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Dale Cooper was sure that it was his eyes fooling him. That it was his mind playing tricks on him. That the voices surrounding him weren’t real, and that this was actually a dream. Those kinds of dreams he had every night — the kind that revealed the secrets of Laura Palmer’s murder in fragments and whispers.
But it wasn’t.
Cooper wished it were a dream. He wished he could wake up from this. He wished to reach for his favorite coffee cup at the Double R Diner, steam curling into the air, Harry Truman sitting beside him.
The peaceful quiet of the Great Northern Hotel, the first hotel in years that didn’t keep him awake through cold, restless nights. The kind of quiet that felt earned.
But the night was too old for foolish ideas.
Because now, Dale Cooper was one step away from it. One step closer to the truth. One step closer to ending this. And maybe, just maybe, one step closer to forgetting the mistakes he regretted ever making.
The objects surrounding Cooper seemed to move too quickly, or maybe it was him that felt slow. The tip of his shoes brushed against the black and white tiles beneath him, the kind you would find in an ordinary kitchen, too simple and too familiar for a place like this.
The walls were made of red curtains that did not seem to end, stretching endlessly in every direction like bleeding fabric. The air felt suffocating, heavy in his lungs, as if breathing itself was something he was doing wrong.
He stopped in the middle of the small room, his eyes shifting carefully from one corner to the next. He hadn’t been here long, or at least it didn’t feel like he had.
But the one thing Dale couldn’t understand was this:
Where in God’s name was he?
The last thing he remembered was telling Harry he had to do this alone. That he had to get Annie back.
That he had to end this. He remembered the look on Harry’s face, trust. Harry trusted him, even though he didn’t want to let Cooper go alone.
After walking through the red curtain in the middle of the forest, he hadn’t seen Annie. Not even a trace. And there was no door leading out. No path back. Just more red. More silence. More of that humming stillness pressing against his ears.
Dale lifted his chin and stared at the black ceiling, except there wasn’t one. Just darkness. Endless and depthless. A slight gut-wrenching feeling twisted inside him as he looked into that nothingness. His tongue felt dry. His teeth were clenched so tightly he hadn’t even realized it.
Nothing good had come since he arrived in this small town.
The death of Laura Palmer. People fearing for their lives. Families breaking under the weight of secrets. Even when things seemed calm, something underneath was always rotting.
The only good thing he couldn’t argue about was the coffee.
But this wasn’t the time to think about coffee.
Cooper walked toward the red curtain, the fabric hanging motionless as if it had been waiting for him. The deeper he stepped into the room, the more the air seemed to thin around him. It felt colder near the curtain, sharper somehow, like the space beyond it did not belong to the same world he had just been standing in. He hesitated for only a brief second before lifting his hand.
The moment his fingers touched the velvet surface, a sharp tingle shot through them. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t normal either. It felt almost electric, like the curtain was alive and aware of his touch. His jaw tightened, and with steady hands, he pushed the fabric aside.
The curtain parted without a sound.
Behind it was a larger room. Vast and empty. The black and white tiles stretched further here, their pattern sharper, more dizzying. In the exact center of the room sat a single red couch. It was positioned too precisely, too deliberately, as though placed for someone specific.
There was nothing else.
No Annie. No door. Nothing.
Just the couch.
A heavy, unpleasant feeling settled deep into Cooper’s stomach as he stepped forward. It wasn’t fear in the traditional sense. It was something slower, something that felt older than fear. Dread, perhaps. The kind that sinks into your bones and refuses to leave.
The lights above flickered suddenly, casting erratic shadows across the tiles. For a brief moment, the room brightened too harshly, then dimmed again. A rush of wind, though there were no windows, no openings, pressed down on his shoulders as if unseen hands had landed there. The air grew dense and suffocating, clinging to his lungs in a way that made each breath feel wrong.
He was alone.
That’s at least what Cooper tried to convince himself.
The silence stretched thin, so thin it felt like it would snap. Cooper had seen enough crime scenes and enough horror to recognize the feeling creeping over him. It was the kind of silence that never stayed empty for long. The kind that warned you something was about to step forward.
His feet stopped moving when the air shifted again.
