Zak gasped awake, choking on the breath caught in his throat, mercifully quiet in the still dark of his bedroom. Even as his breathing eased, there was an uncomfortable roughness to his throat, warning of an impending coughing fit. Stifling the feeling, he slid out of bed and crossed to the hall, metal floor cool beneath his bare feet once he stepped outside his carpeted room. Trailing his fingers along the wall, he made his way to the airship's kitchen, steps light and senses on alert for anyone else. Although the answer was innocent, he'd rather not have to explain why he wandering around in the dark; even four years later, his family was quick to jump to worst-case scenarios and he didn't feel like repeating the same old arguments. Again.
Reaching the threshold of the kitchen, Zak unerringly wove his way around shadowy obstacles to grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it, before sliding down to sit on the kitchen mat, back pressed against the cabinet sink door. Faint satisfaction tugged his face into a quick smile, they didn't spend as much time on the airship these days, but it was nice to know he could still rely on how well he knew it.
That thought though, brought his mind back to the nightmare that'd woken him.
The malevolent voice in his mind whispered they were memories. Memories of what had been, what could still be if he'd only—.
No. He sipped at his water, barely forcing himself to swallow it, trying to force down the insidious images from his dreams. Zak tipped his head back against the door, eyes aching with tiredness, feeling his hands trembling on his knees, the glass grounding in its smooth coolness. He readjusted his grip on it, focusing on it and the other surfaces he could feel, metering out his breaths and slowly gaining some semblance of order to his thoughts and stilling the tremors running through his limbs.
Contrary to what Mom, Dad, and Doyle tend to think, Zak doesn't have any lingering fears or issues with dying; or about the value of his own life, but that's another argument (and hadn't that been fun trying to convince Mom and Dad that he was completely fine). In fact, if he's being optimistic, he's pretty sure he'd have no lingering issues from that entire mess if it weren't for the dreams. When they were still trying to evade the other scientists, and he was dealing with Argost, Zak'd chalked them up to his own mind catastrophizing. He could've handled that; instead they'd gotten worse. Because of course they had.
But so what if they weren't dreams? It wasn't like he was going to listen to them. As long as they stayed in his head—and maybe late night breakdowns with his siblings—then no one needed to know. Definitely not Mom and Dad. (Sometimes, Zak suspects that the Kur business was harder on them than him. Kinda disturbing to realize your friends and colleagues are occasionally okay with . . . Whatever those six months were)
Unbidden, phantoms memories came to mind, faces Zak'd never known but that still felt familiar, old emotions from millennia ago sparked to life. Boiling anger and betrayal at what they'd tried to do, the barest sliver of regret and bitter sorrow about what he'd—Kur. It was what Kur, always Kur, had been forced to do in return.
Logically, Zak knew what he was feeling and remembering wasn't strictly his; he might have Kur's power. . .and memories. And emotions. But he—Zak Saturday wasn't Kur. The voice in his head insisted it was his birthright; that to deny himself was foolish at best, and dangerous to everyone. Once more visions played on the backs of his eyelids, no longer ancient history, but instead of the futures that could be. Of loved ones suffering and dying in agony, being forced to carry out terrible things at his behest, but worse, always worse were the emotions he felt.
His own despair and horror reacting to the visions, but the approval and sick glee that reveled in them, stemming from the remnants of Kur; distinguishing the holdover thoughts and manipulative visions was doable, but the emotions became a tangled mess that left him skittish and second guessing himself.
Trying to maintain a careful distance from the images and emotions, Zak started attempting to find some semblance of order; an exercise he used that was similar to his mom's meditating. It was meant to help him find respite from the inner turmoil these episodes usually brought. The distance and not getting caught up in his own head was the hardest part, and sure enough, Zak felt his heartbeat start pounding in his chest, overwhelming in his ears and his thoughts scattering, becoming frantic and half-finished.
Jolting his head back into the cabinets from where he'd tipped forward some—when had that happened—he tried to use the dull pain and bloom of sensation to ground himself. Roughly scrubbing a hand across his face, before pressing his balled up fist to his eyes, trying to change the path his thoughts were going down; he knew better than to dwell on the memories—Kur or Saturday—it only ended up making him miserable and snappy for days. Unfortunate, halfway to a breakdown on his kitchen floor at 3:27 in the morning wasn't conducive to a healthy state of mind. Zak was starting to see shapes behind his eyelids from the pressure from his hand, and figuring that there wasn't much difference between eyes open or closed right now, he dropped his hands and opened his eyes, waiting for his vision to clear.
When they finally did a few moments later, Zak reflexively flinched back. Back already pressed to the cabinet, it only served to dig the edge into his back and shoulders.
