Title: Heated
Author: IndigoNight
Summary: Darren's having nightmares.
Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!
Pairing: Could be taken as either a parental, or an at least one-sided slashy DarrenxCrepsley, your choice.
Disclaimer: I do not own Cirque Du Freak or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.
Spoilers: Through 6, with vague foreshadowing for 9
Warnings: Angst, violent and gory imagery, could be slash, very vaguely implied character death.
Author's Note: Alright, here it is, chapter two. Sorry about the wait. Yes, I know, its kinda cheesy, but you know what, bite me. I attempted to start reading book ten today and I couldn't do it because it made me cry. I needed some shmoop.
Anyways, Read, Review, and most importantly,
Enjoy!
As weeks passed Darren found no relief, and neither did the other vampires whose rooms were near his. Day after day he was plagued by the same nightmare, and every time it got worse. More bloody, more violent. Every day he woke screaming, most often to Harkat or Mr. Crepsley's concerned face, sometimes to some other friend who'd heard him and come to make sure everything was alright. But worst of all were the days when the dream-smoke prevented him from screaming very loud, or at all, and no one came, forcing him to see the dream through to the end. He'd hold Mr. Crepsley, watching the life drain out of him, getting covered in his blood, pleading uselessly with him not to go. Then he'd wake, usually on the floor, alone and frightened. His heart pounded and hands shook, his back pressed against the cold stone wall.
At those times he would remember being younger and crawling into bed with his parents after a nightmare. The sudden, powerful desire to go join Mr. Crepsley in his coffin would take him; he wouldn't have to be afraid of the older vampire dying if he was right there close enough to hear his heartbeat and feel his warmth he reasoned. But he never did. No matter how badly he wanted to, he wasn't a child anymore and Vampire Princes, even young half-vampire ones, did not go crawling into other people's coffin terrified of some silly shadow fabricated by their subconscious.
Soon he found himself avoiding sleep as much as he could. He refused to speak to anyone about his dream, ashamed of his weakness and much preferring to, once awake, pretend it had never existed. Instead he threw himself into his studies, dedicating himself entirely to his duties. He spent any spare time practicing his fighting, even after the others had gone to bed, determined to stay awake. He hoped that if he worked hard enough by the time he inevitably did fall asleep he'd been far too worn out to dream.
But it never worked. Every time he closed his eyes the heat would creep over him and the smoke would choke his lungs.
Before long the lack of sleep began to seriously disrupt his life. No matter how hard he tried he fell behind in his studies, forgetting things he'd been told only moments before, making careless mistakes in everything he did. His appetite waned, for both food and blood. He spoke little, and started conversations not at all, only answering when asked a direct question, and sometimes not even that. Most of the time it was as though he wasn't entirely aware of what was going on around him, stuck in some hellish twilight, fighting desperately to escape the nightmare that haunted him, and yet unable to stop thinking about it.
He was wasting away. His clothes hung loosely on his Most of the time it was as though he wasn't entirely aware of what was going on around him, stuck in some hellish twilight, fighting desperately to escape the nightmare that haunted him, and yet unable to stop thinking about it.
He was wasting away. His clothes hung loosely on his emaciated frame, his eyes dull and haunted. His skin had become thin and papery, far paler than even a vampire's ought to be.
Everyone was concerned for the young Prince, but Darren refused to discuss it and they didn't know what they could do. Finally, Crepsley decided enough was enough. Darren was going to talk to him whether he liked it or not.
When once again that day he was woken by Darren's cries he immediately rushed over in a routine that had become all too familiar. Gripping Darren's shoulders lightly and shaking him, calling his name. Only this time Darren didn't wake.
"No…" he moaned, struggling weakly against Crepsley's hold, "No… watch out… don't…"
Calling Darren's name again he shook him a little harder. To his shock Darren's entire body jerked, going rigid, and a scream of utter heartbreak tore from his lips. Crepsley was so surprised he nearly dropped Darren, but recovered himself just in time to re-secure his grip before Darren started thrashing more violently than ever.
"No! Mr. Crep-" he cried before he was cut off by a violent fit of coughing. Tears streamed unchecked down his face and his entire body shook with deep wracking sobs.
Crepsley stared at him, temporarily stunned senseless. Before he'd wanted to know what Darren was dreaming about, but now he had to know. What could Darren possibly be dreaming about him that could invoke this kind of reaction?
Abruptly Darren's eyes shot open with a gasp. He took half a second to orient himself before his eyes landed on Crepsley and he flung himself at his mentor. Throwing his arms around his neck he clutched the back of Crepsley's shirt and buried his face in his shoulder.
