through it; he had to decide to trust Nate on his own.

"It's only water," Nate told him, giving him an open and earnest look.

That's how they ended up sitting in Nate's bathroom, Brad's jeans rolled up to his knees with his feet sitting in about a foot of water in the tub. Nate sat at the opposite end of the tub on a chair he brought in from the kitchen.

"A record," Brad repeated slowly.

"Yes."

Nate wasn't exactly sure he was explaining this clearly, but he had to make Brad understand.

"Time," he started, "is like water. It flows through everything, coming from the earth, through the seas and clouds, and continues ever on. There are ebbs and flows as it goes round and round and round." Nate said the last part slowly, moving his finger in a circle to emphasize his point. "It's like a record; it spins in a circle - never stopping, never breaking."

Nate waited for Brad to nod his head, show any sign that he comprehended. It all starts here, Nate thought, with this man. Brad finally nodded, urging Nate on.

"Sometimes people come around who want to end this record, the track you live. I've seen it," Nate paused, steeling himself before continuing. "Mine got turned on its side and the whole fucking world ended in chaos. I don't want that for this track."

Brad tilted his head, his eyes boring into Nate. "Your world?" Brad said, his voice even. "Where are you from?"

Nate admired how calm Brad sounded.

"I'm just...I'm from a different time and place," Nate said, his voice guarded again.

"You're one cryptic motherfucker, you know that right?" Brad was smiling as he said it, flexing his toes in the cooling water.

The smile that broke across Nate's face happened whether he wanted it to or not. It had been too long since he had felt kinship with anybody; always slipping through time, staying only long enough to find out what he needed to know. It was lonely. Nate picked up a towel from the shelf, laying it flat out across his lap.

"Put your feet up here." Nate felt that Brad would resist so he lowered his voice, making it sound as authoritative as he could. It worked; Brad shifted and lifted his feet out of the water and onto the towel. Nate wrapped it around his feet and started kneading the bottoms, forcing the blood flow to increase. He waited to continue until Brad relaxed into it, his attention back on the conversation.

"So," Brad started. "Someone is here trying to disrupt time?"

"Not quite. Disrupting insinuates they want it to go on. The Traveler wants to end it."

Nate could feel Brad's body tense as he said it so he pressed a little harder on a spot at the base of Brad’s foot; a spot he knew would relax him.

“Who’s the Traveler?” Brad asked, his arms crossed as he listened.

“He’s a person…a being,” Nate said. But he felt as though he wasn’t making any sense, wasn’t getting the point well enough across. “He arrives and spends however long necessary to find the room - the cradle of your civilization - and then destroys it.”

“But why?”

Nate huffed out a laugh. “Your guess is as good as mine Brad.”

Brad stared at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim light of the bathroom. Nate let him stare, let him take him in. He didn’t let many people do this, look at him, study him, it felt almost intimate. Finally Brad breathed deep, a smile cracking his lips.

“You’re not being completely honest with me, sir.”

“Sir?” Nate laughed. “We’re roughly the same age, Brad. Give or take a few…years,” he finished, speaking quietly.

Brad and Nate lapsed into silence. Nate could see in Brad’s eyes that he was going over everything since that first moment they had spotted each other on the street. He was hoping Brad wouldn’t question him about the bond, the connection between them. There would be time for that, plenty of time, but as of now Nate only knew the old tales about this. A group of four people brought together who are destined for the same path, a ka-tet. There was no way to explain the pull he felt toward Brad and he knew Brad must feel it toward him as well. Nate hoped he would never have to try and explain it. He hoped that Brad would understand it as it flowed through him; through all of them.

“Nate,” Brad said, rousing them both out of their heads. “What’s next?”

Nate nodded at him, showing his approval. “We find the others.”

“How?” Brad asked, his eyebrows quirking up. “Are they here in… in my time?”

“Come on,” Nate said as he patted Brad’s ankle in a way to motion him to shift over. “I’ll show you.”




***

Brad looked up at lights and signs that were lit brightly even in the daylight. The color everywhere caught his attention. It’s so bright here, he thought. Even the grass seemed greener, the birds and even the people more vibrant.

Nate was beside him as they walked down the street. The sun shone down on them, sweat wetting their brows. Brad didn't know where they were. This place was as foreign to him as anything he could even imagine.

"Where are we?" he asked Nate.

Nate's gaze leveled on him. "I believe the thing to ask Brad, is when are we."

