#With that being said- I am aware even under the best of circumstances that Husk (probably most likely) couldn't break Al's chains but

[the-daringstars]

𝕀'𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕟 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟&𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕦𝕤 -

For the wonderful AlThisAestheti (On Twitter)

[magioftheseas]

Star Stitches

Day 2: Eyes (Alternative: Scars)

Summary: Post-SDR2 AU in which Hinata Hajime is swallowed up by the program following the shutdown. Kamukura decides to continue assisting in the recovery of the remnants while keeping the true hopelessness of Hinata's situation under wraps. Komaeda, of course, immediately sees through him.Considering their past relationship, this shouldn't be a surprise.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mental instability, hospitalization, and some suggestive themes.

Notes: This one is super bittersweet with the KamuKoma being more past than present. Given the circumstances, that’s pretty understandable. Anyway, I actually really enjoy this one. It’s pretty indulgent on my end so there’s a lot of gooey sentimentality and introspection. Yaaaaay!

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He’s more than aware of how haunted his reflection is. Especially now that they’ve all woken up and his work is more or less finished. But the effects of days and nights of tedium, of tirelessly working those days and nights, constant scans, constant test runs, constant experimenting until finally, finally—

He looks as outwardly dead as he feels dead on the inside.

Unsurprising. Predictable. Boring.

The shadows under his eyes only highlight the gauntness of his face and the piercing shade of crimson that filled his irises. Hiding them with the long locks of black would do little. In fact, such an action could very well be counterproductive.

His hair getting to be this long was an oversight. If he is to oversee the recovering remnants of despair, he must take care of this as soon as possible.

With the situation that befell Hinata Hajime, it would be best to distance himself from the appearance that defined Kamukura Izuru.

There was nothing he could do for his eyes, save for perhaps colored contacts. Perhaps. But getting a haircut would be a very simple task.

The only real concern is how the remnants will handle Hinata’s situation. They already know the basics, but they may be curious about the details. Said details would be troublesome to explain.

Especially when this knowledge would be distressing. Despairing, even.

He...cannot allow that. So, he shall let them believe the best that they can. Grant them a bit of blind hope, as it were.

Truth be told, he believes he can successfully fool the remnants in this manner. Most of them.

Except one.

And this one will undoubtedly be the most troublesome of all.

--

“Honestly, Kamukura-kun, I’m flattered that you even tried. I didn’t think that would ever be possible. But here it is! You tried and failed! What a remarkable day this is! I truly am so lucky to bear witness to it!”

Komaeda claps and laughs with mirthless delight.

Kamukura keeps his face impassive. There’s no point, after all, in feigning innocence. Such a look would be unfitting for Hinata Hajime either way. And, well...

There had been no point in trying to fool this one in the first place. Truly, I should have known better.

“...you are not going to tell anyone,” he found himself saying. “The others will not believe you.”

“I know they won’t,” Komaeda replies cheerfully. “Even if they hear you talk about how hopeless the situation is, they’ll just assume you’re not trying hard enough. They’ll refuse to give up! And why wouldn’t they? Hinata-kun is their friend, after all.” His smile twists and distorts. That cheerfulness begins to ooze contempt and sarcasm. “They’re such optimistic, loyal people once you scrape away the despair.”

Kamukura’s gaze flickers downwards, briefly. And then, swiftly, he removes his contacts. The contacts had been a poor idea, anyway.

Komaeda’s breath catches, but then he clears his throat. As if trying to hide it.

“It’s...really weird, seeing those eyes when your hair’s so short. Maybe you should grow your hair out, Kamukura-kun,” he suggested, almost lightly. “The others might be understanding if it’s just a little.”

“This appearance is more efficient,” Kamukura said. “It lulls them into a false sense of security the more I resemble Hinata Hajime without being exact. However, you know the truth of my perspective on the matter.”

How troubling that is. And yet, it is expectable as well. At the same time...

“I predicted the possibility of you seeing through me,” he went on. “But truthfully, I am not entirely sure how you saw through me so easily. I had worded Hinata Hajime’s situation very favorably without so much as a twitch in my expression. But you didn’t even seem to hesitate on calling those words into question.”

Komaeda twitches a bit, and he brushes back his hair.

“I just had a feeling,” he said. “A lucky guess, you could say.”

He giggles at his own joke. It is a poor façade.

“It was not just that,” Kamukura almost snapped. His eyes narrowed sharply, dangerously, piercingly enough for Komaeda to flinch. “You were confident. You did not even hesitate before calling me out. Why would you be so sure?”

Komaeda shivered, briefly, fisting his hand into the edges of the hospital blanket. Then, he wheezed out a not quite laugh.

“Kamukura-kun,” he sighs, and chuckles warmly and ruefully. “It’s because I remembered you almost immediately when I woke up. I remembered how well I knew you.”

...almost...immediately.

“That should not have happened.”

“I don’t remember everything,” Komaeda said. “But I do remember you. Being close to you. Taking in just the way you looked when you were about to lie for someone else’s sake. And then... You looked at me that very same way when you walked in.”

The briefest slipup. And of course, that had been enough.

“...how problematic. I should have known your situation would involve unforeseen consequences of the simulation’s faulty programming.”

Komaeda’s smile is a rueful one.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he said. “Besides the fact that they’re not going to believe me, I know why you’re doing this. It’s distasteful, but—the last thing we need is any of them falling back into that despicable despair. So.” His eyes brighten. “Why don’t we work together? Why don’t we nurture the hope still resting within their broken souls?”

Komaeda offers his remaining hand. All Kamukura can see is all the ways in that this very person is a broken soul, both physically and emotionally.

“We should prepare you with a robotic arm, soon,” Kamukura mused. “But you are not the only one missing parts. At the very least, however, all remnants of her have been scraped off.”

Komaeda beams.

“And what’s left is still a rotted husk. That said! I’m perfectly willing to help you, Kamukura-kun. This is the perfect opportunity for your redemptive arc, after all!”

This isn’t fiction, Komaeda Nagito.

But there was no point in saying that. Komaeda Nagito knew, but it made thinking of the circumstances easier. Easier to be detached from.

“I do not need it,” Kamukura said firmly, but gingerly took the offered hand all the same. “I am only accepting it because you are offering it. It would be more boring to simply refuse.”

“Ehe, there, see?” Komaeda’s thumb brushes almost fondly over his knuckles. “You’re already on the right track, Kamukura-kun. Hope’s Peak would be proud.”

“No, that is wrong.”

Komaeda’s eyes twinkle in response.

--

Caring for the others is simple, but tedious as one would expect. They all require a level of attentiveness and a heightened perspective. Truly, Hinata Hajime would’ve floundered considerably.

Kamukura does not, and they do not mind, despite how unsettling it might be. It cannot be helped. Though they still worry, they’re all too willing to have hope, as Komaeda said. It is unsurprised. They are already wrapped up in their own troubles, their own relationships. Hinata Hajime was always best suited as a background character. A background concern.

That much he remembers. The simulation had truly been a different experience in several ways for the person inhabiting this body.

But it does not matter. He must focus on the remnants.

That said, it is all still so very—boring. Tiring.

As he had expected.

Even when it came to the person who knew.

“That’s usually how it goes, Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda said. “Recovery isn’t fun. It’s very boring. Very dull. Very dry. Life, sadly, isn’t made of the milestones you see in narratives.”

