Video | HYPNOS;}

[lifewithoutrest]

There’s nothing to tell you where you are or where you’re going, but you move with purpose; quick, determined steps carry you through a series of hallways, one after another. All of them look the same, clean white walls and rich red carpet. There’s a newness about it, a sense of wealth. Any other time, it would be something to admire, but there isn’t time for that. Fear keeps you moving, urges you forward through the chaos that suddenly seems to surround you.

Then something changes. The halls seem to narrow, lose some of their lavishness. Everything stills. Here, there is calm. It brings with it a sense of dread as each breath seems to come more quickly than the last, your hurried footsteps feeling almost absurdly out of place in the quiet.

You almost miss the tiny body tucked into a corner, a little boy. He can’t be more than three.

Before you’ve even realized it, you’re reaching for him, drawing him against your chest and gently shushing him as he tries to wiggle out of your grasp. Because you know if you let go, he’s going to die here. And you can’t understand how anyone could have left him.

He’s just a child.

Your voice raises, anger lacing every word, “She’s just a child.” And you know it doesn’t matter because the decision has already been made.

They look at you, the two of them, the man with the dark hair and glasses and the woman with the oddly colored eyes, and there isn’t even a hint of warmth. “These are your protocols, Dr. Magnus.”

“I’m aware. There has to be another way.” Your argument lacks the conviction it should have. Are you really fighting for her? Or are you only trying to lessen your own guilt?

These are your rules. You made them. You decided her fate. “We’ve all agreed. This is what must be done.”

“And yet I don’t see you volunteering.” This time your tone is steel and determination, and your fingers close around the syringe.

You’ve always done what others can’t.

You tell her she’s a brave girl as you slip the needle into her arm, smile so she knows it’s the truth; and she smiles back, all of five years old, and she trusts you.

He trusts you when you tell him he doesn’t have to be afraid, and you can tell you’re on a ship now. The deck’s already beginning to slant. It’s much, much too late for both of you, but you hold him tightly, reassuring as your free hand grips the railing hard enough your knuckles turn white.

“Shh, you’re going to be all right,” you whisper, close to his ear, and you close your eyes against the tears you already know won’t fall. Because you know, even as you say it,

it’s a lie.

It’s a lie when you take her into your arms, hold her close as she shuts her eyes, and tell her, “It’s all right now. Mummy and Daddy will be here soon to take you home.” As you watch, the gentle rise and fall of her chest slows, eventually ceasing altogether.

You hold her for a long time after, cradling her little body in your arms, and this time the tears do fall and they don’t stop.

A young woman stands in front of you, blonde hair pulled neatly back, and she’s holding the dark-haired woman next to her by the wrist.

“Ashley, please.”

You’re on the floor, crying. You’re crying and you can’t stop. And those blue eyes are so familiar, your own eyes looking back at you, and she’s so close but you can’t reach her. Her hand tightens around the other woman’s wrist, and right now, in this moment, she’s your daughter again.

Emotion chokes her voice, one word, almost a question, “Mom?” And then she pulls herself together.

She was always the strong one.

Then she’s gone, nothing but sparks and ashes. You can’t stop crying.

Comments

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[cisskabob]

Hey. Are you okay?

[video]

[unpurify]

[It had seemed like keeping a constant soundtrack of everyone else's nightmare broadcasts was the only way to stay awake. It feels horribly intrusive doing so, but Sam tries not to pay attention to the words or the images or any of it. Most of the nightmares are handily laden with screams and disturbing howls, and it's almost like being in Hell again. Complete with the too-recent bite of loss.

He doesn't realize he recognizes the voice in one of them until it's too late, and everything wrenches when he hears Mom and the dissolving of some woman into ash, and he's encroached on something he had no right to overhear.

He still looks like he's falling apart but fuck it, he wasn't meant to see this and he's regretting every choice he's ever made right now.]

I'm sorry, I - didn't realize it was you.

[That's no apology. He knows it.]

video;

[larker]

[This is one of the more interesting dreams out there, though Gabriel isn't drawn to the overarching theme of it.

No sir. He's squinting at the ship scene instead.]

If that's what I think it is, then that was a pretty crappy day for a lot of people. I remember when that one happened like it was yesterday.

[ooc: let me know if you don't want him recognising the ship and I can tweak it.]