Letters to You, in Anything but Scarlet

A Bungou Stray Dogs oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The Bungou Stray Dogs characters belong to Asagiri Kafuka-sensei, not to me. More Hawmitch from me, because I can't help it~ :} Read, review, and enjoy! *Note: This contains spoilers for ch45 and beyond of the manga.

- ^-^3

I had a dream, Nathaniel.

Well, it was less a dream and more a memory, but not everything that transpired did so faithfully, because that memory is burned into my mind. It's not something I want to forget…then again, I rather like how my dream turned out.

Do you remember? Back in California. Back in our early days in the Guild. Back when Fitzgerald moved us into one of his properties in the year—no, the months—before we left for Japan. It was one of those afternoons, all of us heading to the dining room for lunch, Fitzgerald scolding Twain to wash his hands before we ate, Melville asking if anyone had seen Lucy about, Louisa showing up, as always, at the last minute and with an ink smear on her cheek.

Me by your side, chatting away about the lovely flowers in the garden and how well they were coming along.

You, by my side, ignoring everything I said.

But, really, in my dream, you were only pretending not to hear. There's a part of you that loves all of Creation nearly as much as you loathe it, and I somehow knew you were pleased with my descriptions of the fledgling strawberry plants, the commonplace roses in all their colorful variety, the outstanding cosmos which I thought might make a lovely brooch or hairpiece because their coloring was so outstanding.

And I appreciated my dream. Do you know why? Because I caught the slightest twitch of your mouth, an almost-smile from anyone else and a genuine beaming grin from Nathaniel Hawthorne himself. And my heart did leaps and somersaults.

Things may not have played out that way, Nathaniel, but I think I'd prefer to remember them this way.

- ^-^3

I had a dream, Nathaniel.

I dreamed of the salt-tinged flavor of the wide open sea, of seeing which of us could handle our seasickness better, of letting my hair down to be blown and battered by winds over which I had no control, of you maybe joining me at your own leisure and relaxing for once in your life.

But I also dreamed of the other side of things, of scurvy and maelstroms, of bad luck and rats, of being stranded and never seeing home again.

Of these horrors, the bad luck shook me to the bone, and I couldn't help but think, What if Fitzgerald is wrong? What if Japan's ability users are a whole other breed?

And my dream told me I was right to be suspicious, because one of them got to you, and then you were falling, I was falling, into your arms, wrapped up in an iota of safety, swallowed up by the black of the cloth draped over your shoulders.

And then, Nathaniel, blackness enveloped me completely, and I couldn't recall the warmth of your arms for a very, very long time.

- ^-^3

I had a dream, Nathaniel.

Black has never been a favorite color of mine, but I have a fondness for it now, a fondness that developed over time, over the course of our partnership. It's a color I associate with you, and it scares me less to think of black when I glimpse your clean and neat habit or your beloved Bible.

But, this time, in this dream, blackness scared me.

It shook me to the core, being surrounded by blackness. No, perhaps that's not a fair evaluation. It wasn't blackness so much as…darkness. Intangible, suffocating darkness. No single spark of light. No pinprick of color that belied life. No hint whatsoever of you. Or even of me. A complete nothingness to handicap the senses. All the senses…but one.

I'd dreamt of rats before, Nathaniel, but the darkness pierced by the screeching of rats and the sense of their movements—God, it shook me so badly.

From a lifetime in a past world (our California days) to our time spent amongst briny air and water (our dock mission) to this perceived madness, this paranoia brought on by the onset of rats, rats, rats, rats, rats!

Tell me, Nathaniel, what has become of us, of you, of me?

Tell me, Nathaniel, because these dreams are turning into nightmares.

- ^-^3

I had a nightmare, Nathaniel.

It was my most confusing one yet. Something tells me that it was part memory, which terrifies me. Partly since I could only be a kind of bystander. Partly for the content.

The stench of rats this time around was never stronger. But this time I felt trapped in a foreign-language film, a horror film from another continent, except the subtitles were in the same language as these odd characters around me—around us, around you.

I know little of other languages. Yes, I know, you, the man of God, know at least Latin, and I, the sheltered debutante, am too high-class to bother learning anything besides my mother tongue. But even I know something of names.

Pushkin. Goncharov. Gogol. Dostoyevsky.