This time, the room did not flicker gradually. It went dark all at once, as if someone had cut the power to reality itself. The blackness swallowed the walls, the couch, the floor beneath him. For a split second, there was nothing.
Then color exploded into the darkness.
Blue light flared first, harsh and unnatural. It washed over the red couch in the center of the room. Pink followed, then green, flashing in uneven bursts that hurt to look at directly. The colors didn’t illuminate the room properly; they distorted it, bending shadows into shapes that seemed to crawl along the walls.
Cooper’s heart began to pound in his chest.
The screams started without warning.
They were loud. Too loud, and layered over each other in a way that made it impossible to tell where they were coming from. They echoed from the walls, from the ceiling that wasn’t there, from the tiles beneath his shoes. High-pitched, desperate, merciless. The kind of sound that didn’t belong to a single person but to something collective and broken.
Instinctively, Cooper clamped his hands over his ears, but it didn’t help. The screams forced their way through bone and blood, vibrating inside his skull. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, and for a moment he thought his knees might give out.
The colored lights flickered faster and in the next moment they stopped.
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The couch was no longer empty. A blonde woman sat there.
She hadn’t been there before. Yet now she sat perfectly upright, her hands resting neatly in her lap. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, unmoving despite the earlier rush of wind. Her skin was pale. Lifeless.
Cooper stared.
The lights flickered again. When they steadied, the couch seemed closer.
His breath caught in his throat as he realized it wasn’t the couch moving, it was her.
The lights flickered once more.
She was closer again.
Her face remained expressionless, but her eyes were wrong. There was no reflection in them. No depth. They stared straight ahead, not blinking, not shifting. Empty in a way that unsettled him more than any scream had.
The lights flashed again.
She was standing now.
Cooper hadn’t seen her rise. One moment she had been seated; the next she was upright, black heels planted sharply against the tiles. The sound of them echoed unnaturally in the air
The first step was slow.
The click of her heel against tile bounced around the room, stretching longer than it should have. The second step came quicker. Then another.
She was moving toward him.
The scream tore from her throat without warning.
It was raw and jagged, louder than before, splitting through the silence like glass breaking. Her mouth opened wider than it should have, her jaw straining in a way that didn’t look human. The sound did not waver or fade; it continued endlessly, sharp enough to make his ears ring.
And then she ran.
Her heels struck the tiles rapidly, the sound chaotic now, echoing in all directions at once. She moved too fast, her body blurring between steps as if the space between them no longer applied to her. Her lifeless eyes locked onto his.
Cooper stumbled backward, his breath uneven, pulse hammering violently in his chest. The air felt colder again, pressing into his lungs like ice.
For a brief, fractured second, something flashed across his mind.
An old man’s face. Wrinkled skin. Pale features. Eyes that were calm and knowing. Watching him. The image felt distant and intimate all at once, like a memory that had never registered.
The woman was nearly upon him.
The tiles beneath his feet seemed to ripple, the red curtains bending inward like fabric caught in a storm. The colors returned in a violent burst before collapsing into darkness. The sound cut off abruptly, leaving a ringing emptiness behind.
When Cooper blinked, the larger room was gone.
He was standing back where he had been before, surrounded by endless red curtains, the smaller space enclosing him once again. The air was still. Silent.
As if nothing had happened.
But his chest rose and fell rapidly. His hands trembled at his sides. Sweat clung to his collar despite the cold.
And somewhere, faint and distant, he thought he could still hear the soft, deliberate sound of heels against tile.
It echoed in his head long after the room had gone still.
What the fuck was that.
For a moment, Cooper felt the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees. To press his palms against the cold tiles and force air back into his lungs. To shut his eyes and wake up from whatever nightmare this had become. But he couldn’t allow himself that weakness. Not here. Not now.
He had to end it.
How many times would he have to open these curtains, searching for a way out, only to be led into another trap of this endless maze? How many times would he have to run like his life depended on it? How many versions of fear would this place force him to experience before it was satisfied?
He steadied himself, letting the shallow breath escape from his mouth.
Then a smell hit him.
It was sudden and sharp, invading his senses without warning. Metallic. Thick. Familiar.
The kind of scent he had encountered at crime scenes. In dark rooms. In the worst moments of someone’s life.
