ETA Warnings and Notes – The artist has given me (belated) permission, so yay! Also, this no longer is the most recent arc, for those who care to read the warnings (but if you haven't read the Such Stuff arc, the spoiler warning is still, obviously, in effect). Also, I've done just a bit of grammar and spelling clean up, to make things a bit more clear, as off 9/19/2013; nothing really major. There is a hint of James/Javert now, though, because this fic fits into the 'verse I'm developing, which is James/Javert – you've been warned!
A/N – I have not asked permission of this artist – the fic just came to me. You regular writers know how it is; there's no denying a piece once the bunnies have brought it. It was inspired by EveryDayArtist on deviantArt, from the fanart entitled Much Deserved Cuddle. Go see the work that brought this to life, please, on behalf of the artist whom I gathered inspiration from. Also inspired (obviously) by the fancomic which inspired EveryDayArtist: Roommates by AsheRhyder. Definitely go read this comic – you will not regret it! It's a ride not to be missed! Go, Ashe!
Warning – This does contain spoilers for the ending of the most recent arc of Roommates. If you have yet to read Roommates: Such Stuff as Dreams are Made On, don't say I didn't warn you. I do take some liberties with the way things are laid out, to get the positions and angst I want out of this, so if you don't like a little bit of canon meddling, this isn't for you, either.
Disclaimer – I don't own The Labyrinth, Pirates of the Caribbean, Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, or any other fandom that makes its way into the amalgamation that is Roommates, as dreamt and drawn by AsheRhyder. I also don't own Roommates, or the aforementioned pic Much Deserved Cuddle. In fact, the only thing I own is the literary composition of this fic, and I don't even make money off of it. Thank you, and please don't sue!
Dreams, Magic and Roommates
It took him a while to realize that he was part of a dream – and that it wasn't his own.
It took James a bit longer to feel the darker edge within the edges of his consciousness. It flowed like black silk, whispered like wind in wings, screamed like a hunting bird of prey, and rippled on his tongue and in his eyes like shadows. It begged him to find a chink in the armor.
What armor that was, he didn't know. Long, involved experiences with Jareth's crazy schemes and magic, told James it was probably just a good idea to ride this dream out until the 'armor' came to him. He would know it when he saw it: years of Opera Ghosts, skeleton pirates, glittering Goblin Kings, and heart-hiding monsters, at least, had honed his ability to See things of magical influence to a hair-splitting edge.
So he went about the morning routine that the dream encouraged him was 'real' (like he was some weak-minded puppet to be manipulated! Humph!). But so far, that was it, as leads went, so he chose to follow through with the dream's urgings. He got up, showered, shaved, brushed his hair (no ponytail? Was the dream-crafter just delusional, or what?), and went to work. At the very least, he was still a history professor at the University. That was something.
It was only after his first class (even if it was just a crafted dream, students would always be students…) that he got his first glimpse of what must be the armor that inner 'James' was talking about. An almost timid knock sounded on his office door, and with an inner grin at the shy nature of freshmen, he called out calmly, "Enter."
For the sake of nervous students, he always tried to appear engaged in paperwork when they entered. Years of experience with students and their insecurities had taught him that they were much more likely to be at ease around him if he showed he was willing to put aside anything he was doing to pay attention to their needs. He was, without a doubt, but the more nervous ones sometimes needed visual cues. Looking over the edge of some senior rough drafts, however, he blinked; that was no student. A pleased smile stretched over his face, and he straightened.
"Well!" he laughed, looking over his blonde companion. "You're early!"
Early? Yes, according to the dream's parameters. Influenced up to his eyeballs in this dream? Most definitely: Jareth was proud of his fae heritage – he wouldn't ever be caught dead impersonating a human unless it was Halloween. He also loved his eyes – claimed they helped to steady the magic, and enhance the mysterious aura of the misfit Goblin King – and would never have covered one with an eye patch, no matter how dashing it looked. There was also the healthy flush to his cheeks of one who had walked a long distance. Glitter-poofing, anyone? And timid?! Jareth? Oh yeah, there was something suspect about this, alright.
The analysis took milliseconds, with no conclusive evidence yet of just what was going on. The feeling that was forever trying to convince him to follow the dream was pushing, and he went with it, finishing his greeting flawlessly with a chuckle, "But you remembered lunch, so all is forgiven."
