from_the_outside

From:

He doesn't know what time it is. Late, he's sure of that. He'd stayed with Steve while Sharon had gone down into the town, and when she returned, they'd focused on other things by some kind of unspoken mutual consensus. He'd moved among them like a ghost, each step uncertain as though walking on knives, and tried as best he could to be what they needed.

He's dismally aware just how much of a failure it had been in that regard, but he doesn't know what else he could have done. Should still do. What to do next.

He'd talked Steve out of staying in the same room with him, somehow, and made something up about not - not being able to sleep with anyone else around, anymore. He's not sure Steve was completely convinced, but he'd let it stand. It had also spared Sharon from even having to even think about the question, which is the absolute fucking least he could do, all things considered.

He'd sworn up and down that he'd be here in the morning, and shut the door to the guest room. There he'd waited in silence until he didn't hear any further noises in the house. He didn't try to sleep; he couldn't. The last thing anyone needs is to be woken by his screams, if he can't get the nightmares under control.

He waits until it's as late as he can before he slips out of the room and down the hall, moving as stealthily as possible. The back porch will do. There's chairs there and on the grass beyond, and a clear view of the night sky. He can watch the stars while he waits for dawn.