Consumed
Summary: He had been living within the recesses of his own mind for so long that the line between dream and reality had long since blurred. Before he realized it, decades had slipped by and he had forgotten that it was all a dream.
Author's Note: This is a companion piece to The Labyrinth. I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception.
He woke up on the beach.
The thundering sound of the water pounding the shoreline greeted him as he slowly regained consciousness. One wave after another washed over him, soaking his clothes all the way through. He shivered violently, although the sun was high in the sky and its rays were shining down brightly, warming his cheeks. Another wave broke over him and he accidently swallowed a mouthful of water as he slowly turned over onto his back. The taste was bitter and unpleasant; the salt burned the back of his throat on the way down.
He groaned softly as he forced his eyelids open. His head felt so heavy that he found he was barely able to lift it off the sand. He felt as though all of his energy had been drained out of his body and it took everything in him not to give into his fatigue. He hesitated for a moment before trying to stand. Almost instantly, he felt an unbelievable amount of pain radiate in his abdomen and it stopped him dead in his tracks.
He paused for just a moment; his chest hurt so badly he almost could not breathe. He looked down in concern at his white, button down shirt; he was expecting to see it soaked with his blood, but there was nothing there. He was fine. Wincing, he attempted to push himself up slowly off the sand to get to his feet again. The sun was so intense here that it caused him to have to squint until his eyes had a chance to adjust to the light. Then, all of a sudden, he remembered what had happened to him. He had gotten shot in the chest while in the third dream level down. That was how he ended up here.
He swallowed heavily; his mouth suddenly void of any kind of moisture. An uneasy, panicked feeling suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach. He felt tears forming in his eyes as he came to realize exactly where he was. Things had obviously gone wrong – very wrong. He shook his head; they had not been naïve. The entire team had prepared themselves well for this job before they entered the dream world. He understood that this was the very last thing they had all thought would happen.
They were careful. No one was supposed to be shot. His stomach suddenly churned harshly and he felt sick. While exploring the dreamscape, Ariadne had been cornered unexpectedly by projections. One of them held a gun and Arthur knew that he had to do something. He knew that they could not leave her behind. He had only been trying to protect her. He knew that if she got shot, she would not wake up because of the sedative. He had to save her from falling into limbo.
There were things about this place that he did not understand, but he did understand that limbo could penetrate even most the prepared mind. He had personally witnessed what it had done to Mal. He knew that he would not be capable of forgiving himself if he allowed the same thing to happen to Ariadne. But now, he was the one who was stuck in this maze. He tried to suppress his level of alarm, knowing that he had to remain calm if he was ever going to find a way to wake himself up.
He found his balance and tried to walk up the beach, only managing to take a few steps before falling to his knees. His legs were so weak that they could barely support his own body weight. He tried to will himself to stand again but his body would not cooperate. He was just tired, so tired. Ignoring his better judgment, he laid his head back down the wet sand in defeat and shut his eyes tightly.
He seemed to lie there on the sand for an eternity, on the brink of consciousness. He could sense, just slightly, a presence approach him, leaving a path of their footprints imprinted in the sand. Their shadow cast a small bit of shade over his face in the bright sun. Before he even opened his eyes, he could sense that it was her.
You should have known she would be here, he thought to himself.
He lifted his head up slightly and peeled his eyelids open again, peering up at her. She stood over him, her figure blocking his view of the sun. Soft, chestnut curls framed her face as she gazed down at him, a gentle look arising in her cobalt eyes. She was dressed in a cream colored dress. A slight breeze was flowing in off of the waves, blowing her hair off her petite shoulders. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. She almost looked too perfect to be real. He squinted up at her, studying her.
He swallowed, having to silently remind himself that she was not real.
Mal did not exist.
You're dreaming.
He had suddenly realized that he no idea just how long he had been lying there on the sand. He noticed that the sky had changed drastically. He sat up slowly and looked around him; he still felt dizzy and was worried that he might lose consciousness. It was getting dark now; the sun had begun to set on the horizon just behind her. The sky had been turned into a canvas of multiple shades of orange, yellow, and red. He had figured that he had been lying there for at least a few hours before she had found him. He deduced that he must have passed out again.
He watched her, slightly nervous. He was unsure of what to say and was uncertain about what she wanted. He knew how ferocious and potentially unpredictable Mal could become in a dream. He realized abruptly that she had killed every single person on the team, even Cobb, in a dream at least once. He understood just how dangerous she was, he just did not know what she would do in a place like this. He just knew that he had to be very cautious around her until he found a way out of here.