Even I can recognize a Russian name when I hear it often enough.

It's chilling, you know. Whether they speak so freely without much use for codenames because they believe me to be a shell of a person or they speak so openly because they know I'm simply trapped right now, waiting to regain my health one day soon, because they know I'm not gone and can hear them and maybe will be frightened into joining them, too—

Ah, "too." And that's the part that makes it a nightmare.

You never were one for masks, Nathaniel. So imagine my surprise when I dreamed of you, disheveled, in tattered robes, a porcelain mask in one hand, neither your Bible nor your beloved cross in the other…and a flat, emotionless mask molding your sharp features. You sat by my bedside, watching over me without truly watching, your worry turning you into someone else, into a man I don't know.

Your alliance with these Russian rats taking all I know of my Nathaniel Hawthorne and transmuting him into a horrific puppet.

And, the scariest thing of all, Nathaniel? This puppet was the one telling me how much he loved me and wishing I'd come back, wishing I'd return to him.

- ^-^3

I had a dream, Nathaniel.

We emerged from the rats' nest. Cast aside as things to be forgotten by Dostoyevsky, as useless pieces that would die off with time or would self-destruct (and, God, you were so close), we were abandoned by the very same people who claimed they would help you, would help me, so long as you stayed their puppet.

But that didn't stay the agreement for long, and you were a mere distraction for the Port Mafia on their behalf. A decoy, and nothing more.

In my dream, you began to come to your senses, and you took me away from all of this. But we didn't run away—from anywhere, to anywhere. After all, ability users can only go so far before they cross paths with other ability users, no?

And we did. We didn't see Fitzgerald or Louisa again. Not Melville, not Twain, not Lucy…

But we crossed paths with John.

Everything he said made sense to you, I could tell. Perhaps you sensed it, too, how his resolve was bolstered by Lovecraft's absence at his side. Perhaps you were ready to admit that John's reservations about someone like Fitzgerald, who only ever put himself first, were correct. Perhaps you were overcome by the relief of having your own say for the first time in a long while, putting your head together with his, discussing ways to heal me that didn't involve kidnapping or coercing the Armed Detective Agency's doctor.

Perhaps it felt like the first time you didn't feel backed into a corner, backed into joining yet another group who'd promise you everything and then give you nothing but pain in return.

John's always been a kind soul. Of course there's darkness in him; the more there is that you care about, the more you have to lose, and, oh, John might be the darkest person we know. But he healed me first, before you swore any allegiance, because he's a kind soul, and kind souls look after their friends.

Don't worry, Nathaniel. This part? This wasn't a nightmare. Letting John test his theories… Letting John share his blood with me, the incompatibility be damned… Letting my body reject his blood type and putting up with the pain until he inserted those little grape seeds and they got to work…

Rejuvenation is not a nightmare, Nathaniel. How can it be? Even if I only dream of this wild theory working… Even if I only dream of opening my eyes to see your tear-stained face… Even if I only dream of John's relieved smile at his success… Even if I only dream of the next life we'll live, not under Fitzgerald's leadership but under Steinbeck's…

Oh, what a dream it is, dear. I want to tell you all about it, while squeezing your hand with all my might as the vines course through my body and mend me, while smiling at the feeling of your warm tears on my face as you bend over to kiss my forehead so gently. I really want to tell you all about it.

"I had the funniest dream, Nathaniel…."

- ^-^3

Well, hot damn. It's been more than a year since I started this little fic, but I finally finished it! :D (It's also been a while since I wrote anything for BSD, whoops.) Hmm… I have to say, so much has happened in the manga since then, even tho v little pertains to the Guild members proper; man, the rats are running amok. X_X ANYWHO. I really like this concept, seeing things from Mitchell's side while she's been incapacitated. I like to think that she's been aware of more than the others could know. And I QUITE like the second theory I have for fixing her (see a good one in "Drastic Measures," btw). The more I think about it, with *spoiler alert* Fitzgerald returning to America for now, even literally abandoning ship, *lol*, Hawmitch turning to and joining up with Steinbeck would be REALLY FREAKING COOL. (Mostly, I just love John, orz.) Anyway. I've got some more Hawmitch to write! :D (Not all of which is as heavy as this, no worries, *lol*.)

Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other [BSD] fics if you liked this!

-mew-tsubaki :D