A feeling along his sixth sense clicked, and he watched the human (shadowed fae) face before him paling drastically. Jareth was not mixing well with this world or this way of being, even while he'd been so headily drowned in it. The shift from shy but pleased, to stiff and pale was so quick that he didn't even need prodding by the dream to be instantly concerned. Standing quickly, eyes wide, he leaned forward, disregarding the chair that clattered to the floor behind him.
"What's the matter? You've gone pale, all of a sudden."
The answering whisper was weak, confused, and bewildered, worrying him further. "James…"
Prompted, James moved swiftly out from behind his desk to approach Jareth. The fae-man had lifted his hand to his head, partially covering his eye patch, still too pale for comfort. James steadied the swaying Jareth with a strong hold on his shoulders. That appeared to be what Jareth needed to snap him out of his funk, as he shook his head slightly, some color returning. Drawn and weary, he murmured, "I… I'm fine. I guess I'm just really tired. I didn't sleep well last night."
James withdrew some, still steadying his friend. "Not to be rude, but it shows."
He gestured to his vacated desk, "Rest here. I'll get Erik, and he can drive you home during his free block."
He took a moment to settle Jareth into his righted chair, before walking to the door. Glancing back and catching the defeated posture of the pale man, head back and hand over his eyes, James smiled gently.
"Hey," he soothed. "It will be okay."
As he walked out into the hall in time to hear the parting moan, obviously not meant for his ears, "What is wrong with me today?"
Well, the chinks in your armor, for one, James wanted to retort. Instead he just sighed and moved a little faster toward Erik's office. A hum no one else noticed grew in intensity the closer James got to Erik's office. A screech echoed in his mind, and he was filled with the sensation of circling on-wing in a strong up-draft. It might not have been Erik's free block yet, but apparently he had let his class out early, because he was in his classroom alone. An unscarred Erik met him eye-for-eye, and the shadowy feeling of a great stalking panther nearby filled that place where his hawk-self mantled and crooned in challenge. A moment of silence settled between them, before James announced solemnly, "Jareth is the chink in the armor. He's so caught up in this dream, I'm amazed that he knew my name."
Erik's eyes sharpened in grim understanding, and he nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Give me a moment with him?"
"Sure."
James dawdled obediently on his way back, wondering if the fae-man's own roommate would be enough to get him to surface. A stern cry from his office made his heart fall and his feet speed up. Apparently not. He skidded into his doorway, and Erik looked at him with a frustrated, wordless cry. "I tried to remind him of his own past, the royal lout! 'Should you need me' I said."
He dragged a hand through his dark hair, and waved violently at the blankly-staring form of their blonde companion. "What does he decide to do with that?! Go comatose, the glittery idiot!"
He huffed violently, "You try it, James! I give up!" He swiped his hand over his clear face, worry showing at last through his frustration. "If we can't get him to see…"
"I know, Erik. I know."
Grimly concerned, James looked over Jareth's prone figure, limp in the chair. He was pale, sweating, and his fists were clenched white-knuckled on the armrests. Small murmurs slipped between his clenched teeth, sounding like 'all of you', and he was staring blankly forward, like a hypnotists' victim.
Erik shifted from foot to foot as James took in the situation. After a moment, he cleared his throat, and announced, "I'm… uh, I'm going to go find the nurse. See if he can do… something. I mean, well, I—Hell, I don't know!" With his forceful worry still ringing in the air, Erik swept out the door, leaving James and Jareth alone.
James approached the distressed fae-man, and said clearly and loudly, the same way he had invited Jareth into his office, "Wake up, Jareth."
He waited a beat, then leaned closer, voice more sharp. "Jareth, this is a dream. Wake up."
The chance to sneak that obvious double-meaning in was, of course, wasted, as Jareth remained buried in his dream-within-a-dream. Almost as fed up as Erik now – though, showing it less beneath his self-control – James leaned in close, grasping Jareth by the shoulders. He took a deep, cleansing breath, closed his eyes, and thought back to his time in the Queen's Navy. James felt his whole posture shift slightly, into something more straight, sharp, and direct, as was merited by his hard-earned rank.
"I said wake up!" he snapped in full Admiral growl. As an added measure, he struck Jareth a resounding slap across the face. The concern and rage mixed, and he cried with the voice of the hawk, "You're going too deep!"
