DISCONTINUED/ORPHANED

In Which Horace has a Bad Dream

A/N: First, I want to say thank you for the support readers! I'm surprised of how many clicks and positive feedback this story has gotten. Even just a click on a story is awesome! (: An internet cookie for all readers! I've seen that there has been viewers from the Philippines! I just want to say. Kumusta mga kabayan! I would love to talk to you all, thank you again!

Shout out! KikiPortman for favoriting and following! ColoredFliights for reviewing. DuchessGoodFairy for reviewing, favoriting, following, and PMing! Last but not least, WillowTree1221 for reviewing, favoriting and following! Thank you for the support! Be sure to check them out! Anyways, on with the show!

Horace POV

Blank white. As far as I can see. That's all I see really. Cool, crisp, sterile white. The clean scent of disinfectants hung over me. It was all very bothersome. Perhaps I had just stepped into a sterile house. Perhaps the homeowner just had a minimalist taste in home furnishing. Then, the blinding white unfocused from my eyes, revealing the glaring LED lights in what looked liked a medical ward. Mattresses on metal bed frames lined the east and west side of the rooms. Each bed was separated by a latex curtain, which also had a sterile smell wafted within them. The room was windowless. There was a metal air vent, by the door, less than ten paces away from me.

I soaked up all the sights of the room, trying to pinpoint and remember where everything I just saw was. It helps to know your surroundings when in a dream; a prophetic one or not. Yes, I did know that this was a dream. How do I know? Well, a good analogy is that my ability to comprehend a dream from reality is a bit like the "gut feeling" that Jacob feels when there's a Hollow nearby. Sometimes, I just know. Whether this dream was prophetic or not was a mystery to me.

I felt myself walking, leaving a resonating sound of my shoes as I half-stomped my way to a bed. I saw that I was carrying a plastic tray. There were syringes, pills, and a bottle of seltzer water all orderly placed on the tray. It was then I noticed I was wearing a white lab coat and a hairnet covering what seemed to be long locks of hair. Not really my preferred style, but I guess I don't have a choice, do I?

The dream was becoming clearer now, this is when I began to wonder whether it was prophetic. The mechanical buzzing of machines that seemed to be hooked to...patients? It was now that I realized that there were people on the beds. The people looked dismayed and shell-shocked. Some babbled in nonsensical ways to themselves. I saw a girl that looked awfully familiar, concussed. I noticed that she had a vase of dying flowers next on her metal nightstand. Poor, dear. A large part of my being told me that these people weren't supposed to be here. Other than the clicking of my unfashionable shoes and the mechanical buzzes, the place was eerily quiet.

I then stopped at the second to the last bed, where I saw a patient with disheveled black hair, and blue on blue eyes, staring blankly at the scenery in front of him. He looked eerily familiar. I knew I had seen him from somewhere but my dream world brain just couldn't comprehend where, or when.

"Okay, Mr. Portman, I need you to sit perfectly still," I said in a feminine voice trickily with false kindness. Portman, I know that name, I definitely do. "Not, that you're always perfectly still," I heard myself mutter. I injected the serums in Mr. Portman who was numb as ever until there was one left.

"I need you to be very still on this one," I said, shaking the syringe. "This is going to hurt." I injected the last serum in, and Portman let out a gut wrenching scream that thrilled all over the ward. The patient was shrieking like a banshee. Arms and legs flailing around. Tears streamed down from his eyes. His screams echoed through the windowless rooms.

The woman whose body I was spectating in remained calm, like this was some ordinary occurrence. How can she be this calm! This was no medical ward, it was an asylum!

Then it clicked. My memories, this time they were not clouded by my emotions, came rushing back like water that was no longer in the restraint of a dam. The asylum, the boy. I knew where I saw him, no.

Jacob! I tried to call out. But alas, I was trapped in the body and subconscious of this nurse. Jacob! The nurse or I placed leather straps around the bed, and over Jacob to restrain him. The boy just kept on flailing, clearly insane. No, no, NO! What was I doing to him! The nurse calmly grabbed another syringe from her coat pocket. And seemed to stab the needle into Jacob's arm. He then became as limp as a doll. Collapsed and immobile. I couldn't hear any breathing, but I could somehow hear the heartbeat, gently drumming in his chest.

The nurse looked around the room. Then I realized all the faces were familiar. Joel-and-Peter was a bed away from Peter-and-Joel. Melina Mannon was hooked on a life support machine in the corner. The asylum seemed to have all peculiar wards. And the girl with the dead flowers was Fiona.

No, no. This can't be prophetic. No, this is just a random dream. A silly, stupid nightmare. There's absolutely nothing to worry about. I never dream about my friends anyways. I shouldn't be here. I have to wake up.

