let me break it to you, son -- your shit's fucked up. (au & rw)
For two weeks now, Dan had been waiting - he wasn't sure for what exactly, he'd never done this before, but waiting for something. For another hallucination, maybe, another break with reality. Another conversation that only happened in his head. Every interaction was underlaid with a creeping sense of paranoia; it all felt real, but so had that first talk with Molly, and he found himself second-guessing almost every waking moment these days. He could never know for sure, that was the worst part. Any conversation could turn ugly without warning, any experience could be a lie, and the uncertainty would have been driving him crazy even if he hadn't already been losing his mind. Molly had promised him that they would figure this out, but with all due respect to her formidable optimism, he just wasn't sure he believed her - they had nothing to go on except a conversation that hadn't happened, that he wasn't willing to tell her about now that he knew it wasn't real, and that didn't seem like enough. Honestly, he was almost ready for the next part, whatever it was. At least then something would be happening beyond waiting and trying to keep from panicking.

For now, Molly was just being a good friend and waiting with him - watching cheesy movies, talking about nothing, doing her level best to keep him distracted. Some of the time it helped, giving him something mindless and normal to focus on, and some of the time it just made him paranoid - he kept expecting her to know, to remember the conversation he knew she hadn't really been there for, and it kept him a little bit on edge. He was pretty sure she could tell, but she hadn't said anything, like if they didn't talk about it he'd be able to just forget and watch some stupid movie about ninjas without worrying. And, what the hell, maybe she was right. Dan's coping method of turning things over and over in his head, analyzing each moment, trying to predict and working himself into a quiet panic - that sure as hell wasn't working, maybe Molly had the right idea. She'd showed up this afternoon with a DVD and popcorn, and she'd actually gotten a smile out of him, so she must have been doing something right.

He'd tuned out at some point, though, gotten lost in his own head again, because all of a sudden she was snapping her fingers in front of his face and jerking him back to the here and now. Blinking rapidly, he looked over just in time to catch "...earth to Dan!" Whatever she'd said before that, he'd missed it completely, but by this point he was pretty sure she was used to that - she'd gotten good at catching his eye before she said anything important, remembering that he needed to see her lips move most of the time. Now that she had his attention she smiled, pulling her hand back. "There you are. Jeez, I was about to start shaking you."

"Sorry, I got lost for a second." He didn't quite succeed in returning her smile, but at least he tried. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he glanced over at the TV - a man in a bear suit was wreaking havoc on a cheap set - and then back at Molly. "What did I miss?"

"Not much. Some bear-on-plywood mayhem." She paused, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve, her smile fading a little. It was an odd moment coming from Molly, too quiet and not nearly excited enough about the bear, but he thought that was probably understandable given the last two weeks of playing cheerleader for him. She had to be getting tired, even if it hadn't showed much so far. Still, the quiet stretched on long enough to feel awkward, and Dan was about to say something inconsequential just to fill the silence when she suddenly reached for the remote and shut the TV off. "Okay. Enough. I want to talk."

Dan hesitated for a second. "About what?"

"Don't do that." She turned to face him completely, straightening her shoulders, a mix of concern and quiet determination on her face. "You can't just not talk about it, Dan. And I know you haven't told anybody else, so you pretty much have to talk to me."

"I know." He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. "I just -- I don't really want to think about it. And what I saw probably isn't even that important." Well, that was a blatant lie, but the part about not wanting to think about it was true. He'd been doing his best to distract himself for the last two weeks, he'd just been failing miserably. A part of him must have been tired of trying to avoid the subject though, because he could have kept his eyes downcast and just refused to hear what she said next - but he didn't, he looked up again.

"Come on. You don't even believe that, I can tell." When he didn't say anything, she kept going. "Whatever it is, whatever you thought you saw, it means something. It's important. I said I would help, and I meant it, but I can't do anything if you don't tell me." Reaching forward, she laid a hand over his. "It's okay, I'm not gonna judge you for it or anything."