Brad stopped, a memory twitching.

"Then when are we, Nate?"

"1988."

"Why?"

"We need him."

***

Joshua Raymond Person wasn’t anybody.

“You’re such a useless piece of shit,” his father had told him daily until the day he died. Ray didn’t cry. He just shrugged, went outside, and got high until he couldn’t tell if he was still alive or not.

Ray was fifteen when he ran away from his aunt’s house for the first time, and seventeen when he didn’t come back anymore. Nobody ever tried to find him. But why would they? He was skinny, too skinny by far. His hair was matted and pulled in every direction possible, and he wore nothing but black pants and holey concert tees from the seventies. They were from “when music was better, not this happy-day fucking horse-shit they play now,” he’d say when asked. When he wasn’t asked, he secretly jerked off to pictures of Ally Sheedy and loved “Come on Eileen,” singing it to himself when he was lonely or scared.

In his mind he had it pretty good; always being able to make his way. He could fix just about anything under the sun, and often did. By the time he was twenty he had his own shit-hole apartment in New York City, a little more than no meat on his bones, and a constant headache from snorting cocaine for three meals a day.

"You need to get your shit together, man," Jeff said as he pulled Ray onto his bed.

Jeff had the apartment next to Ray's. The two were friendly, but they fluctuated in that weird space between being perfect strangers and knowing way too much about each other.

"Fuck you, Carisalez," Ray mumbled, his chest jerking with shivers.

Ray angled his eyes up, seeing double of his neighbor, twice the man, twice the disappointment on his face. "Leave me alone," Ray said stronger. "Leave!" he yelled when Jeff just stood there looking at him in disgust.

"Just don't die on my doorstep, okay?" Jeff spat out before turning away, slamming the door behind him.

"Fuck you," Ray said as he curled inward, collapsing in on himself. He laid there shaking, miserable, wishing life was different but not knowing how to change it. Nothing ever changed.

Ray closed his eyes in an effort to concentrate on stopping the shaking. He breathed in and out, his labored chest heaving. He hugged himself close, humming, "with you in that dress, my thoughts I confess, verge on dirty... ahh come on Eileen."

Four days go missing from Ray's life somewhere between passing out, dreaming, waking, vomiting, and doing it all over again.

The dreams floated through his head like a mist leaving nothing but traces of themselves behind in crevices. Fog laced membranes. He remembered nothing but words: Walt, Sand, Cry, Shoot, Help, Nate, Stop, Leave, Blue.

A loud banging on his door finally roused him enough to the point where he could stand, shuffling his feet to see who it was. Pulling open the door he found the hallway completely empty. Ray stepped out into the hallway, the one sock he had on snagging on a nail. "Motherfuckers," he whispered before moving back inside his apartment.

Ray stood there swaying back against his door. He didn't know what day it was, and thought that maybe it was October. But it didn't matter; nothing in Ray's life mattered. To Ray nothing mattered in this second but coffee, and a lot of it. From the spot by his door he could see the empty coffee can sitting on the floor of the kitchen. Ray closed his eyes, cursing himself inwardly for forgetting to buy some more.

It took him another three hours to make it out of his apartment; the hallway lights flickering as he shuffled toward the stairwell.

The moment Ray stepped outside his building he stumbled backwards, the light blinding him. He held one of his hands up in front of his eyes, the black fingernail polish mostly chipped away save for a small ring around the bottom of each nail. Ray squinted at his hand as the realization washed over him that he hadn't seen himself in nearly a week. He looked down at his outfit, dirty jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, before feeling his hair where he had half of a mohawk.

He looked cracked and he knew it.

The street wasn't very crowded as he moved down it. Ray assumed that meant it was the middle of the day...maybe a weekday. He walked and walked, feeling the blood begin to flow through his body again. His muscles loosened up after becoming stiff from days of nothing. Ray had neared the park by the time his body finally felt alive again, vibrating as he breathed in the fall air. Everything looked brighter, smelled crisper as he walked further into the park. His chest thumped loudly, the vibration within his skin rising and rising with each step he took. He looked up into the sky as he realized that for the first time in years his head wasn't fuzzy, wasn't filled with unwanted thoughts.

Ray shivered at the sensation. He sat down on a bench, exhaling peacefully before noticing two men sitting there already. Ray blinked at them, but didn't look away. He had never seen two people look more out of place in his life, yet at the same time look as if they had grown there along with the trees and plants that surrounded them.

