#also how are older people even lucid and can notice time because i ate a red apple today and thought saint nicolas day was soon...

[ynwa4eva]

.

[spenciegoob]

Cracked Mirror

A/N: hi, I continued to see a bunch of “season 2 Spencer would be so scared of season 12 Spencer, so I decided why not write them meeting? let’s do it, baby super angsty :P it took everything in me to not tag ‘how it should’ve gone’ but basically this is ‘how it should've gone.’

Summary: Spencer Reid? Meet a very much older Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Season 15 Spencer & Season 2 Spencer

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: no ship, mentions of drug addiction, drug abuse, Tobias Hankel, Maeve, mentions of Jeid

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

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Spencer 15:

The smell was always the first thing I noticed when I woke up from a restless sleep. It meant I was alive, that the terrors that danced across my eyelids like a ballad of the doomed were not real. I never believed in the Higher Power, but if there was an Evil Spirit, it possessed my mind the second my guard fluctuated.

The smell, however, the one made up of stiff air that paralyzed you and blood you weren’t sure was yours, that smell meant I got to live another day.

It also meant I could still die.

But now I woke up in a startle because I wasn’t supposed to be here. I escaped this place before, I made it out. Did my only indicator of life just turn into my own personal Hell? Was I finally gone, seconds ago hoping for rest only to come to the conclusion that I would never get the chance?

I was back in a gray jumpsuit, and what scared me the most was how quickly I got up to make my bed.

“Reid, you have a visitor.”

Spencer 2:

They say every person in their career has a moment that changes the way they view their job forever, and I would’ve liked to continue to believe I had mine already, when I put away the first unsub that didn’t deserve the life they were unfortunately gifted to live out. I know I couldn’t sleep much after.

But now that I hurry past empty cells and recreation rooms on my way to a stone box with a killer, I changed my mind.

This was my moment.

I had to keep up with Hotch, and I wish it was because I was scared of getting lost, but it wasn't. If I lose Hotch, I’m afraid I’ll lose my life.

We just had to reach the interrogation room, and we’ll be fine. We just have to talk to... to who?

Who are we here to see? Why am I here?

“Hotch.” The older man stopped his fast pace to turn to me exasperated. I would have that expression too if someone stopped me in a place like this, but here I am, feet stuck to ground like a fear-inducing glue because I can’t remember why I’m here.

“What’s wrong, Reid?”

“Why am I here?” Hotch didn’t get angry, or confused at my question. Instead, Hotch’s face turned into something that was a prized rarity at other times, but right now, it ran my blood cold.

He nodded at me, his face visibly relaxing with understanding, and kindness spreading from his eyes into mine.

“You have someone here you need to see.”

And then he just continued the path we were on until we reached a metal door with a window not large enough to see who was waiting for me on the other side. I didn’t get too close, giving myself a 5 foot head start in case I needed to run, but Hotch would never put me in a position like that, right?

He would never use me as a pawn in a game of life or death.

“Whenever you’re ready.” By the time all the questions flooded through my head like a tsunami that made it to the tip of my tongue, Hotch was gone. 

The invisible magnetic field between myself and the door was a force backed up by science. I felt the way it tugged me forward, like negative and positive electrons charming me with the song of the buzzer unlocking it.

When I was ready, he said. Would I ever be ready for the feeling that washed over me? I felt the weight of the world rest on my shoulders, stuck in an ocean made entirely of resin, slowly hardening around me to keep me trapped.

But I still grasped the cool metal doorknob, and I wish I took a deep breath before entering. It was the wrong call on my part, because I walked in and all the oxygen left my lungs in a flash.

The air in the room felt different. It hung with the purpose of imprisoning those who dare breathe it into their lungs. Enchantment and intoxication were meant to hold beauty and grace, leading the charmed to a fulfillment in life worth living.

But the eyes of Medusa were in the room with me, and I was stupid enough to turn to stone.