Jareth's eye landed on him, wild and terrified, and he trembled under James' grip.
"What?" the man gasped.
The dream forcefully overtook James, pressing and intense; he wouldn't be able to be that direct again, even in his concern. Worriedly, less angry for a moment in the face of his fear, he stared at Jareth.
"You can't go to sleep," James substituted quickly. Internally he groaned in annoyance, as he saw Jareth's gathering expression. It was not fearful of him anymore, but it was glazed again – the slightly vague expression that James had deduced Jareth gained when the dream really got it's hooks into him. James could almost see the few seconds just after he had woken disappearing from Jareth's awareness.
"Uh, hi, James," Timid again. Yeah, totally dream-sculpted.
"That's all you have to say?! 'Hi, James'?" James found himself snapping, once more in better control of his actions than the dream was. He wanted to scream when Jareth had answered, still in a distant voice. "It's my office, you—utter—"
As James trailed off in defeat, he watched Jareth start to come back, a little. More observant, with a sharper gaze, Jareth asked, "What happened?"
James sighed, his anger flooding out of him. It wasn't Jareth's fault – not really. The, ahh, 'glittery idiot' (thank you, Erik) was just that: an idiot. He didn't know that he'd become a fly in something so like his own webs, so he didn't know that there was anything to fight. Dragging a hand through his hair as he stepped back, James tucked his hands into his slacks as he answered, his worry prominent on his face, "I was hoping you could tell me. You were staring into nothing, muttering 'all of you'. Erik was trying to get a hold of the nurse – who, as usual, is avoiding his office. He left to hunt him down when I got here."
"I remember Sarah… Where's Sarah?" Jareth asked.
James blinked. That was not a question he'd ever heard come out of Jareth's mouth. Jareth, regardless of the world or time frame he was (trapped) in, always knew where Sarah was! His concern was suddenly doubled. At the same time, his inner hawk crowed pointedly – this was why they needed to see the weakness of their armor. This was what they were looking for. Without Sarah, Jareth was nothing, and Jareth was the only one among them who could lift this dream-state. If Jareth didn't know where Sarah was, it was their job to find her for him, and get him back on track.
"James?" Jareth was concerned again. Even if the dream kept him from actively seeing and participating in magical things, Jareth's subconscious was still connected to it all. The door behind James opened, admitting Javert – along with the shadow-sense of a growling, stalking wolf. It was almost surprising to see him with short hair, though the campus police uniform was still familiar.
"How is he doing?" the man queried as he stepped inside. James knew the only way to inform Javert of the gravity of the situation was to flat out say it, and hope Jareth either caught on enough to break free, or didn't catch anything at all. It was better to have a clueless Goblin King who thought he was human, than a fae-man who was only half aware and fumbling at every crossroads.
"He's awake," James answered, glancing pointedly at Javert as he continued, "And he wants to know where Sarah is."
James almost felt the silence of the wolf as it scented the air to identify this particular danger. The only answer James got was a wolf's succinct, "Oh. Does he now."
Before any of them could move, Javert had swept into the room and scooped Jareth into his arms, ignoring the scarf that fluttered to the floor. Surprised by the quick movement, James staggered back and yelped, "Hey!"
At the same time, Jareth himself cried out, as he flung his arms around broad shoulders, "What are you doing?! Javert!"
The muscled man was keeping in time with the dream. He answered sharply, "You're going to the hospital. Now. No arguments, or I will drop you and drag you, I swear."
Jareth's face was a genuine study of bewilderment. "Why?!"
James saw everything in Javert's hard gaze that the man was trying to convey without words. It didn't look to be doing much good, but one could hope. And the accompanying explanation couldn't hurt, either. "Because, of all people on this earth, you always know where Sarah is. It's uncanny. Accurate, but uncanny. Almost… supernatural."
James thought longingly of their arrogant fool of a Goblin King, brandishing his crystals and bringing them all back, flawlessly, to the reality of The Building. He was sure Erik and Javert were thinking along similar lines.
"Also," Javert continued, breaking the minor reflective silence that had settled in the room around the oblivious Jareth, "your fiancée will kill me if I let you die before the wedding, and I am secure enough in my masculinity to admit Sarah is terrifying when she is angry."
