Author's Note: Wow, I haven't thought about this story in a long while... If you've followed me for any length of time, you might have read my two-story series. Connected By Dreams, and the sequel, Crystal Nightmare. If you haven't, don't click out and find it quite yet, because as you saw, this is Connected By Dreams - Take 2. I've decided to re-write the series, and improve it. If you do wish to read the original series, I'm not taking those down, so go ahead. But I can assure you, this time around, the writing quality will be TONS better.
Special Note To Returning Readers: Before I made this decision, I went back and read all the reviews that were left on both Connected By Dreams and Crystal Nightmare. Each and every word filled my heart with joy, and I cannot express how grateful I am that so many people took the time to read my stories. I hope anyone returning isn't upset by any changes that I may make, but I can assure you that all the old reviews are being taken into account, and that my only goal is to improve the quality and address plot holes I feel are necessary to fix.
Welcome back to Connected By Dreams.
Chapter 1 - Chance Encounter
Hope Estheim held his breath and ducked inside the hollow trunk of a dying tree. This was bad. Behind him was a maniac - an old friend sick with revenge, and he was fairly certain that the only thing ahead was some sort of military encampment. It was a collection of perfect irony.
Surrounded on all sides, backed into a decaying, crumbling oak. He'd definitely been in better situations.
Unfortunately, he couldn't hide forever. Deciding to skirt the encampment as best he could, Hope crawled back out of the tree and started sprinting. The trees and general foliage around him were so thick that he had to hold back, which was physically frustrating. He knew he could run faster. If he hadn't been caught with his pants down in a forest, he would've escaped by now. As it was, he was faster than most, and easily kept ahead of his pursuer.
The military camp wasn't as large as he thought, making it easier to escape in what was essentially a straight line. But as he teased the edges, a loud chorus of shouting came from within. Hope hesitated, just for a moment. Something...didn't feel right. Something was wrong. The voices were filled with panic. He staggered to a near stop as his wrist exploded into searing pain, he couldn't keep himself from crying out.
And then the camp actually exploded.
It could have been years later that Hope woke up, and he wouldn't have noticed. It hadn't been years, however; he could still feel the heat, smell the remnants of the explosion: the smoke, the electric scent new bombs carried with them, as though someone were burning a lightning bolt. Ashes flew in the air above him.
Two things hit him, then. First - which he wasn't sure how he missed - was half a fallen tree crushing him. He tried to move, and was less concerned with the pain than he was with the fact that he couldn't seem to free himself even the slightest bit. He managed to jostle the tree, but only about as much as a child could. It was clear that he was trapped, at least for the moment.
The second thing to hit him was the smell.
He had the unfortunate pleasure of experiencing this more than once: the smell of death. Reality came back to Hope in droves. He was being chased. He survived another explosion. The likelihood that any of the soldiers in the camp survived was minimal. He was trapped. He was injured. There was nothing he could do.
Hope turned his head to the left. He could see a few bodies from where he was, mostly burned beyond recognition, but one or two still had faces. He whispered a quick prayer to the goddess for their souls. He had no idea why the explosion occurred, but no one deserved to die like that. He offered another prayer, not so much to the goddess as to the past, that their deaths were quick and relatively painless.
Having offered his respects to the dead, Hope laid still. He needed to gather the strength to escape his current situation. As much as a considerable part of him was still reeling from the explosion, as much as he'd like to make sure these people got a proper burial, he couldn't allow himself to get caught. He didn't want to deal with what he'd have to do if he was.
He meditated, steeling himself to lift the tree, preparing himself for the pain that was sure to follow. He awkwardly situated his hands, scraping his fingers on the rough wood that remained underneath the charred bark. One strong effort should do it... With a deep breath, Hope poured all of his energy into pushing the damn...tree...
He inhaled sharply enough to actually hurt his throat. The pain wasn't just from the explosion, or being crushed. Something actually pierced him. He felt it now, somewhere near his stomach. Hope's arms wobbled in hesitation, but he knew he couldn't stop. He breathed in...out...in...and freed himself.
The remains of the tree crashed to the ground beside him, and mountains of ash puffed into the air like a storm. He tried as hard as he could to ignore the pain, but it was as though someone had stuck their hand into his abdomen. He couldn't look, he knew there was going to be more blood than he'd want to see. It wouldn't do to focus on his injury now, he'd be fine. He had to keep running.
With some difficulty, Hope managed to get to his feet. He was filthy, covered with ash from head to toe, and his clothes were partially burned in several places - not to mention covered in the blood he didn't want to see. He made note of these things while checking his surroundings. He couldn't see anyone living, but he doubted he had much time to make his escape. Making the decision without really deciding anything, he started to make his way through the heart of the destroyed camp.
Hope tried to keep his mind blank as he trekked through the carnage, stepping over body after body. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it. So many faces passed through his mind - he pulled up his shirt to help mask the stench - so many people he used to know - he knew something was wrong, he could've stopped and maybe saved some lives - so many lives, destroyed, snuffed out as if they never existed - these soldiers, they had families to go back to - he ran from it all, it was too much...
Click.
