You might as well surrender now, you'll never hold that stance

[forthedog]

He hasn't had a nightmare in a long time. That's not what this is.

He descends into dark places. He falls into deep pits, slides down shafts of steel and stone, goes down and down stairways that extend forever into blackness. There's blood in these dreams, and sharp things and screaming and monsters without faces, but for the most part he regards it all with either simple enjoyment or cool interest. Even the dreams that aren't fun are at least interesting. It's interesting when he's burned, when the flesh is torn off his bones. These things have already happened to him. There's nothing left to be afraid of.

So they aren't nightmares. And he's not even sure this is a dream.

The grass is cool under his feet. Clouds are passing over the moon. The house is behind him, silent and asleep, but the forest is alive with shadows and the lake is a vast pool of ink. His garden, coming in very well, looks colorless and dead. The leaves are whispering, but he knows it's not the leaves.

Yes, he listens to that voice too much, but it's getting so hard to ignore. What it wants. What it's demanding.

Who are you?

He doesn't know anymore. He did.

Past the garden, near the woods and the path down to the lake, he stops, lifting his head. There was a tree here, the girls' tree, the treehouse he promised them now underway with the change in the weather. But it's not there now.

The Tree is there now.

Massive. Black. Wreathed in fire. Its boughs curling down like snakes to tangle with its roots. Pale, howling things are caught in its branches and between its roots he can see clutching, bone-white hands and arms. Bodies swing from it, hanged men. Yggdrasil, only not. Not her Yggdrasil.

His.

This is what's been pulling him. The thing he met down in the ash came from it, was birthed by it, but this is what was truly there, what's been there the whole time. He came from it and he'll go back to it and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

This is not right.

He's not afraid, but this isn't what he wants. Behind him he can feel the feeble tether of the house and what's inside it, but it isn't strong enough. He can't look for help there.

Except he can.

He blinks, and the tree is gone. It's just him, naked in the yard, his feet damp with dew and the breeze sending goosebumps across his skin. He looks down at his hands and half expects to see them blackened and cracked with fire.

This is not sustainable.

He closes his eyes. "Neil."

Comments

[likeaplanet]

I sink down to the grass with him, because I feel a little like my batteries have been drained... and because I'm not ready to break that connection with him, just yet.

Sitting on my knees in the grass, I frame his face in my hands, and I don't really know what I've done, but whatever it was, I can look in his eyes and I know that it worked.

I pull him forward, pressing my lips to his forehead and letting out a shuddering breath. "So, not a bad idea, I guess."

[forthedog]

He doesn't answer, not immediately. Neil touches him and he shivers, violently, but it's more like the aftershock of an orgasm than anything else. A ghost of what he had felt before, probably only his imagination.

Probably.

He leans forward against Neil, practically against his chest, and while he's always liked how Neil feels smaller in his arms, now it's his turn. And of course he doesn't hate it.

"So. I'm not all over the lawn."

[likeaplanet]

"Yeah, that would've sucked," I murmur, my hand working through his hair. "I mean, how the fuck do you even clean somethin' like that up?"

My lips against his forehead, his temple, his cheek, the bridge of his nose, I ask, "How you feelin'?"

[forthedog]

He draws a breath to answer - and then realizes he has no idea how to put it into words, no idea if the words even exist, and still no words for what he's just felt. He could say that he feels like he used to, except that's not true. This wasn't just a refitting of broken pieces or the application of some glue. The healing - whatever it was - is almost incidental.

It's deeper than that.

"It's quiet," he whispers, and he's not even sure what that means, but it doesn't matter, because seconds later a sob is catching in his throat and he turns his head against Neil's neck, his eyes burning.

[likeaplanet]

"Okay," I whisper, hauling him closer, a part of me wanting to shove my way back inside him again, already missing the connection. But the grace isn't mine, and it seems like a misuse of it, burning it out for what amounts to a soul fuck.

"Okay, you're okay," I murmur, my fingers carding mindlessly through his hair, "I got you."

[forthedog]

He's known it for a long time. He's not sure he's ever known it in quite this way, felt it quite like this. There's being possessed and then there's being possessed, and while he might have cracked himself open and let something awful inside, that thing doesn't rule him. It doesn't make the rules.

So what he's doing now isn't really weeping. That implies effort, tension. He has no strength left for either. His breath comes easy and deep and he settles against the shelter of Neil's body.

"Yeah," he breathes after a moment. "I am. You do."

[likeaplanet]

We're both quiet for a long time, sitting in the damp, early morning grass. But when I glance up, I see the curtains in Mack and Flo's window move, and I breathe out a sigh, pressing another kiss to Mike's temple and saying, "I think we've got an audience."

[forthedog]

He raises his head, follows Neil's gaze, lets out a soft breath of a laugh. "Shit." Yet something else for them to work through in all the therapy they'll undoubtedly need someday.

There's no way to explain what's happened. He's not sure how to explain it to himself.

Scrubbing at his face, he pulls back slightly, one hand on his chest like he expects to feel some evidence there. "God, that really fucking hurt."

[likeaplanet]

"Sorry," I say, grinning a little blearily, 'cause I can already tell it was worth it. Pain or not, some of the desperation has bled out of him, that haunted and dangerous look in his eyes, and maybe it's not a perfect fix, but it sure as hell's a start.

"Come on, we better head upstairs," I say, resting a hand on his arm, "You wanna walk, or you want me to take us?"

[forthedog]

"No, you don't understand." He takes hold of Neil's wrist, then because it's not enough, he slides his hand up and cups Neil's face, and for just a moment he thinks he doesn't need a hand on his soul; everything in there will simply burst out through his skin. "It was amazing. You don't..." He tilts his head back to the sky for a few seconds, swallowing. "You don't know what I'd give to feel pain like that again."

He starts to push himself up, then the world turns a bit sideways and he subsides, one hand on his head. "Uh. Maybe you better."

[likeaplanet]

"Yeah, I kinda do, but I still gotta cut you off. Any more and you really will be splattered across the lawn," I say, leaning forward to press my lips against his forehead again, and with the contact, I'm able to carry us both upstairs, into our room.

We land in a relatively comfortable heap on the bed.

[forthedog]

"Might be worth it," he starts to whisper, and he's mostly kidding, mostly, but then there's a mattress under him, his bare feet still wet from the grass, still curled into Neil's arms.

"God." He'll never get used to it. He never wants to. He lifts his head, nuzzles at Neil's jaw. "Think they're okay, or should one of us make sure they're not too freaked out?"

[likeaplanet]

"I'll go. Just hold tight," I murmur, even though it's an effort to push him away, practically spilling him out boneless on the sheets.

I'm gone in a blink, the air just barely disturbed around me. As soon as my feet land on the floor, the girls are on me, their eyes red-rimmed with sleep and worry.

"He's fine, we're fine, it's okay," I promise them, herding them back towards their bed, but unfortunately, I can already tell it's gonna take me a few minutes to get 'em settled again.