A shrill scream erupted from Fiona's bed as a needle pierced her skin. I wasn't in the body of the nurse anymore. I was a spectator. A ghostly spectator to the tumult of the asylum. I know I'm just dreaming, but that doesn't reassure me, it doesn't reassure me at all.

Invisible restraints rip around Fiona, grabbing her limbs keeping, her restrained. The dying flowers lost their last feather and began to wither. The machine's beeping stopped and slowed down to one singular beep.

The world around me began to spin to a blur. FIONA! I try to reach her. FIONA! She couldn't hear me, but I had to try. The world was spinning faster now. The LED lights glaring into my eyes, boring into both of my souls. I glance around at the people in the asylum, for one last glance.

Fiona's eyes fluttered back open. The machine repeated beeping. The flowers rejuvenated back to a sickly state. She stared at me. Hazel, eyes searching for mine. She spoke for the first time I've heard her speak, at all. "Come back for us." "Come back for us." The world started spinning again, faster and faster. Fiona's voice starts fading away. "Come back for us...Come back for us." At that, I swore to the bird that if this was real, that if this madness was real, I would come back for them.

The light flashed in my eyes again. This time I let it take me, hoping it would lead me to reality.

"Horace, Horace!" a small voice called into my ear. "Horace?" this time it was rather squeaky.

I placed on my new gold-rimmed glasses to see little Claire, staring at me with a rather concerned look. I winced and squinted my eyes as she blasted a rather bright LED flashlight at my poor, sensitive eyes. "Oh sorry, Horace," Claire said apologetically, realizing her mistake. "I'm sorry if I hurt your eyes."

"It's alright, Claire," I couldn't stay mad at Claire, but then again, who could? Claire was wearing puppy dog eyes, and a long, light pink nightgown, that matched the ribbon on her new teddy bear that Bronwyn had bought her. It was a style of sleepwear that my peculiar fashion sense would approve of. "What brings you here, Ms. Claire?"

Claire looked a bit on the scared side now. "I—I had a bad dream. That I was at the menagerie again, and that that the Hollows were there, and that they...they," she stopped a little too scared to go on.

"Claire, it's alright, you can tell me," I reassured her with my sweetest smile. "Everyone gets bad dreams every now and then."

"I know, Horace. But you're not supposed to have bad dreams because your dreams tell the future!" Claire gasped. "Does this mean our future is bad?"

"No," I said firmly, trying to sound as confident as I can. "I can also have regular dreams, Claire. Just like everyone else I get nightmares once in a while."

"Ok, Horace. After the Hollows came to the menagerie, I passed out. I couldn't remember anything... or Fiona," regret evident in her tone.

"Is this what this nightmare thing is all about? You blaming yourself for what happened to Fiona? Claire, it's not your fault... it never was," I had to get that out of my system. There was absolutely no way I would let Claire deal with survivor's guilt, and I didn't want to mention Fiona after my dream.

"No, it's not just that. After the nightmare was over I tried to go to Miss Peregrine so that she would help me," she explained

"Why didn't you go to Bronwyn's room?" I asked. It was odd, or rather peculiar that Claire would seek Miss Peregrine to soothe her nightmares. It was not that Miss Peregrine didn't help the girl with her nightmares, it was that Bronwyn was always Claire's first choice for little things like this.

"Her door was locked," Claire replied. Well, that was much more straightforward than I thought. "I crept up to the attic to see Miss Peregrine, but," she paused, "it was so dark." "I think I saw spiders, and the stairway to the attic had a loose floorboard. I tripped on it. And under the loose floorboard, I found this!"

She pulled out an old photo of us, all of us peculiar children. Including Miss Peregrine. I scanned the photo. There was me, in the middle. Olive was floating a little in the front. Hugh, and Fiona hand in hand. Hugh's bees were buzzing around him and Fiona. Claire was being carried by Bronwyn in the back. Miss Peregrine stood tall and proud next to fashionable, if I do say so myself, Millard. Enoch was on the left side of Emma, holding one of his clay men in his hands. Emma had her left hand aflame, and was standing next to Jacob? No, it couldn't be. I don't recall taking this picture while he was in our care in Cairnholm. I looked again, but with Claire's flashlight in hand. No, it was Abe. It's been quite a while since we've all thought about Abe, but I know that Emma and Claire still hadn't given up on finding pictures of him.

I have to say, the resemblance between Jacob and Abe is uncanny. I recalled the new photo us peculiar children took when we moved to Florida. It was a lot less formal than this. Just a quick photo on Miss Peregrine's phone that was taken in the backyard. Comparing that photograph to this one in my hand, it seemed as if all the children in the first photograph were also in the second one. We just looked a lot more fashionable in Abe's picture, that's all.