Blood.
His throat tightened as he slowly turned around, his movements careful, almost mechanical.
There was a crimson trail stretching behind him. Right behind his shoes.
“Wha—”
The realization struck him before the word could leave his mouth.
Cooper looked down at his shirt. It wasn’t blue anymore. The fabric was soaked through, darkened by blood that hadn’t been there moments ago. It spread across his chest and stomach in uneven patches, warm and glistening under the dim light.
No.
That can’t be.
A strangled sound left his throat as pain finally registered. It hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, buried beneath shock and adrenaline. Now it surfaced all at once, a deep, tearing ache that radiated from his abdomen outward, crawling along his ribs and spine.
He pressed his fingers against his stomach, and they sank into something wet.
When he pulled them back, they were red. His own blood.
Panic flickered in his chest as he dug his fingers into the wound, as if pressing hard enough would make it disappear. Instead, warmth spilled faster, slipping between his trembling hands and dripping onto the tiles below.
It was his. The trail behind him was his. No one else’s.
Dale bit down hard on his tongue to keep himself grounded, the sharp sting anchoring him for a brief second. He tried to cover the wound with his palm, but it didn’t fit. The tear in his flesh felt too wide, too deep. Blood kept slipping past his fingers, soaking through his sleeve, running down his wrist.
The room felt tilted. He lifted his chin slowly and followed the trail of blood across the tiles. Each step felt heavier than the last, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. The metallic scent grew stronger as he approached another curtain.
His hand trembled as he reached for it. Cooper pushed it aside weakly.
“Carolina.”
The name escaped him without thought. On the ground, two bodies lay sprawled across the tiles.
One was hers.
Caroline Earle.
Her blonde hair fanned
around her head, her skin pale against the black and white floor. There was a massive wound in her stomach, blood pooled beneath her, staining the pattern of the tiles. Her eyes were closed, her face frozen in a peaceful expression that felt wrong.
Beside her—
Him.
Dale Cooper.
Another version of himself lay motionless, suit torn open, blood soaking through the fabric. His own face stared upward, lifeless, mouth slightly parted. The sight made something inside him lurch violently.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
Caroline shifted.
The movement was subtle at first, a twitch of her fingers, a slow tightening of her jaw. Cooper’s breath caught painfully in his chest. He took a step forward despite the agony burning through his body.
“Caroline,” he whispered again, voice cracking.
Her body moved, eyes fluttered open. But they weren’t Caroline’s.
They were Annie’s.
The shape of her face changed as she pushed herself up from the floor. The blonde hair remained, but softer now, familiar in a different way. Blood still soaked through her dress, a deep wound carved into her stomach mirroring his own.
“Annie.”
Relief flooded him so suddenly it hurt. He had found her. After everything, after the endless rooms and screams and shadows, he had found her.
He staggered closer, ignoring the blood still spilling from his own wound. He wanted to reach her.
But the lights flickered violently.
Annie’s face blurred in the flashes. One second she was there, eyes wide and filled with pain. The next, she looked distant, fading.
“Annie—” His voice strained.
The lights strobed faster, and the room seemed to pulse around them. The sound of rushing wind filled his ears, growing louder with each flicker.
Annie reached toward him.
Her fingers almost brushed his sleeve—
But then she disappeared.
The space where she had been was empty, stained only by blood that no longer seemed real.
It felt heavier, thicker, pressing against his chest until breathing became a struggle. Cooper staggered backward, clutching at his wound as the room began to warp around him. The tiles beneath his feet seemed to shift like waves. The curtains twisted and stretched upward, swallowing what little light remained.
It felt like drowning.
Like being dragged beneath dark water, lungs filling with something cold and endless. His vision blurred, narrowing at the edges. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
He tried to inhale but nothing came.
And then–
Air rushed back into his lungs violently, burning as it filled him. Cooper gasped as if he had just broken through the surface of deep water, his body jerking forward on instinct. For a few disoriented seconds, he could not tell which world he had landed in. His vision swam, dark at the edges, and every breath scraped painfully against his throat.
Something cold and hard pressed against his back, solid and unyielding. Earth. Ground. Not tile. Not the endless black and white pattern. Real ground. The sensation anchored him, but it did not bring relief.
