..:: Reality Check ::..
By: S.N. Rainsworth

A/N - This story is undergoing major editing, but is, in fact, being continued. The prologue and first chapter has been meshed to create one larger chapter, but chapter two will be kept as is and chapter three is currently in progress. Thank you all for those who have put this story on alert. :)

Edited: May 31st, 2012.

life's lines between / dreams and reality / are erased.

Chapter I:
Burnt

When Daniel was able to escape the castle of Brennenburg, the first thing he did was breathe. Because breathing gave him at least a small sense of security; that, and the fact that there was no nightmare-defying monster was chasing him with the intention to kill him, or a mad, brainwashing old Baron to force him to murder and torture innocents, or maybe it was the fact that there was light outside, there was living and there was sun, it could've been any.

There was the relief, at least. There was no cold, shivering, tingling feeling up and down his arms, the gasps of terrified breaths when the dark was too dark and there was something behind him.

No.

No more.

The castle of Brennenburg was held upon a great, gigantic hill, surrounded by shrubbery and trees, yet the ground was dry and barren, the animals seemingly to have fled. The air had a tinge of summer in it, but honestly - Daniel wasn't sure what day, what year, what time he was in anymore. How much did the world change with his absence? How much time had passed?

His feet walked in an easy rhythm; almost as if they knew the path down to the tiny village at the foot of the hill. To retribution.

The sight of livelihood was almost too much. It must've been midday, because the street corners and cobblestones were full of people, real, living people. People with smiles on their faces and laughs bubbling out of their chest, not screams. Not dying. No, they were alive, untainted, so alluring that Daniel wanted to reach out and see if he could join.

Of course, to reach the bottom of the hill was long and the journey was rocky; but he didn't stop, his mind focused solely on water, on food, on life.

When he made it to his destination, he looked around the place with one last, soulful glance, and fell in an unceremonious heap to the floor.

"Whoa there, mate. You've had quite a fall. Take it easy."

Soothing, was the first thing that Daniel felt himself thinking. His limbs were stiff, and when he opened his eyes, the light of the window blinded him for a second before he could see properly.

Beside him was a boy, just reaching his teenage years it seemed, with bright eyes and light hair. He had a patched up, worn-out pageboy hat on his head, the clothing of his breeches covered in ink and fingerprints that didn't seem washed. Neither was his shirt or his vest.

Daniel grunted. "Who're you?"

"I'm just a regular guy whose mamma sent 'im to take care a ya'." he grinned. Daniel suspected, in his hazy fog of a mind, a slight accent. Southern, it was. How did he not notice? It was vaguely familiar - ah, yes. The prisoners. They had that accent. Immediately, his mind cleared, and he grimaced before shoving the memories out, somewhat unsuccessfully. The boy frowned. "You okay there, mate?"

"I'm fine," he muttered. Then, sitting up slightly, he looked to the boy. "I'm Daniel." His voice was hoarse in his throat; it was such a long time since he'd last introduced himself.

But the boy didn't look fazed - instead, he smiled. "I'm John. Nice to meet you Daniel. Say, I'm just a tad curious; what were ya' doin' in Brennenburg?"

At his words, Daniel stiffened. John seemed to notice this and hastily made a move to correct his mistake. "I - I mean, you don't have ta' answer. Me and my ma' just saw you comin' down from that big 'ol hill up there, and then you just'a passed out in the road. A 'course, the stories about that castle is a mighty scary. No one who went in ever came out, and a lotta people were captured this year and never came back. So a lot of people were really hesitant to help ya'. But you look like a fine guy."

I'm not. I tortured. I killed. Get away from me. But Daniel didn't say those things. He just nodded mutely. "I was," he started, voice still coarse. "I was there for a summon. I had...I had no idea what would happen to me..." At least it was the truth. But he feared he could never say the events that took place at Brennenburg ever again; even being near it, even being in Prussia, made him uneasy.

John nodded sympathetically. "I get it, mate. You were pretty scratched up when we found ya'." Daniel almost burst out in hysterical laughter. They thought that he was the prisoner, not the warden that he really was. But he wasn't.

"I guess." he coughed into his fist. "I feel pretty bad."

"Aah, that should be the medicine knockin' in," John stood up and brushed off fake lint from his trousers. "I'll be back in a minute; mum's got dinner ready for ya'."

As John left, Daniel's head lay back down on his pillow. It was almost surreal, this feeling of being taken care of. The darkness had taken over his mind to an extreme degree; to be this warm, this bathed in light, it was almost...frightening.

He had the inexplicable urge to see his sister's face.

No. Later. I'll see her...when I can see myself.

"Here we are!" Daniel's head snapped up as he noticed not the sound of John's voice, which he had been quickly accustomed to, but the sound of a feminine voice. Old and matured, almost motherly, it belonged to a woman who looked the same as she sounded. With features that were undoubted John's, Daniel concluded that this was his mother.

