Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yet now I'm standing here

My heart's so full, I can't explain

Seeking faith and speaking words

I never thought I'd say

There can be miracles

When you believe

Though hope is frail

It's hard to kill

When You Believe - The Prince of Egypt

Everyone who has any connection to Nockfell, West Virginia remembers where they were when they heard about the Sally Face Killings. 

Travis Phelps is no different. 

He remembers opening his laptop, which he'd been keeping on his mother's dining room table, and checking the news. He remembers being bombarded by image after image. Photographs of David, of Chug and his daughter, of Sal's own father, of Sal's mugshot. 

In a trance, Travis read and read. The more he learned, the lower his jaw dropped.  

He'd jumped as something touched his shoulder. Realizing that it was his mother coming to say 'Good morning,' he'd wordlessly turned the computer to her. Her reaction had been the same as his. 

In the near-frantic search for any scrap of information and the stunned conversations Travis had with his mother, the answer to the most important question simply couldn't be found.

How?

It's still dark when Travis leaves for Nockfell, and it takes an achingly long time for the heater in his used car to start blowing warm air. He doesn't mind so much; it's an almost welcome distraction. It gives him something else to focus on. 

It's the day of Sal's trial and it's far too early for Travis to properly sort through all his thoughts and feelings about the matter the way his therapist taught him. He isn't even really sure why he's doing it; he hadn't meant for him and Sal to drift away since high school, but it had happened just the same. At this point, it had been months since the two of them had spoken on the phone. 

So driving to the trial doesn't really make sense. 

Then again, nothing about this does. Travis is going by pure instinct and impulse at this point, just going by whatever feels right in the moment.

Before the press conference, he runs into one Ashley Campbell. She looks almost as surprised to see him as he is to see her. "Travis?"

He gives her a weak smile. "Long time no see?" 

"No kidding!" She opens her arms, and uncertain of what else to do, he walks into them. 

It's weird. This is the first time they've seen each other since high school, and they've both changed so much; she's lopped her hair off at the chin and exchanged her art student getup for a biker chick one. He's grown even taller, let his hair grow longer, even gotten crazy and pierced his ears. 

And yet, this hasn't changed. They'd gotten on better terms after he and Sal had become friends, but he still isn't really sure how to feel about her, and he suspects she doesn't know how to feel about him, either. 

Still, here they are, brought together by the same thing. 

"I was gonna get a coffee," Ashley tells him. "You, uh...wanna come with?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm pretty useless without my morning coffee." 

Words. Meaningless words. More than anything else, Travis suspects they just need a distraction.

The tiny cafe they go to is warmer inside than outside, thankfully. They both get their coffee black as night and strong enough to set something on top of. 

"So," Travis says.

Ashley nods. "So."

"This is fucking wild, isn't it?"

Ashley laughs. It's clear she doesn't find this funny. Which is good, because Travis doesn't think so, either. "That's one way to put it."

"I just..." Travis shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee before trying again. "I just don't understand. How? How could this happen?"

"I'm still trying to piece it together, myself." Ashley breathes some steam from the lip of her coffee cup. "I'm the one who found him...like that. I'm one of the people who had to identify the...the bodies. It's a lot to take in...I don't think it's hit me yet."

"I can believe that," Travis says. Inwardly he thinks Jesus...It's amazing she looks as put-together as she does. He'd be a wreck in her shoes.

Now that he looks more closely, she looks even paler than he remembers. Her eyes have the look of someone who didn't sleep a wink the night before. Without thinking, he reaches out to place one of his hands over hers. 

"Are you here for the trial?"

He nods. "It felt right." He doesn't really have any more of a reason than that.

"I'm going to be testifying." Ashley's words hang heavy in the air. 

"For? Or against?" Travis had seen the newspaper; it had said that she'd be testifying against him. 

You can't believe everything you read, though. 

Ashley shakes her head. "I'm going to tell the truth. I'm going to say exactly what I think."

Travis frowns. "What do you think?" he tries.

Ashley takes a while to answer. The thoughts are clearly rolling around in her over-tired mind, the same way his had been when he'd heard the news. After a few minutes of thinking, she finally says, carefully, "Sal isn't mentally well. Before...that night...he admitted he wasn't taking his meds anymore." 

"So you think this was just...a mental breakdown?"

"What else could it possibly be? I mean" Ashley sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She's twenty-two, but right then, she looks so much older. "He called me, sobbing that Larry killed himself." 

"Oh, shit..." Travis remembers how close the two of them had been. As a stupid, angry teenager, he'd assumed they were dating, and it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize the real reason why that had bothered him so much. If Larry had killed himself, then no wonder Sal had lost it; he must have been devastated. "I didn't realize his body was with the others."

Ashley shakes her head. "That's just it, though...there was no body."  

Travis blinks. "What do you mean?" 

"Larry killed himself by drinking and taking a whole bunch of medication. At least, that was what Sal said. But when I went up to have a look, Larry's body wasn't there."

Travis shakes his head, trying to fit in this new piece of the puzzle. A lot of this isn't adding up. "Was he making it up? Or did he, like...hallucinate it?" He'd known that Sal had multiple mental illnesses; Anxiety, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But in all the time he'd known him, Sal had never told him about anything that would let him hallucinate. No Psychosis or Schizophrenia or the like. 

Ashley sighs. "I wanted to believe him. I mean, I didn't want to; Larry was my friend, too. But I wanted to help out however I could. And when there was no evidence..." She sighs and takes several deep gulps of her coffee. Travis watches her throat as she swallows. "I don't know how else to explain it."

"Have you considered anything supernatural?" 

She shakes her head again, looking more and more tired by the minute. "You, too?" 

"I don't know about ghosts or demons or whatever, but the minute I stepped on that property I got a bad feeling. I wanted to make the sign of the cross, but I didn't. I thought it'd be rude." In retrospect, that seems really stupid; maybe he should have done it and then told Sal to do the same. 

Anything to have prevented...this.

"They kept telling me the building was haunted, but I just don't know. It's a hard pill to swallow." 

"Yeah," is all Travis can say. "Maybe." 

They sit in heavy, uncomfortable silence for a few minutes after that, still trying to sort everything out in their minds. When Ashley speaks, she does so quietly that Travis almost doesn't hear her. "I shouldn't have left him."

Travis frowns. "What do you mean?"

She bites her lip. Maybe if he were the sort of man who was interested in women, he'd find it attractive. "I tried to calm him down after I left the treehouse. I tried to convince him to come inside; at least it wasn't raining in there, right? His dad and stepmom were in there; they might've known what to do. Right?"