The throbbing in his abdomen intensified sharply. It was no longer a distant ache buried beneath shock.
It was violent now. A deep, brutal pulse that felt like it was chewing through him from the inside. Every beat of his heart sent another wave of heat spilling through his body. His stomach clenched involuntarily, and he could feel wetness soaking through his shirt, spreading outward, sticky and warm.
The red curtains were gone.
The suffocating air, the shifting lights, the endless maze – gone. The crushing weight that had been pressing against his shoulders had lifted so suddenly it left him feeling hollow.
Above him stretched the open sky.
The moon hung pale and indifferent, reflecting faint light against the darkness. The trees around Glastonbury Grove stood tall and silent, their branches unmoving. The world looked calm.
For a terrifying second, he wondered if he had died.
“Cooper!”
The voice reached him faintly at first, breaking through the ringing in his ears. It sounded distant, layered beneath the echo of that woman’s scream still lingering in his skull.
“Don’t move.”
Harry.
Cooper forced his head to turn. The movement sent a blinding streak of pain through his abdomen, and he nearly blacked out from it. Harry was kneeling beside him, hands hovering for a moment before pressing down firmly against the wound in his stomach.
Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of the blood.
It was everywhere. Soaking through the suit. Pooling beneath him. Dark even in the moonlight.
“What happened?” Harry demanded, his voice tight but controlled, the kind of control that came from years of forcing himself to stay steady in chaos.
Cooper opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out except a strained breath. His mind was still tangled in red curtains and flashing lights. In Caroline’s face turning into Annie’s. In blood that had appeared from nowhere.
“Annie,” he managed finally, his voice barely more than air. “Where’s Annie?”
Harry didn’t respond immediately. His focus was on the wound, on the way the blood would not stop. He pressed harder, jaw tightening.
“Harry,” Cooper insisted, trying to lift himself despite the pain. “Where is she?”
“Easy,” Harry snapped softly, pushing him back down. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Cooper’s vision blurred again, but he forced himself to look past Harry’s shoulder. The trees shifted in his sightline, shadows blending into one another.
Then he saw her.
Annie was lying on the ground a few feet away, half-hidden in the grass. Her blonde hair was spread across the dirt, pale against the dark earth. She wasn’t moving.
Relief and horror collided in his chest at the same time.
“She’s here,” Harry said quickly, following Cooper’s gaze. “She’s here.”
Cooper tried to focus on her. In the moonlight, he could see blood staining her dress. His stomach twisted violently at the sight, and for a second the Lodge flashed in his mind again, Annie on the floor, bleeding just like him, reaching for him before vanishing.
“Annie,” he called weakly, though his voice barely carried.
She stirred, just slightly. A small movement of her arm. She was alive.
The relief that washed over him was so overwhelming it nearly hurt more than the wound itself. His body sagged back against the cold ground, breath shaking as he tried to hold onto consciousness.
Harry adjusted his grip, one hand pressing firmly against Cooper’s abdomen, the other hand didn’t seem to find a place.
“Stay with me,” Harry ordered, his voice lower now, steadier. “You hear me? Stay with me.”
Cooper’s eyes drifted back to the moon above them. The sky felt impossibly wide after the suffocating walls of red curtains. The forest air was cold in his lungs, sharp and clean compared to the metallic stench that still clung to him.
“It’s not good, Harry.”
Cooper’s voice was low and strained, the words barely strong enough to rise above the night air. There was no panic in his tone, only quiet certainty. His breathing had grown uneven, each inhale shallow and careful, as if his body were afraid of what a deeper breath might do.
Harry kept his hands pressed firmly against the wound, ignoring the warmth soaking through his fingers. He refused to look alarmed. If Cooper saw fear in his face, he would take it as confirmation.
“Don’t talk like that,” Harry said steadily, though his jaw was tight. “You’ve been in worse shape before.”
Cooper swallowed, the motion painful. “This feels different.”
The pain in his abdomen pulsed violently, no longer a distant ache but something alive and relentless. It radiated outward with every beat of his heart, spreading heat through his torso and leaving a faint tremor in his hands. He could feel the blood slipping between Harry’s fingers despite the pressure.
