Chapter Text
A migrane. A terrible splitting migraine spiraled out of control inside the mind of one detective, sitting hunched over from the corner of his bed in a cold sweat, having woken up from another terrible nightmare. They haunt him, those dreams, those memories. That dream was a recurring one. He would have it at least once a week. The image the strong-mans hands wrapping around his throat as everything turned to black, before opening his eyes only to see the witches plunge their knives into his best friend, Rosanna. Then the cycling between the images would repeat. Strong-man, darkness, Rosanna. Strong-man, darkness, Rosanna. Strong-man, darkness- and then he'd wake ip with a scream. Luckily for him, he lived alone, so there was no one for him to drive mad with his screaming, and no one hunched over him asking how long it'd been since he'd eaten, or if he was seeing things again.
Speaking of, he could hear a voice, calling out his name.
"Psst. Matthew." It whispered. "Matthew!"
Matthew shut his eyes tight, laying himself back down in bed. He knew the voice wasn't real. He lived alone, in the middle of nowhere. Nobody was in his house. He was hallucinating. He obviously damaged his psyche in Everlock, and this was just another side effect. He didn't bother responding to the voice. Why bother answering someone that isn't really there?
"Matthew! Matt!" It continued, egging him on. Matthew threw the pillow over his head, trying to muffle out the sound. The voice, being in his head, was unaffected.
"Matt! I need your help!" It continued, its previous lighthearted tone becoming one of more worry. Matt began to recognize it as Rosanna's voice, or at least what his mind remembered Rosanna sounded like. Matthew continued to try and block out the noise even with the pillow off his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and ignoring the sound, but it was a near impossible task. Even though he knew the reality of what it was, that was his friend, in danger, asking him for help. So he opened his eyes.
He got a brief peak at Rosanna standing over him in bed, a knife sticking out of her mutilated stomach, her guts hanging out. He shut his eyes as quickly as they opened, a brief scream leaving his mouth as he sat up straight. "Jesus!" He said, exasperated as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, standing up from bed. "God, damn it.." He blindly walked out of his bedroom. The voice was gone, but he didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see what he was imagining. The darkness of the back of his eyelids reminded him of death, but it was better then the reminder of the death of others. He stumbled his way through his house, using his arms to take him down the hallway to the telephone on the living room wall. It was only then that he opened his eyes, and began to dial a number.
As he dialed in the digits, his other hand reached for a lamp. He got a peak at the clock, five in the morning. If he was lucky, his psychiatrist would be awake. He could get him a refill on some pills, and the hallucinations would be over. He got off of his medication a month ago because his psychiatrist said he was getting better, but he knows better than anyone he's been worse off than ever without his medication, this morning being the breaking point. The phone rang as he waited for his psychiatrist to pick up.
A few more moments passed until there was someone on the other end of the line.
"Doctor Flint speaking, how may I help you?" The voice was groggy and tired, justifiably so at this time of day
"Doctor, I'm seeing things again. I keep seeing Ro in my dreams, and I just saw, and heard, I've been hearing things too, I heard her too and I-"
"Stop, Stop!" The voice on the other line said. "Slow down. You're seeing things again? And hearing things?"
Matthew sighed loudly. "Yes, I've been telling you about this for weeks." He spoke, frustratedly.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "You mentioned Rosanna."
"Yes, I keep seeing Ro's death in my dreams, not to mention my death, and I hallucinated her just now!" Matthew said with exasperation in his voice.
"So you're imagining Everlock again?"
There was a pause as Matthew thought for a moment. Of course. Why the hell would he go to his phsyciatrist about this? He was so sleep deprived he had forgotten the lie he told everyone. He denied Everlock's existence entirely. He did it so that he could get access to some medication, without being so crazy that they'd lock him up in a mental asylum. He treated the entire ordeal like a false memory that happens to haunt him, something he knows isn't true. He still has his bloody clothes. He still has his scars. He still has Blanche, A plush horse from the Everlock carnival. He must've been so startled from the visions that he made that mistake. In frustration at his own stupidity, he ran his hand through his hair and sighed loudly, before dryly replying to his doctor.
"Yeah, I guess I am." Matthew spoke, letting out a long sigh.
"Look." His doctor spoke, genuine concern in his voice. "I want you to come by my office today. We can talk, see what's going on. You can go into more detail about-" Matthew stopped listening right about there as a loud knock banged on his door. Matthew shook, freezing up in paranoia at the sudden loud noise, his hand gripping the phone's cord.