Claire flashed a LED bright smile of pride towards me. Proud of what she had found. "That's not all Horace," she said while pulling out more photographs from the pockets of her nightgown. "I found all of these as well."

There were photos of all of us. More photographs of us and our peculiarities at work. Photos of Cairnholm. Photos Abe in battle encampments. A random map. Photos of an older looking Abe with his children. Then there were photos of Abe with Jake at his birthdays. There was also a strip of film that showed Frank Portman attempting to ride a bicycle. Lastly, there were letters that Abe had written but never sent. They were all addressed to our loop, to our island, and on our time. It was a shame that we were never able to read those letters.

"Horace?" Claire asked earnestly.

"Yeah, Claire," I replied, shifting through the photographs.

"There were more things inside the loose floorboard. This was just all that I could carry," she took a deep breath to resume her story. "I sneaked up here in your, Millard's, and Enoch's room, to find you. Since you're an expert at interpreting dreams. But, when I came here you were suffocating yourself on your lucky pillow," she paused. "Were you having a bad dream?"

That was a question I didn't want to answer. I tried to think of a way to dodge it.

"Hey," I said thinking of an idea. "How about we go downstairs to the kitchen for a little early morning snack while looking at the pictures?" I asked Claire.

"But, we might spoil our breakfast," Claire replied self-righteously. As if she didn't sneak out of her room and obtained Abe's photos from a loose floorboard.

"Fine," I said, time to pull out my negotiator card. "You won't get any cookies and milk. Such a shame," I said while clicking my tongue. Claire still didn't take my offer. "I'll tell you about my dream once we get downstairs," I added.

"Okay!" Claire said brightly as she sneaked past Millard's and Enoch's bed, carefully not making a sound. It was still 5:45 A.M. after all. As much as I loved my friends, I don't fancy them shouting at me for ruining their beauty sleep. The sun was slowly creeping up the horizon now. I made my way out of the threshold.

I walked down the stairs with Claire in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Once we got to the living room we turned on some of the lamps to see. It was then that we saw something moving in the kitchen.

"Who's there?" Claire said to the figure before I could.

A lone flame was lit in the rather foreboding dark kitchen. Wait, flame? That could only be, "Emma?" I called out into the dark. Emma's silhouette became clearer as she stepped into the light.

"Oh, it's just you," she said, in a half disappointed tone. Her eyes floated to Claire. "Hey, Claire. Why are you up this early?"

"Bad dream," I said before Claire could open her mouth.

"Yeah, so did I," Emma confessed. That wasn't usually like Emma. She would always be the person who our group's morale depended on. I guess that seeing the people you look up to hurt is unnerving. Though Emma was just as human as the rest of us were. Of course, she would have fears.

"This may sound coincidental, but I happened to have had a bad dream as well," I confessed, words spilling out of my mouth before I could stop it. "Well, Claire woke me up and we were going to get some cookies and milk. A little pre-dawn collation."

"Well, there's plenty of milk and cookies in the fridge," she said, as she waved us off.

I turned on the lights in the kitchen and Claire brought some homemade cookies and milk over to the kitchen island. I grabbed three glasses and poured milk for the three of us. I looked at Emma, she wasn't touching the milk or the cookies at all. Her gaze seemed unfocused and her mind elsewhere. I was tempted to ask her what exactly was her bad dream, but I let the issue rest. I didn't want to reopen old wounds.

Though, it was Claire's innocent question that would give the answer. "Emma, what was your bad dream about?"

Emma seemed a little taken aback. She just wasn't used to someone resisting her motives, but it was Claire and Claire was, Claire. After a moment of silence, she finally spoke up. "I dreamt that we were all still on our island. That I imagined this whole endeavor." That didn't seem like much of a bad thing to dream about. Like some of our group, I missed our home in Cairnholm. Though, it was less than perfect.

"It's a little peculiar, don't you think," I said addressing Emma. "We went through hell, those few days. Yet, I can't help but get this internal feeling that—"

"That you wouldn't trade it for the world?" Emma finished off my train of thought. It was true. I learned a lot about myself those few days. I didn't contribute as much as the rest of the group did, though I truly learned a little more about myself and my abilities. I learned that even little hunches from snippets of a dream could help save people's lives. I've learned to trust myself a little more. To listen to that feeling whenever it's calling me. I was able to hone my abilities a little more. I'm sure that with more practice, I'll finally be able to see through the mist of emotion that shrouds me from seeing my friends' future.

