Barnaby woke with a start, eyes bulging wide, hands shaking, soaked in sweat, his golden curls flattened against his head and face. His head swivelled looking around the room, chest heaving to try and suck more oxygen into his lungs, the panic slowly settling as he pieced together where he was; when he was.
The dreams had been happening since Maverick died; since Lunatic killed him. The dreams, he had figured out after the first few nights, were in fact flashes of his own life; the past replaced or erased by Maverick. They were vivid, too real to be anything but memories, and often contradicted things he had been so sure were his real memories up until a few months ago. Maverick had died, he and Kotetsu had retired, and he had spent over 8 months travelling— escaping Sternbild and trying desperately to figure out who he was as a person, who he really was without Albert Maverick pulling his strings.
The dreams started after about four months, at first they had been short, and he often didn't remember much after he awoke, much like a normal dream. However, as the months passed they became more regular, increasing in frequency as well as intensity. They became vivid, as if he were awake and reliving these moments. They were often innocuous enough: speaking with colleagues, talking to teachers, spending time with peers in school. It was only after he had had multiple dreams of the same people that he realised what kind of horrifically subtle changes Maverick had done to his life. He had been the reason Barnaby never had any close friends, no other supports outside of Maverick himself in his search for Ouroboros. Maverick had shifted, changed, or outright erased entire conversations with colleagues, peers, teachers, and student councillors over the years. He had made it so that every advantage they had tried to give him, every olive branch of friendship, every chance he had of leading a normal life, was destroyed with swift and decisive action.
Once he realised his life was entirely a lie Barnaby had tried to sort through the fake memories and his real ones on his own. Over the last two months, he had filled over ten journals with his current recollection of events in comparison to dreams he was having. The dreams, he realised after some time, seemed to be surfacing in an almost reversal of events, moving backwards further into his past. While the memories themselves were in no means sequential to one another, they always came in year chunks – similar age events were clumped together.
Recent events had been first – conversations with Maverick that had been altered, conversations with his colleagues, and worst of all, conversations with Kotetsu. There hadn't been many – but the few changes were significant. Barnaby recalled thinking Tiger was an absolute loser who couldn't do anything right, which seemed so odd to him, as everyone else often seemed to hold him in such high regard. The conversations had been altered so Tiger never once admitted he was in the wrong, never once tried to be there for him. Maverick apparently decided to stop altering his opinion of Tiger sometime before Jake Martinez – why, Barnaby would never know. Perhaps because their animosity to one another was hurting Hero TV's ratings? Perhaps because Maverick himself didn't believe Kotetsu could possibly cause any significant attitude change? He could never be sure, with Maverick dead he was left with nothing but questions and no way to get answers.
After the most recent memory, altered dreams faded he began dreaming of his times at the Hero Academy. These had been even more vivid and emotionally draining than the first few dreams. The first ones had felt like dreams, misty and hard to fully recall when he awoke. But by the time he started dreaming of his last year in Hero Academy the dreams were like being awake. He would relive entire days some nights, others a confusing jumble of days mixed together. He suspected that whenever Maverick did major changes to memories it caused them to jumble together, single-day changes seemed to stay intact.
Once he had spent an entire night dreaming of a calculus class that he didn't at all recall. Originally he had no idea why Maverick had chosen to erase this particular day, other than that for whatever reason he had very much so enjoyed the class; the material had been interesting and the teacher had presented it clearly and with great gusto. He had woken up feeling particularly well-rested after that dream; it had renewed his interest in mathematics and perhaps perusing a field in the sciences. He suspected that may have been the cause for Maverick to alter the memory, he had never supported Barnaby going into any other field than Hero work.
Other dreams were not so kind to him, such as the one he had just woken from. Many dreams left him shaken to the core. They were emotionally draining as they clashed with altered memories planted by Maverick. The contradictions often left him disoriented for hours, one time for almost a whole day.
These dreams were usually about people in his life, his opinion of them often heavily altered by Maverick. Many of the teachers at the academy had been altered in his memory as insufferable fools who knew little in their subject areas and were beneath him. They also never took any particular interest in him, other than to praise him for being the best in class, never delving into the cool exterior and trying to get to know him as a person.
The alterations to his academy teachers often left him bewildered when he awoke, as the dreams showed almost entirely different people: highly intelligent, specified fields well studied, and with empathy abound for each and every student — especially him. They all seemed to take a special interest in him regularly, trying desperately to get to know him, to break through his shell. With the realisation that so many adults had tried, really tried, to get to know him, to help him, left him breathless. He had always felt so alone in the world as if the only thing in the world that could help him was his vengeance. Maverick made sure of that.