“That does not stop you from treating it as such,” Kamukura pointed out dryly, squeezing and massaging the other’s thigh. Komaeda blinks at him innocuously. “You are going to need crutches. Likely for longer than the rest. Your tendency poor dieting and nutritional habits really have worsened matters.”

“Yeah... That sounds about right...”

For a moment, Kamukura is distracted by one of the symmetrical scarring on his thigh. These injuries when inflicted had likely needed stitching. It is clear that Komaeda Nagito did not get said stitching.

Thoughtlessly, he runs his fingers over the ruined tissue.

Komaeda flinches and then flicks his forehead.

“At least take me out to dinner first,” he said coldly and kicked him away. “Or have some tact. I don’t ask to feel up your head scars, now do I?”

At that, Kamukura reaches up to touch said scars. Because of the haircut, they had been prominent. He was used to receiving stares for them and yet, at this moment...

“...no, you do not.”

“Because that would be rude!” Komaeda exclaimed huffily. “So you really shouldn’t feel up mine, either! Massages for the muscles, I can take, but no strokes for the scars, Kamukura-kun!”

“Understood.”

What came over me?

Somehow, he remembered as well. And the memory was so much that he forced himself to leave immediately.

--

He doubted that Komaeda remembered that he had, in fact, felt up his surgical scars before. In return, Kamukura had done the same, fingers brushing along marks that were well-hidden by soft wisps of white.

“The surgeon who worked on you was the same as the one who worked on me,” Kamukura had said quietly. “That is quite the coincidence, I suppose.”

Komaeda giggled, pressing into his hand.

“Well, one could also call that fate, Kamukura-kun.”

“Fate. What a ridiculous and boring concept.”

“Coming from you?”’

Komaeda’s eyes had been bright, shimmering like the ocean’s surface reflecting moonlight.

“...I am not wrong.”

“How unromantic!”

Despite those words, Komaeda had clung to him with a squeal. Impulsively, his arms wrap around Komaeda in return. Komaeda presses up against him, angularities and bone, and yet, soft and warm as well.

There had been a time when he avoided contact. Unnecessarily simulation. Aggravating.

But here, the sensation is different, not unpleasant, especially with the softness of Komaeda’s hair and the warmth of his skin.

He had the scent of centuries old potpourri and decay. A mixed bag of scents, but—it was still Komaeda Nagito.

Komaeda Nagito, who cuddled up against him when they were in bed together. Komaeda Nagito, who clung as though he were a security blanket.

Komaeda Nagito who touched his scars with nothing short of curiosity and tenderness.

“Do they hurt ever?” he asked, those starlit greens twinkling once more. “Hey, Kamukura-kun... Do you ever get headaches?” A smile flickers across his lips. “Is talent so overwhelming that it sometimes feels as though your head will burst?”

“I imagine that if I were ever struck here, it would hurt considerably,” Kamukura answered, and he brushes his hair back so that the stitch marks are covered. “But that would never happen.”

“You should still wear something as protection!” Komaeda exclaimed. “I can let you borrow my parka. I think it’d look good on you!”

Kamukura ruffled his hair.

“You need that more. Do not concern yourself with me.”

“Ehhh? But how can I not?” Komaeda puffs his cheeks. “After all, Kamukura-kun, I—!”

(He does not expect Komaeda Nagito to remember.

Thus, he should not dwell over this.)

--

He can only pacify for so long. It is inevitable that the remnants grow restless with themselves and with the situation. So restless that they reach out and cling—but he is the only person to cling to.

And he is not the one they want.

“H-Hey...” The mechanic in particular is the most shaken up, unsurprisingly. This one is the neediest of the bunch, aside from the former healthcare committee member. “When is Hinata coming back?”

That said, this one likely has the greatest interest in seeing Hinata Hajime again.

(Aside from Komaeda Nagito, as loathe as he were to admit it.)

They were soul friends, after all.

“Soon.”

“...How soon?”

The mechanic is shaking. He looks close to tears. Troublesome. Expectable, but troublesome.

“Once everyone recovers fully, I shall focus entirely on accessing his files on the program and retrieve him if I have not already done so.” The words are fluid and swift. Practiced. “For now, however, the code is complicated and I have much else to concern myself with.”

“And...” A lick of his lips. “And, uh... You’re really sure you can do that?”

“You have the word of the Ultimate Hope, former as I may be.” Practiced. Precise. “For now, focus on yourself.”

It is easiest this way.

“It is what Hinata Hajime would want.”

Despite that uncertainty, the mechanic’s dark eyes light up a little, a pitiful smile pulling at his lips.

“Aha, yeah... Yeah, he would... He’d probably get really annoyed with me for being a wimp.”

“He would. You are quite annoying.”

“Hey,” he moaned. “T-That’s pretty harsh! Christ, you haven’t changed at all, have you?!”

...Have I?

“Urgh, I really hope you bring back Hinata soon,” he babbles on, rubbing at his temples. “I-I don’t think I can take much more of you...”

Kamukura says nothing. The mechanic freezes up.

“U-Uh...! By that, I mean...!”

“It is nothing,” he said. “Do not concern yourself with it. There is no need.”

“I... Um... Y... Yeah...”

There was no need, whatsoever.

--

He looks into the mirror again, running his fingers along the deep, dark shadows that serve to make the crimson irises all the brighter. All the more piercing.

He has not been getting much sleep. Restlessness invites restlessness.

He feels dull-minded.

But it is nothing worth concern over. It never has been. He exists only to serve a purpose. Said purpose may mold, but the basic principle remains.

He is nothing more than an intended pillar. Something foundational, to support and to be trampled upon like the very ground.

He understands this. He understands it keenly.

(When he first met her, she used this knowledge to manipulate him. Even though he knows he saw through it, he still...)

Now he understands better than ever.

But, all that said...

He remembers Komaeda Nagito.

--

“You’ll never be the Ultimate Hope.”

Komaeda had said it with such confidence. It was expected, but also, above all else, it was different. He understood it, but these words, this belief, still belonged solely to Komaeda Nagito. No one else would say such things, not even her.

He understands Komaeda’s reasons for feeling this way, all the same.

But, Komaeda still found a way to surprise him.

“Kamukura-kun...” He still keenly remembers that crooked smile, that innocuous tilt of Komaeda’s head. “Do you know why? More than being artificial, you don’t care about hope at all. Honestly, I can’t tell what you care about. I suppose I could guess.”

“You could,” he replied.

Komaeda laughed.

“Well, then... I think Kamukura-kun cares the way I do about existing, at least.”

Luck is a boring, insignificant thing, and yet, here was a moment that had Kamukura Izuru perk with interest in a way that even she hadn’t managed to accomplish.

“...wrong,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I am not nearly so self-important.”

“Maybe not,” Komaeda hums. “But you certainly do have a purpose of being a mere stepping stone. That said, I have the feeling that you want more than that.”

“You thought wrong,” he said. “I do not care about such things.”

“Is that true?” Komaeda asked. “Or are you just saying that because the last person who showed an interest in your desires was that wretched, hateful manipulative girl?”

He hadn’t said anything to that. He hadn’t anything to say, really.

“Just because you’re nothing more than a tool, just because you were even more used up than intended, that doesn’t mean you don’t still place an inherent value in your own existence and concerns. At least, I assume so.” Komaeda smiles up at him. “I can’t tell for sure. You’re so difficult to read. And so closed off! So cold! You really don’t play nicely with others.”

