1. Written for the PRSW challenge (livejournal community prsw22), link available on my profile page.
2. This story set shortly after "Scent of a Ranger".
3. Warning: Hunter's nightmares are violent and disturbing.
3. Love: to my wonderful friends and beta readers - Roie, Mara and Camille.
Enjoy, and please review!
Brown eyes blazed with defiance as their owner struggled to break free. He couldn't: his windpipe was blocked – enough to make him weak and dizzy, preventing him from fighting at full strength, but not enough to make him lose consciousness. He was pressed between the sun-drenched rock and his captor, struggling – and losing. Defiance was now tempered with fear. The captor leaned closer, lips parted.
Hunter leaned against the building, instinctively hugging himself. It was winter, and he hadn't taken a sweatshirt when he ran out. Now he was standing, backed up against the wall, trying to still his mind enough to decide what to do next. Sometimes he took the bike to the beach when he needed to get away; sometimes he jogged for a while, returning only when he was almost too tired to stand. Tonight he couldn't bring himself to do either: the nightmare still lingered, refusing to let go now that he was awake. Or maybe he was still asleep, only dreaming that he was awake: it had happened before. Either way, he wasn't going inside.
It sounded just like leaves rustling on the sidewalk, but Hunter caught a hint of movement in his peripheral vision. His head snapped aside, eyes scanning the shadows between the buildings. "Who's there?" His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Someone stepped forward, revealing himself, and Hunter's eyes widened as he realized who it was. "What're you doing here?" he asked suspiciously.
Shane shrugged. "Trying to find out what you're doing here."
"I live here."
"You live up there." Shane pointed up, directly at Hunter and Blake's window. "It's two a.m., Hunter. You should be inside sleeping, not outside, jumping at things that go 'bump'."
Hunter could think of maybe ten possible retorts to that, and each and every one of them could get him in trouble. Shane was looking at him as if he was the only thing in the world, and Hunter knew that if he tried being smart now, Shane would see right through him. "How'd you even know I'm up?" he asked instead.
"Cybercam."
"Cybercam?" repeated Hunter.
"Yeah. He thought I should know." Shane stepped closer cautiously, as if afraid that Hunter would bolt if he approached too fast. "What's going on, Hunter?"
"Nothing," snapped Hunter. "I woke up and thought I'd catch a breather." He pushed himself away from the wall. "I think I'll go out for a walk," he muttered, "if that's alright with you."
"Sure," agreed Shane, falling into step with him. "Where are we going?"
"I didn't invite you."
"Too bad."
Hunter glared at him. Shane didn't seem impressed. "So where are we going?" he asked again.
"Around the block."
Shane didn't answer, and Hunter didn't volunteer any more words. They just walked in silence. Hunter's initial pace was fast, but he slowed considerably after only a few moments. It wasn't like he was trying to get away from something – or if he was, walking fast wouldn't help.
"Hey," said Shane suddenly, pointing across the road, "is that a bakery?"
"Yeah, it is."
"It's open."
"Bakeries are open at all sorts of weird hours."
"Cool." Shane glanced to the both sides, grabbed Hunter's arm and started crossing the road. "C'mon, let's get us something."
"Wha…?" Was he allowing Shane to drag him?
"Whatever they've got right now has got to be totally fresh out the oven. It's best that way."
Hunter wanted to tell Shane he wasn't making sense, but just then Shane pushed open the glass door. The smell of fresh pastries hit Hunter straight in the face, and he was inside, just one step after Shane, before he even realized what he was doing. It was warm inside, and well lit, and people's voices drifted from the back – like an alternate reality after the dark, cold quiet of the street. Hunter tried to shove his hands into his pockets, just to rediscover that these particular sweatpants had no pockets.
He shook his head, but the dizzy feeling didn't go away.
"Hey." Suddenly Shane was right in front of him, hand resting lightly on Hunter's shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
The slight crease between Shane's brows told Hunter that he wasn't buying it. Shane's eyes found his, and Hunter started as the nightmare flashed, superimposed upon the present.
"Why do I get the feeling you didn't eat anything for supper?"
He couldn't meet Shane's eyes. If he did, he might really run away, and it would be hell explaining it later. "I didn't," he muttered. "I wasn't hungry, okay?"
The soft huff told Hunter that Shane wasn't buying this, either.
"Hey." It was the counter guy. He was holding a paper bag and holder with two paper cups. Shane gave Hunter's shoulder a gentle squeeze, and turned to pick up the order.
The feeling of disorientation was back full-force the second Shane turned away. Perhaps he was awake, maybe he was dreaming; Hunter didn't know anymore. Things around him felt real, smelled real in a way that his dreams usually didn't, but the content made no sense. Why would Shane be here, in the middle of the night? Why would he be keeping Hunter company, or buying him hot chocolate that he hadn't asked for? It was a scary reality, and scarier as a dream.
He'd hoped that the disorientation would disappear with the first breath of cold air, once they were outside in the relative safety of the mostly-dark street, but instead it intensified. He sat down on the sidewalk next to Shane and accepted the hot paper cup without a word.
"You're not drinking," said Shane. Hunter glanced up; Shane was looking at him intently again. "It won't be any good cold."
"It's not going to get cold that fast."
"Hunter, you've been staring at that cup for…" Shane checked his watch "three whole minutes. Now do me a favour and drink, all right?"
Hunter took a sip and, seeing that Shane wasn't going to look away, another one. Shane just kept looking at him until he finished the hot chocolate; even then, he only looked away long enough to take two still-warm buns from the paper bag. Realizing that he wasn't going to get away from this one, Hunter took one.
Shane didn't say a word until they both finished eating. "So," he said, his voice slightly too casual, "want to tell me what's going on?"