Travis shrugs. "Maybe." In his experience, parents can do their best, but still not know a damn thing. His mom always does her best to be there for him now, but he knows she isn't perfect; it's one reason why he hasn't told her that he likes boys.

And his father...

Well. The less said about him, the better.

"But he snapped at me. Said I was being...cold and emotionless." She squeezes her eyes shut, like the memory is physically hurting her. "I'm not a huge crier; never have been. Not even at my grandma's funeral. I told him that in confidence, and he used it against me." 

Travis can't help himself; he covers his mouth with his hand. Jesus...That doesn't sound like the Sal he remembers, but he knows Ashley well enough to know that she isn't a liar. 

"I couldn't be around him right then, and I told him that, and I just...left. I got on my bike and I left him crying in the rain." Travis wants to reach out to take one of her hands, but they're both covering her coffee cup with an intense tightness; he's afraid he'll shatter them if he tries to pry them loose. "I called the police. I didn't know what else to do...I thought he was going to do something he'd regret."

"Like kill himself, right? Not...this?"

Ashley nods. "I didn't believe the news at first. I thought he was being framed, because...because I knew him. Maybe he was going through a rough time, but I know he'd never..." Ashley looks off in the distance. She's trembling like a leaf in the wind. "Or at least...I thought I knew him."

"What do you think you would've done different?" Travis asks. Everything Ashley is telling him sounds reasonable; what else should a person in her shoes have done? If he were in them, he honestly wouldn't have known what to do. 

She shakes her head and shrugs. "I don't know. Something." 

"Well, you know what they say. Hindsight is 20/20." It's not a satisfying answer, by any means, but it's the only think Travis can think right now. He remembers writing his last love note to Sal to hide in his locker, but being caught by his dad. Over and over again, years later, he still wonders what would've happened if he'd just written the damn thing somewhere else. Somewhere away from his father's judgmental prying eyes. 

You'd probably still be miserable, a tiny voice in his head says. It's one he can't argue with, but that's kind of the point: he doesn't know. 

Ashley manages a smile at him. "Yeah. True. Well, maybe I can do something to help Sal now."

He manages a smile back at her. "We can only hope." 

Travis tries to pay attention to everything in the press conference before Sal's trial, but that one detail about Nockfell High's lunch meat brings the coffee he'd had before right back up. The sounds of his own vomiting drown out the rest of the words being spoken. 

Human meat...Thank God there's a trash can nearby. I ate human meat...That damned bologna had been one of the few aspects of high school life that hadn't been completely awful for him. He'd eaten those sandwiches...loved those sandwiches...The very thought brings up another heaving retch, made of nothing but bile this time. There's nothing left in his stomach, but the heaving just won't stop. 

Who was it? Who the fuck did I eat? Travis clings white-knuckled to the edges of the trash bin, not feeling nearly empty enough. He absently remembers missing person posters on bulletin boards around town, photographs of missing children on milk cartons. 

Oh God...please forgive me...The thoughts are for God, since obviously He's the only other one who can hear them, but he hopes that the feelings will somehow make their way to the friends and family of the victims. No one deserves to have that happen to them. 

He feels a hand on his back. "Easy, easy...you're okay..." Another hand lifts his bangs away from his forehead, sweaty despite how cold the air is. "Here..." The voice is Ashley's, and the gentle human contact--something he's still trying to get used to--is welcome as the very last of his stomach's contents land at the bottom of the trash can. 

"Thanks." His voice is hoarse and shaky. "I can't believe it...I'm a cannibal..." The disgust has mostly worn off, allowing icy cold tendrils of horror to creep through him. "They...they had us eating people..."

"I know; I know. I was there; I saw."

He stands up straight and wipes his watering eyes on his sleeve. "Mrs. Packerton was behind it? Jesus...I thought she was a harmless old lady."

"We all did." Ashley pats his shoulder. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner."

Travis shakes his head, uncertain when a good time might have been to get this news. "This is nuts...she was a cultist? There's a cult involved in this?" That haunted apartment building, serial murders, and now a cult? Just how tangled does this web get?

And how the Hell does it involve Sal?

Hell; how does it involve Ashley? How does it involve him? He's lived here for the first seventeen years of his life; what else has he missed?

"Apparently so." Ashley folds her arms across her chest and looks in Sal's direction. Travis follows her line of sight just in time to see Sal crumple a newspaper in his cuffed hands. He recognizes the paper from here; it's the one that says Ashley will testify against him.

"Shit..." Travis hears her whisper. "People are going to think I'm crazy, too, if I tell them everything I saw." The news clearly has her troubled. "Nothing'll get done if we're both institutionalized."

Travis frowns. He's got an idea, but he doesn't like it. He doesn't think Ash will, either. "Maybe you shouldn't tell the whole truth, then. Don't mention the...conspiracy stuff or whatever." 

She purses her lips. "You think that's a good idea? I'll be sworn to tell 'the whole truth and nothing but,' right?" 

He shakes his head. "Yeah, but for all we know, the judge and jury are in on the whole cult thing." He looks straight into her large green eyes, which are widening with the same realization. "We don't know how far this whole thing goes."

They stare at each other like that for a few intense seconds. Ash is the one to break it, closing her eyes, sighing, and pinching the bridge of her nose. "God, what a mess..." 

"Yeah...that's one way to put it..." And Travis is starting to doubt that all of them are going to get out of it unscathed.

The trial ends not the way Travis hopes, but the way he expects.

Sal Fisher has been declared guilty on several accounts of manslaughter and one of infanticide, and is put on Death Row.

Ash cries out against the declaration, saying what Travis desperately wants to, but simply can't. He reaches out to try to pull her back, but Maple beats him to it.

What happens from there is all kind of a blur. All Travis remembers is clutching his steering wheel with shaking hands, then stumbling through his door straight into his mother's arms. 

They know about us, he remembers thinking. They know where we are. They have to.  Because even here and now, people take one look at him and know he's Kenneth Phelps's son. People this far away from Nockfell tell him that he looks just like his father.That son of a bitch was in on it the whole time...Travis's church, the one he'd been practically raised in, is a secret meeting place for cultists. 

How far does this go? What are we supposed to do? 

Travis remembers thinking so many things that night, but the one thing that took precedence was keeping his mother safe. "We can't stay here," is what he manages to get out as his mother holds him. 