The pair just sat there perfectly at ease watching the park, but not watching Ray as he observed them. Ray thought they looked brighter than people normally did, as if they knew how to glow from the inside. One of them turned his head, looking straight at Ray and giving him a friendly nod.

“Good Morning,” he said, his eyes glowing a green somehow brighter than his skin.

Ray swallowed trying to find his voice. “Morning,” he scratched out, eliciting a smile from the man.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw, this man tap the taller man next to him on the side of the leg. It was a small movement, but Ray was paying close enough attention that he saw it.

When the second one turned Ray was immediately struck by the color of his eyes; Blue. Blue, Ray thought. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face flinching involuntarily as he remembered a dream, more than a dream but another life it seemed. It all came flooding back in full color, flipping through his brain like a supersonic photo album: Walt, Sand, Cry, Shoot, Help, Nate, Stop, Leave, Blue.

Ray opened his eyes and both of the men were staring at him, not even attempting to hide the fact. Ray’s eyes flicked between them before landing on the man with the green eyes, bright and friendly.

“Nate,” Ray said with a slight nod, tilting his head as he looked at him.

Nate reached out to shake his hand, leaning over Brad in the process. Ray noticed how Brad held his breath when he did it. So they might not know each other that well, Ray noted before his hand and Nate’s enclosed around each other, erasing every thought from his mind. He felt as if he had been electrocuted, energy soaring through his body, forcing him to become truly alive for the first time in years. Ray stared at where their hands met. In that moment he saw and felt his entire existence; who he had been and what he was to become. His breath caught in his throat as Nate released his hand.

“Walt…” Ray whispered to himself in a confused tone. “Walt,” he said louder.

“Ray?” Nate said, his eyes settling on Brad with a look of concern and excitement in what this could mean for them all.

Ray stopped, looking suddenly up at Nate. “We have to find Walt!”

“Maybe we should do this somewhere else,” Brad said, speaking for the first time.

Ray’s eyes leveled on him as if he had forgotten his presence. He knew his eyes had gone wide while he took Brad in head to toe. Breathing deeply, Ray centered himself before relaxing back against the bench.

“Oh hey, Iceman,” he said as if he had known Brad forever. Brad smiled at him and nodded.

They all settled into silence, everything forgotten save for the peace between them. People walked by lost in their own worlds. Nobody noticed the three men sitting there, not speaking, not looking at one another, just sitting.

"I don't understand these people’s clothes," Brad said, breaking the silence.

Nate laughed, dropping his chin to his chest to hide his smile.

"Fuckin' A, man," Ray said, hitting Brad on the arm. "Oversized neon gives me nightmares."

"Neon?" Brad looked at Ray in confusion. "They don't have neon where I'm from. Is it that bright green shit on that woman?"

Brad was pointing at a couple of girls down the path from them; wearing black biker shorts, bright green and pink shirts, and Scrunchies holding their hair off to the side.

"Don't have neon?" Ray asked. "Where the fuck...?"

And then it hit him. They weren't from there. Ray looked at them again, really looked at them; their clothes, their hair, the way they held themselves. No, they were from a time beyond Ray and he knew it. He didn't know how, but he knew for sure they didn't belong in nineteen-fucking-eighty eight.

"You're not from here." It wasn't a question anymore.

"No," Nate said, shaking his head minutely. "We're not."

"And Walt?"

"I don't know when Walt is yet. But you," Nate's eyes glowed as his voice sped up. "You do."

Ray smiled as he stood, reaching his arms up above his head to stretch. He glanced at Brad and Nate, his smile never wavering.

"He's Molly Ringwald, Nate, and we're taking him to prom."

"Who?" Brad whispered to Nate as Ray struck down back towards his apartment.

*

“This place is a shit-hole,” Brad observed loudly as the door closed behind him.

“Be careful, Brad,” Ray said as he walked over to open a window. “The rats might hear you.”

Nate looked around the whole apartment, because it really wasn’t more than just a room, and thought that Brad might be over-estimating his opinion of it. There was an old green couch off to one side with half of the stuffing visible, and a scratched up coffee table in front of it. Across toward the kitchen area there was an old metal kitchen table with a single chair. Nate thought it might be the loneliest looking room he’d ever seen.

Brad was standing silently beside him, his relaxed stance helping to put Nate at ease. They looked at each other as Ray rummaged through a stack of papers in the corner, dust billowing up around him.