But, something about her seemed different than before. Her demeanor had changed. The sense of anger that he knew that she felt previously had seemed to disappear. She seemed to be calmer and that provided him a strange sense of comfort. He realized then that he would not to be afraid, knowing that she was not there to hurt him. It struck him immediately how much she appeared to be a reflection of the person she was in reality. She seemed to be just as sweet and lovely as she had been before she killed herself. Tears formed in his eyes slowly as it occurred to him just how much he had missed her.
She was smiling down at him warmly, her blue eyes sparkling slightly. He was expecting her to say something; but instead, she just extended her hand out to him without a word. He hesitated for just a brief moment before taking it and allowing her to help him to his feet. His legs felt stronger now; they were actually able to support his weight this time and he noticed that the pain in his chest had faded almost to the point of being gone.
He saw tears in her eyes and watched her swallow, taking in his disheveled appearance with a horrified expression on her face.
"What happened to you, mon cher?" She asked him gently.
He paused, running a hand through his dark, wet hair. Locks of it stuck to his forehead as he tried to remember. Then suddenly, it came to him.
"I was shot." He whispered.
His voice sounded so far away that he almost did not realize that it had been him who had spoken.
He heard him scoff, watching him with pity. She shook her head slowly, caressing his cheek gently with one hand.
"You poor thing."
He ignored her, his eyebrows knit together slightly. He turned away from her, looking up towards the sky. He sighed, knowing that his friends were up there waiting for him. "I need to wake myself up."
She stared at him quietly, hurt. "You want to leave already?"
"I can't stay here, Mal. You know that." He explained patiently, looking back at her.
"Why?" She challenged, although her tone was soft.
"This place isn't real." He insisted. "I don't belong here. They're…they're waiting for me to wake up."
She looked down at the sand briefly, and he knew that he had disappointed her. He bit his bottom lip gently; he could not bring himself to care. He knew that he could not let her get to him. He could not let himself become distracted by her. He had to idea how long he would be stuck here, but he needed to find a way to get out of here before he lost himself just like Mal had.
"I miss you." She spoke suddenly, watching him beseechingly.
Her words sent a shock through his body. He almost did not know what to say.
"I miss you, too. But-"
"Please, don't leave me."
"This is a dream."
She shook her head, her voice wavering just slightly. "I know that. But, why does that have to matter? You could stay for just a little while. We can be together. Just let yourself dream, Arthur."
"Mal, I can't."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. He frowned, immediately reaching for her hand, holding it gently within his. He knew his words had stung her and the instant guilt he felt made him feel sick.
"I'm sorry." He whispered after a while, not recognizing his own voice. He shut his eyes, hesitating briefly, before doing something that he hoped he would not come to regret. "Okay."
Mal wiped her tears away, looking at him hopefully.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll stay, but only for a little while. Then I have to go, Mal." He responded carefully, raising her eyebrows at her.
He did not know why he had given in to her so easily, but he wanted to make sure that she understood that he was not planning on staying long.
"You promise?" She asked mildly.
He nodded. "I promise."
They left the beach hand-in-hand. He looked back only briefly, realizing only for a moment how dangerous it was to wander too far into the city. He did not know the layout and was afraid that he might get lost. He might not be able to find his way back.
This is only a dream.
He shook his head roughly, tightening his grip on her hand slightly.
He bowed his head and kept walking.
She cooked him breakfast but he refused to eat it.
He did not have much of an appetite.
All he could think about finding his way back to reality.
He was trapped here and it was driving him crazy. He was determined to wake up while he still had his sanity.
He set his gun gently down on the table in front of him briefly before picking it up again.
He looked over at her.
Please, don't leave me.
She looked pained, gazing back at him pleadingly.
Don't lose yourself.
He was silent for a long time before finally releasing his grip on the gun.
He did not understand the power she seemed to have here. He was not sure why he was so easily manipulated by her, but he was sure that he did not like it. He knew he was no pushover in reality, so why was he one now?
She had been able to convince him to stay for a month already and as much as he wanted to, he could not say that he cared very much. It only slightly bothered him that he did not, realizing that he should be doing everything in his power to get back to reality. He did not know why he had not killed himself yet; he had a gun and had had plenty of chances so far. He knew better than admit it, but he was beginning to like it here.
Mal was wonderful and at times, he found himself considering staying with her. Life here was almost perfect that he almost did not see a reason to go back to reality. Here he had her, whereas in reality, he had no one. He knew that she cared for him in a way that nobody else did.
He figured that that was the reason his so called friends had not come looking for him yet.
Were they worried about him?
Did they even care at all?
It worried him less and less each day to realize that it was getting harder and harder to realize that he was in a dream.
Don't lose yourself.
