Chapter Text
The first time Carter Horton ever became aware of death was at a family reunion when he was about five years old.
Nothing had been out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest that things were about to take an abrupt turn for the worse.
His older cousin Tyler had been teaching him how to play basketball, all grins and good-natured ribbing. Tyler had sat Carter on his shoulder so he could dunk, small hands gripping the hoop, when Tyler stopped.
Then Tyler fell.
And Carter was left hanging onto the basketball hoop, legs dangling and kicking out as a fluttery panic rose in his chest.
“Tyler?”
His face was blank as he laid there in a crumpled heap.
“Tyler.”
Eyes staring out at nothing.
“Tyler!”
A brain aneurysm, he’d heard but didn’t understand until years later. There was no warning, no choice.
No control.
A skittering fear clawed its way into Carter that day, took residence behind his ribs and held his heart in a vise-like grip.
Death could come at any time, at any moment, and Carter had no control over it.
Here one minute, gone the next.
•••••••
Something about Alex Browning had always just set him off.
Something that rubbed him the wrong way, got on his nerves, drove him up the fucking wall.
Maybe it was the daydreaming expression on his face, like he was sleepwalking his way through life. Maybe it was how it always felt like Alex Browning was only ever half way in the world, or how his blue eyes looked but never saw, always moving but never catching on anything, as if nothing was actually ever real; not people, not places, not anything.
Which frustrated Carter to no end because he couldn’t not look.
Carter couldn’t not look at the face that was rounder than his, softer at the edges, compared to Carter’s own face which was all sharp angles. He couldn’t not look at the clear blue eyes that looked through him as if he were nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
So of course, when Alex Browning finally, finally woke up – finally all the way in the world for once, looking so painfully aware of anything and everything around him – and started freaking the fuck out, of course Carter got involved. When Alex Browning started spouting off some bullshit about how the plane was going to explode and everyone was going to die, of course Carter drew his fist back. When they got dragged off the plane, of course Carter couldn’t look away from him, not when he was finally fully rooted in reality.
Of course, of course, of course.
Because the thing is, when it came to Alex Browning, Carter Horton couldn’t not.
•••••••
More than anything, when Carter looks back on it, it was the visceral fear radiating from Browning that kept him on edge after they all got tossed off the plane.
“I saw out my window, I saw the ground, and—”
He hears Browning explain his little freak out to Ms. Lewton, while he and Terry watch the plane pull back from the gate, Billy muttering something under his breath.
“—and the left side blows up, the whole plane just explodes!”
Carter’s jaw clenches as he turns away from the window, and he can feel Terry grabbing his arm, trying to keep him from going after Browning again.
“It was so real! Like everything happened, you know?”
“You been on a lot of planes that blew up?” Waggner asks, sounding skeptical but trying to not sound like he thinks Browning is nuts.
(As far as Carter cares right now, the guy might as well be.)
“You must have fallen asleep,” Ms. Lewton tells him.
(Somehow, that makes the boiling anger in Carter worse, because here he’d thought Browning was finally awake, finally all the way in the world instead of half way out of it, but apparently that painfully wide-eyed awareness was nothing more than a damn nightmare.)
“Whoa, we get thrown off the plane, blow what? Half a day in Paris? Because Browning has a bad fuckin’ dream?”
Exasperation rolls off of Terry in waves next to him, but Carter is too pissed to pay much attention. Too pissed to even pay attention to the next thing that comes out of his mouth, other than the fact that it’s mocking and condescending.
Things go downhill pretty quickly after that, because the next thing he knows is that those clear blue eyes are right in his face as Browning lunges at him this time, and they both go down snarling at each other.
And Carter knows for sure now that Browning is awake – that the freak out on the plane wasn’t a fluke of awareness.
There’s shouting and hands grabbing at the both of them and then they’re hauled away from each other, and Carter’s mouth is moving, saying things that aren’t fully registering in his mind, because Browning is still looking at him and not through him.
But still things can go from bad to worse.
The only warning they get is Billy shouting “Oh shit!” and then there’s the sound of something shattering, broken glass flying everywhere.
The hands are gone and Carter looks up to see fire and metal falling out of the sky.
The bottom of his stomach drops out at the sight of it, of knowing that if they had stayed on that plane…
He feels like he’s in free fall, like there’s nothing keeping him tethered in place, until he finally looks away from the sky and his eyes are drawn to Browning who is looking right back at him.
The utter despair Carter sees there both shakes him and anchors him, keeps him from just launching into hysterics.
•••••••
Tick. Tick.
The only sound in the waiting area they’d been herded into is the clock.
Tick
Carter can’t look any of them in the eye – not that it’s difficult to avoid looking at the other people in the room; they’re all too busy staring at Browning, who is busy staring at the floor.
Tick.
Or looking at Carter. Or to the left of Carter’s face. Carter can’t really tell because he’s trying to not look.
Trying, and failing.
Terry’s got a death grip on his arm, but Carter barely notices it. He’s just… checked out.
Everything is numb.
(Tyler fell and so did the plane.)
He checks back in when Ms. Lewton asks Browning something, quiet but so damn loud in the near oppressive silence.
“How would I know?” Browning asks, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. (Carter can’t help but stare at the usually clear blue eyes that are now shiny and red rimmed.) There’s a look of confused realization dawning on Browning’s face. “You think I’m sort of…”
“He’s not a witch,” Clear’s voice is firm as she says it, glancing at Browning who looks back at her.
(It feels like there’s a rock stuck in Carter’s throat.)
And then the door opens.
•••••••
They question Browning first, and he’s gone the longest.
The FBI agents don’t have to say anything; Carter can tell just by looking at them that they think Browning had something to do with it. Which is honestly ridiculous in his opinion. Sure, he’s kind of a weird guy who drives Carter up the wall more often than not, but Alex Browning isn’t a killer. That much, at least, Carter is very sure of.
And if that certainty isn’t enough, then when would Browning have even had the time to sabotage the plane? He hadn’t been out of anyone’s sight the entire time, he’d taken his carry-on bag with him when they got kicked off the plane, and they won’t find anything in whatever remains of the checked baggage. Because there’s nothing to find.
Because Alex Browning didn’t sabotage the plane.
Carter would bet his life on it. Not that he’d say any of this out loud; it’s just what comes to mind when he sees how Browning pales when they call him up first.
When he comes back, he doesn’t look much better than when he left, just more exhausted.
After Browning, they question Waggner (oh fuck, his brother was still on the plane), then Ms. Lewton, Clear, Billy, Terry, and then Carter.
Agent Weine tries questioning him, and Agent Schreck tries to get him talking.
“I’m not saying anything, and I’m sure as hell not saying anything without a lawyer,” Carter tells them with the biting, polite smile he’d gotten from his mom that practically says ‘fuck off.’
Not that there’d be much he could’ve offered them in the way of information anyway, even if he had a lawyer present, but he knows better than to say anything else to them; because that’s how law enforcement types worked in Carter’s experience, from what he’s had to deal with occasionally. Of course, that was usually with house parties that got too out of hand and someone called the cops, but still.
Even if you had nothing to do with anything, they’d find a way to twist your words, not to mention the whole ‘only guilty people ask for a lawyer’ propaganda that gets thrown around on TV constantly.
Anyway, they’d let him go after about twenty minutes of unsuccessful questioning.
They had nothing on any of them (nothing on Browning), because there wasn’t anything.
As much as Carter hates to admit it — even to himself, as much as it makes his skin crawl — sometimes shit just happens and it’s out of anyone’s control.
•••••••
Carter lost track of how long they’ve been waiting sometime around hour three.
They’re all exhausted, worn down by a lack of answers, grief, and probably shock.
The clock is still ticking away, but Carter can’t bring himself to look at it, to know exactly how long they’ve been waiting.
To know exactly how long Flight 180 has been ripped to shreds.
The silence is broken when the door swings open again and their families pour in, sobs and sighs of relief. Carter lets his mom turn his head this way and that, checking for nonexistent injuries, and over her shoulder Carter sees the look Mr. Waggner gives Browning.
A look of grief, a look of anger.
A look of blame.
Something in him breaks through the numbness at that, something that wants to make him stand in front of Browning, to put himself in between Browning and Mr. Waggner’s look of misplaced blame; something Carter doesn’t want to acknowledge.
Carter stays where he is, rooted in place, despite the wild, gnawing thing in his ribs telling him to move.
•••••••
The rain starts as soon as they step out of the airport and go their separate ways with their families.
(The Brownings had one more than usual, Clear’s family nowhere to be seen.)
The silence in the car is almost deafening, practically suffocating, and Carter wants nothing more than to get out. Something about being in such a small space after being stuck in that unbearably bright white waiting room is making him stir-crazy. Probably not though, it’s probably just… everything that happened – knowing that he evaded death by the skin of his teeth because he can’t help himself when it comes to Browning.
(And shit, isn’t that getting right to the core of it? It seems like no matter what he does, Carter can’t ever seem to get Browning out of his thoughts; not before, not on the plane, and certainly not now.)
The moment the car comes to a stop in the driveway Carter is out and heading for the front door, not waiting for his parents, not wanting to deal with stilted and awkward talks of what happened and how he’s feeling. To be honest, Carter feels like he’s going to be sick. And he just—he doesn’t want to talk about it.
He leaves the door open for his parents and has to make himself go up the stairs normally instead of at a dead sprint like he wants to. At the top of the stairs though, Carter just lets his legs move on their own, working from muscle memory; right, right, left.
Carter gets about as far as getting his shoes and jacket off before he collapses onto his bed, blindly reaching for the TV remote. Watching the glow of the TV, of the bits and pieces of people and metal float in the dark waters by JFK, Carter curls in on himself, dragging a blanket up and over.
The shakes take over his body as he watches the News (which station? It doesn’t matter, they’re all bound to playing the same thing) with eyes wide open, committing every detail he can to memory.
It’s the least he can do.
Besides, he won’t sleep anyway; not when all he can see when he does is everyone going up in flames as Flight 180 falls apart around them. Not when he can see clear blue eyes melting in their skull.
He doesn’t believe that Browning had a… a premonition, or whatever Ms. Lewton seems to think it was, but Carter can’t help but wonder if this is anything like what Browning claims to have seen.
Carter watches the images on the TV well into the morning, after the downpour and the thunder has died down, letting the sun shine through.
Carter doesn’t stop shaking for hours, his mind going back and forth between blue eyes and Flight 180.