III


Someone help me! the boy shouted, Anyone! Please!

Of course, nobody could hear him when his cries only reached the borders of his subconscious. He was beginning to panic. What was going on? If he was asleep, then why couldn't he wake up? The boy's eyes widened as an errant thought took hold of all his fears and dragged him to the surface. Am I... dead?

Did he still have a body? The boy couldn't see one. A test, then; he lifted what he hoped was his right hand, trying to bring it as close to his face as possible so he could see it through the solid mist. he never did see it, but he was surprised and slightly relieved when he felt his palm touch the touch the tip of his nose.

Maybe the fog didn't go on forever. Maybe if he could stand, he could walk, and walk away to safety and sanity. It was then that the boy realized he could not walk, not if there was no ground. Was there? His senses couldn't tell him anything; they were, muddled, confused, and simply didn't function in the dream world. He would simply have to hope.

Finally, when he thought he was standing, the boy relaxed at little. This was control, if only a little. Soon, he would wake up, and nothing he did would matter anymore, anyway.

A sound.

The boy's ears pricked, and a small electric shiver raced through his brain and down his spine, leaving him petrified. There was a sound. It was so faint, it barely registered in his mind. However, the boy became certain with that one, small, indescribable sound that he was not alone in his own head.

Is someone there?

There was no answer, but the boy did not expect one. There was silence in the mist, only interrupted by the soft, quick pants of his own breathing. He could feel his heart flutter faster as his eyes darted through the layers of fog in vain.

Help me, he murmured, breathlessly at first, unaccustomed as he was to the sound of his own voice. Help me! Help me, please, someone! He ran blindly, like a madman, an old King Lear in the body of a frightened boy.

Oh god... please. Please. Please...


The heart rate monitor sounded its frantic, beeping alarm, jerking the woman from her sleep. The numbers kept climbing, faster than the woman would have thought possible, and seemed thoroughly at odds with the still, silent boy on the bed. A second monitor, in charge of the measurement of brain activity, drew a scrambling of thin blue lines across the black screen of its monitor and set of its own miniature siren as it ditected the gargantuan abnormality.

For a second, the woman was paralyzed. fear, confusion, and tiredness mixed together to form a sort of tranquilizer for her brain as she stared in horror.

The door to the hospital room flew open and crashed into the doorstopper. The woman jerked out of her stasis and fled the room; if he died in front of her, she would never be able to wipe the image from her eyes.

Her feet fell hard on the perfectly sanitized linoleum floor; running was painful in her fashionably narrow shoes. A few times, she felt her shoulder graze someone else's or hit against the wall; it was almost impossible to see through her burning, teary eyes.

The woman stumbled, and her will cracked. He couldn't die. He couldn't die. He was so young, so fragile. He had already survived so much...

A handle poked against her head. A door. She honestly did not care if there was a patient in the room; she needed to be out of the hallway. Somewhere private, to collect herself. After all, she was supposed to be in control, leading the reconstruction. It wouldn't do to find the leader of the recovery cowering in a hospital. She flung herself into the room and collapsed as the door closed behind her, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Is he dead?"

The woman looked up to the voice, eyes widening as she recognized the long, flame-colored hair and steely eyes. She managed to pull herself together for just a second to stutter out a reply. "N-no... Asuka, why are you here?"

"They locked me in here. After yesterday. You chose to stay with him," she spat the word with a peculiar venom, "...so I never got to leave." For a fraction of a second, the girl sent a glare straight into her guardian's eyes and, feeling she made her point, proceeded to carefully pull two rubber bands from their place around her wrist and pull her hair into her 'signature' style. She hated it, but it was what people expected of her, wasn't it? Changing it now would be useless. She felt a few strands tug and snap as she fixed them into place, but they didn't hurt or even annoy her like they would have a few months before. She looked back to her guardian- guardian, she scoffed, what did she ever do to guard me?- only to see the older woman sitting in front of the door, her knees pulled into her chest with her face hidden against them. The sight made the girl reel. He had always sat like that after they fought an Angel. Trying to hide within himself. Afraid of everything. And yet it never gave him any comfort; the girl knew, because whenever she kicked him or shouted at him to bring him back to Earth, he looked just as miserable as he did before his meditation. No. The only thing that stupid, stupid position of introspection could accomplish was to force others to shower him with useless pity.

The girl hated it, because it worked. He was not worth pity, but she pitied him, and hated him for how he manipulated her without realizing it. Hated him. And she hated him for leaving her alone in that final fight, even though she looked brave and looked triumphant.

And most of all, she hated that he cared for her, cared for her enough that the sight of her mangled remains pushed him over the edge.

"Asuka..." murmured the woman, without looking up, "Please forgive me."

This caught the girl off guard. Her eyes lit up with a brief flash of curiosity, an expression that hadn't crossed her face in quite a while.

"I'm sorry... for always paying more attention to Shinji than I did to you." This thought had bothered the woman for quite a while. She was to proud to admit it, but now she was alone with the girl she wronged for the first time since the Third Impact. "I really did do that... didn't I?" The woman finally looked up, starled by the low, humorless chuckle that echoed through the room.

"You think that's the problem?" the girl laughed, dryly, "You seriously believe... that you're so great? That I care about that?"

"Asuka, I'm trying-"

"-To make things better, I know. It's not working." Cheap springs let out a short metal cry as she allowed herself to fall back onto the hospital bed. "You should go back to precious little Shinji. See if he's been reunited with his mommy yet, won't you?"

The woman's sobbing gave way to hot tears of anger. She was no longer trembling. A few quick strides brought her to the girl on the bed, paying no attention and betraying no feeling. She picked distractedly at the skin around her fingernails, and didn't even flinch when she felt the woman's hand slap across her cheek. A few silent seconds ticked away, and she reached up to the reddening patch of skin with dull surprise.

Still and silent, except for her heavy panting and sobs, the woman left the confused girl alone in the hospital room.


The boy raced through his subconscious. He knew his heart rate was climbing to ridiculous levels, but he couldn't stop running. He couldn't explain why he was running. He needed to stop. he needed to wake up, or he would die, alone, in fear and blindness.

Maybe he wanted to die.

But he didn't want to die alone.

Someone...


AN: For the record, the entirely of this story is just a little idea that came into my head after reading The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. When I begin a new chapter, or even a new scene, I have no idea where it will go. This means that I am open to suggestions! However, I do think that I'll be able to bring this story to a somewhat satisfying resolution within a few more updates. Until then, reviews and/or comments would be appreciated.