Of course she'd been confused. Of course she'd been worried. 

That had always been the difference between her and his father. Travis's words come out jumbled and desperate, and he's certain he isn't making any sense, but as he watches her green eyes widen in understanding, he realizes that she's listening closely. 

They drive all day and all night, eventually stopping at a motel in Connecticut. It's only then that Travis feels like enough distance is between them and the sinister history of his hometown. 

Three paranoia-fueled years pass. 

Travis tries to cut ties with his past life. He really does.

But things have a way of coming back around to bite you, he realizes. 

His father passes away suddenly. Try as he might, Travis can't bring himself to ignore that, so he winds up driving all the way back to Nockfell, West Virginia to help out with the funeral arrangements. 

His whole life, Travis had been sure that Kenneth Phelps had hated him. Getting the beating of his life and being disowned for being caught writing a love letter to a boy hadn't done anything to prove otherwise. So it comes as a complete surprise to Travis when he reads his will and learns that he's left everything--the house, all his belongings, his money, even the church--to him. 

Travis had never understood his father, and at twenty-three years old, he realizes that now he never will. 

Maybe if he'd been a different man he might have stayed, lived in the house, tried to make something of the church. 

As it is, he still wants nothing to do with any of this. He sells the house for less than it's worth and has the church demolished. If there are any secret rooms for cult rituals in either, Travis doesn't know it: he doesn't stay long enough to learn any details. 

With the money he's been left, Travis buys a decent single storey house for his mother. It's the very least he can do for her, he decides. For himself, he rents a two-bedroom apartment. It's a situation that works out well for the both of them; there's distance between them, but they're still close enough to each other in case they need anything. 

Travis ignores letters and phone calls and emails from Nockfell, and yet, he creates his own. 

He's an adult, but he's gotten right back into the habit of writing love letters to his teenaged crush. 

Despite everything, he still cares deeply about Sal. He knows Ashley thought he suffered some sort of nervous break, but Travis believes every word that Sal said. He still remembers how it had felt, staying in Addison Apartments. 

Secretly, he  finds himself hoping that building will get demolished, too. From what he understands, it's brought nothing but misery to a lot of different people. 

In between work at a nearby cannery, paying bills, hobbies like knitting and crocheting, and living his life, Travis still finds the time to write letters. Every time, he tells himself that he's finally going to tell Sal the truth. Every time, he tells himself that this time he's going to stop being such a damn coward.

But he never does. He always writes generic letters about his life, and those are the ones he always ends up sending. 

Sal always says he appreciates it in his own responding letters, and that's always nice to see. It's almost worth letting people from Nockfell see Travis's name and address. 

The day arrives where Sal is finally executed. Travis keeps his mind on anything, literally anything else, the entire day, right up until his head hits his pillow. It's then that he finally lets himself weep, letting himself feel the sadness and despair and regret that have been building up for years. 

I never told him, he thinks as he sobs. You really are a coward...

It happens in a gas station bathroom, of all places, a week later. 

Travis washes his hands and looks at himself in the mirror. His hair's gotten longer, now almost reaching his shoulders. He keeps meaning to get it cut, until he remembers how much his father would hate the look, which gives him a spiteful bit of joy. 

He'd always been told not to speak ill of the dead, but Hell with it; he figures he's earned the right to do just that to his abusive cultist father. 

He turns off the faucet, shakes his hands, then dries them with a paper towel. In attempting to leave, he bumps into another person.

"Oof!" The impact doesn't hurt him; he's a tall guy who's grown broad-shouldered. It's more of a startled expression. "Sorry!" he says, looking down at long, glossy black hair. 

"S'okay."

The deep, raspy voice is soft, but familiar. Travis freezes when he hears it. His eyes widen as he gazes down at the tiny man before him. 

No...he thinks, gripping denim-clad shoulders and slowly pushing away. It can't be...He's hearing things, he just knows it. He's seeing what he wants to see.

There's no possible way...

The stranger slowly looks up at him. A deep blue mask covers his face, but Travis would recognize that piercing blue blue eye anywhere.

"Sal?" It comes out as a tiny whisper. 

"Travis?" 

"Holy shit..." Travis pulls Sal back to him, wrapping his arms around him as tight as they'll go. "You were executed, you...you're supposed to be dead..." 

A horrible, selfish voice in Travis's head whispers You're getting a second chance.

Sal doesn't return the embrace so much as sink against Travis's chest and shoulder, as though relieved to no longer have to support his own weight. "I know. But here I am."

Travis doesn't let go, but he does push a bit on Sal's shoulders so he can get a better look at him. It's difficult to see clearly through his tears, but he sees that Sal's dyed hair is in a long braid. The prosthetic he's wearing is unfamiliar; the dark blue suits him, Travis thinks. He's wearing a long black turtleneck sweater underneath a denim jacket, over which the strap of a duffel bag is slung. "My God..." A small laugh escapes Travis, completely unbidden and possibly a bit hysterical. He's always believed in miracles, but here he was, actually witnessing one. "What the Hell happened?" 

Sal sighs. "It's a long story. A really, really long story." He wraps his arms tight around himself. 

A thought occurs to Travis. "Shit...do Ashley and your other friends know you're...?" 

Sal nods. "Yeah; the house is the first place I went." He looks off to the side. "Things are okay now. I...I think. But just in case, I decided to leave." 

Travis runs a hand through his hair, painfully aware of the fact that he's grinning in a way that probably makes him look less than sane. "Wow." What else is he supposed to say?

"I've been walking for days now. Hitching here and there. Stopped here and came in to get warm."

"You've been hitchhiking?" Fucking shit, does he want to die again? Travis knows he isn't thinking rationally right now, but he can't bring himself to care. 

Sal just shrugs. 

"Wait, so...do you have anywhere to go?" The sort of hope that Travis is feeling right now makes him feel sick. The sick feeling spikes up when Sal slowly shakes his head. "Well, shit! Come stay with me, then!"

Sal is blinking up at him. Despite how long it's been since they've seen each other face to face, Travis realizes he can still read him. He's aware of how he must look right now. There's distinct, understandable hesitation in Sal's voice as he asks "Are...you sure? Will I be imposing?"

Travis shakes his head. "I got the room; I've been looking for a roommate." It's not entirely true; Travis has enough money to keep him going for a while. But Sal doesn't have to know that. "Besides, it's time I returned the favor. You took me in when we were in high school; remember?" Because Travis sure as Hell does.