The dream he had this night was once again a disorienting dream, one that contradicted so many of his own memories. It was of a young man named Jeremy that he had known in his second year at the academy. He had short-cropped light brown hair, his eyes were a dark hazel; he was a little taller than Barnaby, muscular, and a year ahead at the academy. His power had not been all that remarkable, he could make the paint on walls peel off, and if he really tried he could cause the wall itself to decay slightly. He had no promise as a Hero, but the academy was a great place to go to school as a NEXT with other NEXT's and feel comfortable and safe.
The thing that had been so contradicting in his dream was that they had been friends. Barnaby distinctly remembered thinking Jeremy was a waste of space at the school, his lack of good power meant he was taking up time and space for someone else more talented. The dream Barnaby thought otherwise. He had liked this boy, had enjoyed his company, had studied with him, and had latched onto him, spending almost all of his free time at school with him. The dream had been a jumble of events, time-shifting rapidly back and forth through his entire second year: spending time with Jeremy, meeting Jeremy for the first time, studying with him, watching him from afar, joining him and his group of friends — thinking about him while masturbating.
Barnaby hadn't just been friends with this boy, he had liked him, really really liked him. He had had a crush on him. He was tall and good looking, was funny and clever, but most importantly, he had been absolutely the most enthusiastic and light-hearted person Barnaby had ever met. Jeremy knew he would never be a Hero, and yet he cheered on those who might be, he helped them study, and he gave them pointers on how to look cool while they used their powers.
Maverick had taken his first (?) crush from him, his exploration of his sexual orientation. It had always bothered Barnaby that he had known he was gay and yet couldn't recall when he had figured it out, he had just sort of known. Was this the moment in his life he figured it out? Had Maverick taken such an important part of him, tried to remove that unsightly aspect of his character? He felt sick thinking about it, about how much Maverick had known about him and taken from him.
He stood from the bed and went into the bathroom rinsing his face with cool water, trying to wash away the dirty feeling in his head.
"God damn it!" Barnaby swore as he slammed his fist onto the counter of his sink; face dripping as he hung his head over the basin. "That bastard… that bastard!"
His fists trembled as he felt hot tears mix into the water already on his face, dripping down his chin and falling into the sink. How had this happened to him? Was there anyone else Maverick had done this to? Was there anyone else out there experiencing this like he was? He couldn't keep sorting this out on his own; the dreams were too intense and too harmful to his psyche. He needed help — but was scared to ask. He was so well known everywhere, would any doctor be trustworthy? He was terrified of the idea that the public might find out about the extent of damage Maverick had done to him; that they would question if he had ever had a right to be a Hero, if he had ever had a right to stand up on that stage with the other Heroes — with Kotetsu.
Drying his face off with a hand towel he made his way back into his living room, pulling out another journal and began writing down everything he could remember about the dream, every last tiny detail, right down to what the weather had been like outside. He wrote and wrote, his neat scrawl filling page after page, the side of his hand turning blue from smudged ink. This was his regular routine, to write everything down for analysis later. The sun was streaming through his huge bay window by the time he was done, well into the afternoon. He had written his dream memories down then continued on a separate journal writing down all of his "original" memories, the ones Maverick had implanted. He had to keep them separate, had to be sure of what was real.
Upon finishing his writing he realised the time of day, how late it had gotten on him, though it had no real effect on his life. Without a job and no one to answer to he could spend his days any way he wanted. What he could not ignore, however, was the growing throb in his stomach. He felt like he was starving, which was practically true, he had not eaten dinner last night, nor breakfast or lunch today. Getting up from his singular chair and heading into his kitchen he knew the only food he had in his house were two-day-old leftovers in the fridge and suspiciously old bread on his counter. He decided ordering in was the safest option and picked up his cell phone. The phone was new, he had disabled his old one when he left Sternbild, travelling abroad he didn't feel the need to keep it. He had recently reactivated his account and transferred his old data back onto this one. His background image caught his eye; it was a silly selfie Kotetsu had taken when he had stolen his phone. Barnaby had chosen to set it as the background after they retired, at least this way he would get to see the old man's face somehow.
After ordering takeout he scrolled through his contacts. He had returned to Sternbild without notifying anyone. He had been back for nearly a month and had kept a low profile. He thought with time he would be able to sort through his memory issues, but time was not on his side, in fact over the last month the dreams had become almost a nightly occurrence and he was having trouble differentiating between the waking world and the one of dreams.
His fingers froze on his phone screen, the name that made him take pause was not one he would normally think of in a time of need, and yet, for some reason, he felt compelled to press the dial on a voice-only call. He lifted the phone to his ear, the dial, tone sounding in his ear as he waited for the other to pick up.
Two rings in and a very surprised sounding Agnes Joubert answered the phone with a simple "Hello?"
Barnaby took a short breath, not realising he had been holding it waiting for her to answer. "Hello Agnes, sorry if I am bothering you at an inconvenient time…" he spoke softly into the phone, he felt unsure of his own voice, it had been so long since he had spoken to another person who actually knew him.