Harry shook his head once. “You survived a gunshot wound. You remember that? You were bleeding out in your hotel room and you still made it. You don’t get to decide this is worse.”
Cooper managed the faintest ghost of a smile, but it faded quickly as another wave of pain twisted through him. His vision blurred for a moment, the moonlight above smearing into white streaks.
“Annie,” he whispered.
“She’s here,” Harry said quickly. “She’s breathing.”
Relief softened Cooper’s expression, though it cost him visibly. He tried to lift his head to see her more clearly, but the movement made him suck in a sharp breath.
“I’m getting her to the car first,” Harry said, lowering his voice. “Then I’m coming back for you. You’re not moving. Do you understand me?”
Cooper nodded weakly.
Harry eased his hands away from the wound just long enough to stand. Blood welled up immediately, spreading darker against the fabric of Cooper’s shirt. Harry moved quickly to Annie, kneeling beside her and carefully lifting her into his arms. She stirred faintly, a small sound escaping her, but she did not wake fully.
The walk to the car felt longer than it should have.
The forest was quiet except for Harry’s boots against the dirt and the distant rush of wind through branches. He laid Annie gently across the back seat, adjusting her so she would not roll with the movement of the vehicle.
Then he ran back.
Cooper was still where he had left him, lying on his back beneath the open sky. His face looked paler now, almost gray in the moonlight. His eyes were open, but unfocused, fixed somewhere above him.
The sky stretched endlessly overhead, black and vast.
Cooper stared at it as if memorizing it. The air was cold against his skin, and he could feel the ground beneath him growing damp with his own blood. His body felt distant, heavy and light at the same time, like he was sinking through the earth.
For a moment, he considered closing his eyes. Just for a second. The darkness pressing at the edges of his vision felt familiar, almost gentle compared to the chaos he had just escaped.
Footsteps rushed toward him.
“Cooper.”
Harry dropped to his knees beside him again and pressed his hand back against the wound. The contact drew a strained sound from Cooper’s throat.
“Look at me,” Harry said firmly.
Cooper’s eyes shifted slowly, focusing with effort. It took him a second to recognize the face hovering above him
“That’s it,” Harry muttered.
“Yeah,” Cooper replied faintly.
Harry slid one arm beneath Cooper’s shoulders and another around his back. The movement caused Cooper’s body to tense violently as pain flared through him. A groan slipped out before he could stop it.
“I know,” Harry said quietly. “I know.”
Cooper attempted to push himself up, but his legs barely responded. His knees buckled almost immediately, and Harry tightened his hold, taking most of his weight. Cooper’s hand clutched weakly at Harry’s jacket as another wave of nausea rolled through him.
Each step toward the car sent a fresh surge of agony through his abdomen. The wound felt as if it were tearing wider with movement. His breathing became shallow and erratic, his head dipping forward against Harry’s shoulder
“Almost there,” Harry said through clenched teeth. He was nearly carrying him now.
When they reached the car, Harry opened the passenger door quickly. With careful but urgent movements, he lowered Cooper into the seat. It was not graceful. Cooper gasped sharply as his body folded, the shift of pressure sending a blinding streak of pain through him.
Harry leaned in immediately, one hand pressing hard against the wound again.
“Stay awake,” he ordered.
Cooper’s head rested back against the seat, eyes half-lidded. The interior light cast a pale glow across his face, highlighting the sweat at his temples and the blood soaking through his shirt.
“You’re going to make it,” Harry said firmly. “You hear me?
Cooper blinked slowly, trying to keep his focus on Harry’s face. The world felt distant again, sounds muffled as if heard through water.
He shut the door and rushed around to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the darkness of the forest. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as he drove away from the grove.
The road out of the forest was uneven, gravel snapping beneath the tires as Harry drove faster than he ever would have under normal circumstances.
The headlights cut a narrow path through the dark, trees rushing past on either side like silent witnesses. Inside the car, the air felt thick and metallic.
Harry kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other pressed hard against Cooper’s abdomen. Blood had soaked through the fabric completely now, warm and slick against his palm. It had dried in places along his fingers, turning dark and sticky, but fresh warmth kept seeping through.