Traffic was driving by outside and they could hear the tenants on Ray's floor arguing, having sex, and watching television. Nate could feel the heat coming off of Brad's arm, only inches from his. He felt like time was moving in slow motion. Each thump of his heart, piece of dust in the air, and breath inhaled floated through the room enveloping them all as they searched for their fourth.

"A-ha!" Ray yelled, thrusting a piece of paper in the air.

Nate refocused on the moment to find Brad watching him still, his eyebrows creased. A smile touched Nate's lips before Ray was pushing past them to the kitchen table.

"Walt is here," Ray said. His thin fingers circled Virginia on the map he had rummaged through the corner to find. He left a perfect oval shape through the dust still settled on the map.

Brad leaned in close, swiping a hand across to clear it off.

"I've never seen a map of the states still intact," he said, a slight tremor and awe noticeable in his voice. "Everything looks smaller, confining."

"When are you from?" Ray asked.

Brad shrugged, "After this," he said with a broad sweep of his hand.

Nate allowed his eyes to linger on Brad before turning his attention back to Ray.

"Are you sure Walt's in Virginia?" he asked, needing to be sure before he tried to locate his time.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, he's there, trust me, man," Ray told him, a slight jerk causing his right arm to jump. Nate's eyes went straight to it, noticing the sheen of sweat breaking out there. Ray's eyes followed Nate's to his arm. When their eyes met Nate noticed a slight blush at the base of his neck.

One thing at a time, Nate thought as he turned his focus back to the jagged outline of Virginia. So this is where he is.

Nate let his mind go as he touched the map. He felt himself being pulled through time and space. Doing this always left him feeling thin, but it had to be done to find Walt. They needed a fourth. He splayed his hands, gripping the side of the table until his knuckles looked bleached white. Nate let everything go, all restraint, all thought, all of it gone as he reached out with his entire person, searching. He felt something warm against his face causing him to shiver before he leaned into it, delving deeper.

Finally it hit him and he could vaguely sense his knees starting to buckle. It was like looking though a pair of eyes on a world that wasn’t his. He could see books, wooden chairs and tables, pens, pencils - a shift - the eyes were looking in a mirror, the face of a young man staring back at him full of sadness and determination. It shifted again and he was outside surrounded by trees and a river. Nate could smell the air through him, tasting the centuries of industry through the atmosphere. It was all there, and he knew: 1996.

Nate opened his eyes to find Brad’s hands cupping his face, concern filling his eyes. Warmth was all Nate could think.

“Are you okay?” Brad said to him, panic just barely contained.

“You were transparent, dude,” Ray said in awe, staring at Nate like he wasn’t real.

“I’m fine,” Nate told them, closing his eyes, making sure all of him was back there. “I’m fine.”

Brad let go of his face, moving to the other side of the table. Nate felt the absence of warmth immediately, shivering inwardly.

“He’s in 1996,” Nate said, sitting down in the kitchen chair. “We should…we should get going.”

Both Brad and Ray spoke up at the same time.

“No way, man,” Ray said, overpowering Brad. “We’re not going anywhere until you recharge your Flux Capacitor. I don’t want to get stuck in some limbo with no way to phone home.”

Nate looked at him, and then to Brad. “Okay,” he agreed, the shaking feeling still rattling his bones.

“Me and Brad are gonna go get some coffee. You. Stay here,” Ray said, not leaving any room for argument. Nate didn’t think he had it in him to argue now anyway. It had always been harder for him to initially locate somebody than to go to their time. At least the hardest part was over with.

Nate got up and walked over to the couch. Sitting down on it he discovered that it was a lot more comfortable than it looked. He leaned back and shut his eyes, his head resting on a piece of exposed stuffing.

Brad and Ray made their way to the door, talking in hushed tones. Nate could only make out the end of their conversation before the door closed.

“What’s a Flux Capacitor?” Brad asked.

Ray laughed, “You’re such a freak, Colbert.”

Nate sat there in silence for a long time after they left; the feeling of Brad’s hand still burning his cheek. He cursed himself inwardly. This wasn’t part of the plan. He knew the connection with the first would be strong, but this, this was more than that; more than just the connective tissues of time holding them together. Nate shuddered as he thought of what Brad might be feeling. Was it as strong as it was within himself? Or was Nate just suffering from infatuation and nothing more. Either way he couldn’t let anything happen. He wouldn’t.