Just as he'd begun to get over his first shock he was for the second time that day stunned senseless. Darren's tears quickly soaked his shoulder, his too thin frame wracked with sobs. Crepsley stiffen, unsure what to do. After a moment or two he slowly brought his arms around and wrapped them around his young assistant. Darren clutched tighter as Crepsley held him. He was stiff an uncomfortable t first, unused to such dramatic physical contact, however soon instinct kicked in and he began to gently rub Darren's back soothingly.
"I c-can't do it anymore," Darren sobbed, voice muffled by the fabric he'd pressed his face into, "I'm sorry, I can't."
"Cannot do what, Darren?" The boy felt so fragile that Crepsley automatically lowered his voice, making it softer and gentler, afraid of breaking him.
"Watch it… live it… over and over…" his voice broke and cracked, forcing him to pause to take huge shuddering breaths.
"Tell me." It wasn't a request; it was a demand, but a gentle one.
Darren sat back, working hard to compose himself and Crepsley feared he would shut down again and refuse to talk. He wiped his face vigorously, removing the remaining tears and took several deep, stabilizing breaths.
"It usually helps to talk about dreams," Crepsley prodded.
Darren closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "It starts in the Hall of Fire," he began so softly that if he hadn't already practically been sitting in Crepsley's lap the older vampire probably wouldn't have been able to hear him. He told Crepsley about the dream, leaving out several of the details, like the unbearable pain of the fire and the utter terror he felt when he saw the dark shapes of the vampaneze advancing on him. It didn't take long, there wasn't really that much to tell though in the dream it felt like it lasted forever. He stopped however when it came time to talk about Kurda and his knife.
"He stabbed… Gavner," he finished lamely, "It's a bunch of mixed up memories really." He couldn't meet Crepsley's eyes.
Crepsley was silent for several long moments, mulling it over. Finally he said quietly, "It was not Gavner's name you cried out."
Darren jerked, eyes widening.
"Who does Kurda really stab, Darren?" he pressed, holding his assistant's gaze.
Darren met his eyes for several long, frozen moments, eyes wide and hands trembling. At length he lowered his eyes, unable to look at Mr. Crepsley anymore. "You," he mumbled.
"Darren, death is a way of life for us. All living beings must eventually die," he said seriously. Vampires were not in the habit of lying for the sake of comfort. "That being said," he continued, "I have no intentions of dying anytime soon."
Darren sniffed and nodded miserably, though he clearly wasn't reassured. "I know that," he replied, voice till thick and husky from crying, "But… things happen, and we are in a war." He was attempting to rationalize, but it was weak and he knew it.
"What will be, will be," Crepsley knew it was not what Darren wanted to hear, he had not yet fully come around to the vampire way of seeing things, but it was the truth and he couldn't lie to the boy, even to comfort him. "There is no sense in fretting about it now. For the time being neither of us are in immediate danger. Look at yourself, Darren, you must stop this."
"I don't know how!" he cried, "I try not to think about it, I tell myself over and over how silly it is, but every time I close my eyes it's all I see!" Tears were beginning to shine in his eyes again and he didn't have the energy to hold them back.
Instinct kicked in much quicker again and Crepsley hugged him. Darren collapsed weakly against him, letting himself fall into the comfort of Mr. Crepsley's arms. Resting his ear on his chest he listened to the steady beat of Crepsley's heart, letting it wash over him, burying himself in the fact that he was warm and alive.
"Perhaps you should spend the rest of the day in my coffin with me," Crepsley suggested.
Darren's heart leapt. To spend the entire day pressed in close to Mr. Crepsley, feeling his warmth, listening to his heartbeat, just the thought made him feel safe and secure. He nodded, trying not to look too eager.
Crepsley stood and Darren followed him meekly into his cell. As they climbed into the coffin he expected it to be awkward, but it wasn't, in spite of his usual aversions to coffins. It felt as though he fit perfectly into the space, Crepsley's body curving in exactly the places for his own body to fit.
Crepsley closed the lid, enveloping them in darkness and it was exactly as Darren had imagined it. He snuggled into Crepsley's chest, laying his head over his heart, comforted by the steady sound of his breathing.
Darren closed his eyes and quickly dropped off into a deep, peacefully dreamless sleep.
Crepsley however took longer to drift off, laying awake listening to Darren's quiet snores. He thought over Darren's dream. Most of it had been comprised of memories as Darren had said, no doubt brought on by the recent traumatic chain of events. The last part however was different; Kurda had never come even close to stabbing him. Vampires put great stock in dreams; they were fully aware that in sleep the subconscious mind could reveal many things the conscious would never pick up on.
Maybe his death would come sooner than he'd planned.
FINIS :)
