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Josh is outside. And Tyler is asleep. It’s nice.
He’s comatose, really. Josh takes this chance to explain to a few of the higher-ranking Banditos what’s going on and how they should handle things while he’s temporarily gone.
‘Gone,’ as in…taking care of Tyler.
Before he left, Tyler was completely wrapped in blankets, face etched with a permanent scowl. Dead asleep. But it’s only about an hour after Josh gets up that he finally starts stirring.
He sits up quite suddenly, his eyes bleary but wide. It takes him several moments to finally regain his bearings, eyes darting around the tent as he realizes where he is and what’s happening. “Josh?” He starts, his voice filled with anxiety. He throws the blankets off of himself, searching the tent as if he’s hidden somewhere. His legs wobble when he tries to stand, and he has to keep a hand on something to hold himself up.
“So, just make sure that the rations are being doled out at the same time-“
Josh’s conversation is cut short by the sound of crashing in the tent. He’s turning on his heel in an instant, only to rush back and find Tyler shakily standing next to a metal pot that had fallen on the ground.
“Hey,” he says quickly, surging forward, “hey. What are you doin’? Are you okay?”
Tyler grabs onto his arms for support. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just-you weren’t in here. I got nervous. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Josh says immediately, shaking his head. “S’all right. Let’s get laid back down.”
Tyler grimaces. “I’m not made of glass, Josh,” he scoffs, but when he tries to walk on his own his knees buckle.
“Yeah-no. Lay down,” Josh says sternly. “You still need to eat, and drink water. You’re way too weak to be doing shit like this, Tyler. Don’t pretend like you’re fine after one night of rest.”
Tyler looks like he wants to protest more, but he knows that Josh is right. He lets out a defeated sigh and lets himself flop back down on the cot. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a tank,” he mutters with a grimace. He can feel the sun shining through the fabric of the tent. It’s warm. Nice. Soothing.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s something they do in Dema,” Josh laughs dryly in reply, digging for an MRE in one of the cargo containers.
But Tyler doesn’t laugh. He shakes his head and stares down at his bandaged arms. “It’s awful, being in there,” he mutters, “I never thought I’d get out.”
There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry,” Josh finally says.
“Not your fault.” Tyler states firmly, “don’t say sorry for shit like this.” He looks guilty. “I’m just…talking about loud.”
He struggles to push himself up into a sitting position with a wince, and his face twists in pain.
“We should’ve come for you,” Josh says. He stares down into the cargo boxes, eyebrows furrowed with shame.
Tyler shakes his head. “There’s nothing you could’ve done,” he says, looking frustrated. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince not just Josh but himself as well. He swallows thickly, his voice going softer. “…would’ve been a fool’s mission. A death sentence.”
Josh stands, holding an MRE. “We’d tried before,” he tries. “Almost made it that one time.”
Tyler doesn’t make eye contact. He lets out a long, shaky breath, looking like he’s suddenly remembering something he’d rather forget. “…yeah,” he says, his voice going quiet. “Almost.”
There had been casualties that one time. A lot of them. It was devastating. They ran out of room for marked graves. Piles of bodies, some not even making it back from Dema. Holes in the ground. The stench was acrid.
“I’m sorry,” Josh says again, sitting down on the cot next to him.
Tyler closes his eyes and clenches his jaw together tightly, clearly trying to keep himself together. “…it’s okay,” he whispers, though it’s not entirely convincing. He struggles to force a faint smile, his expression tired and pained.
Josh hands him an MRE. “Might not be the best,” he says. “But I’m sure it’s better than whatever they fed you over there.”
Tyler reads the packaging and is suddenly hit with the memory of said meal.
Chili and macaroni. Lemon pound cake. Some sort of orange drink powder you dissolve in iodized water from the canteens. Crackers and a jalapeño cheese spread. It’s the last thing he ate here before Nico took him. It’s not something he’d usually remember but this…
The taste of it coming back up is all too familiar. The sound of his vomit hitting concrete floor. The smell of bile, of blood. It lingered on his tongue for days.
“Josh,” he says, “I can’t eat this.” He can feel a lump forming in his throat.
“Do you not like that? I can-“
“No,” Tyler shakes his head, tight-lipped. “I just-this is…bad. I-won’t be able to keep it down.” He feels awful handing it back. “I’m sorry. I-“ he tries to steady himself.
“That was the last thing I ate,” he says carefully, “before I…left. Last time.”
Josh immediately swaps it out for another one without a second thought.
Tyler practically tears into this one. Cheese tortellini with sauce. Crackers, chocolate spread. Trail mix. His fingers shake as he tries to slide the entrée into the heater. He can’t get it. Josh has to help him, and he feels worthless. Helpless.
Josh dumps the powdered drink mix into a canteen of water and shakes it for him. This one is blue.
“It’s got electrolytes,” he says.
Tyler looks like a starving animal as he eats. He’s shoveling more food in before he can swallow, before the entrée can even cool down.
“Tyler-slow down,” Josh says, “you’re going to make yourself sick.” He leans forward and takes the rest from him. “You have to take it slow. Your body isn’t ready to eat that fast.”
Tyler makes a disgruntled noise, hands still shaking in front of him. He runs them over the blankets, trying to give himself something to do. “Right. Sorry. I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, feeling his stomach turn at the sudden abundance of nourishment. He swallows thickly, the food in his stomach turning. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to slow his breathing.
“Here.” Josh hands him the canteen. “Just drink…slowly. Please.”