“Such things are inconsequential,” he said. “Boring. Nothing to concern myself over.”

“Your eyes are so vacant,” Komaeda commented, blinking. “Emptiness is as despairing as it is lonely.”

Emptiness.

“You are irritating, Komaeda Nagito.”

Komaeda laughed brightly.

“I know, I know! I’m just the worst! So obnoxious! It’s really, really despairing!” he exclaimed, grinning. “But, you know, in times like these...”

Komaeda reaches for him.

“Don’t cold, empty creatures like us crave warmth and fulfillment?”

Komaeda’s hand was cold and skeletal like that of a corpse. Komaeda childishly swings their connected hands with a giggle. In that moment, there had been a spark.

A spark of gentleness that he had not experienced before, even as he knew others were capable of it. A vulnerability that was intimate. Open.

As though they were close.

As though they were familiar.

At first, he had told himself that Komaeda Nagito was merely imitating her.

But, she would and never could be like this.

“I think we’re very similar, Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda says it so serenely. “Which is why, even if I detest the circumstances, I can’t help but be drawn to you. It’s...strange. But also comforting.”

His thumb runs over Kamukura’s knuckles. There are countless ways to break that bone. Komaeda Nagito could die to his hands so easily.

That thought—is as gruesome as it is unpleasant.

“What about you?” Komaeda’s eyes are starlit fog. Before despair, before her, before the dark, casted shadows underneath, they must have been pure, sparkling light. And, yet. “Kamukura-kun, how do you feel about all this?”

“I...”

I just...

“Insignificant.”

I just want everything to end.

And, yet. The way Komaeda nods sympathetically, the way that serene smile twists sadly, the way Komaeda Nagito ducks his head... Finally, the way Komaeda Nagito squeezed his hand.

“I understand, Kamukura-kun.”

The rest of the world could give way to decay and ash but this moment was one that clung.

How irritating that was.

How foolish he still is.

He really is still trapped in that cold, gray, empty room.

--

He lays awake staring blankly at the ceiling for a long, long time.

No matter where his thoughts wander, he cannot fall asleep, all the same.

...how boring.

Kamukura pushes himself up.

He decides to go for a walk.

He is not the only one out and about late at night. Both the gangster and the princess are fond of contemplative nights. The musician will sometimes practice songs, but said songs are quieter than they’ve ever been, the notes shaky and often hesitant.

But right now, she is clearly frustrated. It will not be long before one of the other former remnants checks up on her. The swordswoman, perhaps. The photographer, perhaps, although she will be dissuaded from doing so if the swordswoman arrives first. Either or.

It does not really matter.

None of this really matters.

At least no one is screaming.

The temperature has been dropping as of late. It’s resulted in much chillier nights. Despite that, he does not go outside with a coat even as the cold air nips at his skin.

It hardly bothers him. With a body like this, he’s distressingly durable. So he just walks, surveying his surroundings as he does. Makes sure that no one’s trying to drown themselves in the ocean again. Or the pool.

(He thinks about how much bad luck Komaeda Nagito had with the ocean. He remembers the time he found Komaeda Nagito washed up along the beach, coughing up seawater with a grotesquely painful grin.)

He quickens his pace and shoves those memories far back.

This only causes them to fester.

(Komaeda Nagito covered in injuries and still smiling. Komaeda Nagito smiling up at him as he bandages him up. Komaeda Nagito giggling as he kissed the bruises. Komaeda Nagito. Nagito.)

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of these scars,” Komaeda had murmured while running his fingers over them. “They’re a part of who you are, Kamukura-kun. You should accept that with pride. Aha. Just kidding.”

Briefly, Kamukura reaches up to touch the scars in question. He finds that he’s in front of the pool after all. It hasn’t been cleaned in a while, so the water is murky and dirty.

Good. He didn’t want to see his reflection at a time like this. He didn’t want to see his eyes—

“Red like a rose,” Komaeda had murmured, lashes low. “The color of passion. Of blood. Of...”

A despair-ridden sky.

Blinking, he raises his gaze to stare up at the starlit night sky. Wide, vast, endless. With so little lights on the island, it was all the grander.

...boring...so...

A flicker of light catches his eye. And then, another. And then, several more. And then, all the stars seemed to be falling down. But of course, that was not truly the case.

...ah.

It was a meteor shower.

A mere meteor shower.

Nagito has spoken of these before... Nagito...

Without even thinking, he turned on his heel.

--

Komaeda Nagito is, as he expected, outside. Not in the hospital, not in his cabin, but outside, bundled in blankets, sitting at a table with a book placed upon it, and blowing daintily at a cup of tea. A wheelchair was folded up nearby.

“Kamukura-kun,” he says as Kamukura stills before him. “Good evening. I wanted to go outside to read, but...” He gives his usual smile, lacking any real humor. “The meteor shower started up—so my attempts were thwarted.”

“...you mentioned that happening to you before,” Kamukura replied. “Do you remember?”

Komaeda blinks those doe eyes back at him.

“Ah, right,” he said cheerfully. “Before coming here, you probably haven’t seen a meteor shower before, have you, Kamukura-kun?”

No, he hadn’t.

“This is my first time,” he found himself admitting.

“Ah, I see.” Komaeda’s smile widened. “Well, what do you think? I’m a bit sick of them, but that’s different for you, isn’t it?”

“It is...different.”

It doesn’t really mean anything to me, either.

And, yet.

Komaeda sips at his tea.

“That’s not much of an answer,” he said. “Why don’t you sit with me? You’re looking like you might drop dead any moment. Aha, just kidding. You always look like a walking corpse.”

At that, Kamukura frowned.

“You should not be the one telling me that.”

They both flinched. Komaeda blinked at him a few times, and Kamukura realized that he was—flustered.

Something about that remark caused a snap. Over a minor comment like that.

Over something like that...?

But then, Komaeda laughs and the sound is a genuine one.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you sass anyone,” he chuckles into his hand. “At least, I think it has.”

Kamukura shuffles to the other chair, sitting and keeping his head down.

“...I have been feeling the effects of stress a lot more keenly,” he said. “More so than I am used to. Of course, that may be because I am not under constant sedation. With how busy things are, I simply have not had the time...”

And he has been antsy as of late. But it is something he can handle. It does not matter.

“Your eyes are looking pretty dull,” Komaeda murmured, smile twisting. “Like wilted roses, aha. What a shame. You probably should eat more. Or maybe do yoga. Tai chi? Aikido?”

“...too boring,” Kamukura said lowly and quietly. “It is nothing I cannot cope with on my own. You need not show concern.”

“Mmm...” Another sip of his tea. Kamukura takes notice of the floating tea stalk within it. Because of course.

“It must have been tedious to get here,” Kamukura said. “Why even expend that much effort for something so menial? Were you that bored?”

“Making the tea was easy,” Komaeda chirps. “Getting the wheelchair wasn’t too bad. Rolling down here with the tea and the book went rather smoothly.” He grins. “The hardest part was actually setting up here, ehe. But if nothing else, I’ve got tenacity. It’s not nearly as bad as grasping onto floating wreckage for dear life for days. It was tedious, but I managed! Are you going to praise me for it?”

Kamukura blinks at him, and then—

“It is...impressive. Good job, Komaeda Nagito.”

