The breath rasps in Daniel's throat as he lurches forward clumsily with Peter in tow. Desperately, hopefully - maybe too hopefully - he gropes for his side where, if he were a detective, he'd be able to find a gun, or some other sidearm, and the motion is starkly, alarmingly familiar but his fingertips brush nothing but the worn fabric of his jeans.

And then, suddenly, they're somewhere else.

Somewhere - completely different, actually.

Audience. Judges. Is this one of those dreams people keep mentioning? That - that might explain it. Oh god, but that would really explain it.

Daniel feels himself blanch as he takes a step back, struck with the horrible awareness that they're - is this - this can't be some kind of - talent exhibition, can it?

"Uhm," he says, his voice breaking audibly as he tries to clear his throat. "I'm - I'm Daniel. I think. And this is, uh - this is - Peter, was it?" He turns to the other man, eyebrows lifting in...horrified, petrified expectation.