James watched the confusion and shock blossom on Jareth's expressive face. He was gratified with the momentary amusement of hearing Jareth – the usually unflappable Goblin King – sputtering incoherently. James and Javert glanced at one another over Jareth's blonde, human head. Since Javert's hands were full with Jareth himself, it was up to James to point out the obvious stops of this world. He grabbed Jareth's ring hand, and pointed out the ring on his ring finger – the crowned heart, held cradled by hands fashioned out of the ring's band edges.
"You aren't paying attention. Left hand. Claddagh. Heart pointing inward. What does that tell you?" James prompted.
Jareth gazed at the ring on his hand a moment, before deadpanning, "That apparently I'm the girl in the relationship; I'm wearing the ring…"
When Javert unceremoniously dropped his charge to the floor, James gasped, hands flying to his face. Jareth yelped, and Javert declared, "He can snark – he'll be fine."
Hand once more pressed to his head, Jareth asked – almost as though to himself, "But… Why a claddagh? It's just… It's not as if I have any Irish relatives… I mean, Dad is…"
James leaned forward imperceptibly. Could it be? Was Jareth going to figure it out all on his own?
"Dad is…"
Suddenly, a feminine voice interrupted. High heels clacked through the door, and a body flung itself toward the center of the room in a panic. "Where is he?!"
Her, James snarled silently. He could feel similar distaste emanating from Javert, too, as her purse clattered to the floor.
"Sarah!" Jareth cried out, relief and joy splitting the first genuine smile across his face that James had seen in this world. She collapsed to the floor next to him, and pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss. James was… not pleased.
She was playing the sympathy and worry card, and James watched her exclaim, "They said you weren't feeling well. I came as soon as I could."
She lifted him to his feet, and cradled his hand, leading him away with a soft, "Come on, I'll take you home."
James crossed his arms, and the hawk in him hissed discontentedly as they passed by, "Don't forget."
When Jareth turned back, confused, the dream fought back, and James was forced to continue, as though in the same vein of thought, "Your scarf."
James offered it up to the oblivious idiot, internally screaming in frustration. This was not going well, and that royal pain was only helping the enemy! His only relief was that Erik had one more chance between the three of them with him before this all fell apart. If anyone could reach Jareth when Sarah wasn't around, it was his roommate. Now it was just a matter of waiting for one of two stones to fall. James glanced worriedly at Javert, sharing his concerns with empathetic eyes.
Would Jareth fall to her, or rise above?
-DMR-
Hours later – late afternoon now – James felt the world shift and crack. The edges of the world roared with the whispering winds: I have had enough of this. I am the Goblin King. I am Jareth.
James' inner hawk screeched triumphantly.
The world rocked with the beginnings of combat, and James waited for the call, the one that would bring him to his friend's side. It came soon enough, on the heels of a sharp denial. He heard the words, as they drew him into the shadows of his hawk self.
"But you're wrong, 'Odile'. Someone is coming. For the first time…" The words resolved themselves into real words, and not just echoes in his mind, as he moved out of the shadow, once more himself (but in… skin-tight breeches, and feather cloak? Damn it, Jareth!), "I don't have to stand alone."
Erik – scarred face and all, dressed in skin-tight black shorts, ankle and wrist coverings, and a panther pelt wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak – appeared on his right, and Javert – long-haired, skin-tight breeches, and wolf pelt cloak – on his left. All three of them were fierce, ready for combat, and alert, backing up their newly-reawakened fae friend.
From behind their lines, Erik whispered hotly, "You took your sweet time."
"Give me a break, I'm not used to being a dreamer."
"Really? You, who all but lives in them?" Javert snorted, throwing a scathing glance at Jareth.
"Fish don't drink." Jareth offered coolly.
"And what does that mean?!"
"Why do I have to be the pragmatic one and point out that our opponent is still right there?!" James intervened before it could escalate, gaze still focused on the imposter-who-was-not-Sarah. Not wanting to hang around and hear anything they might have to throw at him in retaliation, James pulled his hood over his head, pulled his sword out, charged forward and screamed, "Have at thee!"
The other two were quick to follow, and a skirmish full of lunges, blows, and antagonistic words bloomed. When Jareth tried to join in, the crystal he was forming instead exploded in giant shards. Vaguely, James heard Javert shout furiously, "Hey! Watch it! This will still hurt when we wake up, you know!"
Odile laughed, high and annoying, and taunted the collapsed form of their fae, "Is that the best you can do? You'll never defeat me at this rate!"