*

"No more of this shit!"

Brad's voice reverberating through the room jolted Nate awake. He slowly opened his eyes, careful not to alert them to his consciousness. The room was dark and Nate had no idea how long he had been out for.

"Brad," Ray warned, reaching for something Brad held in his hand.

"No. It's not just your life you're fucking up anymore by using this shit. It's mine, it'll be Walt's, and Nate, who is doing this for fucking all of us."

Brad threw the bag he was holding onto the floor, a small amount of white dust floated out from it. Ray jerked towards it, itching to pick it up, but stayed glued to his spot. They stood tense facing each other, neither of them willing to back down; their bodies straining as each readied to pounce.

Nate's eyes drifted closed again, the fuzzy outline of the pair fading to black.

*

When Nate awoke again it was early morning, the room still grey. He sat up to find Brad asleep on the floor next to the couch, one arm wedged underneath the cushion Nate's head was resting on. Ray was nowhere to be found. Nate stepped over Brad, tip-toeing to the bathroom.

Turning the light on the bathroom revealed Ray to be sitting on the floor, eyes and nose red. He looked up at Nate, defeat evident on his face.

Nate stepped in and closed the door behind him. He leaned against it, lowering himself down to the floor. He did nothing but sit there with Ray, letting him know that he was there for whatever.

"I'm sorry," Ray whispered after a while. "It's just...I'm....I'm nothing. Worthless and disgusting. Leave me here, Nate. You and Brad...are you sure you didn't make a mistake? I'm not worth this."

His words cut through Nate like they were being said about himself.

"You know I discovered I could move through time when I was eleven. I was balled up on the floor of an attic, my fingers and toes so cold I was sure I was about to lose them." Nate stopped, his mind working hard to remember a time and a place that couldn't be more foreign to him now than if he had never been there. "I thought I was better off dead; that the world was better off without a leech like me sucking the oxygen away from the worthy."

"What changed?" Ray said, finding his voice again.

"I realized I wasn't tied to who I thought I was." Nate fixed his eyes on Ray's, holding him there. "You're more than you think you are, Ray."

Ray nodded slowly.

"Now," Nate smiled at him as he stood, holding his hand out to Ray. "Want to come and find our Walt?"




***

She pulsed around him, her back arched as he held her wrists on either side of her head. Covered in sweat they moved as one. The air around them sparking through the morning fog coming off the river as it floated through the trees. He could see her shining face below his, the smile in her eyes as she adjusted her legs around him.

Walt thought she was beautiful like this; open, loving, care free. She loved Walt for a while when nobody else had, not even his own parents. They held onto each other as they rode over the edge, the power between them wracking their bodies.

That was before though. Before she got tired of hiding how she really felt. Sometimes he felt it break through; he could feel her startle and then stamp it back down. Walt tried to ignore it.

Before the quiet elevator in her apartment building where he could feel her apprehension. He had asked her about it and she slapped him hard across the face, her ring cutting his cheek.

She glared at him before speaking. “I’ve had it,” she told him. “I can’t take you knowing every little thing I’m feeling like a freak.”

Walt felt a little piece of him tear on the inside. “But you said…,” he searched for the right words. “Kelly, you said it was okay, that it didn’t bother you. You told me it….”

“I lied.” She let down all her guards. The relief, the fright, the love, all rolled off of her as she walked away.

That was all before now.

Walt let himself sink into the background; people avoided him just as much as he tried to skirt them. The few friends he had drifted away from. His parents only confirmed his inner thoughts that he was meant to be alone; that “nobody wants to be with someone like you.” Walt felt alone in the world and he hadn’t even made it through two decades of living.

He spent most days by himself. He would walk to school, attend classes like one should, but he never became close to anybody. He would sit in the hall and listen to the other students hoop and holler about their latest drunken night out as he read. Sometimes he would feel regret coming off of them, a night they wouldn’t quite remember, a person whose face was fuzzy in their mind, time lost forever. Still, Walt couldn’t help but envy them just a little; envy the brotherhood they had with others.

The concept wasn’t completely foreign to him though. Walt had felt something similar every time he walked among the rows and rows of books in the library. As he ran his hand along the bindings he searched for a new friend. Often times he found himself holding Catch-22, the first sentence already ringing in his head before he would even open the cover.

"It was love at first sight.
The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him."

Walt would sit there for hours, wrapped up in Yossarian’s world, laughing to himself as the characters spoke in circles, arguing with one another.