"What did you dream about?" Emma asked, and she looked at me with great sincerity written all over her face. I sighed, for even though I had been through much, my fellow peers would still look upon me with pity. Seeing through my facade of bravery to the cowardice within. I'm not as useless as everyone thinks. I have my moments and other skills. At least I guess so.

"Nothing, really," Emma's eyebrow arched, "it's foolish, honestly. I just dreamed that all my best suits were destroyed in the wash." Emma and Claire couldn't help but chuckle. "Honestly, that washing machine is just a spin of terror to the cloth. The cloth would fade, stretch, and become a dilapidated mess. I might as well have been wearing vagrants' clothing." I scoffed in my most snobbish voice. Another ability that I had honed, compulsive lying. Not necessarily a good trait, but it was useful from time to time.

Claire continued laughing. Her backmouth had crumbs all over its lips. Emma was not as easily convinced. I gave her my I'll-explain-later look, in the nonverbal language that Emma and Jacob used to communicate to each other. Emma grabbed a napkin and brushed the crumbs out Claire's backmouth. I knew she wouldn't let my lie slip. Next time I'll have to tell her. But for now, cookies.

"Oh, Emma," Claire beamed, pulling out the pictures from her pocket. "I just remembered! I found these pictures under a loose floorboard. They're of us and Jacob's family. I think they belonged to Abe."

Emma touched the pictures in disbelief. She thought that all links to Abe had been severed, besides Jacob. Though we all knew that Emma tried to treat Jacob as a replacement-Abe at first. Now, Emma was focusing on the pictures of us. In her hands' pictures of Olive, Millard, Claire, Hugh, Fiona, Enoch, Miss Peregrine, myself, and herself were laid out like playing cards. She was studying each photo the way a veteran card player would, as if ready to throw in an ace.

She was studying each photograph with an emotionless poker face. I somehow knew that she was recalling exactly when each photograph was taken. The same way I had when I first saw them.

"It's weird, don't you think?" Emma said. I looked at her. "That we were just all stories to Jacob and to most people before this. That he thought we were all made up, figments of imagination. Pen and paper."

I didn't know how to respond to that. After a few moments of consideration, I said. "Well, I guess it's a little disconcerting. Being figment's of one's imagination and all, but what were we expecting. Before this, he was just normal. Sure, I feel a little dejected that people would simply reject that I—we exist. Like people are talking behind your back, but that's what it's like for peculiars like us. Nowadays, normals would just ignore us. It's much better than being persecuted."

"It's odd that we can just be cast aside like we don't exist. This may seem silly of me but sometimes, I wish that there would be a time when normals would except us. We would finally be able to come out of our hiding places. No more secrets, no more lies. In a perfect world, then this would be possible. This world isn't perfect. I also think that the world is much better off without us peculiars. They'll just throw us into asylums if we ever show them what we could do."

I was taken aback. Maybe she already did know about my dream about the asylum. "People believe what they want themselves to believe," I said thoughtfully. The words that slipped off my tongue sounded more like Millard's than my own. Sometimes, I can surprise even myself.

"Oh, come on you two!" Claire whisper-yelled at us before Emma could answer. "Are you going to eat your cookies or not," she muttered crossly. I wondered just how much of Emma's and my conversation she's heard.

"No, Claire. I'll think Horace and I will just have some milk," Emma said, grabbing her milk.

I looked at the window. It was a little hard to look through it since the sun was glaring a furious gold hue back at me. I wondered, perhaps there would be a new dawn for peculiardom. One where normals and peculiars could live in peace and harmony. No more families would be separated because their child had started to grow wings in their shoulder blades. No more hiding. It all sounded nice. I only wished that this perfect world would ever come. Even if I'd never live to see it.

Emma stared back at me now. Milk in hand. "Cheers?" she asked with a smile.

I grabbed my milk and smiled back, "Cheers." Our glasses clinked, and even though the milk wasn't aged wine, for now, it was the most delicious beverage in the world.

A/N: If you haven't guessed yet, this chapter is brought to you by the Got Milk campaign. JK. Well, I'll have more chapters uploaded as soon as I can. Though some of my ideas look like they've already been taken by a recent story. (Some of them I will still stick to the plot I had in my head.)

Anyways *begs on knees* please review. A simple "hi" will suffice. I will welcome Guest reviews with open arms! I love your feedback, it keeps me going. Anyways, thank you for reading. Stay peculiar and I hope you all have a wonderfully, awesome day! (:

IMtemp_A/N: (15.5.22) Thanks for your fic, will post thoughts in another story. I hope it's as cursed as you've led me to believe. Also, did you ever end up getting MGR:R? I wish I did when it was like $6. Do consider playing Link's Awakening tho, remake or on the high seas idc.