In an attempt to draw attention away from the curiously-inable Goblin King, James responded, "'Defeat' you, Madam? Surely you jest."
Javert added his own two cents, "We didn't come to fight you for him. I'm still mad at him, actually."
"We came for her." Erik snarled.
"What?" Odile blinked. She realized that they had surrounded her on all sides, and the stages of the moon circled the space inbetween herself and their advance. She noted with some horror that she stood on a pentagram. A wind sprung up, whipping their hair. Sensing the presence that was being brought forth by their wills, broken passed the walls of the dream, she screeched, "Who?"
Sarah – the real one – dressed in armor with a swan-motif, appeared behind Odile, bearing a cast iron frying pan. James watched in amusement as she delivered the perfect one-liner: "Hi. I'm here to tell you about the dangers of identity theft."
She proceeded to swing the pan directly into Odile's unsuspecting and unprotected face with a resounding CLANG! It was beautiful.
"Huh. Tiffany was right. Cast iron frying pan."
Louder, she declared, "That was immensely satisfying. And as for you, you—" she whirled to face the still-crumpled form of Jareth. "You… Jareth?"
He looked up slowly, and James got a sinking feeling in his gut. Jareth's eyes were completely blue, and a dark vein of the same was creeping like a heavy branch across his face. It was, at the least, unsettling.
"Sorry, my dear… Did you want something?" Jareth's voice had a similar quality to when 'the Story' took him over, back at The Building. James could just see him attempting to create a crystal, but his arm, too, was streaked with heavy branches of blue, creeping over his hand and fingers.
James, Erik, and Javert rushed forward. Javert grabbed Sarah, and wrapped his arms around her, shielding her. "Jareth! Don't!"
Erik geared up, beginning to spring forward, "I'll stop him—"
"No," James interrupted, "I've got longer reach and won't be deterred by the wind. I'll do it."
He shifted forward, pulling out his sword and leaping forward; they wouldn't let him do what needed to be done if it looked like he was going in unarmed. His cloak spread out like wings, helping his momentum. His heart raced as he rushed headlong into giant spears of crystal. He took a steadying breath, and tossed his sword aside, continuing to hurdle toward his evil-shaded friend. He crashed into Jareth without bowling either of them over, arms wrapping loosely, automatically, around Jareth's shoulders. Interception: complete.
"It's my curse to bear witness to great stories in which I am only a footnote, so please forgive me if I overstep my place," he whispered in Jareth's ear. New momentum from the crash began to push him down, and he continued with numb lips, "But this is all I am good for, and as such, I am damn well going to be bloody good at it."
I am not a fool. I can see what was supposed to happen. He felt blood fly from his mouth as the impact rattled through his body. A vision of thick crystal shards piercing Sarah through the chest… Jareth coming to his senses…
And I… won't let it. Because… we're… friends…
Blackness wrapped around James as he felt his body topple backwards and strike the ground at Jareth's feet.
-DMR-
A scream too deep to be heard, deep enough to be felt, woke the sleeping. A dark-haired man, face half-covered by a mask, groggily lifted his head from where it was pillowed on his arms with a moan, pushing away from the desk he'd been using. Behind him, a man with a long dark ponytail and mutton-chop sideburns lifted his head from where it rested against his chest, and uncrossed his arms and pulling away from the wall. Even further back, a woman with long black hair sighed and sat up against the wall she was partly supported by, lifting her head from the armrest it had laid on. A man with long curly brown hair did not stir from his place, slumped limply in the chair the woman leaned on.
Three people recalled the end of their induced dream. Three heads whipped around, searching for one specific face. Three voices screamed one name.
Frantic female hands shook unresponsive shoulders, and his head lolled loosely. The motion of the limp body caused it to slide out of the armchair, legs curled up close when Sarah's own body blocked their progress, his arms slipping so that his calloused hands lay against the ground. His head rolled back onto the still-warm seat. The other two men crept slowly closer, as though sudden movements would break something fragile, eyes pinned on the drama unfolding before them. Sarah's shaking fingers brushed over James' slack mouth.
"He's not breathing."
A strangled sound emerged from the normally-stoic Javert, and Erik moaned lowly. Sarah desperately tried to find a pulse in James' throat, and tears began coursing down her face the longer it went missing. She felt more than saw Javert hit his knees next to them, and Erik crumple against the other side of the chair, almost behind James.