“Walt, dear,” one of the older librarians said as they came up behind him. “It’s nearly closing time.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” he said, closing the book.

“It’s no problem at all.” She smiled at him before making her way back to the front of the giant hall. As she turned she dropped two of the books she held. Walt jumped to his feet, running over to help her.

“Let me get these for you,” he said as he picked them up.

She smiled at him again before motioning for him to follow her with the books. “You’re such a sweet boy. Your parents must be so proud of you.”

Walt just followed her in silence.

*

"What do you think about Europe?"

"Don't be stupid," he said, fixing her with a look of disgust. "If I wanted to summer with gypsy scum I'd join the circus."

She kept her eyes downcast as she spoke next. "What about the boy?"

He laughed. "What about him? He's no matter to me."

"I just thought...."

"Of course you would you stupid woman. Why don't you take some pills with your wine and go to bed."

"You're such filth," she spat. "I have no idea why I even married you."

"Like anyone else would have you."

Walt sat three feet away from his parents as they spoke. They neither looked at him nor spoke to him even when he was the subject of their discussion. To say that they disliked Walt would be underestimating the situation; they hated him and often said they wished him dead. Walt knew they meant it.

"Fuck you," she whispered with cruelty in her voice.

Walt could see and disdain between the two as clearly as if it was a painting on canvas strung up on the wall.

"You bitch," he stood, towering over his wife. "You just prove that not all whores are worth what you pay for them."

Her face turned red as she lifted her hand, moving to strike her husband across the face. She couldn't gain momentum from her angle and he caught her hand, grabbing both wrists he dragged her to her feet.

Walt sat there, his breath turning rapid. He shot up from his chair and taking both of his parents by their arms. Not tonight, he thought. Please no fighting tonight. As if faced with a shock of terror, both his mother and father let go of each other and tore their arms away from him at once.

"Don't touch me!" his father yelled as his mother rubbed the spot Walt had just set his hand.

Walt shrank back from them; the flood of emotions coming from the pair tore at his chest. There was nothing he could do here, and the sooner he realized it the better. He glanced back at his parents, still standing there rigid, before passing through the doorway and up the stairs to his room.

*

Walt was walking down the street, everything covered in a thin layer of snow as it sparkled in the moonlight. A man walked next to him. He turned to see re-assurance there in the eyes looking back at him, bright green even at night.

“Are you sure?” he asked Walt, resting a hand on the back of his arm. Walt noticed how he didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away from touching him.

Walt looked up at the house, his house, before nodding and walking up the stairs. When he saw himself reflected in the glass it was an older version of himself with longer hair, tanned face and the slightest hint of a beard. Both of them had scarves wrapped around their throats to keep out the winter air. Walt stood there with his hand in the air. Should he knock? Part of him felt as if he didn’t live here anymore, but it was his home so he entered.

The door opened to the desert. They took off running, flanked by two others. A low growl sounded from behind Walt, he turned just in time to see something drop to the ground, a gunshot echoing to his left. They all picked up speed, willing each other to move faster when the man next to Walt got tackled.

“RAY!” he yelled, skidding on the sandy rock as he turned around just in time to be thrown backward by a blow to the chest.

“Person, you need to get your shit together, man.”

They were in a bedroom with torn curtains and piles of clothes in the corner.

Ray mumbled, his body jerking back and forth on his bed. Walt knelt beside him and grasped his hand. “Ray,” he whispered

Ray’s half-lidded eyes tried to focus on him. "Let me die," Ray said.

"You’re not dying you idiot," Walt told him as he moved to ring out a wet washcloth.

Walt watched as Ray curled into a ball, hugging himself close, humming, "with you in that dress, my thoughts I confess, verge on dirty... ahh come on Eileen."

*

Walt’s eyes flew open with the taste of bile on his tongue. He barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up, his head ringing as sweat poured down him. He leaned his head against the porcelain hearing the ghost of a song he hadn’t heard since junior high float through his head.

*

The sound of his parents yelling at each other woke him up through the wall. Walt closed his eyes and rolled over finding that he was still laying on the bathroom floor. He pushed himself up, his arms shaking, weak from the night. Reaching up, Walt turned the knob in the tub and soon the shower was pouring hot down his back. He closed his eyes and let it wash away the nightmares and the rattling he felt in his bones.