“Eh?” Komaeda blinked once. Twice. Several times. “I... Wow... I didn’t actually think that you would...”

“I mean it,” he said. “Your tenacity shows promising potential for your recovery.”

Komaeda blinked at him once more before flickering his gaze to the ongoing meteor shower.

“...aha... How long has someone said something like that to me? Coming from you, it’s such a strange feeling.”

I suppose that it would be.

For a while, he was quiet even as he watched Komaeda brush back his hair, tucking ivory strands behind his ear. There are scars on his fingers. In the dark, they’re hard to see, even with the flashing meteor shower above, but—Kamukura knows very well every mark that overlays Komaeda’s skin.

They had been lovers once, after all.

...and now...?

“Komaeda Nagito... Nagito... I...” He swallowed. “I am...sorry that I was the one who came back.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Komaeda said so simply. “It’s not like you wanted to come back. And it’s not like he didn’t want to come back.”

“I... Yes...” His head hangs. “It is unfair, but it cannot be helped. Still, I regret this situation.”

I regret it so much that it hurts, and hurting feels like dying.

Komaeda hums, and he finishes his tea.

“Kamukura-kun,” he said. “If it’s any consolation, there are plenty of falling stars to wish on! You’re the probably only person who can say your wish three times fast enough! Go for it, Kamukura-kun! Go, go, go!”

Kamukura blinks at him, and stares blearily at the sky.

“...wishes...so trite...”

“You say that, but your eyes just twinkled, didn’t they?!”

“That is merely the reflection of the meteor shower.”

“I don’t belieeeeve that,” Komaeda sing-songs. “Just then, Kamukura-kun’s eyes held a spark of desperation! Of hope! My heart skipped a beat so I know it to be true!”

It had skipped a beat. Is that really why?

“Kamukura-kun.”

The chair scrapes against the ground.

“Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda said more seriously, facing him completely. “In times like these, hearts as dark as ours need all the light we can get.”

At that, Kamukura perked. And then, Komaeda smiled.

Just like that, Komaeda turned back to the falling stars.

“I hate those wayward former classmates of mine, but... I should at least wish on these shooting stars for their sake,” he said.

Kamukura frowns.

“Are you going to wish for his return as well?”

It hurts.

“If I tell you, the wish won’t come true,” Komaeda said cheekily. “But for what it’s worth, I’m wishing for Kamukura-kun’s sake as well.”

The words strung a chord of warmth.

“...you really are so sentimental, Komaeda Nagito.”

It’s one of those aspects to your character that I can’t help but...

Komaeda met his gaze and held it. Like the sky, his eyes were of scattered starlight. Starlight, with a smile softened by moonlight.

“Let’s do our best tomorrow, Kamukura-kun,” he chirped. “Let’s pretend that the very night sky is wishing us luck.”

Kamukura blinks back.

“Tomorrow I’ll get some reading, but I want to stretch out my legs more,” Komaeda wiggled his toes. “And Kamukura-kun should help me. If you help, I might just let you kiss my feet.”

“Ah,” he inhaled. “Very well.”

“Don’t touch my scars again though,” Komaeda snapped haughtily. “I’m not quite that comfortable with you quite yet! Even if I used to be, that’s not the case anymore. At least...not for the moment.”

“I understand.”

“And if I fall down, you’re not allowed to carry me back unless I’m unconscious!”

“Understood.”

“And also...! You really should style your hair! I know I said you should grow it out but it—it looks like a rat’s nest, Kamukura-kun! Very uncool! Very gross!”

“...ahhh...”

“It’s long enough to braid. So maybe we should do that from now on.” Komaeda clapped his feet. “How’s that sound?”

“Mm.”

“You also shouldn’t let my classmates take advantage of you,” Komaeda huffed matter-of-factly. “They’re grown. They can handle themselves. They shouldn’t expect so much from you. There’s only one Kamukura-kun in the world, after all.”

“Hm.”

“Only one Kamukura-kun! So we can’t afford to overwork him! It would be really bad if you were overworked so bad that you obtained a status down, right? Right?!”

Kamukura said nothing, but he did make a soft noise. To which Komaeda flustered once he realized.

“D... Did you just snort?!”

“No.”

“You did! You snorted!”

“I did not.”

“You definitely did!” Komaeda exclaimed heatedly. “T-That’s so...childish...! And here I was trying to be nice and helpful since you’ve been doing your best to help everyone...!”

Kamukura definitely snorted that time, and then, Komaeda’s breath caught.

“Thank you, Nagito.”

Komaeda shivered, cheeks pooling with a deep dark red.

“I... You look...really creepy...” He was starting to slur his words. His eyelids were drooping. “When you...smile...”

And just like that, Komaeda Nagito slumped, passing out. He was quick to catch and steady him, of course. Komaeda was unsurprisingly very light.

“...you overworked yourself as well,” Kamukura muttered into his hair, hoisting him up. “Pushing yourself so much for something so trivial and ultimately worthless and then getting so worked up...”

He says all that, and he notices the meteor shower stopping, leaving behind still, twinkling stars that would never move to the naked eye. He then brushes it off.

These kinds of cosmic coincidences are to be expected where Komaeda Nagito is involved.

With all that said and done, he really should carry Komaeda back to his room.

“Let’s pretend that the very night sky is wishing us luck.”

And he should retrieve everything Komaeda brought with him on a second trip. For now, though...

“Let’s do our best tomorrow,” he echoed as he carried Komaeda off. “To face a new day...”

For everyone’s sakes.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Dreamcatcher - Chapters 12 & 13

Prologue & Chapter one   Chapters 2&3   Chapters 4&5   Chapters 6&7

Chapters 8&9   Chapters 10&11

Cleveland Ohio May 4th 4:59pm

Scully attempted to negotiate the mid- afternoon traffic, weaving the rental car through the Downtown Ohio streets with one hand, even as she used the other to press the cel phone to her ear.

"C'mon Mulder....pick up the damn phone...."

She waited a few seconds until the clipped, correct tones of the cel-net computer generated operator began to ring annoyingly in her ear.

I'm sorry, the cellular customer you are trying to reach...

Shit.

Either he had switched off the phone in deference to the rigid hospital rules - rules which they both tended to disregard - or he had simply left his phone in the motel this morning.

Knowing her partner like she did, Scully would have bet money on the latter. But this knowledge did little to soothe her. She didn't like being out of contact with him, even for a couple of hours and especially not now, not when she was still trying to process the information given to her.

After the initial shock had worn off, she had hastily exited the Diner in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Mulder before he headed off to the Hospital. But, as good as his word, he was nowhere to be found and since Scully had the keys to the rental, she could only surmise that he had snagged a cab.

Her first point of call though, had not been the hospital.

Instead, she had driven the short distance across to the Coroner's office and picked up the print- outs of the Tox screen. Partly because she needed to see the evidence in black and white, but also partly so that she could better explain to Mulder what exactly they meant.

Which incidentally, was a joke in itself since even she wasn't sure what that might be.

The anger she had felt towards her partner had quickly dissipated. She wasn't exactly sure even where it had come from. It had risen up inside of her, unbidden and totally beyond her control. She had no right to take out her bad temper on him. he didn't deserve it, especially in light of the fact that she knew that his every action that day had been based on his concern for her.

He had done nothing more for her, than, given the exact same set of circumstances, she would have done for him.