"No. No, no, no!" Sarah panicked, and slid her body downwards, leaning on her side to better press her ear to James' still chest. The motion rocked James' head forward onto his chest, and it was more apparent than ever, how still he was. Lying between James' knees, Sarah wrapped her arms tightly around his torso, sobbing too hard to hear anything else. Still on his knees, Javert kept himself from touching James' body, save the trembling hand that he pressed against James' cheek, while his free hand brushed the carpet numbly, tears coursing unchecked down his face. Erik pressed himself against James' back, wrapping his arms around the still chest above Sarah's grasp, resting his forehead against James' shoulder while he shook with grief.
None of them noticed the absence of their fifth member – absence, that is, save the white feather on the rumbled bed. Half an hour, filled with grieving moans, gasping tears, and shaking limbs passed. None of them noticed the invisible ball of crystal/soul that sank into James' chest. It took them five minutes to notice that the body beneath them was warming back up, breathing again, and heart beating.
It was Javert, with his hand pressed to James' cheek, that noticed first.
"Mon Dieu!" His painfully relieved cry, when he'd been so brokenly silent for so long, roused the others. They stared at his smiling, tear streaked face. "He's… alive!"
Three sets of hands smoothed gently over a moving chest, held warm, limp hands, and carefully embraced a living body. The cries that echoed in the room were suddenly ones of not grief and loss, but joy and relief and love. Sarah began to grow concerned, tugging on Erik's arm to get his attention. "Erik! He's not… not waking up. We did. Why is he still… asleep? What if something's wrong?"
Before Erik could answer, a flutter, thump, gasp at the open window distracted them. Javert stood and rushed to pull a fae Jareth through the window. His mismatched eyes immediately searched for James. He smiled when he saw the heap of people surrounding the young man. With Javert's help, he staggered over to James' side where he collapsed to his knees, gasping and pale with exertion. What he had done – facing his parents to get back James' soul – had taken a lot out of him. There was one more thing he had to do before he could get some real sleep, though.
Jareth reached out a hand and patted James' cheek. "Hey, Jamie. Time to rise and shine, Admiral."
James took a deep breath, and stirred, his green eyes fluttering open. Glazed with similar exhaustion to Jareth – it's no cake-walk to have your soul removed and then replaced, after all – he blinked languidly. He took another deep breath as he moved his gaze slowly around at the faces staring at him, "… hi…"
His whisper was weak. He deliberately looked at Jareth, raising his heavy arm. Jareth grasped his forearm, and was gripped in return, smiling. James slurred, "…th'nks… s'vin' m'…"
"Anytime," Jareth murmured, his eyes beginning to grow heavy.
Resting a gentle hand on Jareth's shoulder, Javert chastised, "Next time, don't wait so long to call for help."
On his other side, Erik had scooted close, and grinned teasingly, speaking softly, "Fixed my face, and you still flipped out. Jerk."
Sarah leaned over James' shoulder to come face-to-face with Jareth, and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. "Explain in the morning. Sleep now. Thank you."
Before she'd pulled away, Jareth had slumped sideways against one half of the front of the armchair, deeply asleep.
Javert smoothed a hand over James' cheek, looking him in the eyes. Turbulent brown locked with tired green. For a moment, they just looked at one another, and then James muttered sleepily, "'M here. 'M 'kay. Not goin' 'nywh're. Pr'm'se."
"Yeah. I'm holding you to that, James. I'll trust you not to up and disappear on me any time soon."
James had been the first person he trusted after his canon suicide; his roommate meant more to him than he let show, in spite of any evidence the others had to say he didn't. Like Jareth a moment ago, before Javert had completely pulled away, James fell deeply asleep against the side of the chair that wasn't occupied by Jareth. Relieved by the steady rise and fall of breath, Javert whispered under his breath, throat tight and eyes wet, "Sleep well, mon lumière."
Erik spotted the grip the two unconsious men still held between them, and decided it wasn't worth it to try and move them. He spread a blanket over them without a word; talking, explanations, and yelling could wait until the morning. He, like Sarah and Javert, was just relieved that they were alright. For now, everyone was alive. Some sleeping like the dead, sure… but alive nonetheless.
Thank goodness for Roommates with Magic for Dreams (even if they occasionally got caught in them).
End