Likely interrupting his doctor on the other end of the line, Matthew put the phone to his ear. "I'll call you back." He placed the phone back on the wall. The bangs on the door continued. Dressed in nothing but his PJ pants and a white t-shirt, he made his way to his kitchen, opening a cabinet and drawing his gun. Normally he wouldn't jump to such extreme measures, but the fact that it was still dark out, and it was pouring rain, made him wonder why anyone would bother coming over at this time if not with dangerous intentions. His current frustration and paranoia likely didn't help either. So, with his gun drawn, He opened the door.
On the other side of the door was a woman he knew all too well, inside and out, but had been avoiding like the plague. Nikita Dragun. The only other survivor of the night. At least to him. The other survivor of the night was most definitely dead to him.
"Nikita.." He uttered, shocked to see her face. "What are.. What are you doing here?" He spoke slowly, carefully trying to choose his words, hoping she isn't upset with him for the fact that e's been blatantly ignoring her, and everything to do with her for the past month or two.
"Long story. Put your gun down." She spoke, somehow both to the point, and vague at the same time. Matthew, only now noticing he still had his gun drawn, quickly clicked the safety on and held it by its side. Nikita, no questions asked, stepped into the house, her drenched boots, flared jeans, and button up blouse covering his entire living room in rain water. Matthew closed the door behind her, following her inside, unsure of what words to say. Not like he could kick her out now.
He started towards her, trying to begin casual conversation, not knowing what else she could possibly want from him. "You look great." He remarked, saying what he could see was true. For this time in the morning, and for all the trauma they went through, she looked put together. Her hair, though now wet, was clearly well put together. Her clothing looked nice and new. Her makeup was flawless. There was no sign that she was losing sleep, and she looked generally healthy.
"Thanks." She replied, dropping her messenger bag on his dining room table. "You look like shit." She commented back dryly, also the truth. He hadn't been eating, he only slept three or four hours a night, and was still working a full time job as a detective. His disheveled, mismatched pajamas definitely didn't help, either.
"Great to have you here, Nikita." Matthew replied, meekly. He was slightly hurt by the jab, but he should've come to expect it, knowing Nikita. He watched as she unloaded her bag, placing manila folders full of papers on his dining room table, not saying a word to him. With a sigh, he repeated the first thing he said. "Seriously, Nikita, what are you doing here?" He put a little more weight into his words, trying not to sound as confused and exhausted as he really was.
"I know you want nothing more than for me to leave." Nikita spoke as she dug through her bag.
Matt quickly denied "No, that's not-" but was promptly cut off by Nikita.
"You've been ignoring me. I make plans, you cancel. One time I called you, said my name, and you hung up." She sighed as she rummaged through the bag, obviously looking for something. "I'm not mad, I get it, you're protecting your peace, or whatever. Severing ties. Did your therapist, or psychiatrist, or whatever tell you to do that?"
Matt, unsure of what else to say, replied "Yes.." He mumbled.
"Shitty doctor, then." She quickly muttered back. She saw the words "What are you doing?" begin to approach Matthew's lips one more time, so she decided to finally tell him. "Look. I'm going to tell you why I'm here. You're not going to like it. In fact, you're probably going to really fucking hate it. But you need to hear me out."
Matthew reluctantly sits down at the dining room table. He can hardly speak, his heart pounding with nervous anticipation. "Tell me."
She pushes the folders towards him urging him to take a look at what's inside as she speaks. "I've been talking with the Society Against Evil." Matthews eyebrows immediately perk up in concern. Nikita catches his glance, but continues. "They're magical, and all that, they say they can find a way into purgatory." Matthews eyes widen once again, his jaw open, but the words not spilling out, so she continues. "I know it's crazy, but they're saying some people that we know are stuck in purgatory. That someone captured their souls and is displaying them in some fucked up museum." She takes a deep breath before she finishes. "All of that to say, We can save some of the people we lost in Everlock."
That was Matts breaking point. Without even opening the folder, he places it down on the table, standing up. "No, Nikita, that.. that isn't even possible!" He says, already exasperated. He doesn't want to give himself false hope.
"But it is! In my bag, there's a crystal, two more, and it opens the portal to purgatory. Me and the rest of the team have all of them in possession. We can go in there and save people, Matthew. Save them. Isn't that what you do?"