“Can you move?,” Harry asked, not loudly, but firmly enough to anchor the words in the space between them.
Cooper’s head rested against the seat, tilted slightly toward the window. His eyes were open, though unfocused, drifting between the windshield and the ceiling of the car. Each breath he took sounded shallow.
“It really hurts,” Cooper murmured faintly.
Harry glanced at him quickly before returning his eyes to the road. “I know it hurts but you’ll be alright. You’ll be okay.”
The forest began to thin as they moved farther from the grove. Harry’s jaw tightened as he pressed harder against the wound, trying to slow what felt impossible to slow. His hand was slick now, red smeared across his knuckles and down his wrist.
“You remember that time you said this town had the best coffee in the Pacific Northwest?” Harry asked suddenly, forcing his voice into something close to normal conversation. “You went on about it for twenty minutes.”
Cooper’s lips twitched faintly. “Damn fine coffee,” he whispered.
“That’s right,” Harry replied, relieved to hear even that small response. “You said it was the best experience.”
Cooper’s breathing hitched slightly as a wave of pain passed through him. His hand moved weakly toward his stomach but didn’t quite reach it. Harry adjusted his grip immediately, applying more pressure.
“Hang tight, the hospital isn’t too far,” Harry said quietly.
For a moment, the only sound in the car was the engine and Cooper’s breathing. Harry kept talking, even when he wasn’t sure if Cooper was fully hearing him.
“You’ve been worse off,” Harry continued. “I told you that already. You don’t get to argue with me on this.
You survived getting shot. You remember that? You were stubborn enough to lecture me about Tibet while bleeding all over the floor.”
Cooper let out something that might have been a breath of laughter, but it dissolved into a strained cough. A thin line of red touched the corner of his mouth.
Harry noticed it immediately.
“Don’t,” he muttered, quickly reaching over with his thumb to wipe the blood from Cooper’s lip. The smear left a faint red streak across Cooper’s skin.
“I’ll take care of you, alright? You hear me?”
Cooper’s eyelids fluttered.
“Yeah, Harry. I hear you”
Harry’s grip tightened reflexively. “You shouldn’t went alone in the first place”
Cooper’s head shifted slightly, leaning more toward the side. His breathing grew slower, more spaced apart. Harry kept talking, filling the silence with whatever came to mind
“You still owe me that fishing trip,” Harry said. “You remember promising that? Said you’d teach me how to sit still for once.
There was no immediate answer.
Harry kept his eyes on the road as they approached a curve, adjusting the wheel carefully. For a few seconds, his focus had to remain fully ahead of them.
That was when Cooper’s head began to fall. It was subtle at first, just a slight forward tilt. Then his chin dropped fully toward his chest.
Harry saw it from the corner of his eye.
“Cooper.”
There was no response.
“Dale.”
Harry took his hand off the wound for a brief second and caught Cooper’s jaw gently but firmly, lifting his head back up before it could slump completely. Cooper’s skin felt colder than it had moments before.
“Don’t do that. Don’t close your eyes” Harry said sharply, fear finally cracking through the edges of his voice.
Cooper’s eyes fluttered again, unfocused, then slowly found Harry’s face. He swallowed with difficulty. A faint trace of blood remained on his lower lip.
“I’m here,” he said weakly.
The lights of the town were closer now, faint and blurred at the edges of Cooper’s vision, but the distance between each breath felt wider than the miles they were crossing. The pain in his abdomen had stopped feeling sharp. It had become something deeper, heavier, like a weight pressing down from the inside. Each inhale scraped through his chest.
Each exhale left him a little emptier.
Harry kept talking, though his voice had started to fray.
“Stay with me, Dale. We’re almost there. Just a few more minutes.”
Cooper tried to answer, but the words would not form properly. His tongue felt thick, unresponsive. The edges of the world were dimming, the headlights stretching into pale streaks of white. The sound of the engine seemed far away now, like it belonged to someone else’s life.
Another wave of pain tore through him without warning. It was sudden and brutal, stealing what little air he had left. His body jerked involuntarily, a broken sound escaping his throat. His hand twitched weakly toward the wound, but there was no strength behind the movement.
Harry felt it immediately.
“Hey. Hey, look at me.”
