Title: Bad Dreams
Author: Tiffany Adams
Summary: Years after the Toad Wars, Willy is a man stricken by
flashbacks of battle
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Willy/Mark
Spoilers: season 2 of the web series
Disclaimer: The characters of Willy, Bucky, Deadeye, Jenny, Bruiser,
and Blinky belong to Neal Adams and co.. Just try to sue me. I have no
$$. The lawyer fee will be more than the settlement.

WARNING! WARNING! This story contains insinuated homosexuality. 

------------------------------------------------------------

	The pain was immense. Worse, it made everything hard to see --
like he wasn't wearing his glasses. The black characters on the screen
in front of him appeared hazy and blood red. Steeling himself, he
reached forward despite the pain and tried to reach the keyboard. It
seemed a million miles away.  Slowly, he began to type, but on the
screen in front of him, the numbers began to jump out of their
positions and move around like animate objects. 

	What was he supposed to be typing? 2 - 3 - 0 - 1? What that it?
The darkness in the corner of his vision was closing in on the rest of
it, and he knew his consciousness would only last a few more minutes.
He had to finish the coding. 

	He put his hands up to his eyes to rub them, to clear his vision,
and he found them covered in blood. Blood of that toad he had killed,
or his? It was crimson. It had to be his. How did it get on his hands?
Did blood defy gravity?

	The captain was there, standing over him. Over? He blinked and
realized he was now on the floor, the chair tipped over beside him. He
must have passed out. He had no memory of it. Did he finish the
coding? 

	His captain was a green blur. He seemed to be looked around for
something. A moment later, Bucky placed something over his eyes. His
glasses -- he hadn't been able to even tell he'd lost them. His vision
was still unclear, but it was an improvement. He could see the
frightened look in the hare's eyes, one he saw only very rarely in all
of their years together.

	"Willy? Can you hear me?" The captain reached down and gently
began to smooth Willy's sweat-soaked hair back. 

	"Th' ... coding -- did --"

	"Shhhh. It's finished. You did it," he said, assuringly. 

	"My leg ... it's ...?"

	He glanced down at the damage. "It looks okay. Just a little
twisted." He peered back into his eyes. "You're going to be alright."
The words sent a chill down the frightened teenager's spine. Despite
the haze he was seeing and hearing through, the captain's tone of
voice still gave him away; he didn't believe what he was saying. Not
with that look on his face, he didn't. And the captain was usually
such a great actor. More to the point, he had never known Bucky O'Hare
to lie to him. This was a first. It must have really looked bad. 

	"Uhm, Captain," came Bruiser's voice, out of the mist. He must
have been standing at Willy's head, where he couldn't see him. "We
gotta get goin' if we're going to get our of here before the place
goes boom."

	"Willy ... we shouldn't move him. I called for a stretcher."

	"I hate ta break it to ya, Cap, but we don' have that kinda time."

	The captain sighed heavily. Bruiser must have been right. Still
reluctant and worried, the hare bent done so his face was only inches
from the human's. "Willy, Bruiser's going to carry you out. Just hang
in there. It's going to be all right," he repeated, and kissed Willy
on the forehead. 

	The darkness was closing in fast. The moment Bruiser began to
lift, another ounce of pain shot up his side, and it was too much. He
gave out. 


		**********************************************

San Francisco, 2018 A.D.
	
	The pain stopped abruptly. It took a moment to register that there
was none. It took yet another moment to let his surroundings sink in.
He looked down at his hands. No blood, thank G-d. He was clean, aside
from the sweat that soaked his T-shirt and boxers. Sitting up in bed,
he took stock of his situation. 

	It had just been a dream. Not a flashback -- those happened when
he was awake. Everything was back to the way it was. Groaning, he
reached across to the bed stand and retrieved his glasses. Slipping
them on, he read the clock -- one a.m. And he was alone. He hated
waking up alone. But that was what he got for marrying a journalist,
he guessed.

	His arm slid down his body, feeling for the stump. Yes, he leg was
still gone. Just below the knee. The skin was a little irritated from
his knew prosthetic leg, which he hadn't adjusted to fit just right
yet, but otherwise rather smooth. The emergency med team had really
done a good job. Severed all the nerves, so it never bothered him,
like some amputees he knew. 

	Willy slid to the side of the bed, swinging his leg over the side.
Christ, he needed something to drink. Pushing his long hair back
behind his ears, he took a moment to steel himself before getting up.
Another bad dream. He would have to tell Dr. Lurie at their session on
Wednesday. Grabbing his prosthetic leg from its resting place against
the wall, he slipped it on, grabbed a bathrobe, and headed into the
bathroom. Flipping on the light, he turned the water on and splashed
his face clean. He looked up in the mirror, rubbing his short beard.
It needed a trim. He'd gotten kind of lazy about it recently, with all
of the work he had been busy with. He loved his beard. He always had
felt so ... naked in the aniverse without fur. His facial hair helped.