“Who are you?” How could I ask that? I knew the answer by looking into his eyes. I say his, because they weren’t mine. Sure, they had the same hazel color, and the same round, boyish shape, but they looked so dull. Sadness, the kind that moves mountains and starts wars, was buried deep in the beholder, casting a shadow over his soul. 

I didn’t stare for very long. I couldn’t.

“You know who I am.” His voice was worse. “I know why I’m here. Sit down.”

“I- I just... Absolutely not! This is- this, I- I can’t. I have to get out of here.” Insanity! It had to be. I was staring at a person I didn’t know, yet knew every little detail about, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Sit down before you panic.” There was no point in lying and saying I was fine, he knew it would be a lie. We weren’t just profilers.

So I sat, taking my time to round the table and pull the chair farther back to establish a far enough distance between us. He did the same. Of course he did.

“Answer my question,” I whispered, looking down at the place where the leg of the table met the top.

“There are far better questions to ask me.” He was right, there were more pressing matters at hand, but how do you ask someone what landed them in a jumpsuit when you were terrified of the answer?

“Did- is time travel a thing?” The second the question left my mouth, I realized how absurd it was, but so was staring into the cracked funhouse mirror I was currently stuck in front of.

“Come on, we don’t have much time, and that’s what you want to ask me? Dig deeper.” Is this how Morgan feels when I’m always right?

How could I dig deeper when it all went so far that the only thing consuming my soul was a bottomless black hole? The memories flashing from projectors all around me as I sank further until eventually my oxygen ran out. Going deeper meant letting the weight of my heart push against my chest like a rock thrown into the depths of the ocean, but I suppose he would follow me.

“What happened?” I looked up to see him take a deep breath, leaning back in the chair with careful contemplation. There was something more though, something that lingered the second we met eyes.

Jealousy. There was nothing of myself to be jealous about, however.

“We made too many mistakes.” We. Only one of us was in the jumpsuit. There had to be some way to avoid that, right?

“God, this is insane!” I promptly shouted, standing up frantically. “You’re the prisoner here, not me, okay? I didn’t do anything. You did. How am I even here? What is happening, I don’t understand.” At the end of my yelling, I was so far out of breath that I had to lean against the wall. “What is this?”

“Tobias Hankel.” No no no, it can’t be. Am I dead?

“Sit down.” I listened immediately this time, too exasperated to care about being cautious about it.

“You’re with him right now, and from what I can tell, you’re probably in a drug-induced dream.” My head shot up at the mention of Tobias’s coping mechanism for myself. “When you wake up, I don’t expect you to hold onto hope, but for that quick second you let go, don’t feel guilty about it. It will eat you alive if you do.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but I’m right, and you need to listen to everything I’m telling you.” I was never one to make demands like this.

“And if I do? Will it stop me from becoming you?”

“No, probably not.” Before I had the chance to get angry again, I watched the way his eyes started to glisten with tears. I watched him crack a little bit more, adding to the already gaping slashes across his heart. How many more until he breaks?

“Leave them in his pocket,” he continued after taking a grounding deep breath. “You don’t need it.”

“What are you talking about?” Secretly, I knew what he was meant, because after this nightmare ended I would be back in a far worse one silently begging to return to this interrogation room. 

There were so many thoughts running through my head that it was hard to focus on just one. Plus, I wasn’t really getting any context here.

“I don’t think I can give you many details. I don’t even know if we’ll remember this, or how I got here, but we don’t have much time. There are so many things you need to know.”

“I know practically everything.”

“No you don’t, kid. You know nothing.” He suddenly stood up, walking over to the wall on our left, leaning a hand against it and hanging his head. “When you feel like something is wrong with him, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell Hotch, request time off, do whatever you have to do. Just, go visit him.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know.” There was so much guilt in his voice that I felt it in my chest. It was like a hole was drilled into me, leaving my heart exposed to vultures who wouldn’t hesitate to rip pieces from me.