And how had she repaid him?

Certainly not with even a semblance of gratitude that he actually cared enough to bother.

Instead, she had taken the anger she had felt towards herself, and turned it squarely around so as to direct it at him.

Maybe it was easier to do that than to admit how she was really feeling – that the day had been a hard one.

The headache had remained with her, pounding at her skull, making rational thought difficult at best.

And she was tired.

God she was so tired.

She wanted nothing more right now than to return to the motel. To sink her aching head in to the softness of the pillows. To close her eyes and let herself drift in to nothingness for a few hours.

And suddenly, the vaguest recollection of Mulder's arms around her. Feeling his warmth as he curled his body around hers. Whispering in to her hair, soothing her with his words, with his touch. Calming her in ways only he could.

Don't leave me Mulder

She had tried to remember the nightmare of the previous night. Tried so damn hard to sift through the mist that seemed to fill her head. Searching for answers to questions she wasn't even fully aware of asking. But the memory had remained elusive.

Just the feeling of his hands tracing slow circles on her back as she shook in his arms. The sound of his voice. His words. His beautiful, calming words which allowed her to relax into sleep again.

I'll never leave you Scully..

Scully blinked rapidly, to dispel the sudden prickling behind her eyes, not really noticing as her hold on the steering wheel tightened, whitening her knuckles as she fought to keep control.

Not even consciously aware that the darkness was lurking.

Ready to consume her.

XXXX

St Mary's Hospital 

It took a while for Scully to locate her partner.

The small Hospital was, if anything, even busier than it had been the previous night and she had to almost shout to make herself heard above the din.

Eventually though, the admitting nurse had found the time to search her records and direct her up to the third floor.

To Gina Robiks room.

Scully had escaped in to the elevator gratefully, watching as the doors slid shut on the chaos that seemed to permanently reign within the building's crowded ER. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't bother her. Working alongside Mulder for six years had taught her all about chaos, but today her aching head just couldn't handle it.

She found him seated in one of the hard plastic chairs that graced the corridor outside the girl’s room.

Head resting in his hands, he seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in the floor beneath his feet and for a second she paused, struck suddenly by the sight of him.

He appeared lost.

Defeated somehow.

Shaking off the thought that she might have in part contributed to this, she made her way along the corridor towards him. Long before she drew level though, he raised his head in her direction and Scully realised with a certain sense of wonderment that he could recognise her simply by listening to the sound of her footsteps. It shouldn't have surprised her she supposed. It was a skill she had acquired long ago with regards to him.

Had she ever in her life known anyone the way she knew him?

"Hey."

He straightened up, offering her a gentle smile that brightened his whole face.

He was pleased to see her at least.

During the drive over here, Scully had wrestled with the fear that he would be angry with her. Would hold what she’d said at the Diner against her somehow.

But she realised her fears had been groundless.

Mulder never held grudges. Already he would have analysed her actions. Broken them down in to easily understandable segments. Made allowances for her. Forgiven her. Their friendship was far too precious to him for her to expect anything less.

He shifted over slightly and inclined his head to the unoccupied chair beside him. It's surface littered with a few discarded sunflower seed husks that had somehow escaped the small, neat pile that adorned his own chair arm.

Scully couldn't help a smile.

Obviously, her partner had been engaged in some pretty serious thinking.

"You okay?"

That question again.

His deep hazel eyes searching her face, brows drawn together slightly as he voiced his concern for her once more.

Scully cleared her throat.

"I'm fine. I'm......I'm sorry about earlier..."

Mulder shrugged, careful not to make much of the fact that hearing that simple admission from her had the ability to make his heart contract painfully. He didn't need her apologies. He just wanted her to level with him, to tell him the truth about what was going on with her.

In the space of twenty-four hours Dana Scully had frightened him badly.

Not once, but twice.

And seeing her standing before him now did little to lessen the fear.

Quite apart from the fact that something obviously troubling her deeply, she looked exhausted to the point of collapse.

Her delicate features seemed pinched somehow, the skin that covered her face stretched too tightly as she attempted to return his smile. Even beneath the make-up, Mulder could see how pale she was. The dark circles were back. Her luminous blue eyes ringed by dark shadows that seemed to consume her whole face, stealing her usual vibrancy.

And if he was reading her right, he was pretty sure that she had been crying.

Recently.

Why can't you trust me Scully? Why is it always so hard with us?

She sat beside him wearily, and for the first time, he noticed the manila file she held loosely in her hand.

He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

Tired or not, she was immediately all business.

"I got the results of the Tox screen back. They called through just after you left....."

But then she trailed off, eyes fixed far in to the distance and Mulder finally reached out and took the file from her when he realised she wasn't about to continue. That she had drifted away.

And the worry was back.

Digging at him like a thousand needle points.

"Scully?...." he prompted softly, laying a hand briefly on her arm.

She jumped visibly at his touch, and he immediately backed off. Watching as she snapped back in to herself.

And Mulders eyes widened as he finally made the connection.

Jesus, she's afraid

Afraid of what though?

Before he could even open his mouth to speak she reached across and retrieved the folder from him. Opening it up and running her finger down the page, stopping finally on a group of words and numbers that might have well have been written in Swahili for all the sense they made to Mulder.

"I don't understand Scully. What am I looking at here?"

She didn't look at him, just kept her gaze riveted on the string of technical jargon as though the answers might jump right off the page at her.

"I can't even begin to explain it Mulder. It makes no sense, but what you're looking at here are individual enzymes used for the breakdown of cellular material......"

"What?"

Mulder's mouth dropped open at her words, feeling the gears beginning to turn in his head....

"What are you saying Scully? That this is......is...."

Scully raised her head once again, confusion evident on her face.

"It's venom Mulder. Secreted orally by spiders. Injected in to their prey. It softens the tissues, liquefies them. It also contains a kind of anaesthetic, to immobilise so that the spider can do its work without fear of harm........just like Caitlin Stevens described."

Mulder actually felt his stomach, complete with recently ingested contents do a slow, languid somersault inside his body as Scully's explanation hit home.

Hearing about this stuff from a frightened six year old was one thing.

Coming from the mouth of his scientifically minded partner was something else all together.

"Oh my God." he finally managed.

He was saved from having to articulate further by the door to the left of him opening suddenly, a nurse stepping across the threshold to bestow a smile on him that was way too dazzling for the moment.

"Agent Mulder? You can come in now."

She gestured in side, and Mulder immediately sprang to his feet.

Spider venom?

He pushed the questions that were burning inside of him to the back of his mind, arranging his expression in to one of practised neutrality. This wasn't the time or the place. He didn't think that the waiting parents of Gina Robik would appreciate him discussing this right now.

He entered the room quietly, feeling rather than seeing Scully follow him to stand close to his side.

The room seemed sparse somehow.

A single bed taking up most of the floor space. No monitors, no respirator to jostle for position beside it. Just a single bed containing the still form of an eight year old little girl, who looked for all the world as though she were simply sleeping.

The only piece of medical equipment that Mulder could see was the IV line that snaked from its stand, coiling slightly across the covers until it disappeared in to the soft skin at the back of Gina's hand.

Feeding her as she slept.

Two sets of worried eyes fastened on him as he entered the room.

Gina's parents.

Both displaying that same haunted look he had seen a thousand times before. The look of two people tying desperately to hold on to even the smallest thread of hope.