	He wanted into the kitchen of the apartment. Glancing around, he
noticed the answering machine's red light flashing. Messages? Several
of them, actually. Must have called while he was sleeping. The photon
accelerator was on; some of them were probably from the aniverse.
Sitting down at the table, he hit the message light.

	*beeeeep* ".... Jesus, Willy, why don't you ever pick up the
phone?" The smooth voice eased him immediately, with its
non-confrontal tone. "It's 9 o'clock. You went to bed already? You
have *no* night life, Willy, I'm telling you. Anyway, my boss called.
There's breaking news at the White House -- I dunno, someone did
something. We sent someone to cover it, but I gotta handle his
transmissions. Hopefully I'll be home before dawn. Sorry, honey. I'll
make it up to you."

	Knowing it would be made up and feeling comforted already, he
waited for the next message.

	*beeeeep* "It's Bucky. Hi. Frith, you go to bed early. Anyway, we
need you to baby-sit Shauntee on Saturday night, if that's possible.
Jenny and I have a conference on Aldeberan, and we do *not* want to
leave her in Blinky's paws after that last mishap with the spilled
carrot juice setting him on fire. Call, okay? Thanks."

	Grinning, he sighed tiredly and waited. Blinky still had to be
fixed. Another thing on his to-do list that he'd forgotten. He made a
mental note and moved on.

	*beeeeep* Jenny's soft voice came through. "Willy, if you're going
to have nightmares, try to leave your cap on, okay? Or at least work
on that whole accidentally-sending-violent-emotions-to-me thing. I
would like to get some sleep in the next decade or so." Her tone,
gentle and joking, eased him instead of setting him off. "Just
kidding, Willy. Something must really be bothering you. You want to
talk? Give me a call in the morning. I'm going back to bed now."

	Ah, Jenny. He loved her so much. Always there for him.

	*beeeeep* "Hi, it's me again. Listen, you're not gonna believe
this. I'm actually covering a guy covering a story about who the
present *barfed* on! I'm serious! Remind me why we voted for this guy
again? I guess journalism doesn't get any better than this. Anyway,
Jenny just called me and she was like, really worried and stuff. I'll
try to come home, okay? Don't call -- you'll never get through. The
place is in chaos. Everyone's excited over this. I'll be home soon.
Love ya."

	The tape ended with a sharp 'click.' Getting up, he opened the
fridge and got out the teapot and set it on the stove. His hands were
still shaking. It was odd. The memory was nothing new, and the
messages had calmed him considerably. He was obviously still shaken.
Also something to talk to Dr. Lurie about.

	The tea was ready almost instantaneously, but his movements in
response were much slower. He was still pouring it when he heard the
door open and close.

	"Tea? You musta had a really bad night."

	Willy smiled. "You don't look like you had a good one, either. So
who'd the President throw up on?"

	The wily human scratched his spiky black hair. "His wife. And
*this* is news? The guy probably had one too many chili dogs last
night. I bet this'll help along that divorce."

	"He won't be the first President to lose a wife during his
presidency," Willy said. "You want some tea?"

	"Yeah, I'll get the cup." Removing his tie, he opened one of the
cabinets and took out a mug. "So what happened? Jenny called me, which
is just plain *weird.* She was like, 'Mark, I think something's
happened to Willy. He's not picking up his phone.' Like you're an old
geezer."

	"And I've fallen and I can't get up?"

	Mark laughed. "It's happened."

	"It wouldn't have, if someone hadn't stolen my leg."

	"Hey, it *was* April first -- You should have seen it coming --"

	"I'm gonna get you back for that."

	"Like hell you are."

	Willy grinned slyly and handed him his tea. 

	Mark crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, speaking in
a calmer and more concerned voice. "So what happened?"

	"It was just a dream, Mark."

	"Antigua?

	".....yeah."

	"Bruiser in it?"

	His dead crewmate's face flashed in his mind. "Yeah." 

	"Did you call Dr. Lurie?"

	"Did I call Dr. Lurie? It's probably midnight on Genus, Mark. Of
course I didn't call him. It wasn't an emergency."

	"Okay, okay." He reached over and took his hand. "Geez, you're
tense." 

	"I know."

	"Did you take anything?"

	"No. I don't like that stuff."

	Mark smiled. "I don't blame you." He looked up into his blue eyes;
Willy was half a foot taller than him, at six foot two. "Promise me
you'll call Dr. Lurie in the morning."

	"I promise."

	"Good." He set down the tea. "I need sleep. You tired yet?"

	"Getting there."

	"Then I'm going to bed. Coming?"

	Willy nodded and smiled. Mark, despite his inability to understand
what Willy was going through, having no experience in dealing with war
veterans, always had a calming effect on him. Setting his fears aside,
he followed him into the bedroom. Everyone else could wait until
morning.

The End