Lifeline
I.
When he closes his eyes that night, he dreams of the well.
...
It looks the same as he remembered - dirty with decay, and even though he's an adult now, it looks just as imposing, just as threatening as it did all those years ago. He can't bring himself to move. Maybe he's still just a boy after all.
He's still standing there, rooted to the spot, when a word catches his ear. It's a faint echo coming from deep inside the well - his name.
The voice is familiar, but it's not his brother's - this time, it's someone else's. His feet are moving of their own accord, leading him closer and closer, and a moment later, his hands are gripped tightly around the ledge, the crumbling stone damp and cold beneath his fingers. Even as he leans over the edge to see, he already knows whose voice it is down there, whose voice he doesn't want it to be.
The first thing he notices is that she's shivering.
She's shivering, and it makes her look so small, as if she might disappear at any moment. The water splashes lightly as she tries to keep her head up and her breaths come out in sharp whimpers. When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide and bright. He recognizes that look, the look she gave him when he wasn't quite himself, but this time, he is himself, and this time, he flinches under her gaze.
For a brief, terrible moment, he wonders if he was the one who pushed her in there. And from the fear in her face, he's afraid of the answer.
He wants to turn away, he wants to forget that look in her eyes, but then her lips are forming his name, except the only sound they make is a strangled gasping noise. His training tells him to help her - she's drowning, dammit - but he can't move. He freezes. He chokes. And she goes under. For five seconds, or maybe ten, but it feels like an eternity before she re-emerges, soaking wet and coughing. His heart is ringing in his ears, and she's not the only one struggling to breathe.
The sound of splashing water gets louder and he can tell that she's panicking, violently fighting to stay alive. He hasn't felt this helpless in a long time, not since the last time, but now, there's no one holding him back, no one stopping him from saving her, and yet he still can't bring himself to move. Maybe he's been holding himself back this whole time.
Grant.
It's her voice that finally undoes him, just like it did before, bringing him back from the edge.
Grant!
He grabs the rope from the ground and throws her the lifeline, but he's too late, again. The last thing he sees is her eyes, wide and terrified, before the well swallows her whole.
Skye!
His voice echoes against the walls, but the water remains still and silent.
She's already gone.
And this time, she doesn't come back up.
...
He wakes with a start in May's room, gasping for air, lungs burning, as if he were the one drowning. His neck cracks as he sits up in the chair - they never actually sleep together - and he remembers where he is. More importantly, he remembers where he isn't.
He leans back into the seat and runs his hands through his hair. The well had seemed so real, and even now, he can still smell the water, feel the stone beneath his fingers. When he closes his eyes, he still sees her face, hears her voice in his ears. But it's not real - it was his brother in the well, not her.
It wasn't her, he tells himself, over and over until he believes it.
It wasn't her.
But every time he closes his eyes, it is.
For the first time, his dreams are worse than his memories.