“What about my mom? Do I... you know?”

“No, you don’t, but promise me something.” He turned to look at me again, hazel meeting hazel. “On days that she’s lucid, tell her everything. Tell her what you ate for breakfast, and that one time Morgan fell trying to kick a door open. Tell her about the dark parts, about how much you love her. Tell her everything.”

“Oh God is she-”

“No. I don’t think I should be telling you that, but no. Don’t think like that.” As if remembering something, he rushed back over to sit down, pulling his chair in and leaning over the table. “Stop running every negative outcome of every situation in your head. Be careful, but don’t be so careful it becomes reckless. That’s how people get hurt, including you.”

“Is that what happened to you? Is that how you ended up here?”

“No. I’m innocent, always was. I ended up in here because I let myself get blinded by a fantasy I had no business dreaming about. There’s going to be times for you to have dreams bigger than yourself, but the second they start to become nightmares, you have to pull yourself back. Don’t get trapped, kid.”

“You know, Morgan calls me ‘kid’. I don’t really know if I like it or not.”

“You’ll come to love it, but with Morgan, don’t push him away. He’s one of the only few people in this world that won’t scrutinize or judge you, and you need to be honest with him.”

“Why?” After asking, I immediately regretted it, because his answer was the one I’ve been dreading the most.

“Because things are going to hurt you, and it’s okay to ask for help every once in a while.”

“What things? Tell me,” I begged, rushing my words and internally cringing at how desperate I sound, but I needed to know. I needed to know the truth.

“When you fall in love, tell her.” He casted his eyes downward, staring at his hands rough and calloused from the years, kind of like Hotch.

“Is it... is it JJ?”

“No,” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head softly. “You’ll learn one day the difference between being in love with someone, and just simply loving them.”

I couldn’t help the disappointment spread through me for a second, but I quickly gained my composure when I remembered I’m sitting across a profiler.

“This is too much.” My brain was starting to hurt.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” A question crossed my mind causing my hands to stop their fidgeting for just a moment, but as quickly as it came, it was gone and my hands resumed. He caught it though. Of course he did.

“What was that thought?”

“My d-” I cleared my throat before continuing. “William. Did he ever...?” I let the words fade out, hoping that he would understand where I was going. He did. Of course he did.

“No.” He took a deep breath, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching tightly. “He didn’t.”

“Oh.” While I was disappointed, he looked angry. As sick and twisted as it was, I wish I was more like him. Even with the despairing look in his eyes that came with agonizing memories, he was the man everyone expected me to be. 

He looked at me as if he also wished the roles were reversed. Of course he did.

The edges of the room slowly started to get fuzzy, my vision blurring for a second. “You’re waking up.”

“Can- can I ask you something?” Even though I was terrified of the answer.

“Of course.”

“When did it all go wrong?” He let out a long sigh before running his hands down his face.

“I can’t tell you the exact moment, because even I’m not sure. I can tell you that even when it doesn’t feel like it, you’re alive. You survived, and on some days that’s all that’s going to matter.”

“Do you smell that?” Please say yes, because the smell of burning fish hearts and livers was burning my nostrils and clouding my head.

“Wake up, Spencer. It’s okay.”

“Wait!”

Spencer 15:

My eyes shot open only to be met with blinding lights that seared my pupils. The beeping coming from the machine next to me was the second thing I noticed, and the third was a very alarmed Penelope.

“What happened?” My voice was raspy, and my throat burned intensely.

“You don’t remember? Spencer, you collapsed.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. Logically, I knew I probably sustained a head injury from the explosion, but when I tried to think beyond that, my brain got fuzzy.

“Are you okay? You know, besides the whole passing out thing?”

“Y-yeah, I just.” I stopped talking. Just what? Penelope hummed curiously for me to continue, but I couldn’t.

“I think I got a second chance.” No matter how vague it was, how little she knew of what that truly meant, Penelope beamed with joy at my answer, and I smiled right back.

