Dave wasn’t thinking about anything about their situation being romantic. He was focused entirely on sleep, which Bransen promptly interrupted with some irrelevant comment about ditching him in the morning. Dave let out a groan into the pillow in response, something he hoped was indicative of the fact that he wasn’t interested in discussing that, or discussing anything else, for that matter. “Sleep, Berkman.” He muttered. If he didn’t get some sleep, then he wouldn’t be going anywhere in the morning. It only took a few moments for Dave to fall asleep, but his sleep was far from restful.

Dave dreamed about New York, and about his father. The dream was… unrealistic, of course. He was trying to find a way to get to New York, but every road that they were going to take was patrolled. The men were wearing black suits, and they looked as menacing to Dave as he had probably looked to Bransen. Somewhere in the dream, they had to ditch the car and were on foot. When they finally picked a road, sirens followed them immediately, and he could hear the radios of the suits, his father’s voice on the other end, demanding that they arrest Dave. [i]Permission to use lethal force granted[/i] he heard the stern voice command, and then the guns came out. Dave felt a sharp pain in his leg as a bullet hit his shin (though the man was unaware it was more likely to be Bransen’s heel hitting his leg). He fell to the ground, and asked his partner for him. “Berkman, give me a hand.” Bransen had been a few feet ahead of him at the time, and the man stopped before turning quickly on his heal. “You expect me…to aid you? Is it possible that you are such an imbecile that you perceive us to be working in some sort of comradery?” He asked. The suits were getting closer, and Dave was barely able to follow what he said. “You are, quite simply put, a Neanderthal. And evolution is not sympathetic to those individuals who do not possess the skills that are compulsory in the quest for survival. It is your time to die, suit. I only maintain the wish that I had been given the opportunity to dispose of you myself.” He sighed.

“You can.” Another voice chimed on. One of the suits approached the pair and gave Bransen a gun. It was only when he was close that Dave recognized the salt and pepper hair that was so neatly trimmed, and the clean shaven face that he has seen more in pictures than in his actual life. Davian’s father gace Bransen a gun, and the man regarded it slowly, turning it over in his hands. Davian’s father began to apologize to Bransen, and say that they knew he was in the right, and Dave had been the monster. “He deserves to die.” The older man agreed, and then took a step back so that Bransen could pull the trigger.

Dave threw his arms up to cover his face, and heard the gun fire before he was started from his sleep by Bransen nudging him. Dave opened his eyes in surprise, his heart pounding from the stress of the nightmare. He was holding onto the pillow tightly, and it took him a few moments to gather his composure once more. His eyes flickered to the window and he groaned. “Is it morning? It is morning, isn’t it… I don’t do mornings.” He rolled over and buried his head in the pillow once more, unaware that he was finally giving Bransen a bit of space, or that he had been a heat-seeking missile the night before.

Though Dave wished it, there was no way that he was really going to go back to sleep now. He knew they had to keep running, that they had to get going to New York, but his dream had been far from pleasant, and he wasn’t ready to face the day. After a few more moments of trying to bury himself in the blankets, Dave rolled a bit more and managed to get completely out of the bed before standing. He was in his boxers and the t-shirt that he had been wearing beneath the button down. He didn’t particularly care if Bransen saw his tattoo, or the cut on his own arm that he had hastily stitched back together not too long before. He had changed the bandage the night before, but it would be best to change it again soon. “I am going to take a shower. We probably have hot water again, after your spa last night.” He complained, though his complaint was mostly about being awake in the morning. “I can change the bandage on your foot again this morning if you need it, and show you how too. In the meantime, if you can tolerate walking, you should see if this place has one of those continental breakfasts, or at least coffee.” 

Grabbing his clothing so he could go into the bathroom, turned back a moment later. “I like my coffee like a goth kid likes their…everything. Black.” He said, and then closed the door behind him. Dave would take longer this time, actually taking the time to get clean, and hoping the Bransen would manage to find food somehow. A part of him wondered if the man would run, and another part of him hoped that the man would. Things would be so much easier if they were apart, for Dave at least. Though the man thought he was better on his own, his dream had made him question that a bit. He exited the room with damp hair, and enough scruff on his face to make him actually wish he had gotten a razor at that CVS the night before. At least he exited the bathroom fully dressed, and he dried off his arm quickly so that he could do his own re-bandaging first, incredibly grateful that it didn’t seem to look infected, despite the hasty method he had used to close it in the first place. If Bransen had was there, he would look around expectantly for the coffee, and hopefully something sweet for breakfast as well. If he wasn’t, Dave wouldn’t likely be too concerned yet. Instead, he would enjoy his peace and quiet, savoring it while it lasted.