Sal stares up into his eyes, into his soul, for what feels like an eternity before he finally nods. "Okay. Yeah; I'd really appreciate it. Thanks, Travis."

Travis wraps an arm around his shoulders and walks them out of the bathroom. "Believe me, Sal; the pleasure's all mine."

Sal doesn't settle into the apartment right away. Travis understands; a lot has changed and Sal has been through a lot. 

"If you want to talk, I'm here to listen," he tells Sal one morning. Sal looks like he's about to start doing just that, but at the last minute he looks back down at the mug of tea in his hands. "Thanks, Travis." 

Travis still remembers the Sal Fisher from high school. Outgoing, friendly; nice, but no pushover, responding to any bullying with sass. This Sal is quiet and flinches at every little thing. Every once in a while, Travis will catch him looking over his shoulder, as though feeling someone stare at him. 

Travis knows the feeling well. He still isn't convinced that the cult from Nockfell isn't around, plotting something. It's near impossible to shake off that kind of paranoia; Travis had felt it for years after just hearing about it. How must someone like Sal, who'd been right in their midst, feel about it?

So Travis doesn't push. He puts the therapy he's been in since high school to use and exercises as much patience as he can, adapting and shifting as needed. One time he comes home from the cannery to find Sal on the couch with a newspaper unfolded in his lap. Travis recognizes the page; it's opened to the Wanted ads. He smiles and places a hand on Sal's shoulder, opening with "How's the job hunt going, Sally Face?"

Travis immediately realizes that he's made a huge mistake. Sal cringes away from his touch and his voice in an almost violent way. When he realizes who it is, he looks up at him, and Travis is almost physically pushed back by the sharpness in that cool blue eye. "Don't call me that!" he snaps. 

Travis puts both of his hands up, showing that he means no harm, and takes a step back. "Okay, okay," he says gently. "I won't; I'm sorry." 

He wants to kick himself. The old nickname had come out as a habit; in their friendship as teenagers, Travis had grown to mean it as a term of endearment. But of course it no longer carried that warmth and comfort.

Not after the guy had been known as The Sally Face Killer for over three years. 

Wanting to offer a better apology, Travis makes his way to the kitchenette, where he fills a kettle with water. He absently remembers that Sal doesn't like coffee and only cares for a few kinds of sweet tea; hot cocoa will probably be the way to go for a peace offering. 

Travis places the steaming mug on a coaster on the coffee table in front of Sal. It looks like the poor guy is trying to make himself smaller than usual. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Travis shakes his head as he sits down next to him. "Don't be; I understand. I wasn't thinking." He scratches the back of his neck as he realizes something. "Sorry; I don't have any straws for you."

"It's okay," Sal says. Travis watches him unclasp the lower latch on his prosthetic, and falling back into a familiar routine from years ago, turns away so he won't see anything Sal doesn't want him to. 

"That a new prosthetic?" he asks, because it's a question he's had since they ran into each other. He knows Sal had started a collection of masks in his early adulthood, but he's never seen this one before.

"No; I couldn't afford a new one. Ash painted this one for me." 

"Ah. Cool!" Travis is tempted to ask how Ashley is doing; she'd taken Sal's imprisonment harder than the others. She must have been working her ass off to get to the bottom of everything. The thought brings up the ugly head of jealousy at the pit of Travis's stomach, but before it can make him say anything he'll regret, he shoves it back down. "You've changed your look up a lot; I gotta say, I like."

"Thanks. Didn't want anyone to recognize me." 

The Sal Fisher from high school would have probably made a joke about how Travis was finally starting to understand trends and fashion.

Not this one, apparently.

Travis reminds himself not to take it personally. Travis isn't the same person he was in high school, either. And honestly, thank God for that.

He'll just have to keep being patient. 

It's one of the few times that Travis has a day off and manages to get Sal out of the house. He's got a new paycheck that's been used on rent and utilities, and the rest of it has been burning a hole in his pocket. Sal hadn't had much when he'd come to live with him, and while it's always been a secret fantasy of Travis's to see Sal wearing his clothes, the truth is that he desperately needs his own. 

They start by window shopping. On the way to a discount clothing outlet, they pass a toy store. At the sight of something in the window, Sal stops cold. He stands there, staring, and Travis is so bewildered that he feels like he has no choice but to follow his line of sight. 

He smiles when he sees it. "Oh hey, it's one of those toys! A...Burfy?" He's seen commercials for them everywhere. He suspects that, if these things had come out when he was younger, he would've begged and pleaded his dad for him to get one. As an adult, Travis thought they looked kind of freaky, and suspected he might grow annoyed with one. But maybe Sal feels differently; maybe he likes them. He's always been an unconventional kind of guy. 

"Yeah, it's..." Travis watches Sal's adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows. He frowns, uncertain what that stare means. "Never mind...it's nothing." Just as quickly as he'd stopped, Sal turns around and begins walking. "Come on." 

Travis obeys, unsure of what the Hell just happened.

For a while, things seem to improve. Travis wakes up one morning to find Sal on his three-years-out-of-date flip phone, chattering excitedly. "Yes! Absolutely!" is what he hears before Sal clicks the phone shut. He turns to look up at him, and there's a happiness shining in his eye that Travis hasn't seen in years. "I got a job!" he cries.

Travis's jaw drops. "You got a job!?" 

"I start in a week!"

It's the first bit of good news they've gotten in weeks, and Travis can't help himself; he picks Sal up in a hug and physically lifts him off his feet, twirling him around. Sal is clearly as startled by the whole thing as he is, laughing in a surprised but gleeful sort of way. Even when they pull away, Travis doesn't let go all the way. By the way Sal is squinting behind his mask, Travis knows he's smiling. "We should celebrate!" 

Sal nods. "And I've got just the idea."

Sal's idea, it turns out, is splurging some money on nail polish. "You sure that's all you want?" Travis asks. 

Sal shrugs. "Maybe it's silly, but I think it'll help me feel a bit more like myself. I mean...they wouldn't let me do it in prison."

The joyful mood is deflated. Travis knows Sal spent three years in prison, but Sal hasn't talked about it once since they met back up. He's tempted to ask about his time there, but something stops him. "Ah. Gotcha," is all he says. 

The evening they spend at home is a quiet one, and surprisingly pleasant. They watch television; some old sitcom that Travis had always thought was more of a satire of a nuclear American family than an actual show about one. He watches Sal paint his nails for a bit before pulling out a basket from beneath the coffee table.

"What's that?" Sal asks. 

