Disclaimer: Dreamily not mine.
A/N: Written for Punjab Banks, who asked for 'Riku/Roxas' and 'lost'.
Dream Walkers
© Scribbler, July 2011.
Sleep used to be a way of forgetting about reality. No matter the trials or tribulations of the day, Riku knew he could close his eyes and lose himself for a while. It was easier when he was with Mickey. They shared watch duties when they made camp. It was easier to get into REM sleep if you knew nobody could sneak up while you were vulnerable. After long hours of fruitless searching, waiting, stressing and beating himself up, for Riku that brief night-time reprieve was precious.
Not so much tonight.
"Sora?"
The figure ran ahead of him. Riku squinted, but couldn't make out who it was. It moved like Sora; that devil-may-care intensity loaded into every step, as if it was absolutely vital he get where he was going. People took comfort when they saw Sora running towards them; like their peril was his concern and they could trust him to save them. Heroes made you feel that way without saying a word.
"Sora, wait!" Riku yelled.
The figure hesitated. It half-turned; not enough for Riku to see its face, but enough to reveal a thatch of blond hair. It wasn't Sora. It was the same size and build, but it wasn't him.
"Hey, you! Wait!"
The figure took off again. Riku couldn't hear any footsteps. He also noticed how the figure, although running away from him, wasn't getting any smaller, as one might do if heading into the distance. He knew then that he was dreaming. As if the all-encompassing black backdrop wasn't a big honking clue already?
The unreality of dreams set in like concrete between the cracks in paving stones; the kind that meant you knew none of your current situation was real, but let you carry on regardless. You knew there was nothing under your feet, but you walked and your feet balanced on something solid enough to take your weight. You knew there was no air, but you still inhaled and exhaled with no problem.
Riku started running. Maybe that wasn't Sora, but the similarities were too suspicious. As soon as he gave chase, the Not-Sora sped up. When Riku also went faster, the figure really pulled the lead out.
"What are you running for? Stop!"
The Not-Sora spun, made a gesture for him to go back, and spun to face forward again without breaking stride.
Riku's left foot hit something that clinked. Light erupted around him in a widening circle. He turned, raising his arms to fight, but he had no weapon. He could only watch as a picture emerged from the fragmenting light points, like seeing a mosaic put together on fast-forward.
"S-Sora?"
No, not Sora; except in the ways that it was. The outlined image had Sora's face, but older and softer at the same time. The eyes were shut, giving the impression of sleep, but the arms were raised. They held a keyblade in the upward arc of a swing. A long robe fluttered around the figure's feet, while behind him an army of Heartless loomed. In several smaller concentric circles, a series of faces also appeared. Riku knew some of them. Others were a complete mystery. One, in particular, gave him pause.
Someone stepped onto the other side of the image. Riku lifted his eyes. Of course, here there was no need for a blindfold. This was a dream, and dream logic wasn't regular logic. That was why he could stand on a giant colourless stained glass window, suspended over a pit of nothingness, and not question any of it.
"Leave me alone," whispered the figure.
"What?" Riku was confused. "I just wanted to –"
The figure raised a keyblade. His voice wasn't Sora's. It cracked in a way Sora's never had; desperate and sad and lonely, but also angry. It was the voice of someone close to the edge. Riku's chest tightened to hear it, even as he realised what was about to happen.
"No!"
"Why can't you just leave me alone?"
The keyblade stabbed down, shattering the glass of Riku's own face. Cracks spider-webbed outward in an almost musical jingle.
Riku's feet went from under him. He grabbed frantically for something to hold onto, but the entire glass image splintered away.
"It's better if you just leave me alone…"
Riku tumbled into the void – and back into his own head. He sat up with a jolt. His back was slick with sweat, his breathing heavy, as if he had been running.
"Riku?" On the other side of their campfire, Mickey whirled to look at him. "Are you all right?"
Riku was trembling, but he was good enough at faking 'fine' to keep his voice steady. "A bad dream." He swallowed. "Just a bad dream."
"You cried out."
"I shouldn't have eaten right before I went to sleep."
Mickey shot him a doubtful look. After a moment, he said, "Dreams can sometimes mean more than they appear to. They're the way our brains sort through what's bothering us – things we don't like to think about while we're awake. Then again, my wife says dreams are the way the universe talks to us while we're asleep, since our brains are too full of our own thoughts to hear it while we're awake. Maybe if you told me about –"
"Some other time." Riku flopped back into his sleeping-roll and turned away from the king. "Sometimes dreams are just bad eating habits. They don't mean anything deeper."
"All right," Mickey said. "But I'm here if you wanna talk, pal."
Riku shut his eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. It wasn't the safe haven it had been before. His brain whirled, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget the desperate sound of the Not-Sora's voice.
Fin.
.