He extended his hand.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder. My partner Dana Scully. Thank you for agreeing to see us....."

The woman shook her head slightly, disregarding him immediately, and riveting her gaze back on her daughter.

"How is she?" He queried.

"No change...."

The woman's voice cracked slightly as she voiced the words and Mulder was uncomfortably aware of the tears that spilled from her half closed eyes and tracked down her face in a steady, silent stream.

He felt awkward, as though he were an interloper, his presence unwanted, unwarranted.

"I appreciate this is a difficult time for you." he ventured gently "But we need to ask you a few questions......would you prefer if we went somewh.."

"We're staying right here."

Gina's father cut him off abruptly and Mulder recognised the barely suppressed anger churning beneath the surface.

"We should never have agreed to her going to that damn place in the beginning"

Mulder didn't respond.

He knew that he wasn't expected to.

Instead, he pulled a chair close to the two distraught figures before him. Scully remained standing, her gaze riveted on the bed where Gina lay, the sound of her partner's voice barely even registering as he began to softly question the child's parents.

And then, the voice faded out altogether, to be replaced with a whispering stillness that dipped and swirled inside Scully's head.

She took a step forward. Listening intently all the while as the whispering became clearer, more pronounced.

Come closer

Another step.

Hands clenched into fists, a part of her, the rational part attempted to deny the voice. But it was too strong.

The sound of a child.

Calling out to her.

Come closer Dana. Come see.

From across the room, Mulder frowned as he watched his partner's face go alarmingly blank, hardly listening to the response of the Robik parents to his question.

His attention was riveted on Scully as she took a hesitant step towards the bed, her head cocked slightly to the side, as though she were trying to figure out a particularly perplexing problem.

Her hands were tightly clenched into fists at the end of arms that hung limply at her sides.

Time seemed to stand still as he watched the drama unfolding before him, even now unsure as to what he was seeing.

And all the while, Dana Scully drifted.

She was no longer aware of her surroundings.

The rooms' contours had blurred together, getting lost in her peripheral vision until they ceased to exist altogether.

Leaving only the child before her.

Innocent. Peaceful. Serene.

Nestled snugly beneath a canopy of fine spun lace that shimmered and sparkled in the strange half light, Gina Robik slept. Wrapped in dreams, she sighed contentedly in her sleep.

Scully smiled at this vision before her.

Drinking in the beauty of the child.

Rich ebony hair, spread across a pillow of ivory silk, wafting gently in the sweet breeze that kept her comfortable as she slumbered. Pink rosebud lips parted gently in a smile of absolute tranquillity.

A scene so breathtakingly perfect that Scully couldn't help but stroke a finger along the smooth porcelain of the little girls flushed cheeks........

"What the hell is she doing?"

Michael Robik sprang to his feet the instant Scully reached out to his daughter and the spell was broken. Shattered in to a thousand pieces as Scully jerked back abruptly.

Mulder followed Robik a split second later, catching a hold of the smaller man's arm even as he took a step towards Scully.

"Wait." He ordered forcibly.

Scully blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her eyes were wide, and what little colour she had drained out of her face.

To Mulder it seemed like this moment of realisation was frozen in time as a sudden terrible clarity flooded her features and she took a stumbling step backwards, seeking escape from a horror only she understood.

She brought a closed fist up to her mouth, pressing against it as though biting back a scream. Her breathing was harsh, laboured, reverberating around the sterile surfaces and to Mulders mind at least, blocking everything else out. She remained there for long seconds, until, just as Mulder was about to go to her, she uttered an anguished cry and fled the room.

Ignoring the incredulous stares of the Robiks, Mulder followed.

"Scully!.....Wait!"

He caught up with her easily. She seemed disorientated somehow, frowning heavily, as though trying to place him in her thoughts.

Mulder took a hold of her upper arms, forcing her to look at him, heart sinking as he felt her limbs trembling beneath him, hardly lessening as she slowly came back to him.

The returning was painful for her though. The tears that pooled in her eyes told him as much. Unable to speak, she just shook her head from side to side, an expression of absolute wretchedness obscuring every other emotion from him, and Mulder felt something inside of him turn to stone.

"Scully. It's okay........"

The tears spilled to run unchecked. A salty river that seemed to have no end, they collected in droplets at the edge of her fixed jaw line to drip on to the fabric of her tailored suit.

Oh God Scully, what? What is it? Please......

"Mulder......"

Again, that same whispered voice he had heard before, almost hidden behind the hitching sobs that tore at her throat.....

"Please Mulder. Take me out of here....."

XXXXX

Chapter Thirteen

Eeazy Sleep Motel Cleveland, Ohio May 4th 6:01pm

She hadn't spoken.

Not one word since they had left the hospital.

Ignoring the curious stares of the medical personnel, Mulder had placed an arm protectively around her shaking shoulders, steering her toward the hospital's exit and the parking lot beyond.

She had stood, shivering slightly beside the car as she waited for him to unlock the doors, not resisting when he ushered her gently inside. Just closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the smooth coolness of the side window.

Take me out of here

Mulder had complied, breaking several speed limits as he wove the rental through the rush hour traffic. Occasionally he rested one hand protectively against his partner's shoulder, partly to protect her from being jarred or shaken by the vehicle's momentum, but also by a need to touch her. To let her know he was with her.

She remained silent.

Unmoving.

Unresponsive to his touch.

Retreating inside herself as she stared sightlessly through the passenger door window.

If he lived to be a hundred, Mulder would never forget that look he had seen in her eyes when she had hovered over Gina Robik.

Such horror.

Such hopelessness.

Take me out of here.

Blinking back the image, Mulder concentrated on the road ahead.

Whatever Scully has seen or experienced back at that Hospital, she was in no shape to talk about it now. That would come later.

Right now he had to make things okay for her again.

Nothing else mattered to him.

By some small miracle, he managed to get them back to the motel in one piece, allowing the car to roll to a gentle halt in front of their twin rooms. He turned the key slowly in the ignition, quieting the engine, letting the silence wash over them for a few seconds before he reached over and placed two fingers underneath Scully's chin, drawing her head around so that she faced him.

"Let's get you inside."

He was rewarded when she nodded numbly, her shaking hands fumbling for the seat belt release. Mulder cringed as he watched those normally dexterous fingers failing hopelessly with the task, until finally, he covered both her small hands with his larger one, and released the clasp without difficulty.

Her eyes filled with tears again.

"Mulder, what's happening to me?"

Her voice shook tremulously, seeking answers from him that he couldn't possibly hope to give her, and Mulder could do little more than to trace his thumb down the side of her face, pausing to push a strand of hair behind ear. It was the only vibrant thing about her.

"It's OK, Scully. We're gonna figure this thing out. You and me. Together."

She shook her head slightly.

"No...but..."

"Yes. But first we have to get you inside okay? Just...just let me take care of you."

Looking into the depths of his chameleon eyes, turned almost black with the intensity of his words, Scully had felt just the smallest measure of calm return to her.

And, through the layers of confusion and fear, she grasped onto the feeling with both hands, allowing it build inside of her, settling in her stomach. Chasing away the darkness that lingered, replacing it with the hope that somehow, some way, he could help her to make everything right again.

XXXX

As good as his word, Mulder had not yet mentioned the events that had transpired earlier. He had simply focused himself on delivering what he had promised. He had taken care of her.