"Well, here you are, dear." she said, placing the tray beside his bed, on the night table. "You seem a bit peckish."

"Thank you," he croaked out.

She smiled. "No problem, not one at all! Oh, and you can call me Cristina, hun. John tells me your name is Daniel?" To this, he nodded. "Well, alright, Daniel. You're about twenty pounds underweight, you look like you've gone through a sewer, and your clothes are all muddy." she raised an eyebrow at him, and Daniel was fleetingly remembered of his mother.

"Sorry, ma'am." he mumbled, a furious flush across his face. Cristina sighed.

"Now, don't be sorry," she scolded good-naturedly. "You've been through more, I'm sure, with the horrors up in Brennenburg. You just rest until you feel all better and until your wounds heal, got it?"

Daniel nodded again and Cristina left with a smile.

The horrors up in Brennenburg.

Oh, if only they knew.

Daniel was taken in by a baker family, as he soon found out. The home he was in was a little cottage, warm and on the outskirts of the market, which was part of a town called "Humdurn". Odd name for a town, but these Prussians were foreign people.

For about a day and a half that he'd been in the house, Daniel was often in his room, looking out the window, seemingly lost in space. John would drop by, and so would Cristina, but neither could get him to speak or acknowledge them more than a grunt or a small 'thank you' in that English accent of his.

"Leave the matter alone," his mother had told him in low tones in the hall. "It's that man's business, business that we've got no right going into."

But that doesn't stop curiosity from plaguing his mind. John saw this man as an enigma; silent, brooding, tall and broad, wonderful like a hero. His hair, although dirty and matted and tied back sloppily, was chocolate brown and long enough to be considered 'long enough'. His eyes, they were sunken and hollow, but behind them was some sort of mysterious presence that picked at John's conscience. He observed people for a life's day; and it was what he did best, so he would continue doing so.

When it was evening, about six after the sun set, he quietly made his way to the stranger - Daniel's, his inner self chided - room. His mother was asleep with her afternoon siesta, and his father was still in the bakery. Little baby Kathy was still in her world of dreams.

"Mister Daniel?" he called softly. Opening the door a smidgen to see if Daniel was awake yet, John swallowed and stepped back a little when he caught the look of Daniel looking straight toward the door, seemingly at him.

But there was something wrong in his stare.

Almost like he couldn't see John himself, just a hazy fog in front of him, a shroud in front of his eyes that he couldn't remove. Still, it was unnerving; having soulless eyes look straight at him and yet not.

Opening the door fully now, he walked careful steps toward the British man's bed. Daniel didn't notice or he simply didn't care.

"Mister Daniel," he whispered. "Mister Daniel!"

Neither seeming to hear him and dozing off into his own world, John frowned and snapped his fingers in front of Daniel's face. No luck. Thinking hard for a moment and then hesitating once his mind did bear something, he idly wondered why it was his goal now to bring Mister Daniel back into the world of living. He placed a hesitant hand of Daniel's shoulder, and before he could shake, the man jumped as if he was electrocuted. John jerked his hand back.

"Mister...Daniel?" he asked uncertainly.

Daniel raised a rough, calloused hand to the left side of his face, cold, frigid fingers dusting his cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured, but John somehow got the feeling that still, he wasn't in their world currently; but rather a world all his own, locked in his own mind, reliving his old memories. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Muttering this phrase over and over, John fell down helplessly in the nearby chair as Daniel buried his face in his hands and repeated it again and again. To some unknown entity, maybe from a particularly bad vision that crawled it's way into his mind.

John couldn't do anything but sit there, stay, and wait for Daniel to realize that he wasn't alone.

And eventually, he did. About five minutes later, removing his hands from his face and letting them fall limply into his lap, staring at them. Eyes wide, he looked at them as if there was something he wished to get rid of. John didn't understand, but something told him that he shouldn't want to understand.

"Are you alright, Mister Daniel?"

Daniel started a little, but looked over to the blonde haired boy with trepidation in his gaze. "I'm alright, John."

John looked unconvinced. "You certainly weren't acting fine."

Looking back to his hands, he said in a low voice, "I'm fine. Just fine. You should go, it's late. And I don't want to impose on your mother." John realized this as a 'please leave', hidden in the subtle excuse of his mother. So he bid Daniel a good, fair night and left the room.

Daniel woke up feeling, in no other simpler words, like shit.

Having the odd feeling of his body being separate from his mind, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up wobbily, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself. He jerked his hand back as the familiar texture of wallpaper peeling grooved over his fingertips.