He had never had such a vivid dream before. It terrified and excited him at the same time. Because it's one of the things Walt did best, he spent the following afternoon holed up in the library, studying book after book about dreams.

He found nothing, eventually giving up.

The library was quiet this time of night. Dark rows of stacks lit by small lamps overhead always made Walt feel as if he were in another world.

"Good evening, Walt," the Librarian said to him as he walked past. He smiled sheepishly at her and nodded, moving slowly into the depths. Even without much light Walt knew exactly where he was going, twelfth row, a quarter of the way down, fourth shelf from the ground. As he plucked Catch-22 from the shelf he felt calmer than he had in hours.

Walt began reading randomly from the middle of the book. It didn’t matter where he started; it all came full circle anyway. He cringed at the first mention of Snowden and his secrets spilling from him.

He let himself be pulled into the story, into Yossarian's time and place. There wasn't anything in the world Walt loved more than losing himself in a tale that took him away from his own existence. Hours passed by as Walt sunk down into the plush chair hidden in the stacks. The drop of a book startled Walt. He looked up to see a wiry black-haired man ducking to pick it up. Walt stared at him as recognition sparked in his chest; he could picture them together laughing, singing. Then his mind flipped to an image of the man curled up in a ball, humming quietly to himself. But then the feeling was gone, disappearing back beneath his ribs.

A moment later the clock chimed eleven. Walt sighed and shut his book. His parents locked the front door at midnight whether he was home or not; too often he had been left to sit in the yard against a tree until morning.

The place was silent as Walt made his way to the counter. Often he would just re-shelve the book since he knew precisely where it went, but tonight he wanted to check it out, wanted to keep the journey going. The office was empty as he glanced behind the counter. He turned going back through the stacks, glancing down each for someone to help him.

Finally he saw a worker holding a stack of books, re-shelving in silence.

"Excuse me," Walt said quietly as he stopped a couple feet from him.

The man raised his head, glancing kindly at Walt. "Yes?"

"I wanted to check this out," he said, gesturing with the book. "But nobody was up front."

A smile from the man turned something inside of Walt; a key he didn't know existed.

"I don't work here," he told Walt. He moved forward a little into the light from above in order to set his books onto the table. The thickness of the stack caught Walt's eye and he quickly read through the titles: Iliad, Odyssey, Sophocles, and The Histories. The man noticed Walt's gaze and shrugged. "What can I say," he said. "I like the Greeks."

Walt slowly brought his eyes back level with the man's. He looked completely unassuming in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, but there was power behind the facade that Walt could feel pulsating through him. Walt moved his hand to the side in order to set his book on the table, but missed. It was inches from the ground when the man caught it in one slick movement.

"Ahh," he said, "Catch-22."

"It's my favorite," Walt said, still not sure what to make of him.

The man closed his eyes before speaking: "I mean it, Yossarian. You'll have to keep on your toes every minute of every day. They'll bend heaven and earth to catch you."

When he opened them they looked an unearthly color, the green of them filling Walt like a spring morning's first breath. It wasn't anything he had ever felt from anybody before; it was such a pure drive for the better that almost made Walt cry. His head began to spin. He had seen him before, like a long forgotten dream.

The man stood there watching him, no judgment on his face. "I'm Nate."

Walt hesitated before taking his outstretched hand. It felt like minutes were passing as he looked at Nate, but he knew it could only have been seconds. Something inside Walt made him grasp Nate’s hand, knowing it would change things. Their hands met and he spoke quietly, "My name's Walt."

They stood there frozen in time for five seconds before Nate's eyes started to water, his frame beginning to shake. Walt tried to draw his hand back but Nate held on tighter, staring up at him with awe.

"You're the...," Nate started but couldn't finish. His knees shook and he let go, falling back against the shelves.

Walt was confused and scared. Suddenly there were two more men among them; a tall blond man rushed to Nate, grasping him by the shoulders and asking him if he was alright. The second, the wiry man from before walked cautiously up to Walt like he was a wild horse he was trying not to spook.

"Walt," he spoke as if they were old friends, long forgotten to each other. Their eyes met, Walt's blues fading into the deep brown of the ones facing him, and gasped as a shiver ran through his spine. Instinctively he reached out and grasped onto his arm. "Ray?" he said more strongly than he had spoken before. "Ray."

