Neil twisted his hand in Wymack's sleeve and let Wymack haul him to his feet. Wymack got the passenger door open for him and watched as Neil climbed in. When Neil was safely tucked inside Wymack slammed the door and went around to the driver's side. Neil steeled himself for questions, but Wymack said nothing to him. Neil watched the airport disappear, watched signs blur outside the window, and let his eyes close.

When he opened them again, he was flat on his back on Wymack's couch. Wymack had dragged his desk chair into the living room to keep watch over him. A bottle of scotch sat almost empty on the coffee table between them. The lid was on but Neil could still smell it. Neil pushed himself up, wincing the entire way, and returned Wymack's guarded expression with one of his own.

"I'm sorry."

"He sounds like Neil," Wymack said, "but he doesn't look like him. I'll take your explanation from the top and without a side order of bullshit, thanks."

Neil looked at him, not understanding. The answer was there, just out of reach, a flash of blue and panic and shattered glass. Neil clawed desperately at his memory, but his body caught on before his mind did. He reached up to touch his hair, and Neil remembered. Dread was acid in his veins, eating him alive from the inside out, and Neil lurched to his feet.

"No," he said, but it was too late to change things.

Wymack got up when Neil stumbled for the door, but he didn't try to stop him. Neil threw the bathroom door open and cut the light on. The face waiting for him on the mirror was horrible enough to take his legs out from under him. Neil scrabbled at the sink as he crumpled to his knees but wasn't strong enough to hold himself up.

Neil had dyed his hair brown from time to time, but never this shade, never anywhere near this shade. This was his natural color, and those were his real eyes, and this was his father's face. The bandages and bruises weren't enough to disguise the man he'd seen in the mirror. Neil thought he'd throw up but he was too weak to manage it.

"Breathe," Wymack said.

Neil didn't realize he'd stopped until Wymack's fist on his back pounded the air back into his lungs. He clawed at the cabinet door and choked on the first breath he managed. He had to grit his teeth against a cry he didn't dare voice. It was too late to tell Wymack not to look. It was too late for Wymack to pretend he hadn't seen. Wymack didn't know who he was looking at but that didn't matter.