Mentally, he scolded himself. All houses have wallpaper, Daniel! Stop acting so scared. But no matter what his (apparently) brave inner voice said, the feeling of familiarity both stunned Daniel and scared him. The first place he thought of was Brennenburg, not home like he was supposed to. He shouldn't be thinking of Brennenburg at first touches of real life - Brennenburg wasn't home. No. No. It wasn't.

It was a good five minutes before he made himself move and grab the rubber band on the desk near his bed to tie his hair at the nape of his neck. Strands fell in front of his eyes still, and he shoved them away impatiently.

He also noticed that he was still in his old clothes; dark brown trousers he borrowed from the castle's wardrobes, bleached white button-down shirt that was faintly covered in blood, and his shoes; still the same old pair he used when he came to Prussia at first.

Speaking of Prussia, Daniel looked out the small window that the room contained. Prussia was also very beautiful, with the grass the color of fresh wheat, skies of endless blue and trees that really did grow tall and shimmered in autumn colors. Daniel made the mental calculations; he would be in late August now, so it was no surprise Prussia was getting the weather early. He didn't take time to observe his reflection in the mirror; he knew the travesty that would only scar him.

"Mister Daniel?" John was at the door, with the same clothes as yesterday, his hair a little bit more uncombed. "Momma says it's time for breakfast."

Idly, as Daniel followed John in a half-daze, he wondered what caused the boy to be more wary around him. Two days ago, John was bouncing, eager as a puppy and always smiling, speaking his mind. Yesterday, John hadn't come to visit him at all, which Daniel found himself saddened by for some reason. He supposed it had something to do with what he said on the fortnight; surely, he had let something slip, something that scared John.

"Thank you," he said at the breakfast table. Cristina was bustling around, and her husband - the kind baker, Daniel remembered - was no where to be seen. John had disappeared after wolfing his breakfast down, to the calls of his name outside and a warning from his mother not to get too close to the sheep.

Cristina smiled and waved her spatula at him. "Now, I'd accept your thanks if you actually eat instead looking at the food, m'boy," she joked. Daniel smiled faintly, and took a fork and knife from a weaved basket in the middle of the table holding cutlery.

Cristina observed his automatic movements like a hawk; even Daniel himself didn't seem to be aware of what he was doing. "Are you planning to go home soon, Daniel?" she said offhandedly.

Daniel started, a little surprised. He adopted a small, confused look on his face, almost as if he was mentally uncoordinated. "I-I suppose. I have family back in London..." Yes, yes. Family. Hazel. He still had his little sister, his darling little sister who still waited for his return. How old would she be now? Would she have a love? Would she be living on her own, cured? Or is she still being looked over? How long had passed? Time was almost nothing of the essence when trapped in a dark hole with no way out.

"London?" Cristina frowned. "Why, that's a pretty expensive train ride. Five days. Do you have the money for it, lad?"

The thought of money never crossed his mind. During his time in Brennenburg, everything was given to him, and he had forgotten what it was like before - working for money, saving up and using it wisely on food and clothes and bills, and other necessities. Daniel allowed himself a hazy dreadful look on his face. "Why, no. I didn't...I didn't think of that. I'm...broke, sad to say. I don't really know where I can get a job now."

The rest of the meal passed in silence, as Cristina didn't provide any more conversation afterward. But when she was in the middle of cleaning up, Daniel could hear her soft voice say to him, "Well, I think I can get Mark to accept a sweeper for the bakery. It'll be slow going, and the money isn't the great, but in about a few months, you'll be able to save up a lot, I reckon. Especially if you do other odd jobs."

Daniel thought it over, the normalcy of the situation and how abrupt it was from the supernatural, horrific events that took place three days ago finally ebbing on his conscience. "It sounds like a wonderful idea. Thank you." And along with escaping, he had seemed to luckily remember the manners he'd learned in fear of being beaten by...him.

Cristina's warm smile distracted him from unpleasant thoughts, which Daniel was highly thankful for.

He was allowed to start as soon as he could, which was in the evening while John was away at school. His father, Mark, was a broad man with russet colored skin and dark hair, a contrast to his wife's blonde. But along with that, he had a heavy set voice that soothed Daniel's frazzled nerves.

"Well, all you have to do is sweep the floors every once in a while after we've had a rush of customers," directed Mark during the first hour of Daniel's new job. "And you can wipe the tables and the counter. Think you can do that, m'boy?" Daniel nodded. Despite his lanky nature, Mark was a good four inches over him.

"Alright, good then!" Mark slapped Daniel on the back lightly. It still stung. "I'll leave it to you."

Rubbing the shoulder slightly, Daniel took the small broom from the back room where he was shown earlier and began to sweep, feeling his new job was a little too close to his duties of his old one. At least it was crumbs and wax wrappers instead of blood and entrails.