"I like to knit," Travis pulls out a pair of large steel knitting needles, which are attached to a skein of dark purple yarn. "This might not look like it, but it's gonna be a blanket when it's done." 

"Ooh!" Sal said, sounding genuinely interested. "I always meant to learn how to do that; I just never got around to it."

Travis smiles as he looks over at Sal's hands. The black nail polish on his fingernails is still drying. "Tell you what; as soon as you're done with that, I'll show you how." 

Sal nods eagerly, and Travis can tell that his enthusiasm is genuine. That's just the sort of guy he is. Was. Always has been. 

It's nice to see that some things never change.

"I'll take you up on that!" 

Travis gets home before Sal's first day at his new job ends. Remembering an incident from a few weeks ago, he sets the shopping bag down on the kitchenette counter. He smiles as the door opens, revealing Sal in his new work shirt and slacks. "Hey, you! How was your first day?"

Sal shrugs. "Oh, you know; it's the first day of a new job. It's always tough, but I think I'll be able to manage it." 

Travis nods. "Awesome! While you were out, I gotcha a present."

"Oh?" Sal reaches into the bag and pulls out the knock-off, discount Burfy. 

"Surprise!" Travis smiles at Sal as he stares at the toy in his hand. "I saw how you looked at that one when we were out one time. What do you think?"

"I..." Travis watches Sal swallow, and frowns, suddenly questioning whether this was the right idea after all. "It's...cute, Travis. Um...thank you." Abruptly, Sal turns and walks away.

"Sal?" Travis blinks after him, tempted to follow. 

His response is the sound of a door shutting. Travis realizing, heart sinking, that Sal's just shut himself in his room.

Again. 

He finds himself staring in disbelief for several minutes before finally giving up and sitting on the couch, where he buries his face in his hands with a sigh.

Damnit...And here he'd thought they were making progress. One step forward, two steps back...

Sal stays in his room for the rest of the day, not even coming out for dinner. He doesn't respond when Travis knocks on his door or asks (begs, pleads) for him to come out and talk to him. Finally deciding that he shouldn't push this anymore, he gives up and spends the rest of his night stress-knitting. Then stress-baking. Not even the smell of freshly-baked pumpkin cinnamon cookies are enough to bring Sal out of hiding. 

When Travis wakes up, he realizes that Sal's left for work without waking him up to tell him. The apartment is cold and empty, now that Travis is the only one in it. 

He spends his shift at the cannery in a rather bad mood.  If any of his coworkers notice it, they're smart enough not to bring it up to his face. 

Things come to a head the very minute that Travis comes home. Sal's door is wide open, so Travis gets a very clear view of Sal staring at the Burfy in his hands, shaking almost violently, before reaching back and pitching the thing at the mirror as hard as he can.

"Sal!" As though the scene before him is playing in slow motion, he watches as Sal's gaze follows the shattered glass that falls down, down, down, landing around a framed picture. Sal picks the picture up and stares; Travis watches him crumple into himself on top of the bed. 

The sound of raucous sobbing fills the air. 

Without thinking, Travis barges into the room, not even minding the broken glass on the shelves and carpet, and sits down next to Sal.

It's only when Travis places a hand on Sal's shoulder blades and feels how hard they're shaking that he realizes that Sal is crying.

Hell, not crying; bawling. Travis isn't sure he's ever heard a grown man make such noises. 

"Sal..." He has no idea what else to say. He has no idea what to think, except that he's surprised that this didn't happen much sooner than it did. 

"Damnit..." Sal chokes through his tears. "God fucking damnit!" He holds the picture close to him, hugging it as though he were a child with a beloved teddy bear. "I didn't..." He gasps, and Travis is genuinely worried that Sal having trouble breathing right now. "I didn't want this...I didn't want any of this...I never..." With trembling hands, Sal gently holds the picture away from him. 

Travis finds that he has to swallow around a lump in his own throat at the sight. There Sal is, in a yellow bridesmaid dress, standing next to Larry in his best man's suit. Mr. Fisher and Mrs. Johnson-Fisher, newlyweds, are standing behind him. 

He pulls Sal close to him, completely lost for words. What can he say or do to make any of this better?

"I was dead, Travis...I got what I deserved."

"Sal..."

"Why? I killed them all! For fuck's sake, I killed a baby! I killed Maple's daughter! Why did I get to come back?" Sal slams the picture down on the mattress face down, burying his face in his hands as he breaks further. 

"I didn't want to...I didn't...God..." Travis has to strain to hear Sal's words. "Everything's been taken from me..." 

Travis gulps. "I...I don't want to make this about me, Sal," he begins. "But...not everything."

Sal finally looks up at him. Even with the prosthetic still on, Travis can see the pain that Sal is in.

"I'm still here."

He hears a loud, wet sniff. "I'm dangerous. Even when I'm not doing anything on purpose, bad things happen to people who are around me. It's why I left Ash and Maple and Neil and Todd and...and even Gizmo. They didn't want me to go, but I was so scared. I..." Sal's fingers tighten in the fabric of his sweater. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I can't lose you, too. You should just kick me out while you still have a chance."

Travis shook his head. "That's not happening, Sal. Plenty of bad things have happened to me. You know; you were there for a lot of them. But I'm still here." Testing the waters, Travis tucks a long lock of black hair behind one of Sal's ears. "And now, so are you. I don't know how any of this works, or why it's happening, but for whatever reason, you've been given a second chance. And..." He gulps. "And I want to spend it with you. If you'll let me."

To Hell with it. Travis is going to let himself be selfish right now. I've lost you once; I'm not gonna lose you again.

Sal is silent for the longest time. Travis is completely taken by surprise when he throws himself at him, grabbing handfuls of his purple t-shirt. 

Gently, terrified of breaking Sal any further, Travis wraps his arms around him. It all feels painfully familiar, and almost completely unbidden, Travis finds himself whispering "You're in a lot of pain right now, and you have every right to be. But you won't feel this way forever." Those words had helped him through the worst time in his life; hopefully they would help Sal now, too. "I've got you...I've got you..."

Travis pulls them further onto the bed, where he lets Sal lay down on him and cry himself to sleep. 

Travis wakes up to the sound of liquid bubbling. 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he realizes that he's alone in the bed. More surprising, the picture of Sal's family is back in its place, and all of the shards of mirror have been cleaned up. The only proof that things went the way they did last night is the fact that the mirror is still broken. 

Isn't that seven years bad luck? Travis wonders. He quickly shuts the thought down. He doesn't think they could be any less lucky if they tried.