“I’ll go get the doctor.” And when she left, I stared up at the ceiling, hoping that the scared kid I used to be took my advice.

____

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[pandora15]

(Bedridden AU Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 5)

Bant lead Anakin out of the Halls to one of the smaller meditation rooms, saying that it was best if they spoke in private.

It made sense, Anakin supposed, but something about Bant’s need for secrecy made him worry even more.

There was something about Obi-Wan that Bant knew.  Whatever it was, it explained what was happening to him right now, and it seemed like it was something deeply personal to Obi-Wan.

After Bant closed the door, she moved to one of the meditation cushions, motioning at Anakin to sit across from her.  Anakin sat, looking expectedly at Bant.

The Mon Calamari let out a long breath, her eyes bright and expressive.

“Anakin,” she said finally, voice soft, “this is something extremely personal to Obi-Wan.  I had hoped he would tell you eventually, but...”

Anakin closed his eyes as an image of Obi-Wan staring up at him with glazed eyes, shrinking away from him, calling him Vader for some reason.

“I’m telling you this so you can help him,” Bant continued, voice shaking slightly.

Anakin nodded, and Bant exhaled again, as though she was preparing herself.

“This is...not the first time something like this has happened to Obi-Wan.”

Anakin blinked, shock worming its way through his veins, freezing his body to the spot.

The Force shuddered.

Bant frowned.  “Well, the stroke was a first,” she amended.  “It never got that bad before.”

Anakin swallowed.  “What do you mean?”

Another sigh, and Bant’s shoulders slumped.

“We were very young—Obi was about five years old when it all started, I believe.  We were both in the crèche, in the same clan, as I’m sure you know.”  Bant’s eyes met his, and Anakin felt the urge to look away at something else, anything else.

He didn’t.

“Obi-Wan would sometimes get visions during the night,” Bant continued.  “At first, they were mild.  He would get tired from the lack of sleep, but short naps during the day would help.”

Visions?  Obi-Wan had never mentioned that he had visions in the past.  In fact, when Anakin was having visions of his mother’s death before Geonosis, all Obi-Wan told him was that dreams passed in time.

And, of course, that did not help matters when his mother died anyways, despite Anakin’s efforts to save her.

“Then, the visions got worse.”  Bant’s voice trembled slightly.  “We would hear him screaming during the night, every night.  The crèchemasters eventually had to separate him from the rest of us while we slept, and they had to take turns monitoring him.”

“Does that happen a lot?” Anakin asked.

“To other people?” At Anakin’s nod, Bant sighed.  “Well, sometimes other younglings would get the occasional intense vision or nightmare, and the Masters would separate take them to another room to console them and bring them some peace.”

“Right,” Anakin said, remembering the few times he had volunteered in the crèche as a Padawan.  He’d witnessed it himself, but it was a rare occurrence.  In fact, visions that intense were limited to only a few Jedi.

He just never realized that Obi-Wan was among those few.

“But this was happening every night for Obi-Wan, and eventually, they got so bad that Master Yoda had to come in and help.”

It was a well-known fact in the Temple that Master Yoda was well-versed with visions.  He remembered, in the horrible days that followed Geonosis, Obi-Wan gently suggesting that Anakin speak to Yoda about the visions he had about his mother.

In a fit of furious rage, Anakin had brushed him off, though he also knew that going to Yoda may easily result in the Grandmaster finding out exactly what he had done to the Tuskens after his mother died, and...

No.  That couldn’t happen.

“Despite Master Yoda’s efforts, it didn’t help, and the visions were getting worse,” Bant whispered, eyes wide and distant.  “Obi-Wan wouldn’t sleep at all, and his connection to the Force was beginning to get tenuous.  Despite that, the visions still came.”

Her voice trembled, and Anakin watched as she pressed both hands to her eyes and took deep breaths to center herself.

“Then what happened?” he croaked.

Bant shook her head, pulling her hands back into her lap.