He had worked his hardest; that way, he had discovered of his one-track mind, and how he could keep his mind off past hauntings. He could pretend, at least, that he was healing, that he was recovering. That he was accepting himself into the world again, but except he wasn't really, on the inside.

"Excuse me, Mister," Daniel looked up from wiping the counter to a russet haired woman. She smiled tentatively at him. "C-could you g-give me a l-loaf of t-t-the s-sweet bread?" Daniel nodded simply, promising himself to be as much as a wallflower as possible. But then the woman blushed. "I-I'm so s-sorry about my speech. I-I have a s-slight s-stuttering problem."

"It's not a big deal," he said under his breath, and he saw her blink slightly at his accent. A long forgotten emotion, irritation, crept it's way into his mind; was his accent really all that foreign? He called for Mark, who took the circular bread and covered it in wax paper before putting it in a brown bag. The woman handed a small amount of paper money into his hand, and walked back out. Mark called after her, "Have a good day, Miss Lila!" Lila, which was presumably the girl's name, waved back in return, a good natured act.

Daniel continued on with his day, also learning quickly from Mark which breads were which just in case he was in the back baking and a customer came by, no matter how patient they were. He also learned the currency system, while his head was still in pounds and euros. Daniel learned very quick - and if it was one thing he prided himself in, it was that he was a quick learner.

The end of the day came closer than he thought, reminding him of how volatile time was. Everything just seemed to remind him of Brennenburg, how it's dark halls and unholy moans at every door just seemed so far away from the warm scents of the bakery, even though it was just a mere five days ago. Four days he had stayed in these nice people's care, recovering, but felt as though he hadn't truly recovered yet.

A friendly pat on the back snapped him out of his daze. Odd, he'd been having those quite often. Mark tipped his hat toward Daniel, and before the Englishman could voice his surprise, Mark was upright once again. "It does me great relief to have someone working here alongside with me. Thank you, Mister Daniel. I suppose we should be heading back now - Crissie's got food on the stove, I bet..."

Daniel nodded emptily and followed.

He was given the choice to eat at the table with the rest of the family (which, he learned, contained two more daughters by the age of fifteen and eighteen respectively) but he returned back into the guest room. His head hit the pillow, and the tray beside his bed was left untouched of it's food.

Henry Bedloe was a bully in all sense of the word; he was angry, with a sour face and always a sad glint in his eyes that didn't belong to a child. He had coarse brown hair and a small mouth and big eyes, but he was nothing if not anything but just a regularly lonely person. Henry Bedloe was a bully who gave scars and who had scars that couldn't have been possibly made by tripping or falling.

Henry Bedloe was so much like him, that Daniel tried not to think about it.

The dark hallways of Brennenburg castle always had something abhorrent about it; the castle itself was falling into pieces, held up by it's seve, small foundations. The roof might cave in any minute. A door might break. That side of the wall needs to be fixed. There was no electricity, no small pieces of life that could make one feel at least a little safer.

The darkness was unnatural, and the candlelight really didn't help much. There was a lantern...many, in fact, but when needed they disappeared like the rest of the world around him.

Too large, too big, too free. He wanted to be chained, to be kept in one place and not everywhere. Not here. Not there. No, not anywhere - out. He wanted out. He had wanted out so many times - out from the home, out from life, out from school, out from living, out from dying, out from the shadows. But they were things that followed him and held him in their grasp.

He could shake off the cold that tickled his skin if he concentrated hard enough. Usually, he didn't have to when he was around the Baron of the castle; Alexander, who seemed to hold a firm hold of reality that was always welcome to Daniel.

"Alexander, what is happiness?" he asked one day. They were both in the Archives, going through some old records and studied. Rather, the Baron was, and he was there sitting in a corner and waiting for him to finish. Daniel followed Alexander everywhere unless told not to, like a good little puppy. That day, Alexander had looked at him oddly for a second before looking back at his papers.

"I don't understand what you're going with this, Daniel." he had said in that gravelly monotone voice of his. Daniel furrowed his brow.

"Happiness. You know, when you feel all cheery. Do you know what it is exactly?"

Alexander, to Daniel's surprise, didn't glare at him and order him to be quiet as he usually did when Daniel asked stupid, irrelevant questions. The Baron put the papers down on a table and frayed the edge of a corner, looking uncharacteristically distant and somewhat frazzled.

"It depends." he answered finally. Curt, short to the point and leaving him with more questions; an Alexander-like thing to do. "Come Daniel. It's time for lunch. The food will get cold."

Daniel didn't think that he could talk to Henry Bedloe and find out what made him happy. Because he surely didn't know what made himself happy.

The 24-year old male woke up with a headache. It wasn't morning, even, and Daniel placed his head in his hands and let himself think over the memory that appeared before him in his dream. The even faces of Henry Bedloe and Alexander made his chest ache.

For some reason, he still didn't know what could make him happy now either.