He was beginning to forget things little by little.
This was a dream.
His name.
The names of all his friends that he desperately wanted to believe were waiting for him to wake up.
Why he was here.
He wrote everything down in a notebook so he could make sure that he would not forget. It would be too dangerous to allow that to happen.
They sat on the sand, huddled together, watching the waves roll in. Their hands were clasped together loosely. She rested her head against his shoulder lightly as she hummed a song that Arthur did not recognize.
Do you think they miss me?
She lifted her head, blinking at him, questioningly.
Who, mon cher?
Arthur paused briefly, trying hard to remember their names. They were written down in his notebook somewhere in the house. He reminded himself to look for it once they got home. He finally shrugged, realizing that he was not sure.
He bit his bottom lip lightly looking back at the water.
I don't know.
He knew in his heart that Mal was not real. Still, he could not shake the guilt that he experienced whenever he considered taking his own life. The guilt was so intense that it was unsettling. Mal had been alone in this world for too long and he knew that she needed him. He had eventually grown to need her too and he was worried that when he woke up, he might miss her.
It took only a moment for him to decide that he would stay.
He was losing himself.
That was the one thing Ariadne had warned him not to do before he died.
He knew was letting her down.
Two.
Two.
Two.
He threw the loaded die on the surface of the table over and over again, watching it carefully as it landed.
You're dreaming. It told him.
You're awake. She told him.
Don't lose yourself. He told himself.
He shook his head, not knowing what to believe.
He pressed his gun to his temple, threatening to pull the trigger.
Calm down, mon cher.
Tears pooled in his eyes as he watched her.
I'll kill myself.
If he shot himself, he would wake up. Right?
She shook her head sadly, prying the gun easily out of his hands.
He clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder as he wept.
She stroked his hair gently.
Please don't hurt yourself, mon cher. She begged.
So, he didn't.
She took his gun from him and hid it, refusing to tell him where it was.
They had an argument about it.
She looked at him with betrayal in her eyes.
You promised me you would stay.
He was silent.
He spent a whole day searching the entire house, and still came up empty-handed.
He stopped only when he realized that he could not recall what he exactly it was that he was missing in the first place.
He avoided her for the rest of the day, angry more at himself than he was at her.
He did not understand why.
He shook his head, deciding to go for a walk.
Don't lose yourself.
He left the house briskly, forgetting that this was only a dream.
Two.
Two.
He pulled open the bottom right drawer of his bureau harshly. He snatched the loaded red die quickly off of the surface of the piece of furniture, rolling the small cube around in his hand gently before stuffing it underneath a pile of his clothes. He hid it well, never intending to look at it again.
Why should he?
It constantly lied to him.
It kept telling him he was in a dream, when he was certain that he was awake. He slammed to drawer shut loudly, failing to suppress his anger and frustration. It occurred to him suddenly how naïve he had been. His loaded die was nothing more than a red piece of plastic. Why had he ever believed that it could possibly know the difference between reality and dreams any better than he did?
He realized abruptly how little purpose totems actually served when you started doubting yourself. How easily a totem found it to convince you of something that simply was not true. He knew now the reason why Cobb had always told him never to rely too heavily on his totem. What he had not realized until now is that totems had the ability to lie and could fool you if you were not careful. But, if you could not trust your own totem, what could you trust?
The only thing he had left that he believed he could depend on was Mal.
She never lied.
At least, that was what she told him. That was what he needed to believe. She was the only person he felt he could trust. He cared about her even more than he cared about himself. As lost as he was, he understood how even more lost he would be if she left him. He would not be able to survive here without her.
He could remember nothing but her.
Limbo had become his reality.
The next thought he had that he could be living in a dream occurred to him years later, when he was with Mal. They were at home, sitting out on the porch, watching the sun going down.
He did not know what had caused this thought to enter hid min, but he could not shake it. He fidgeted in his chair, looking around himself curiously.
Am I dreaming?
She turned to look at her, her eyes tender, knowing that something was wrong. He blushed instantly, realizing that he must have said that out loud. He frowned briefly; he had not meant for her to hear that. He held his breath for a second, thinking that she was going to be angry.
Instead, she only watched him for a moment, shaking her head slowly. She reached over, stroking the back of his right hand with her fingers gently.
Of course not, mon cher. Why would you ever think such a thing?
She looked slightly wounded, and his cheeks turned even redder in embarrassment.
He nibbled on his bottom lip thoughtfully, considering this. He did not know why he thought he was dreaming.
Don't lose yourself.
He shrugged. I don't know.
