Need something that I can confess / Til' all my sleeves are stained red (thenewnormal)

[neverlooksaway]

Michael was bone-deep tired and feeling a flood of both relief that they'd managed to find a way to keep Isobel alive and terror that they wouldn't be able to find a real solution. The last week had been brutal, an emotional roller coaster he hadn't been on since the summer of 2008. Now, he had hope, sure, but not enough to raise his mood. He dropped the sign off for Maria, then found himself staring at the symbol, thinking of beacons and what Max had said about him in the group home.

He was still thinking about it when he got back to the junkyard. Part of him wanted to head right back down to the bunker, see what he could come up with, but, after everything, he knew he was pushing the limits of even his endurance, emotional, physical and mental. He'd offered Liz far more trust than he'd ever given anyone, told her things he'd never even told Max or Isobel, shown her things he'd never shown anyone, and she'd come through. She'd figured out what he hadn't been able to, yet.

So, instead of shifting the Airstream, he went in and got a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of acetone, bringing them back out to the firepit. Getting the fire going, he settled back with the bottles switching between them as he studied the symbol sketched on the yellow paper in his hand and trying, desperately, to remember anything about it.