He stands up, realizing that he didn't even take his shoes off after he'd gotten home from work, and leaves Sal's room. 

There's Sal in the kitchenette, taking the coffee pot and pouring it into a mug. He clearly hears Travis come into the living room, because he turns to look at him. "Hey," he tries. 

"Hey," Travis returns. What exactly is one supposed to say in this particular situation?

"Um...you like your coffee with a splash of cream, right?" Travis doesn't remember Sal ever looking or sounding so shy before. 

"Yeah, I do." He knows how I like my coffee. Despite circumstances being what they are, Travis can't help but feel warm and fuzzy at that bit of knowledge. 

"Good." Sal grasps the mug with both hands, holding the free handle to Travis, who gratefully takes it. 

"Thank you." He manages a smile. "What a nice thing to wake up to."

"I figure you deserved it." Sal fidgets with his fingers, and Travis remembers how endearing he finds that little habit. "I'm sorry about last night...I guess it all finally caught up with me."

"I kinda figured." Travis sat on the couch and patted the seat next to him. "Come; sit."

Sal does, though he avoids actually touching Travis, much to his disappointment. 

"So," Travis says. "You said you...came back?"

Sal nods. 

"Back from where, exactly?"

He hears Sal slowly take a deep breath. "You won't believe me if I tell you."

"You'd be surprised. I believed every word you said at your trial."

Sal blinks at him slowly, reminding Travis a bit of a cat. "Really?"

"Yeah. I know Addison Apartments was haunted. Honestly, whenever I was there, I wanted to start praying and never stop."

Sal actually manages a laugh. "Honestly? I don't blame you. That might've protected you." He takes another deep breath. "I was killed by electric chair. I still remember it super clearly. Then I was in the afterlife."

Travis holds his breath. 

"It wasn't Heaven, but it wasn't Hell, either. Surprisingly. It was...something else." Sal's hands are folded in his lap. Travis can't stop staring at the nail polish. "Apparently there's a multiverse? Kind like the ones in the comic books Todd used to read. I was shown all sorts of different lives I've lived; a bunch more I could live. But I decided to come back here."

"Wow." Travis's voice comes out as a whisper.

Sal nods, and Travis realizes that his hair could use a new dye-job; electric blue roots are showing at his part. "I knew it'd be rough. But I had unfinished business here." 

Travis nods slowly. "Well. I respect that, Sal. A lot." He laughs. "It's what I always liked about you. Your loyalty."

"Really?" Travis hates that Sal sounds so surprised, but then again, he hasn't given him much reason to believe otherwise.

He's never told him the truth. Sal's gotten a second chance, and now so has Travis. So he takes a deep breath. Here goes..."I had...the biggest crush on you back in high school." 

There. Finally.

Sal stares at him in a way Travis can't read. Then he stands up, and Travis wonders if he's just made the wrong choice. "Hold on...I need to show you something," he says before scurrying off.

He comes back holding a notebook. Travis's eyes widen as Sal sets it on his lap and opens it up. My letters from high school! There they all are, written on torn pieces of notebook paper in Travis's own handwriting. "I don't believe it..." he whispers, almost tempted to reach out and run his fingers along the dark blue ink. "You kept them?"

Sal nods. "Of course I did. These are some of my most cherished memories."

Travis giggles right then, actually giggles, completely involuntarily. "So...you did know it was me writing these."

"I put two and two together. You weren't very subtle, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Dad caught me writing the last one. You know...before..."

Sal flinches, pulling his head down between his shoulders. "So...it was my fault you got kicked out..."

Travis doesn't think Sal could hurt him anymore if he'd just slapped him. "What? No!" He takes both of Sal's hands in his. "Sal, look at me." Sal does, albeit hesitantly. "It wasn't your fault. All right? It wasn't mine, either. It was my dad's. No one else's." He'd been to see a few different therapists in his life time, and that was the most important thing he'd learned. His abuse hadn't been his fault; he hadn't deserved it. 

Sal nods slowly. "Okay." He doesn't sound like he believes Travis, but at least he's said the word out loud. 

"And, so long as we're being honest..." Travis suspects he should stop while he's ahead, but Hell with it; he's gotten this far. "I'm starting to think those feelings never went away."

"How?" Sal sounds heart-breakingly lost and helpless as he speaks. "You don't even know what I look like."

"No," Travis admits. "I've never seen you without a prosthetic. I'd like to see your true face, if you want to show me. But you don't have to." Travis lets go of one of Sal's hands to reach behind the edge of the mask, where he brushes his fingertips along his jawline. The feather-light touch draws a shudder from Sal. "I won't ever make you do anything you don't want to." 

"You've really changed, Travis. For the better." Warmth and pride swell up in Travis. Those are words he's been longing to hear for so long. "I...I think I'm ready to show you."

Travis's heart rises to his throat. "Okay," he whispers, letting go of Sal and backing away, hoping to give him space. 

Sal's chest rises as he breathes deeply, reaching behind his head to undo the clasp of the lower strap. He leans down so that his long bangs cover his face as he finally removes the mask, turning it over in his hands to look at its blank face. He stays like that for a long time, breathing deeply. Travis says nothing, makes no sudden movements, more than willing to let Sal take his time. 

He can't help but cover his mouth with his hand as Sal finally looks up. Sal has no nose; a hole is there where it should be. A piece of his right jawbone is missing; his left lip is left intact, but the right ends in a ragged gash. His left eye looks fairly normal, but up close, Travis can see that his right eye is a glass one; the heavily scarred, red-and-white area around it sags, making Travis wonder if a part of the skull was removed when that damned dog attacked him. 

Without thinking, Travis slowly reaches out with his left hand before realizing what he's doing. He bites his lip before whispering "Can I?" He doesn't know what he's about to do, but he knows he needs to move slowly after asking for permission.

Sal doesn't look like he knows what's about to happen, either, but he slowly nods.

Travis gulps, picking up where he left off. His left hand cups Sal's right cheek, where he lets his thumb begin to stroke one of the lines of the scarred flesh. Sal closes his eyes and leans into the touch, reaching up to wrap both his hands around Travis's wrists. 

Travis takes it as a further invitation, and almost involuntarily, he leans forward, where his lips touch Sal's. It's equal parts soft and rough; it's a Hell of a sensation, and Travis decides he wants more, so he moves his head to the left, where he kisses the right corner of Sal's ripped up mouth. He's moved up to his cheek when Sal's hand finds itself on his shoulder. "Travis..."