It’s clear that Tyler’s forcing himself to when he does. It doesn’t taste great. But it’s sugary and clean. It’s obvious that he wants to just gulp it down, but he restrains himself. He’s gripping the canteen tightly enough that his bruised knuckles are white, his body tense from adrenaline and exhaustion.
“Easy,” Josh says, laughing a bit. There’s a pause. “You already look a lot better. Your color’s coming back. Kind of.”
Tyler manages to set the empty canteen down, but doesn’t let go of it. He pants, catching his breath after downing the entire thing. “Still feel pretty shitty,” he says. Fuck. He’s trying so hard not to throw up right now. He swallows the lump in his throat. He cannot throw this up. Not this stuff. It’s too precious.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Josh asks. He’s trying to ignore the hustle and bustle outside. He knows the Banditos are aching to know what’s going on. They’ve been sneakily trying to eavesdrop ever since Tyler got here.
Tyler laughs dryly. “Not unless you know a good therapist.”
Josh rolls his eyes, lips pursed. “Okay, well, is there anything I can ACTUALLY do for you?”
Tyler’s smirk fades. The lines on his face are too deep. Enhanced by the dirt and grime still covering him. He’s Josh’s age, and yet he looks ten years older.
“I could take you to the lake,” Josh offers softly.
✺
Tyler shivers when he lowers himself into the water. Josh is right behind him, holding him steady. He’s still wearing boxers, not ready to reveal all of himself yet. He can’t believe he’s even stripped down this far. He’s fucking disgusting. Josh will never want to touch him again. All skin and bones. He’s no longer beautiful. He’s a husk. Josh is just doing this out of pity, his mind tells him.
“I’m just-“ he lets out a nervous laugh, gripping onto Josh’s bicep for dear life as he dips his toes in. “It’s been a long time since uh, I was in…”
He takes a deep breath. “They waterboarded me. A lot.”
Josh’s eyebrows furrow. “Why did you want-“
“Because I need it,” Tyler snaps in reply. “I need it. It’ll make me feel good. Just.” He hesitates before blurting out, “please wash my hair.”
And so Josh washes his hair. He’s trembling from the cold, but grits his teeth and bears through it because Josh’s fingers in his hair, against his skin, feel better than anything he’d ever felt in Dema. The soap smells nice. Smells homemade. Like lavender and whatever else they could gather from the land. Honey. Flowers.
He sits in the water and rubs the dirt and dried blood off himself. It’s nice. He can barely peel the bandages off his wrists to rinse the wounds underneath. They hurt. He swallows down a lump in his throat while looking at them.
“Stop,” Josh tells him softly.
He stops. Looks up into the sprawling forest across the lake. That’s a lot better. A lot prettier. Definitely. He’s even getting used to the cold, he thinks.
And then Josh fills a wooden bowl with water and right as he tips it over he realizes he didn’t warn Tyler.
It hits him like a ton of bricks. He lurches forward, body tensing, eyes wide with fear as he looks at Josh over his shoulder. Hackles raised, pupils blown. He’s in attack mode and he doesn’t even realize it fully. The wounds on his wrists have reopened due to the movements, the water turning pink around him as they freshly bleed.
“I’m sorry,” Josh stammers quickly, “I’m sorry. I just need to rinse the soap out. I’m sorry. Fuck. Tyler…”
Tyler’s heart races, his body in fight or flight. It takes him a good minute of reassuring himself before he lets Josh get closer again. He wipes at his face, pulls at his hair. He takes several deep breaths. He doesn’t even care about the blood. The water helps them stop, the coldness buffering his body heat.
He leans his head back. So the water won’t cover his face. That’s what he needs. The water can’t cover his face. If the water covers his face he won’t be able to breathe. He can’t breathe under water.
Josh rinses him clean and he feels like a robot when he’s ushered out of the water and into the warm embrace of a towel.
He blinks, and he’s in the tent. Clothed. Wrists bandaged. Clean. He wonders if he’s dissociating or if he’s really have those memory gaps like the nurse told Josh about that one time when they thought he was sleeping. He can’t get his vision to unblur.
“Hey,” Josh says.
Tyler looks at him, acknowledges him, but no one’s really home.
“You’re okay,” Josh assures him, touches his arm. Keeps him grounded. “Tyler.”
“I’m okay,” Tyler echoes. He’s okay. Physically. Kind of.
“You hungry still?” Josh holds out the crackers and dip from this morning’s MRE.
They taste like cardboard. Tyler eats them anyway because his body is screaming for it. He wishes he could find pleasure in food again instead of only ingesting it for sustenance. Nico made sure of that. Made sure to instill all that he could into Tyler’s mind to ruin what he used to hold so dear.
Josh watches him eat. Tyler pretends like he doesn’t see. He eats slow, just like he’s been instructed to do. He feels like a robot. He feels like shit.
“Thank you,” he says after a second. “For bathing me.”
Josh seems taken aback. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, “of course.” He pauses. “Do you…need anything?”
Tyler rests his hands in his lap. “I’m just tired,” he says. He’s pushing the food from himself, rolling over, hidden beneath the piles of blankets before Josh can say anything else.
“Do you want me to uh, lay with you?”
Yes. Please. Please, God lay with me. I need you. I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to be such a burden to you. Please. You’re the only thing I have left. There’s nothing for me here. Please lay with me and never get up.
Tyler sniffles. “Oh. Only if you want.”