"Not at all! What can I do for you?" Came her quick reply, any surprise that had been in her voice replaced by the crisp no-nonsense business voice she always had. Her tone set Barnaby at ease, somehow her treating him like usual made him feel normal like it wasn't completely out of the blue for him to have phoned her after nearly ten months of radio silence to anyone from his old life.
"I'm back in Sternbild, and I wondered if it would be possible for the two of us to meet up, just for drinks… to chat?" he felt his tone waver near the end, his cool facade slipping once more as he became unsure.
There was a pause on the other end; Barnaby could hear her shift as if she were shuffling some papers around. "When?" was the simple answer. He suspected she must have pulled her calendar out.
"Whenever is best for you, I have absolutely no other engagements to schedule around," he said with as much of a smile in his voice as possible, he wanted to sound positive, even if he felt anything but.
"Well, how about tomorrow? Too soon? Not soon enough?" his insecurities seemed to have been picked up on by Agnes, she sounded concerned about him, something he rarely heard from the tough producer.
"Tomorrow would be fine with me Agnes, whatever time is convenient for you," he said mustering up his best Prince voice, as Kotetsu had liked to call it.
Agnes paused before she replied, possibly looking through her schedule for the day for the best time. "Let's do lunch Barnaby, we can meet at that little Bistro inside Apollon Media if you would like?"
Barnaby bristled at the name Apollon Media, he didn't want anyone else to know he was in town, didn't want a media circus, didn't want anyone to know about his issues. "A-actually Agnes, would it be possible to meet somewhere a little less… can we meet at this restaurant on Bronze Stage?" He put his phone on speaker, typed an address into his chat window and pressed send, sending Agnes the name of a hole in the wall place down by Kotetsu's old townhouse.
If Agnes had noticed his hesitation, his fear of going to Apollon, she hid it well answering immediately with, "Of course, that won't be any trouble at all, I'll see you tomorrow at precisely noon, and Barnaby?"
Her no-nonsense voice was in full throttle mode when he replied with a cautious, "Yes?"
"It's good to hear from you," she said with a soft tone, Barnaby had never heard from her before.
"Of course, I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks again." He wasn't sure why he was thanking her, but just speaking to her he felt better, he felt like maybe he wasn't totally alone.
"Anytime Handsome," she said with a laugh. The name sounded funny, he hadn't been called that in almost a year, and somehow it felt great. It made him wonder what it would be like if he heard — better to not think about it, he couldn't go down that route, Kotetsu was retired and living happily with his family.
Hanging the phone up, he paced around his apartment until the buzzer went with his dinner. He put a navy blue knit hat on over his hair, tucking the golden curls up into the knitted material; he took his glasses off and slid on a thick-framed pair. It wasn't the best disguise, but so far it had been enough to keep people in quick encounters from recognizing him.
He opened the door, took his food from the delivery man, thanked him, and quickly shut the door. He loved that everything was done online now, payment, tip, everything without interacting with another person until the delivery itself.
He sat down on a barstool at his kitchen counter, the easiest place to eat, and began scarfing his take out down. Another nice thing about no one else being around, he didn't have to act proper, didn't have to have perfect manners, didn't have to take careful practised bites. He could use his hands, shovel his fries into his mouth in fistfuls, gulp his drink down with a deliciously loud slurp. He had often told Kotetsu he looked like a pig when he ate, but inside he had been jealous, had wished he could be so carefree, to simply eat without being conscious of every movement.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, licked mayo and ketchup off his wrist where it had dribbled down, and smirked to himself. What would Kotetsu think of him if he saw this? He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he took another horrendously huge bite out of his greasy, sauce-covered burger. It wasn't just the way he ate that had changed, he allowed himself to indulge now, something Maverick had been against, insisting he only eat lean meat, fruits and vegetables, and to avoid processed foods that contain fat and salt.
He spent the rest of his day and evening the same as most others, a bit of exercise at the private gym in the building, took a short stroll outside (his disguise in place so no one would recognize him), then spent the rest of the night watching Hero TV wistfully wishing he were out there with them. He dreaded going to sleep, never knowing if the dreams would come or if he would get a peaceful rest. He stayed up well into the night, but eventually resigned himself to going to bed, knowing he had to get up earlier, to be ready to see Agnes for noon, he couldn't be late.
He crawled into bed, setting his glasses aside on the nightstand. Closing his eyes he said a silent prayer to any gods listening to give him this one night of rest, to allow him some peace so he could see Agnes well-rested and with a clear head.
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AN: Hey guys, I wrote this fic a while ago with no intention of ever posting it, but with the COVID19 quarantine and so many people holed up, I thought a nice long 300 plus page story might give people something to do.
This story has not been read by a beta and thus there are probably errors, sorry~
This story does contain some smut later, there will be chapter warnings for that. Otherwise, there aren't many other warnings that apply to this story other than emotional abuse by Maverick in some of the dream sequences, but they are mild.