“Then, Obi-Wan began having waking visions during the day,” she said simply.  “It was nearly unheard of in the crèche.  Master Yoda had only witnessed it once before, centuries ago, and even that was only one time.”

Anakin’s blood ran cold.  “Waking visions?” he asked.  “Are they visions that happen while the person is awake?”

Bant shuddered and nodded.  “They’re awful.  They usually led to seizures, and afterwards, Obi-Wan would be delirious and in a lot of pain.  He would talk about things that didn’t make sense at all, including someone named Vader.”

“You’re not the first person he called by that name, by the way,” she murmured, and Anakin felt a rush of relief at her words.

“Does he remember the visions afterwards?” Anakin asked, remembering hearing about visions that were often forgotten in the throes of sleep.

Bant shrugged.  “Sometimes, but he’d never say anything.  They were terrible, that’s all I know.  Master Yoda or even some of the older crechèmasters might know a little bit more, but Obi-Wan refused to say anything, even when I asked.”

Anakin couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, to see Obi-Wan see horrible visions, day and night, without mercy.  And he was only a child at the time, which made things even more awful.

“Not long after that, he was admitted to the Halls,” she said.  “He didn’t sleep, barely ate, and his body was barely able to sustain itself under so much strain.  It was...the crèchemasters told us, one time, that he would most likely join the Force.”

Anakin’s heart leapt to his throat, and he swallowed.

“But that didn’t happen,” he protested with a feeble voice.

Bant nodded.  “Just as quickly the visions came, they stopped,” she said.  “It took a few months for Obi-Wan to recover enough to return to the crèche, and even longer to be able to return to lessons and activities.  By the time he did, he was about a year behind the rest of his year-mates.”

“Did they ever figure out why they stopped?” Anakin asked.

Bant shrugged a shoulder.  “Obi-Wan always said it was the will of the Force, which is a bunch of bantha-shavit, if you ask me,” she snorted.

Anakin closed his eyes and uncrossed his legs, stretching them in front of him.  He was reeling from everything Bant just told him, and he wanted nothing more than to run back to Obi-Wan and cry into his shoulder.

Instead, he took a deep breath.

“So the visions have returned?” he asked.

Bant nodded.  “It happened very suddenly,” she murmured.  “After Obi-Wan returned from Felucia, he said he felt slightly under the weather and requested leave from the Council.”

She shrugged.  “In hindsight, he might have had a few visions during the mission.  Commander Cody did report some concerns about Obi-Wan’s health, but I think the Council thought it was just exhaustion and war-related stress.”

“But that was over two weeks before Ahsoka and I returned from Bothawui,” Anakin said, tilting his head.  “I remember because Obi-Wan sent me a transmission after he returned to the Temple.”

Bant nodded.  “I noticed that he seemed to be really tired whenever I spoke to him, but I assumed it was the war, not—”

She cut herself off, squeezing her eyes shut.

“He was deteriorating fast, Anakin,” she whispered.  “When I was beginning to think that maybe his visions had somehow returned, I was too late.”

Swallowing, Anakin nodded in understanding.  Everything made sense now—the hallucinations, the uncertainty, the hiding...

Whatever he expected Bant to tell him, this wasn’t it.  If he was being honest, Anakin didn’t know what to expect, but he assumed it would be something less complicated.

This...made no sense.

“No one knows how the visions started?” he asked softly.

Bant sighed softly, shifting to stretch out her legs.  “That’s why Master Che was running tests before,” she explained.  “But things are getting worse much more quickly than last time, and Master Che is running out of options.”

Anakin’s mouth went dry.  “Then...what now?  What do we do?”

Bant’s eyes closed, her mouth forming into a thin line.

“We hope,” she replied, voice cracking, “and prepare ourselves for the worst.”

In a split-second, Anakin was on his feet, towering over the Mon Calamari healer.