Hope stopped. Someone survived. And their gun was likely pointed right at the back of his head. He raised his hands slowly, not wanting to provoke them. If he wasn't careful, someone was going to get hurt.
And it was probably going to be them.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he explained cautiously, "I'm just passing through."
"Did you set that bomb?" the survivor snarled. It was a woman. Hope didn't answer, consumed by her voice before she even finished speaking. Something was familiar about it...
The woman's footsteps crunched closer to him. She mustn't have been too injured if she could walk. That was good. She pressed the gun to his neck sharply, "That bomb killed my men! Answer me! Did you set it!"
Pure rage radiated from her. Hope might not even have to make a mistake, she might shoot him anyway. He did his best not to move, "No, I didn't. I was nearby when it went off, and got trapped under a tree. I managed to escape, and now here we are."
She wasn't buying it, "We're in the middle of nowhere. You expect me to believe that you just 'happened' to be nearby?"
Hope kept his voice level, but he was starting to get antsy. He was running out of time. "I swear on my mother's grave, I had nothing to do with the bomb."
Slowly, the metal of the gun's nose left his flesh. He thought for a moment that he had convinced her, but he knew that argument wouldn't easily convince a stranger, and besides, he could still feel the gun hovering nearby. She was merely shifting focus to look at his face. He kept his eyes forward as she slowly came around on the right. Then, in his peripheral, he saw the color of her hair. A soft, rose-colored shade of pink. In that instant, his heart stopped. That color, the voice. No...she couldn't be...
Lightning Farron came clearly into his view.
For a moment, Hope regressed to a child again. He almost burst into tears upon seeing his old mentor. Partially because it had been so, so long since he had seen her, but mostly because the look of hostility hadn't left her face. Had it been that long? Had he changed that much? Or was it worse...had she forgotten him?
"Who are you?" she demanded.
His heart sank, "Lightning...it's me. Hope."
Her actual expression didn't change at first, but he saw the struggle in her eyes. Maybe the struggle of remembering him? Or maybe the struggle of matching his face with the eighteen-year-old she knew five hundred years ago. He knew he'd changed, but she hadn't. Not a bit. Her hair was a little longer, but her eyes were the same. Her face, the way she held herself. It was all...Lightning.
Finally, she shed most of her hostility, and lowered her gun. Hope saw now that it wouldn't have fired even if she tried. Most of it was melted, it was more than she could've asked for to make it click like she did. But the fact that she wasn't directly threatening him anymore meant that she probably believed him. He'd have to prove his identity.
"My name is Hope Estheim," he began, "And your real name is Claire. We met when I was fourteen, we were the l'Cie that saved humanity."
Lightning raised her gun back up a little, "You look like Hope, but everything else is in the history books. Everyone knows that."
Her hand was shaking. Hope realized that it probably wasn't that she didn't believe, she probably just didn't want to believe. He must've hurt her more than he realized...
He took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye, "Two years after the Fall, Serah had a miscarriage. The only people who knew were you and me. She didn't get a chance to tell Snow before it happened. We found her sobbing in the bathroom."
Lightning froze. She had to believe now. Serah had made them swear not to tell a soul. There was no way anyone but the three of them knew about it.
The destroyed gun clattered to the ground, kicking up yet more ash. Lightning stepped forward, touched his face, looked into his eyes, made note of some old scars across his torso - made visible through the burns in his shirt - that could belong to no one else. "It...is you..." she whispered, astonished, "I...we...thought you died," anger started to flare up in her eyes again, her voice went cold, "Where the hell have you been? It's been centuries, Estheim! Not even a word from you!"
"I'm sorry, Light...it's been hard for me t-"
"Hard for you?" she snapped, following up with a swift smack to the face, "We've been worried sick, worse than sick! Snow alone spent fifty years looking for you! Fifty! And now you just show up in the middle of-" she stopped, suddenly remembering where they were and what happened, "Goddess, my men..." she turned to him, "If you didn't set that bomb, then-"
Suddenly, Hope's wrist burned again, worse than before. Everything went white. He tried to return to reality, but something was bothering him. Something...close...
Just as quickly, he snapped back. He found himself on the ground again, with Lightning shaking him.
"Hope! What happened? Are you alright?"
Hope got up, hyper-aware of everything around them. They weren't safe. They had to move, now. He grabbed Lightning's wrist and pulled her along, moving at a much quicker pace than before.
Lightning was able to keep up easily, but she struggled against him, "Hope, what are you doing!"
Hope pulled her the rest of the way out of the destroyed encampment and into the undamaged forest; he picked up speed, "I'll explain when we're safe, but we've got to go!"
Lightning struggled less, considering his words. "Fine!" she decided, "I know where we can go, we scouted out an old house a few miles away, it's got a bunker!"
Hope didn't stop, but let her go so she could guide him. A bunker sounded perfect. Lightning took off in a completely different direction; he pivoted quickly to follow her. He kept his eyes on her back, and realized how quickly they slipped into their old normal of having each other's backs, having only been reunited for a few minutes. Once they were safe, he would try to dispel her anger, try to explain. He knew he'd hurt everyone when he left, but...
They just didn't understand.