Leading her by the hand as one might lead a small child, he had crossed the room and entered the small, compact bathroom.

She had been shaking still, her skin ice cold beneath his touch and although he was no doctor, Mulder was pretty sure that she was suffering from a mild case of shock. He needed to start by warming her up. His options were pretty much limited, and the bathtub seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was either that, or simply wrap her in blankets, holding her against him, transferring his own heat to her.

But he sensed she needed this time. Time to relax her mind and body beneath the soothing caress of the water.

So he had remained in the room only for as long as it had taken for him to fill the tub, carefully mixing hot and cold until the temperature was just right. Warm enough to take the lingering chill from her body, but not so hot that it would burn.

And all the while she had watched him, never taking her eyes off him for a second as she leaned against the tiled wall, trying desperately to communicate a kind of silent gratitude which stubborn pride prevented her from voicing.

But Mulder had known. He didn't need her to speak. Words weren't necessary.

Finally, he had stepped up close to her, searching her face intently, satisfied in some small way by what he saw there. He gestured toward the bathtub, now three quarters full and emitting spirals of heat- filled steam that rapidly turned to condensation as it hit the tiled surface of the walls. "Take as long as you need. I'll be right outside."

And then he was gone. Leaving Scully staring after him, breathing in the lingering scent he left in his wake. A combination of spicy cologne, sweat and that unique male muskiness that was Mulder. In all the years they had spent together, that scent represented only one thing to her.

Safety.

She noticed that he had left the door slightly ajar, and under normal circumstances she might have closed it.

But right now she needed to feel his presence.

Needed to know he was close.

Don't leave me, Mulder.

I'll never leave you, Scully.

She needed him.

Maybe now it was time to finally acknowledge to herself just how much.

Sighing heavily, feeling exhausted suddenly, Scully undressed quickly and stepped into the sweet-smelling water, allowing it to close over her as it worked its magic, sinking deeper and deeper until it covered her completely.

On the other side of the door, Mulder remained in the centre of the room, listening intently for any signs that his partner might be in distress. He relaxed, though, when the sounds of the water lapping against the sides of the tub reached him. He didn't expect her to surface anytime soon, so he occupied himself by preparing the small room for her.

First, he loosened the covers on the bed, pulling them down about a quarter of the way and folding them over. She was exhausted, she needed to sleep. Maybe when she was rested, they could begin to get to the bottom of this. To figure out just what it was that was happening, to understand why this was happening to her.

He didn't profess to have any insight into all of this, but as he had watched the way she had acted in that hospital room, a niggling voice had begun to speak to him. And while he didn't want to acknowledge it fully, he was becoming more and more convinced that somehow, inexplicably, Scully might well hold the key in to figuring out what had happened to those girls.

He shook his head, not wanting to linger on this numbing prospect right now and instead turned his attention to the rest of the room.

The sunlight still streamed through the open drapes, the beams cutting a swath through the gloom. Bright enough for the dust motes that danced inside them to be clearly visible.

It was too bright.

He crossed over to the drapes and drew them together tightly. Satisfied when the light disappeared, he switched on a single lamp, watching as the room became suffused in its warm glow.

In this false twilight of his own making, Mulder moved softly, his feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor beneath them. He frowned as he reached the small, squat refrigerator to the side of the chipped wooden desk, unsure suddenly as to whether he was doing the right thing.

Neither he nor Scully drank regularly. On the very rare occasions when they had chosen to dine at a nicer restaurant when on a case, she had normally stuck to white wine spritzers, Mulder to bottled, imported beer. He couldn't recall a time when she had ever indulged herself in anything stronger.

But, even she, with all her stubborn determination, couldn't possibly deny that these weren't normal circumstances, so Mulder shook off any lingering reservations and removed two tiny bottles of brandy from the mini bar. No doubt the tight-assed bureaucrats back in Washington would have something to say when they received his latest batch of expense reports.

Mulder shrugged.

Screw 'em.

He'd long ago stopped worrying about what they thought of him anyway.

He set the two bottles down on the desk, allowing them to slowly reach room temperature, forcing himself to finally sit down on the edge of the sofa.

Waiting.

Determined not to give in to his concern and call out to her. She'd come out when she was ready.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait too long. No more than a half hour had elapsed before he recognized the sounds of water swirling around the drain as the tub emptied. Five minutes later Scully emerged, clad in a pair of emerald flannel pyjamas he had never seen before. A towel lay across her shoulders to catch the droplets of water that hung off her recently washed hair and although she still looked drawn, Mulder was at least heartened to see the small spots of colour that had returned to grace her cheeks.

She paused in the centre of the room, eyes downcast, as though she were ashamed somehow.

Mulder felt his chest tighten at the sight of her. She looked so tiny, so fragile and more lost than he had ever seen her.

"I'm...I'm sorry Mulder."

He was on his feet in a second, reaching her in two short strides. She cringed slightly, but didn't seek to escape him. Not this time. She allowed him to cup her chin in his hand, lifting her head in answer to the gentle pressure, feeling the feather-light touch as his thumb caressed her smooth skin softly.

"Don't be. Not with me. Never with me, Scully."

He traced his hand down her neck, along her shoulder and beyond, until it rested against the small of her back.

"C'mon. You need to keep warm."

Scully resisted him slightly. The feel of his touch was comforting, and she didn't want to break the connection just yet

As if reading her mind, Mulder led her gently to the sofa, leaving her standing for a second as he reached behind her to retrieve the soft woollen blanket he had placed there earlier.

"Here."

With infinite tenderness, he carefully brought the material around her, wrapping her in its heavy warmth, before removing the towel from around her neck. His movements were so quiet, so measured, that Scully could have cried. Instead, she felt a tremulous smile wash over her lips as he took her hand in his, drawing her down on the sofa to rest her body against his.

And then, the feeling of him twisting away from her slightly as he stretched his arm out, picking up the glass into which he had recently poured the small shot of brandy.

"I want you to drink this."

Scully took the glass from him and regarded its contents dubiously.

"Mulder, I..."

The words died on her lips as she felt his fingers in her hair, combing patiently as he freed the tangles caused by her recent bath. A singularly intimate gesture that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Sshhhh, Scully. It's okay. Just drink it."

Closing her eyes, she obeyed, melting herself against him as the alcohol cut a fiery trail down her throat before settling pleasantly in her stomach. She sighed as she felt herself relax, the tension leaving her body, until there was nothing.

Just Mulders hands.

And the feel of his breath on the back of her neck as he worked on her hair.

Scully drifted.

"You hungry?"

His voice reached her from far away, invading that wonderful place that lies somewhere between awake and asleep.

She shook her head slightly, unable to summon up the energy to even open her eyes. Her lids felt heavy, exhaustion stealing even this most basic reflex from her. And even as she succumbed to sleep, she felt Mulder loosen the empty glass from her hand, removing it from her as he buried his face in the sweet smelling softness of her hair.

"It's okay.” He whispered softly. “Go to sleep."

She felt his arms tighten around her, drawing her closer, cocooning her in his embrace; allowing her finally, to fall into nothingness. Her last conscious thought one of safety.

Of protection.

XXXXX

Dreamcatcher May 4th 7:17pm

It was dazzling. A light so bright that Scully could still see the glare even after she slammed her eyes closed, and with the light came pain.