“No,” he gritted, voice sharp and volatile.  “We can’t just give up; there must be something—”

“Anakin, we’ve tried everything we could think of,” Bant said, looking up at him with bright eyes.  “Master Che and Master Yoda are researching whatever they can to find a solution, but...”

Blinking slowly, Anakin felt the heavy pressure of tears building behind his eyelids, as his vision blurred.

“I’m sorry, Anakin.”

Anakin forced a few deep breaths through his nose, willing the tears back, forcing his voice to work.

“I can’t—I can’t lose him,” he rasped, voice shuddering deep in his throat.  “I’m—”

The shrill beeping of Bant’s commlink cut him off mid-sentence, and Bant brought her wrist up to her face, accepting the call.

“Bant here,” she murmured, voice thick.

“Master Eerin,” an unfamiliar voice chirped urgently.

“Yes, Vyna?” Bant answered, sitting up properly as her forehead creased in deep concentration.

“It’s Master Kenobi,” Vyna said, voice crackling slightly.  “He’s awake again, and it appears that he is lucid.  He’s asking to speak with you right away.”

A whirlwind of emotions flickered through Bant’s face, so quickly that Anakin couldn’t make sense of any of them, before her features settled on neutral determination.

“I’m on the way,” she replied.

(Bedridden AU Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 5)

[sending-the-message]

Pay close attention to the Music of your dreams. by INeedToTellMyTale

I love music. I come from a line of musicians. My father has a mariachi, his dad did also and so do a few of my uncles. While I was always too thick headed to learn how to play an instrument (not for the lack of trying I spent 4 unsuccessful years in Band class), I have always appreciated their sound. I am actually listening to piano music as a write this, funny.

Because of my love for music, my dreams are often filled with sound. On many occasions I have woken up humming a familiar tune, while having completely forgotten the content of the dream. While as an adult these tend to often be songs I have been listening to too much of, when I was a kid, they would be completely original pieces that I had never heard before. In fact, part of why I wanted to learn an instrument was to recreate the songs from my childhood dreams.

Because music is powerful.

It can be a time machine.

When I listen to Breaking Benjamin's Evil Angel I am immediately transported to my teenage years when I would spend sleepless nights reading One Piece chapters. I can see the fight between Luffy and the Thunder God, despite no longer being able to remember his name.

When I was ten or so, I heard a song I had never heard before. It was played by a violin and it was beautiful. It was a sound that I can only describe as melancholic, almost feudal. For the next week I was obsessed with it. I would hum it constantly, fearful that if I didn't I would forget it. Every night I hummed it to sleep hoping to hear it again, unbastardized by my 10 year old pipes.

I soon understood that I had no control over the music box in my dreams. Defeated, I let it go. I would still hum it every once in a while, but I had come to the realization that I would never dream it again.

Years passed, I grew up, failed at learning to play the violin, graduated high school, but I still loved music. But I loved other things too; namely, psychedelics. While I was blazing through grad school, on my off time me and my high school buddies thought it was the funnest thing in the world to get together and do shrooms or LSD. A break from the fast paced life of graduate papers. I remember one time getting so messed up that I sat in the corner for all of 5 minutes thinking I had been there a millennia travelling through the universe.

On one special occasion, it was a week before graduation, and two months before the beginning of my career, I decided to go out with a bang. My friends and I loaded up on dabs, shrooms,and LSD and took off to the middle of the woods for a crazy camping trip.

It started off wonderful from what I can remember, one guy had never taken dabs before and ended up stoned enough to try imitating the way the fire moved for a good 15 minutes. I started off with weed, then ate a few mushrooms, then decided I felt fine enough to mix LSD in.

That is when I heard a gunshot.

In retrospect it was probably some jerk illegally hunting in the higher parts of the mountain, but my ass was so high that it sent me into a panic. I was jumping around screaming and freaking everyone out. I was later told that I was yelling unintelligible nonsense about police brutality and a secret death squad. Jesus. The two friends who had pulled the sober straw had to hold me down to prevent me from hurting myself or anyone else, eventually calming me down enough for me to fall asleep.