"Hmm?" His eyelids flutter open. He only really gets the message when Sal gently but firmly pushes against his shoulder. 

Travis pulls away. "Was I moving too fast?"

Sal nods, looking a little sheepish. 

"Heh...Sorry," Travis says with a small smile. 

Sal smiles back at him. It's the very first time Travis has seen him smile, he realizes; he almost wants to get a picture of the moment so that he can look at it whenever he wants to. "It's okay." Just as soon as it appeared, his smile is gone, and Travis wants nothing more than to put it back where it was. "I'm...not saying I don't feel the same way," Sal says slowly, "I do."

Travis grins, feeling stupidly giddy. "That's great!"

Sal nods. "But," he says, putting a pin in Travis's bubble, "in case you haven't noticed...I'm a fucking mess right now."

Sal has a point there. "I mean...I don't know if I'd put it in those exact words," admits Travis. 

"But you know that it's true." Sal sighs, leaning against the back of the couch. "In my current mental state, I don't think I'd be a very good boyfriend."

Travis would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, but what Sal is telling him makes perfect sense. "I understand. If you're not ready for a steady relationship right now, that's okay. I've wanted you since high school; I think I can wait a bit longer. When you think you're ready, I'll be right here."

Sal smiles again. "Thanks, Travis. I'm looking forward to it."

One night, Travis is awakened by a familiar sound. 

Someone is puking their guts out in the bathroom. No points for guessing who, Travis thinks; there's only two people living in the apartment, after all. 

Sure enough, there Sal is,  leaned over the porcelain throne. Still half-asleep, Travis relies on instinct, crouching down behind him to pull Sal's hair back. 

They stay like that for an uncomfortable few minutes before Sal's heaving comes to a stop. Travis breathes a sigh of relief, leaning his cheek against the back of his head. "You okay?" It occurs to him that that's a really stupid question; he's obviously not.

"I will be," Sal chokes out. "Just...just a bad dream." He hiccups. "With some really gross shit in it."

"Gotcha." Travis knows about Sal's nightmares; he'd witnessed a few of them when he'd slept over at Addison Apartments. 

Sal sighs a deep, shuddering breath before standing up, bracing his palms on the toilet seat for support. Travis tries to help by flushing, allowing Sal to head to the sink and rinse his mouth. Now wide awake, Travis goes to the kitchenette, where he proceeds to boil water. Tea, he thinks. Ginger tea with lemon. He remembers hearing somewhere that it's pretty good for nausea. 

Travis feels something soft and warm against his back. "Go sit down," he says gently. "I'm making you something to drink."

"M'kay." Sal reluctantly lets go to sit on the couch. As Travis pours the water over the tea bag to let it steep, he realizes that this scene is becoming more and more familiar to him. He sets the mug down before Sal, thinking that it might not be so bad, getting used to this. 

"You wanna talk about it?" Travis coaxes. Sal's been opening up to him bit by bit, slowly but surely, and it's the most gratifying feeling in the world. 

Sal blows the steam away from the lip of the mug before taking a tentative sip. He's been wearing his prosthetic around the apartment less and less, too, so Travis gets a clear view of his face. "Usually it's about...you know. The dead. Ghosts. But this time Ash and Todd were there. They..." Sal shivers. "They were saying just...the worst things to me. Right before I saw that they were missing limbs. I was sitting down, and...there was bologna..."

"Oh, Christ..." Now Travis feels a bit nauseous, too. "Made of their...?"

Sal nods rapidly. "What the fuck, right? What kind of sick mind would ever create that?" Travis risks wrapping an arm around Sal's trembling shoulders. "What is wrong with me?"

Travis presses his lips to Sal's temple. "You've been through a lot." It doesn't matter how often that question gets asked and then gets that answer, Sal never seems satisfied. 

"Yeah...Yeah, I guess." Sal finishes his tea. "Hey...um..." Sal gives him an adorably shy look. "Can...I sleep with you?"

If Travis dies tonight, he'll be completely all right with that. "Sure. I mean...if you want." 

"I don't wanna sound pathetic...I just don't wanna be alone right now." 

"You don't have to explain yourself, Sal. Do you hear me complaining?"

Sal doesn't have a response to that, though Travis sees his cheeks and ears redden, which he doesn't think is because of the hot tea.

Travis climbs into bed first, giving Sal more space to enter than he probably needs. Sal curls up near the other edge of the queen-sized bed, almost shyly. 

Travis's eyelids are closed, and he's almost asleep, when he realizes that Sal specifically mentioned Ashley and Todd from his nightmare. "Sal?" he whispers. "Do you miss your friends?" Again, it's a remarkably stupid question, but one Travis suspects needs to be asked.

He gets no answer, save for the sounds of Sal's soft, steady breathing. 

Well, shit. This is gonna bother me. Now suddenly restless, Travis exits the bed as quietly as possible. 

The landline in his kitchenette feels heavy in his hand as he dials a number he thought he'd forgotten. The phone rings three, four, five times, and Travis wonders if he should wait until morning before--

"H'lo?" Ashley Campbell's voice is, naturally, heavy with sleep. Travis is amazed; back in high school he'd seen this girl pin a boy to the ground and slap his face in a frenzy. He would have thought that annoyed rage would rear its head at three forty-five in the morning.

"Ashley?" he tries.

"Travis?" Ashley's voice perks up. "Holy shit, it's been years! Why the Hell are you calling now?"

"Um, well..." Travis turns to look in the direction of his room, letting the twisted cord curl around his chest. All of a sudden, he realizes he doesn't know where to start. Hopefully Ashley has plenty of time and nothing more important to do tomorrow. "You see...it's a funny story..."

It's three in the afternoon when Travis hears a knock on the door. There, on the other side, is Ashley Campbell, still dressed in purple. In one of her hands is a wheeled suitcase; in the other is a cat carrier. "Hey," she says with a tired smile. "Long time no see."

Travis smiles at her. "No kidding." Awkwardly, he loosely wraps his arms around her neck. Both hands full, she nudges the side of his face with hers. He stands to the side to let her pass him by, where she places all of her cargo on the couch. "Where is he?" 

Travis chuckles. "You never were one to beat around the bush, were you?"

She simply shrugs. 

Travis leads her to his bedroom, where he slowly opens the door. There's Sal, still curled up in a ball beneath the covers. He pads over to him and places a hand on his side, which is just enough to make his eyelids flutter open. "Sal," he murmurs. "You've got company."