In his defense, Komodo's face was so close he was going crosseyed trying to focus. "Gah!" He exclaimed, only belatedly trying to keep it quiet. "Don't sneak up on me like that! You—hold up. What are you doing awake? And here?"
Komodo drew back slightly, enough that Zak could look at him without the beginnings of a headache, an unimpressed expression firmly in place, and gave an exasperated hiss. Then, carefully backing up, Komodo circled around to Zak's side, pushing into him; in was a familiar gesture, even if it'd been some time since he'd done it with any regularity.
Zak readjusted, draping an arm around Komodo, "Hey bud, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He said, stroking Komodo's side in apology. "I'll come back to bed soon, promise. You can go back; I know you'd rather be asleep right now and this time wasn't too bad. Honest."
Komodo grumbled and flicked Zak's hand with his tail, then slithered forward, forcing Zak's legs straight flush against the floor, and pulled himself half on top, clearly communicating that neither one of them was going anywhere soon. Letting out an amused huff, Zak focused on the comforting feel of Komodo against him; long practice having ingrained in Zak the futility of trying to move when Komodo had him pinned.
They sat in the dark silence, broken only by the glowing numbers of the microwave and occasional sound of the airships internal mechanics. Finally, in a hushed voice, Zak asked, "You don't—I mean. I." He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of scales under his hand, before continuing. "I know you aren't afraid of me. Or what I ca—could do. But, I guess. . .are you ever concerned about what I have done? To you, I mean?"
Zak squeezed his eyes closed harder, holding himself statue still; he knew they were brothers and nothing would change that, but the potential reactions still sent a wave of bone chilling apprehension through him. He'd barely had time to brace himself before Komodo responded.
A low growl, more vibration than sound rumbled through Komodo's chest and he reflexively gripped onto Zak, claws just starting to prick through his thin sleep pants. The two of them had never had trouble understanding each other, and now, Komodo was radiating possessiveness; tail lashing agitatedly and when he hissed Zak winced.
"I didn't mean like that, I know I wouldn't intentionally go all 'Dark Side' on you guys" he explained. Specifically not thinking about the surfacing Kur thoughts and urges that'd been plaguing him more often these days. "But we don't know the long-term effects—if there are any—of me using my power on someone; you're the best person to answer that." Zak continued, becoming more animated, distress evident in every line, "And this was before I had the Claw! Or knew to ask permission and be really careful when in there! I could've done something horrible!" He finished in a rough whisper, throat raw from stifled emotion, trying to avoid the airship picking up echos and waking others.
Komodo gave a grumble and croaky hiss, then twisted around to look Zak in the eyes, imprecise in the gloom of the kitchen, but close enough to be nose to nose, nudging him with unmistakable affection.
". . .Thanks buddy." Zak whispered, voice clogged with emotion and almost-tears, "that means a lot." He hugged Komodo, blinking hard to clear his eyes, "I wish there was a way to actually know, instead of just going off of what you feel, or don't. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but just. It would be nice." He finished, relaxing somewhat now that Komodo had heard and allayed some of his concerns; at least for the time being.
Komodo started squirming off Zak's lap now that his brother was no longer spiraling alone in the dark, on the kitchen floor, at three in the morning. Finally, with all four feet firmly on the floor, he paused, waiting.
"Hmmmm?" Zak lowered his now empty glass and looked toward Komodo. "You can go back to bed" he offered, "I'll move in a minute."
Komodo leveled an unimpressed look at him and growled.
"Jeez, alright alright. Let me just put this in the sink." Zak huffed out, wiggling the glass, leveraging himself up with the other. After setting his glass in the sink with a metallic clink, Zak turned around to Komodo, hands spread out "Satisfied?"
Komodo croaked, then turned and started walking back towards the bedrooms, Zak following at a cautious distance; all the stealth from earlier would be undone if he tripped on his brother in the dark. And it'd be poor repayment for the appearance of Komodo's rare soft side to squash him.
Together they reached the right door, then, instead of continuing on like Zak expected, Komodo opened the door and trotted forward. The sounds of claws disappearing as he got on the carpet, then the telltale sound of something heavy landing on a bed. "You know we're still not supposed to jump on the bed Komodo!" Zak hissed, "You're going to get me blamed!"
The shshshs of a dragon making a nest in sheets came back, followed by a satisfied whumph and a pointed silence.
Zak shook his head, a soft smile pulling at his lips, banishing the rest of the shadows, at least for the night. "Guess there's no winning against you, huh?" He sighed as he padded across the room and slipped into the unoccupied part of the bed. "Night Komodo. Love you." A contented sigh was all the response he got, but he knew what it meant.
Author's Note: Title comes from the song by NEEDTOBREATHE