I remember dreaming of blackness. I felt nothing, and I could see nothing.

But I could hear, ever so softly, a tune. I struggled to focus on it, like switching to a radio station while it is in the middle of a song you know but takes you a second to recognize. It began to get louder, closer, and then there it was. The long forgotten song from my childhood dream, perfectly replicated as if it was the first time. I couldn't even think. I felt like a tool created by the song for the purpose of appreciation.

As it got louder though, my vision began to return. At this point the sound was so loud it was all I could hear, but my focus was perfect.

Normally in dreams I cannot focus on small details, someone's eyes, a coin in my hand; but this was clear, I could see everything. To my surprise, I was in my parent's house. But it was different, it was.... taller. I began to walk around and realized how close I was to the ground. I was a child! I began to feel that familiar panic of my mind wanting to suck me out of a lucid dream while I struggled against it, but this dream was strong enough to keep me anchored and that feeling quickly went away. I realized that I could pick things up. I was in my old toy room, seeing toys I had not thought about in over fifteen years in vivid detail. I picked up an old The Flash action figure and ran my fingers down the side of his left leg. I had once stuck him between the back tire of my bike and the chain in order to make a cool motorcycle sound, only to realize afterwords that the sound was a result of the chain grinding away at the plastic, leaving groves on his left leg. Groves I could feel as if I was wide awake.

I was so focused on The Flash that I had not noticed a pair of eyes looking at me from outside the room; it was my younger brother. Oh my god. He was a child. No older than four.

My younger brother began doing drugs at a far younger age than I did and with less reputable people. By the time he was 14 he had already been expelled from school numerous times, by 16 he got his first DUI (he got high, took my dad's truck without asking without knowing how to drive stick and crashed it two blocks down the road into two different parked cars then zigzagged his way back leaving a trail of oil that was too easy to follow). After that arrest, he was in an out of jail, taking money from me, my parents, my sister. Finally landing in state prison when he stole a state vehicle. While I understand that I ultimately cannot control the actions of others, I always felt like we had been just a little too hard on him, that I had failed him as an older brother.

But there he was, innocent and pure as an untouched grove. I had forgotten how much bigger his head was from his tiny body when he was a kid, I used to tease him a lot about that. I used to tease him about a lot of things. He was giving me that half pleading look that meant he wanted to ask me something he knew I would say no to. I slowly walked toward him, trying to stay composed. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me burst into tears. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. I realized that the music was still playing, loud as ever, it had just blended into the background when I realized where I was.

I didn't care what he was saying, I hugged him and picked him off the floor and began to sob uncontrollably. I told him I was sorry. For picking on him, for not being the brother he needed, for not visiting him in prison. I could not hear myself talk because of the music but I knew it is what I was saying. I wanted to stay here forever, I wanted him to play with all the toys I never let him use.

But the room began to shake, the music started to fade. I knew what was happening, but I refused to accept it. I held on to my brother as tightly as I could but I could feel myself being pulled away by the current of consciousness. The last thing I saw after being ripped away were his eyes. Bright Hazel before they darkened in his older years.

I woke up to my friends shaking me. As soon as I got my bearings I took a swing at the guy who was shaking my shoulders. I caught him off guard and hit him right above the temple. He began to get pissed but calmed down after seeing me curl up into a ball sobbing and screaming.

The ride home was quiet. I told no one what happened. They didn't ask many questions.

I don't do drugs anymore. I got high a few more times after that night and as soon as I do I can see his eyes. As silly as this sounds, I am convinced that I traveled in time. I have had lucid dreams before and it is like comparing pong to 4k definition. More accurately, it is like comparing TV to real life. I could feel my brother's hair on my cheek when I hugged him. I could see the shade of yellow our old washing machine was outside of the toy room. I tasted my tears.

But I could hear nothing. Only the song.