"Hmm?" Sal curls in on himself tighter. "C'mon, Travis...this is my day off. Lemme sleep."

"Are you sure?" Travis asks, teasing. He looks over his shoulder. "Come on in," he calls. 

Ashley does as she's told. Her face lights up as she sits on the edge of the bed. "Hey there, Sally," she says.

The sound of her voice gets an immediate reaction from him. He sits straight up and stares at her, as though not quite sure what he's seeing. "Ash?" he whispers.

She tucks some of his hair behind his ear. "It's me."

It's just as Sal's face crumples and Ashley moves to catch him that Travis decides to give them their privacy. If that cat carrier has who he thinks it has, then they're going to need the right equipment for owning him. 

Grabbing his keys, Travis leaves a quick note before leaving the apartment and heading to his car. He drives to the nearest pet shop, where he hurriedly buys cat boxes, cat litter, both wet food and dry food, and a pack of catnip-filled toys that resemble birds and mice. 

"Hope I got the right stuff," he murmurs as he drives back home. Would he even like the food Travis had bought? He realizes he doesn't remember the brands Sal used to use. 

He trudges up the stairs with both arms full of heavy bags. When he sets them down to open the door, Sal and Ashley have moved to the living room. Right there, in Sal's arms, is Gizmo. Sal's face is buried in the thick, fluffy fur of the cat's side. Travis can hear the creature purring from across the room.

He can't help but smile at the sight. "Y'know, I thought this place was starting to feel empty," he says. 

Ashley looks up at him, then at the bags, before laughing. "You know, I brought over all of his stuff, too," she says.

"Oh." Of course she did, Travis thinks, feeling stupid. 

Sal lifts his face just enough so that everyone can hear him say "That's okay; now we've got extra for when we run out." 

"Come on," Ashley says, getting up and putting a hand on Travis's upper arm, "let's carry this shit up."

They help each other move the feline paraphernalia from both of their cars into the apartment, allowing Sal privacy to get reacquainted with his beloved childhood pet. 

"Good thinking, Ashley," Travis tells her on their final trip up the stairs. 

"We all love Gizmo, don't get me wrong," she says, "but he just hasn't been the same without Sal." 

Travis smiles fondly. "Well, he's not the only one." 

Outside the door, Ashley gives him a knowing look. She doesn't say anything, but Travis has a strong suspicion that she already knows what's going on between the two of them. 

Once they're all in the living room, Ashley begins to speak. "So, Sal isn't doing so hot." 

Travis moves to protest, but Sal talks first. "No argument here."

"Clearly he needs therapy. Honestly, all of us do." She does have a point there. "But all the things he's been through are...specific." 

Travis slowly nods, wondering where they're going with this.

"Sooo, I had an idea. Sal's therapist, Dr. Enon, is back at Addison Apartments."

Dr. Enon...Travis frowns. "The name sounds familiar..." His eyes widen in realization. "Wait...you mean the therapist from the trial?"

Sal shakes his head. "That wasn't actually him, that was an imposter that the cult planted."

Travis looks blankly between Sal and Ashley. Ashley shrugs. "Yeah, uh...it's a long story. The real one died a few days before; his ghost is with Larry in his treehouse."

Travis scratches the back of his head. "You know, you don't realize how crazy all of this really sounds until you say it out loud."

Sal laughs. "Right?"

"So...what you're suggesting is...?" Travis has pieced it all together, but he wants someone else to say it first.

"Sal should take one day a week and drive back to Nockfell, where Dr. Enon can give him therapy sessions." Both Ashley and Sal are looking proud of themselves as they wait for Travis to weigh in on the situation.

He sighs. "I'm...not thrilled about having to go back there. But if you think it'll help, then we'll do it." 

Ashley grins and wraps an arm around Sal's shoulders. "Plus it'll give us all a chance to catch up! We've missed you, Sally."

Sal leans against her with a smile. "I missed you guys, too."

There are those feelings of jealousy. Travis manages to push them down again for the time being; he and Sal can talk about this like the grown adults that they are at a later date. 

One step at a time.

Travis thanks his lucky stars that his clunky old car's heater is still working. It hasn't started snowing in Nockfell yet, but winter is just around the corner; Travis knows it's going to start any day now. 

He's parked outside of Addison Apartments. Specifically, right in view of the treehouse. Both buildings are, miraculously, still standing. Travis wonders if they'll still be around long after he, Sal, and every living person who ever had anything to do with it are gone. 

Maybe it's a good thing, he thinks. Otherwise, what'll happen to all the ghosts? It had been startling, of course, watching the spectres of Larry Johnson and Dr. Enon materialize, but he'd gotten used to it surprisingly quickly. Sal, of course, hadn't reacted much at all; he'd already been used to living with ghosts. 

Speak of the devil, there's Sal, scaling down the treehouse's ladder. Travis smiles as he watches him jog back to the car. "Hey, You!" he greets as Sal opens the door.

"Hi." Sal wastes no time in hunkering down in the seat and buckling his seat belt. 

"How'd it go?" Travis asks as he starts the car.

"We made some breakthroughs, I think." Sal opens his hands in front of the car's vents, savoring the warm air coming through. 

"That's good. You still up for Tennie's Diner?" It was the unofficial meeting spot for them, Ashley, Maple, Todd, and Neil whenever this day came around.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" Despite Travis's misgivings, he can't deny how much good these last few weeks have been for Sal's mental health. The brightness Travis remembers from so long ago has slowly but surely been coming back to him; he's been getting out of the apartment more, even taken to making smalltalk with their neighbors, just like the old days. 

By this point, the drive is familiar; Travis reaches the diner parking lot almost on autopilot. Both he and Sal unbuckle their seat belts at the same time. 

"So, uh...Travis?"

"Mm-hmm?" Travis doesn't open his door right away. It's cold outside, but warm in the car, and he wants to appreciate it just a little while longer.

"Remember how you said you'd be waiting for when I was reading to start dating again?"

Travis's heartbeat speeds up. Just a little. "Y-yeah?" Don't dare to hope...don't want to jinx it...

He watches as Sal removes his prosthetic. "Well...I'm ready."

Travis can hear his heartbeat in his ears now. "Really?" he whispers. "Are you sure?"

Sal doesn't hesitate in leaning over to him. Just like he promised, Travis is ready and waiting. 

This kiss is better than their first one, and lasts considerably longer. They pull away breathless and smiling. 

"You ready?" Sal asks, nodding at the diner.

"For you? Always.