The car swerved slightly before Harry corrected it. His hand pressed harder against Cooper’s stomach, though he could feel how much blood had already soaked through everything. It was on the seat, on his sleeve, under his nails. The metallic smell had grown almost unbearable.
Cooper’s head rolled toward the window. His eyelids fluttered, then lowered halfway.
“Dale.” Harry’s voice sharpened. “Don’t you dare.”
Cooper could still hear him, but it sounded like it was coming through water. Distant. Muffled. Urgent. The pain was still there, but it was changing, slipping away from something sharp into something numb and cold. That frightened him more than the pain had.
Harry’s voice rose.
“Stay with me! Dale!”
The panic in it was unmistakable now. Harry rarely lost control of his tone, but it was breaking open.
Cooper felt fingers gripping his jaw again, lifting his head, shaking him lightly.
“You’re not doing this. You hear me? You are not doing this.”
Cooper wanted to tell him he was trying. He wanted to reassure him. Instead, the darkness pressed closer, folding in from the edges of his vision until Harry’s face was the only thing left in focus. Even that began to blur.
He heard Harry shouting his name one more time.
Then everything went quiet.
—————
The quiet did not last.
Pain returned before sight did.
It was not distant anymore. It was immediate, consuming. A deep, tearing ache that radiated through his abdomen and up into his ribs. It dragged him upward violently, like surfacing too fast from deep water.
Air rushed into his lungs in a ragged gasp.
The world came back in fragments. Bright white light above him. The steady, rhythmic beep of a monitor. The smell of antiseptic, clean and clinical, cutting through the memory of blood.
His body felt impossibly heavy. Moving even slightly sent a fresh spike of agony through him.
A chair scraped softly against the floor.
“Dale?”
Harry’s voice was hoarse, closer now, stripped of the earlier panic but not of the fear that had caused it.
Cooper forced his eyes open fully. The light stung. His vision swam before slowly settling on the shape beside the bed.
Harry was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands still faintly stained despite having been washed. There were dried traces of red along the cuticles, stubborn reminders that would not disappear easily.
“You’re in the hospital,” Harry said quietly, as if speaking too loudly might undo something fragile. “Surgery took a while.”
Cooper tried to shift, immediately regretting it as pain flared hot and sharp through his stomach. A restrained sound escaped him before he could stop it.
“Easy,” Harry said, standing quickly but not rushing.
He placed a steadying hand against Cooper’s shoulder instead of the wound this time. “They stitched you up. You lost a lot of blood.”
Cooper swallowed. Even that felt difficult.
“Annie,” he managed, the word dry against his throat.
“She’s alive,” Harry answered at once. “She’s stable. She’s down the hall.
Relief softened Cooper’s expression, though exhaustion weighed it down almost immediately after. “Good.”
Cooper’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, then back to Harry.
“I heard you,” he murmured faintly.
Harry let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. “I was hoping you did.”
“You passed out in the car,” Harry said at last, his tone shifting. It wasn’t panicked anymore. It was controlled, but there was something underneath it, something unresolved. “Your head just dropped. I thought…” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I thought I lost you.”
He stood then, not pacing, just moving closer to the bed. His posture was rigid in a way Cooper recognized. Not anger exactly, but something protective and shaken at its core.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Harry said, and this time there was no attempt to disguise the emotion in his voice. “Don’t ever go off like that alone. Don’t walk into something like that without backup. I don’t care what you think you’re handling.”
Cooper watched him quietly, too tired to interrupt.
“You don’t get to decide to carry it all yourself,” Harry continued, lower now but firmer. “You don’t get to almost die in my passenger seat because you thought you had to face something alone.”
Cooper swallowed carefully, the movement small. “I didn’t intend to.”
“I know,” Harry replied quickly. “I know you didn’t.” He paused, steadying himself. “But from now on, you don’t go anywhere like that without me. I don’t care if it’s the woods, a lead, or something you can’t explain. You don’t go alone.”
The firmness in his voice wasn’t negotiable.
For a moment, Cooper simply studied him. The exhaustion in Harry’s face. The stubborn resolve. The lingering tremor in his hands that hadn’t fully gone away.
“Understood,” he murmured.