Pain so intense that she couldn't help but cry out.

It radiated from deep within her, an all encompassing, dreadful pain.

She felt her legs folding beneath her and she began to fall, through the light, tumbling endlessly toward nothingness as she finally blacked out.

And then, later, the feel of a hand in her hair, stroking softly, bringing her back to alertness.

Mulder?

She dismissed the thought.

No, not Mulder.

But if not Mulder, then who?

"Dana?"

Scully struggled to open her eyes in response to the voice, fighting against the urge to just sink back into peaceful oblivion. Every muscle, every bone, every fibre of her being ached and she was terribly afraid that to wake up completely would just serve to intensify the pain.

"Dana..."

That voice again.

Louder this time.

More insistent.

Scully groaned softly, knowing that she couldn't hope to ignore it for very much longer, and almost against her will she felt her eyes flutter open, struggling to focus on the child's face that hovered above her.

"It hurts," she whispered.

Felicia smiled gently as she once more began to run her small hand up and down Scully's hair. Stroking softly, calming.

"It's okay. It always hurts the first time. It goes away," she said matter-of-factly.

Scully struggled up in to a sitting position.

"The first time?"

Felicia shrugged.

"The first time you have to find your way here by yourself. I can only help you to come here once. Then you have to do it by yourself. It gets easier, though. You just have to stop fighting it."

She watched as Scully stretched out her limbs, knowing that the pain was abating.

A little at least.

In a few minutes, it would disappear completely.

"I don't understand. Where am I? How did I get here?"

Scully finally allowed herself to look around, to take in her surroundings.

Green grass beneath a canopy of giant redwoods so tall that she became sickeningly dizzy when she tilted her face upward to better appreciate them. It was cool here, the trees effectively blocking out the sunshine that she was sure lay beyond. The coolness was welcome, and she let it wash over her.

Fliss cocked her head on one side, frowning slightly as she did so.

"Don't you know? Even after last time?"

Scully began to shake her head, but almost immediately realization hit.

"The Dreamcatcher?" she whispered, her words almost swallowed up by the gentle rustling of the leaves above her. "But that was a dream...a nightmare..."

In response to her words, Fliss's expression darkened suddenly, and Scully had to fight the urge to physically recoil from the child.

"You think all this..." 

The girl waved her arm in a wide curving arc as her voice rose in pitch. 

"You think all this is a dream? Conjured up by your subconscious? I thought you were smarter than that. Smarter than the others. I thought you would be the one who could help us."

The child stopped suddenly, her body stiffening, a study in absolute unwavering stillness, and Scully's heart began to beat painfully against her chest. Something in the girl's expression chilled her to the very core, and inexplicable as it might be her every instinct screamed out at her to simply scramble to her feet and run far away from this place.

But she found she couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe as she watched the colour drain from Fliss's face.

It was all she could do to reach out a shaking hand and wrap her fingers around the girl's slender arm.

The skin was ice cold.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Fliss snatched her arm out of Scully's grasp, finding her voice at last as she bolted to her feet.

"We have to go. He's coming."

Scully just stared at her dumbly.

"What?"

It's getting darker. Why is it getting darker?

She was hardly conscious of the thought. Focused as she was on the terrified child before her, Scully had barely noticed the lengthening shadows that crept toward them, consuming everything in their path, obliterating shape and form as it ate into the safety of the light.

Fliss, though, had noticed and realization flooded her features as she reached down and roughly hauled Scully to a standing position, oblivious of the woman's shriek of pain as her protesting muscles cramped suddenly and painfully.

"Run, Dana! We have to run."

Scully took an uncertain, faltering step in response to the insistent tugging, but the pain was too great and she sank once more to the ground, almost bringing Fliss down with her. Tears poured down the child's face as her face twisted into a grotesque mask of terror and pain.

"GET UP!! PLEASE GET UP!!"

She began to tug once again at Scully's arm, as though sheer will power alone could get her on her feet and moving again. But Scully just shook her head numbly.

"I can't."

"YOU HAVE TO!!! PLEASE TRY. PLEASE.....”

Scully slammed her eyes closed in an attempt to block out the sound of the shrieking child, a child who suddenly seemed so much younger than she had previously.

A voice from another time, another place.

Emily?

And suddenly, the voice was gone. It was replaced with an eerie silence, an inexplicable sense of calm as the darkness closed in.

Slowly, tentatively, Scully opened her eyes. The action, though, was futile, consumed as she was by an inky blackness so intense that she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face. As though to affirm that she was even here at all she brought her hand closer, starting slightly as her probing fingertips made sudden contact with the soft skin of her own cheek.

She wasn't even aware of whether she was still sitting in a crumpled heap on the ground. She could feel absolutely nothing; it was as though she were suspended in a space that stretched to infinity.

And then she heard it. A faint buzzing sound, a sound that got closer and closer even as she strained to identify it. With the buzzing came a series of vibrations, the feeling travelling through her body as though she herself were a conductor for this strange phenomenon.

She began to shake as the vibrations intensified, and felt the fillings in her back teeth begin to rattle in answer to the unearthly motion around her.

This is not happening. I need to wake up now.

She let out a long, shaky breath as the vibration suddenly ceased. She closed her eyes once again in an attempt to gain some control of her shaking limbs, and then the world seemed to stand still as she felt it.

Hot, fetid breath on her neck.

Hot enough to burn almost.

For a split second she was frozen by the sheer terror that hammered at her, and then the spell was broken as she whirled to confront this unknown assailant. Her outstretched hands made sudden contact with a warm, slightly textured surface.

Leather?

But she hardly had time to register the thought before the pain hit her. Radiating from the tips of her fingers, it obliterated lateral thought, a burning, agonizing hurt that forced bile to rise in the back of her throat.

Dimly she was conscious of a wailing, agonized, scream. The sound bounced around her to be swallowed up in the darkness, growing fainter and fainter as the pain consumed her.

She vaguely felt the iron grip that suddenly wrapped itself around her, and even as she screamed, she fought against it with every ounce of energy she possessed, striking out blindly, feeling her fingernails sinking into soft, pliant flesh.

The grip on her loosened marginally, and she scrambled backwards, tumbling sideways in her haste to escape. Her head connected solidly with a hard, unyielding surface, the shock of which was enough to prompt her eyes to fly open.

The darkness was gone. It was replaced with a soft orange light that framed the bruised and bloody face of her partner as he stared uncomprehendingly down at her from his position on the sofa.

"Scully?"

He didn't seem to be aware of the blood that trickled from the long ragged rent that stretched from the corner of his eye to halfway down his cheekbone. His focus was directed solely on the woman before him. Watching her carefully, searching for signs that she was awake, that she was back in control.

Scully couldn't speak. Didn't trust herself to open her mouth without screaming again, and instead settled on nodding slightly. But as she reached out to him, partly seeking comfort, partly in a silent apology, as his eyes widened in horror.

"Jesus Christ, Scully!"

Scully frowned up at him, her mind still fuzzy, refusing to process thought into action. Eventually though, she managed to force the word out.

"What?"

Mulder shuddered, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

"Your hand. What the hell happened to your hand?"

And then she saw what he saw.

The soft, white skin. Now red and angry.

Covered in a blanket of fluid-filled blisters that distorted the delicate shape of her tapered fingers.

And the pain returned with a ferocity that took her breath away.

Continued chapter fourteen