Silence fell between them for what seemed like a few minutes, and she looped her fingers hesitantly through his loosely. He swallowed, studying her expression intently. The corners of his mouth turned up into a gentle smile and he forgot that he thought that he was in a dream.
He had been there so long that now it seemed to him as if every single day was beginning to blend in so well with the previous one that it was very, very difficult for him to arbitrate an exact length of time. If it was not for the fact that the sun was setting each night and rising again each morning, he would not be so sure he could tell the difference between one day and the next. If he had to speculate, he would say he was certain that at least a decade had passed since he arrived here, but that was his best guess.
Everything had begun to bleed together, and he was just trying to hold on to his sanity. His mind was decaying quickly, and his sense of time had diminished so greatly it was almost nonexistent. He used to have a way to keep track of the days gone by. He created a tally mark for each one on the very first page of his notebook. He knew it was important to make a point of doing it each and every day, as to prevent something like this from happening, to stop him from losing himself. He had used almost the entire first page for this method; until, one day, he suddenly stopped.
He woke up one morning, it had been years and years ago now, and saw small notebook with a red leather cover lying on the corner of his bureau. Curious, he walked over and picked it up, noticing that it looked rather old. The exterior appeared somewhat weathered, and when he opened the book up to look inside, he saw that the paper was beginning to yellow. Inside, the pages had writing on them up until about the halfway point of the book. Someone had scrawled across the pages in black ink. He did not recognize the handwriting. He walked back to his bed with it in hand and sat down to read what this notebook had to say. He shook his head, wondering for how long this little book had been lying there; surely he would have noticed it if it had been there before.
The first page was laden with small groups of parallel lines. Turning the page, he saw a list of names scrawled in the middle of it and nothing else. He read each name on the list carefully in his head.
Arthur.
He swallowed, knitting his eyebrows together curiously.
He had to remind himself that that was his name.
Cobb.
Eames.
Ariadne.
He spoke the last three names softly to himself over and over and over again. Finally, he slapped the notebook closed harshly in frustration. He could not figure out what those names meant or why the notebook had been in his room in the first place. Angry, he stalked back over to his bureau, pulled open an empty drawer and threw it inside. That was the last time he ever touched that thing. He left that notebook in the drawer to gather dust and never thought about it or that list of names he did not recognize again.
Occasionally, if the thought occurred to him, he would ask her how long it had been. She would only smile at him, but he could see that she had tears in her eyes, causing Arthur to think that maybe he had made a mistake. She held his hands in hers as she spoke very softly to him, assuring him that he had been here all along, mon cher.
He would be silent, never questioning, because he honestly did not know anything else. He was hard-pressed to remember anything past his time here, anything but her. It had been so long, that he could not remember what reality was like. He could not say that he missed it, or the people that he once knew. It was oh, so hard to remember their faces.
But, he could not say that he cared. He had not thought about those people in ages. There was no reason to. He was happy with his life here; he no longer felt a need to go back. He had her and that was the only thing he cared about.
She wrapped her arm tightly around his as they walked down the street.
He walked, almost lifelessly, by her side.
She watched him, in concern, sensing that there was something wrong. His personality had changed drastically in the last weeks. He stopped speaking and there was a certain look in his eyes that she did not know.
He stumbled briefly, and she held him closer to her, pulling him along the sidewalk.
She felt sorry for him.
He had been living here for thirty years and it had obviously taken its toll on his mind.
There had been a kind of damage done to him that she understood could not be reversed.
When they reached the corner, he spotted a young woman with long brown hair across the street, walking in the opposite direction that they were. He stopped abruptly to watch her intensely, suddenly wondering what it was about this girl that seemed so familiar to him. Had he perhaps known her once? He felt a strange urge to call out to her. Why was it so hard to think of her name?
He doubted himself, turning to Mal quickly, tears in his eyes.
What is it, Arthur? She questioned in concern, stroking his arm.
He paused, looking back across the street; but he was too late. He had lost track of the young woman; she seemed to have disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared.
He turned back to her again, instantly forgetting.
He opened his mouth, struggling to speak as he remembered that Arthur was his name.
N-nothing. He stammered.
It was the first word he had spoken in days, and it shocked her to hear his voice. She tried her best to smile at him. He looked down, studying his shoes. She frowned, seeing tears begin to slip down his cheeks.
Don't worry, mon cher. You're going to be fine. She whispered, trying to reassure him.
He raised his eyes suddenly, staring at her.
Can we go home now?
His voice sounded strange. It was abnormally small and childish; it was nothing like Mal could remember it being.
He watched her expectantly. She stroked his cheek a few times before taking his hand gently in hers.
Ok. She spoke softly, guiding him home.
Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated.