Nick retrieves a cold bottled water from the fridge and sits across from Will on the edge of his bed, far enough back to avoid being in Will's space.

What happened to Nick was quick and painless. He was here before he knew enough to feel anything. So he showed up mostly startled, not afraid. It wasn't like this. He didn't realize he should have felt lucky until now.

He's never had a reason to doubt his own mind, but being unable to trust the senses he does have is a horror like being blind. It's an idea that immediately opens up a new well of sympathy for Will, and there's a careful gentleness in how he hands Will the untwisted bottle of water--the cap is still on, just broken, because Nick has a feeling that if Will was left to crack the seal on it himself his shaking hands wouldn't be able to hold on. Nick knows that if he was the one breaking apart he wouldn't want to feel any more embarrassed by not being able to open a damn bottle.

I thought I was dead. Nick leans forward on his knees, keeping his head down but eyes up. I could be. Don't know if this is real. Do we know enough to say it's not?

Jane Foster. He hands that scrap of paper torn from his book to Will, and writes on a fresh sheet. She's trying to figure this out. Knows more than me. Just a gardener.