He actually laughed then, in that dry, harsh way that almost sounded painful. "Yeah, I don't know about that." That was the problem, he was pretty sure he deserved to be judged for it - that was why, even though the idea of losing his mind made him feel physically sick, he was glad the conversation hadn't really happened. It was the one good thing about going crazy, at least his secret was still safe. But she was right, he knew that deep down; his heart was already pounding, but underneath the fear he felt an odd sense of certainty.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly, gave him a little smile, and didn't say anything.

"Okay." He took a deep breath, let it out, and closed his eyes. "You were worried about me, that I'd do something stupid and get myself hurt. Like I did with Gemma." Her fingers felt hot against his, and after a moment he realized it was because his hands had gone freezing cold. "You were -- I promised to stay safe this time."

"And then what?" He'd honestly thought about stopping there, but he hadn't told her enough; that wasn't enough to justify two weeks' worth of painful silence.

"You asked me what I was thinking, when I let -- when I got in Gemma's way. I said I didn't know." That old defensive feeling rose up again, even though this time it was his own memory and his own conscience nagging at him. "And I didn't, I don't. I just --" His voice cracked, and he stopped. Christ, that had to be enough. That had to be good enough.

Her hand tightened on his, more warning than reassuring now, and when he opened his eyes he saw that her expression had gone cold. "And. Then. What?" Each word sounded like a threat. Panic surged up in his chest, sudden and maddeningly involuntary.

"Nothing. That's it." It didn't sound convincing, even to him.

"God, Dan. Why are you still lying about this?" Her eyes narrowed as she leaned in again, her grip on his hand keeping him from backing away this time. "Why can't you just say it? Why can't you just tell the fucking truth?" He thought he could feel her breath on his skin, she was so close. "Are you that ashamed, Dan? Are you that ashamed of yourself?"

"Yes." It came out in a half sob, and he'd have taken it back if he could have. But it was out there now, and her lips curled up in a cruel smile, her eyes locked on his.

"Good." She sounded oddly satisfied, but the intensity in her face and her body didn't lessen. "You should be. Tell that to Gemma, maybe that'll make her feel better." He looked away, the closest he could come to hiding, and suddenly her free hand was gripping his jaw, forcing him to turn back to her again. "Do you get that? What you were doing to her? What you were doing to yourself?"

He shuddered, feeling the uncomfortable sting of tears welling up in his eyes, and nodded.

"Then say it, Dan." She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear, her voice barely above a whisper - he shouldn't have even been able to hear her, but he was losing his mind and the rules probably didn't apply anymore. "Out loud. Stop fucking hiding."

"I don't --" His voice broke, embarrassing and childish. "I don't think I can." She had to understand that, for Christ's sake, she was his fucking hallucination. Molly leaned back again, and for a split second he was relieved to have room to breathe - but he could see her face now, could see that feral glint in her eyes, and it scared the hell out of him.

"No." She shook her head, her voice steely and controlled, and her grip on his hand was hard enough to be painful. "Not good enough."

Honesty, then. She knew the truth already, she knew his ugly secret; the only thing she didn't know was what it sounded like in his voice. They'd find that out together, he guessed. Fuck it, she was already watching him cry, at this point it couldn't be that much worse. "I wanted --" The words caught in his throat one last time, and he took a deep breath and made himself start over. "I wanted to let her kill me."

"You wanted --" She tightened her grip on his hand again, her voice a demand and a warning, and he felt the sudden, sharp pain of a bone breaking.

"--to die." The truth, finally, stripped of all its protective bullshit; saying it hurt, even now. "I wanted to die. I didn't care, I just wanted it over." He should have felt better getting it out in the open, felt free or relieved or something like that, but he just felt sick. Shuddering, he let himself slump forward as her grip on his jaw relaxed, let the tears fall - it didn't matter now, he couldn't look any worse to her, there was no point in pretending. Fear and humiliation and ugly, shameful despair had been on the verge of overwhelming him since the conversation had started, and now he just let it happen.

When he opened his eyes again, slow and reluctant, he wasn't sure if it was even real or not - the IV needle in his arm, the weakness in his limbs, the other sleeping figures he could see out of the corner of his eye it could all have been just another hallucination. He wasn't such a great judge of reality these days.

(NARRATIVE)