When they hugged Walt felt the weight of his life evaporating as if it was a nightmare ending in the morning light. He buried his face in Ray's neck as they embraced. Ray's senses, raging love and despair as they touched, made Walt want to hold him tighter. It was the first time in years anyone had let Walt willingly touch them.

He could hear Nate and Brad, he knew that now, speaking softly behind them.

"Are you sure you're okay, sir?" Brad asked, his hands now cupping Nate's face.

"Yes. It felt like...like electricity burning bright and warm," he stopped, his eyes meeting Brad's full on. "It felt like I was home again, you know?"

Brad smiled brightly at him, "I know."

Ray and Walt broke apart, standing close still. “Where do we go from here?” Walt asked.

“We get whatever you want to take with you,” Ray said. “And then we’ll be traveling through time and punching out motherfucking dinosaurs; shooting up lame ass Shadow bastards and fucking with their time-flow.”

Walt laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the library. He covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle the laughter still bubbling in his chest. Ray looked beyond pleased.

“Don’t encourage him,” Brad said as he and Nate moved to their side.

Nate turned serious. “Do you want to come with us, Walt? You don’t have to.”

Walt nodded as he straightened himself to his full height. “Yes, I do.”

*

Walt’s house was quiet as they entered through the front door. The watch on Walt’s wrist read 11:47 p.m., they were cutting it close.

On the way there they questioned Walt about his family. “Won’t they miss you?” they had asked. “What are you going to tell them?” In truth none of it mattered to Walt anymore. No, his family wouldn’t miss him. His house was toxic and slowly burning him from the ground up. Nothing would stop him from leaving tonight.

The four of them slowly made their way up to Walt’s bedroom. The house was dimly lit by sconces along the walls as they moved silently as one. Nate was walking to the rear of them all, watching behind them for any signs of trouble.

Walt’s bedroom consisted of nothing but a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and several very large stacks of books. It took him only a moment to gather up a few pieces of clothing and two or three of his favorite books. He neither wanted nor needed anything else from this life; a life he wanted to forget. A loud crash behind him made him jump. He spun around to see his father standing in the doorway of his room.

“Who are these people?” his father asked, alcohol and anger filling his voice.

He looked around in a panic at all of them; Brad and Nate were leaning against his dresser as Ray sat on the foot of his bed. They looked relaxed, but Walt could see their muscles tensed and worried. He took a deep breath, fortifying himself at once.

“They’re friends, and we’re leaving so you don’t have to worry about it,” Walt said, his voice strong.

His father laughed maliciously. “Friends? Who would be friends with a freak like you? Who would want you in their life? God knows your mother and I don’t.”

Walt was shaking, his face red from embarrassment. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of his strength. “You don’t have to be burdened by my presence anymore.” He bent to pick up a book when his father stepped forward, slamming his hand down against it and causing Walt to drop it.

Ray was instantly at his side, his hand hovering protectively near Walt’s shoulder. “Back. Off,” Ray whispered low and threatening at Walt’s father.

“It’s alright, Ray,” Walt said, never moving his eyes from his father. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Walt took his bag off his shoulder and dropped it to the floor of his room. “Keep it all, I don’t care.” He focused on Nate and Brad, both standing with their arms crossed a few feet behind them. “I’m ready now.”

It wasn’t until Walt shifted forward that he saw his mother in the doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks. She had always been an enigma to him. He knew she hated him, what he is, but he could feel the love in her that she could never stamp out; the love a mother has for her son. Walt walked towards her slowly.

“I’m leaving,” he said to her. Walt stood there waiting, praying that she would hug him, kiss his cheek, anything. But none of that happened. He felt deflated. Squeezing the key chain in his pocket, he took it out and laid it on the top of his dresser.

She nodded, her chest rattling slightly. He reached out to her, wanting to hug her goodbye because even though she has never openly loved him, he knew she still cared somewhere deep inside of her. His fingers had only grazed her arm when she recoiled, her whole countenance shifting. “Don’t,” was all she said, full of disgust.

Walt’s arm dropped to his side. He felt a hand encase his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Ray stepped in front of him, their hands still touching.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked, confused and angry. “Your son is leaving, you don’t give a shit, and you refuse to show you care. Now move before I move you.”

She looked at her husband who just stared back at her with indifference. Her head was held high as her eyes flicked between all of them. When they arrived once more on Walt she sank back, stepping to the side. Ray grabbed Walt’s hand and pulled him through the door.

He bowed his head, doing his best to hide the tears forming in his eyes.




Part 2