"There's so many problems with this!" He remarks, stepping away from her as he holds his arms in front of him. "How do we know it's safe? How do we know we're not putting ourselves back in danger? Not to mention, we'll be dead! Literally! We'll literally be leaving the mortal plane!" He voice raises as he begins to stress. "I've been dead before Nikita, I don't want to be again!"
Nikita stands, walking towards him. "Of course it'll be unsafe! But we'll be doing the right thing. You, me, and Joey, We can-"
"Joey?" Matthew pauses, his fear-ridden protests suddenly starting to sound like one of a more furious nature. "Are you serious? Joey?" He questioned. "The man that marched us, all of us, to our deaths, with not a care in the damn world? You're going to trust Joey to take us to purgatory?"
As his words cut like a knife, Nikita stopped listening. She was in the same position as him when Joey approached her with the very same proposition. Scared and angry. But then, when Joey handed her the manila folder, that melted away into pure determination. So, Nikita did the same, making her way towards the table and handing him the folder. " Just look at who you'd be saving!"
Matthew stared daggers into Nikita as she held the folder in front of him, but curiosity got the better of him, so after a few moments he reluctantly snagged the folder from Nikita's hands. He flipped through the pages, seeing the names and faces of people he didn't quite recognize. Matt Haag, Sierra Furtado, some upper-class socialites from the 1920's. He glanced up at Nikita, confused. Then some names from the victorian era, Tana Mongeau and Alex Wassabi. Matthew looked up at Nikita once again, frustrated before he looked down at the paper again. "I really don't get why.." He trailed off at he looked at the next set of names. These names he knew. Manny Gutierrez , Roy Fabito, and..
Rosanna.
He looked up from the paper, Ro's photograph in the folder feelings of fragile in his hands. "You're saying I can save her?" He spoke, his voice meek.
Nikita stepped closer to him as she began to take the folder out of his hands bringing it back to her bag. "You can save Ro. You can save all of them."
As much as he didn't want to march back into danger, as much as he didn't want to risk his life, he knew Rosanna wouldn't have hesitated at the opportunity. She would've dived headfirst into a whole new mess to bring him back. Plus, she had brought him back once before. The prospect of seeing her smile, of having her back in this world, the prospect of even the little things, like being able to share a coffee with her, or bake with her was so appetizing he knew he couldn't live with himself if he didn't at least try to save her.
"I'll do it." Matthew said, nodding his head as he looked over at Nikita. "I'll do it for Ro."
Nikita lets out a sigh of relief, the most emotion she's showed this whole conversation. "Oh, Thank god.." she mutters, going to hug Matthew. "We would be so fucked if we were to do this without you."
Matthew freezes up at the sudden contact of the hug, but hugs her back with some reluctance. When Nikita pulls away, thats when Matthew realizes she's already packed her stuff, and is starting for the door. "Wait, you're already leaving?" he questions.
"I have to tell Joey you're coming with, so we can leave by tonight."
"By tonight?" Matthew questions. "So soon? What about prep time?"
"That's when the collector isn't in the museum." Nikita remarks as she reaches for the door knob.
"The collector? Museum?" Matthew follows behind her, his expression painted with so much confusion.
"Holy shit, there's so much you don't know." She opens the door, rain coating his floor once again. "Look, I'll pick you up at five, and explain everything on the drive to where we'll open the portal. Come dressed in some leather, but also like it's the 40's." She walks out, reaching into her pockets for her keys. "And get some sleep. You'll need it."
"Wait, why?-" Before he can get anymore answers, she slams the door. Matthew watches through he window as she steps into her car, and drives away into the sunrise. With nothing better to do, he decides to take her advice. He was going to get some sleep. He made the slow trudge to his bedroom, where he then tossed himself into bed, his stomach full of butterflies as he thought about the danger he was about to throw himself back into. Anytime he entangled himself with Joey, he was fating himself to tragedy. It was disaster waiting to happen. But he couldn't live with himself if he didn't at least try to rescue Ro. He needed to try.
As he began to drift off into sleep, he heard a whisper once again.
"Psst. Matthew. Matt!" He recognized the voice. It was still his imaginations impression of Rosanna, begging for assistance. "Please listen to me! I need your help!"
As he felt his eyes get heavy, he groggily replied. "I know. I'm coming to save you." before he promptly fell asleep.