Author: Shiva Darkwater | Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion | Rating: PG-13 | Summary:  The mind is not as stable as it seems… | Disclaimer: Neon Genesis Evangelion is owned by GAINAX, I am just a lowly fanfic writer. | Author's Notes: I have no clue where this came from. I suppose I was just delving too much into the series. It's an incredibly deep series isn't it? I think you could watch it countless times and still not be able to comprehend bits of it. I was amazed when I first saw it. This is supposed to take place prior to the anime, a sort of premonition if you will.

Beckoning Insanity

Here the colours swarmed and danced. Ever changing light dappled against skin and floor, blaring off of brightly lit fabrics and radiating off of shimmering jewellery. One could lose his self in the intricacy of the patterns that the colours invoked.

The music was classical and dizzying. Blurring together, the notes were together yet out of sync, like every instrument was playing from different music: meshing, overlapping, and then separating once again. Just listening to it could either cause you to drown in it or make you go insane.

Shinji had no clue where that left him.

Bodies crushed against each other, voices boomed around him, and the sickening sweet smell of perfume and sweat invaded his nostrils. Standing there in the middle of the ballroom he was at an utter loss as people pushed him one way and then another. It reminded him of that one time he had been on a ship. Seasickness had prevented from ever traveling by boat again.

A man stood in front of him, emanating authority and control. Shinji cowered at the mere sight of him, something about the man seeming so similar yet he could not recall what it was. He was talking to him, yet his voice was inaudible above the music and other voices. His head was pounding, aching… the voices were too much, too loud, too bombarding. Even covering his ears with his hands couldn't drive them away.

The man was looking down at him, dark glasses glinting in the bright lights that showered down on everyone. They were making Shinji sweat it was too hot. The lights, the voices, the music and the colours… it was all too much. Shaking his head, slumping to his knees, Shinji tried to scream yet it was no use. His throat contracted, his voice impossible to hear over the noise that was inside of his head. He was going to go crazy it was all too much.

Someone was shaking him and he lashed out, striking the man who was touching him. Whatever shouts, whatever scream he had tried to emanate was muted. The man's head turned to the side with the blow, dark glasses falling off of his face. The eyes were wide, jaw gaping… and then the head rolled off of the body.

Shocked, Shinji stared at the sight before him. Blood pooled on the bright carpet where the man's head was supposed to be attached to the neck. The head lay several meters away, splatters of blood over the face that he realized then was his fathers.

Turning blue eyes away from the horrid sight, Shinji glanced around, trying to call for help yet it was impossible over the noise. And his father wasn't the only one to be decapitated. Around him in the ballroom heads were rolling off of people everywhere. Laughter, music, celebration and death. He watched with sick fascination as everyone around him suffered from the same result. And still the people laughed. They laughed themselves into death!

Shinji stood, trembling from fear. Blood stained the carpets crimson causing squishing sounds whenever he moved. He was the only one left to look amongst the carnage. He was the only one to be saved…

Silence filled the air, sickly sweet with the stench of death. A sob tore it's way out of his throat for the first time and he realized then that he could speak and he yelled then tears blurring his vision as he felt himself collapse back to the floor in agony. He felt like he would scream his way to insanity.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

A voice. Shinji raised his eyes immediately. Who would disturb his suffering? Hadn't he been through enough? "Just let me go in peace…" he choked on another sob, arms curling about his body.

"But you wanted to be heard, didn't you? Didn't you want to be free of those that tormented you? I made that possible."

Shinji located the being that the voice was coming from. A boy about his age stood several meters away leaning against the wall. He was dressed to match the others in the ballroom, black suit and white dress shirt, but that shock of ashen hair did little to conform. "Who are you…?"

"May I have this dance?" the boy asked, as if he never heard Shinji's question. Suddenly the boy was in front of him, hand outstretched, and a smile was spread across his lips.

Shinji reached up to grab onto that hand and he was pulled away from the dead bodies, held in close in the boy's arms. "Who are you?" he asked again, and his tears were wiped away by long pale fingers.

"I've watched you your whole life Ikari Shinji, I know everything about you. I know more about you than you know yourself," was all that the boy said, his crimson eyes gazing Shinji almost adoringly. "I'll be there to always wipe away your tears. I will help lead you to your path for salvation."

Held close in the boy's arms he forgot about everything. Time had no meaning in this place. As long as he was held in this boy's arms nothing would really matter. And as lips met lips Shinji finally felt whole.

"I will always love you…"

"Shinji!"

The boy was awoken by the sound of his name, finding himself to be in the same place that he had fallen asleep the night before. A drowsy glance at his alarm clock showed that he had slept in and he arose with a start, fully awake.

Fingers pressed against lips, finding them a little swollen and Shinji blinked at his reflection in the mirror. Was someone there last night? No… it was just a dream after all. None of that could have possibly been real.

"Shinji!"

With a sigh, the boy turned and opened the door, just a little irritated. "I'm coming!" he called back and began gathering his stuff together for a shower. Everything was just as he left it. His odd dream probably meant nothing of importance anyway. Or so he hoped.