Hunter considered and dismissed several different answers, before settling for "Not much."
"You mean except for the not sleeping and not eating thing?"
Yeah, Shane wasn't casual at all.
"You were way too pale earlier, and there was a moment in there -" he jerked his head towards the bakery "- when I thought you were going to pass out on me."
"What do you care?"
"I just do, all right?"
"No, not all right."
"What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you. I'm trying to take care of you."
"Well, don't."
"Tough luck."
Hunter almost wanted to get up and run away, just return to the apartment and ditch Shane, but he didn't: he continued to sit right where he was, staring back at Shane until Shane's expression melted and he reached a tentative hand for Hunter's shoulder. The touch was gentle, feather-light, as if Shane knew how close Hunter was to taking off. Hunter closed his eyes against the tenderness; maybe if he closed his eyes he could convince himself that… that what? Did he want this to be real, or just a dream?
Like there's such a thing as 'just a dream'.
"Look, I'm sorry," Shane was saying awkwardly. "But I really do care, alright? And you're scaring me, here."
Brown eyes, defiance tempered with fear…
Hunter was on his feet almost before he realized it. Images flashed, snapshots of dreams half-blinding him as he ran.
"Hunter!"
The shout brought him up short, like a physical leash. It was the tone of Shane's voice, the raw emotion – fear, yes, but fear for Hunter, not of him; and another fear, too – if Hunter turned away now he'd hurt Shane, and he found that he couldn't. If it was real, than he'd have to deal with Shane the morning after; and if it wasn't real…
Shane had approached him while Hunter was standing there, struggling with himself. Now he was standing right behind him, close enough that Hunter could hear him breathe, could almost feel his body heat radiating across the small distance.
"Hunter?" Tentative, disturbingly unsure. Hunter took a deep breath and forced himself to turn, his eyes closed so that he wouldn't risk meeting Shane's gaze. The dream was still too raw. His nails dug into his palms. Shane's breath came out in a hiss. "Damn," he said, "just how messed up are you?"
Hunter didn't answer. Shane didn't try to move closer.
"Wanna tell me what just happened?"
Hunter shook his head wordlessly.
"Look, if you're going to take off again I'm not going to bug you about it, alright? But maybe it's better if you talk it out."
"Don't wanna talk about it," he muttered, eyes still closed, "but I'm going to try not to run off again."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Can't hurt you." Shit. He hadn't meant to say that. The next moment, though, he wasn't even sure if he had said it at all, because Shane didn't respond to that, only said: "Come on, talk to me. I'm not going to, dunno, make fun of you or anything. Let me in, man."
Hunter shook his head again, and then took half a step backwards as Shane tried to approach him. He couldn't have Shane standing this close, not when that dream was so close that Hunter could fall into it any second. "Don't," he said.
"Hunter…" the word was barely more than a whisper, but it held all the emotion that Shane's previous shout had. "God, you're making me feel so useless."
He didn't want to tell Shane about the dream. It was probably worse than having to dream it again. On the other hand, if he didn't tell Shane, he'd hurt him – more than Hunter knew he was capable of only a few moments ago; and with the dream so fresh in his mind, Hunter knew that he'd do almost anything to avoid hurting Shane.
"It's just a dream," he muttered, arms moving instinctively to wrap around his body. "It's just this dream…"
Normally, Blake and he were evenly matched, but today Blake didn't stand a chance. He was unfocused, diffused, while Hunter's anger had given him an extra edge. It hadn't taken long before one of Hunter's blows went past Blake's virtually nonexistent defenses, and the navy Ranger was tossed head first against the rocks.
The Wind Rangers charged at him as if this was a cue they've been waiting for. Hunter laughed behind his helmet: the three Winds were slow, no match for the speed of a Thunder ninja. He actually had time to exchange his staff for his blaster before they finally were at him. The red and blue Rangers were slightly closer to each other than to yellow, and one shot sent them flying in the air, crashing down with their suits smoking. Hunter plucked yellow's sword right out of his hand. Shocked, the yellow Ranger took precious seconds before he made a move. Hunter sidestepped, and hit the base of yellow's skull with his hilt of his sword. He only had a second to appreciate the sight of yellow's blood staining the sand, before he noticed Blake getting up in his peripheral vision. One lazy shot took care of that, and then red and blue were at him again. He kicked red in the ribs and shot blue point blank, making her demorph and stumble back. He made sure to slash across her pretty face before running her through with her teammate's sword.
The shock was enough to put red on his feet again. Hunter discarded yellow's sword, and made full use of his staff as he landed one blow after another, dodging almost all of red's attacks, before he got bored of the game and directed one powerful, violent bolt of electricity through his staff directly to red's morpher. The staff amplified the energy of the bolt, and the non-Thunder proofed morpher exploded, the blast knocking Hunter back.
He got up just in time to meet his brother's wrath; not that Blake stood a chance. Normally he could control his emotions better than Hunter but today, Blake was out of focus and Hunter was past caring. It wasn't long before it was just Hunter, the sound of the waves on the island's shore, and the four bodies.
"…there are other dreams, too, but they come and go. This one keeps coming back, and it's the only one I can't wake myself from. The others I can wake myself from, but not this one: this one I always dream to the end." He'd stumbled over the words more than once, but he had managed to tell it all, somehow. He had no idea how he was still on his feet: the feeling of being tainted translated into a physical sensation, and he'd never felt so sick before.
He'd never faced this before, either: just tried to repress it as fast as he could.
Shane was still standing there. He hadn't stepped closer – perhaps sensing that it wasn't the right thing to do – but he hadn't stepped away. He didn't say anything condescending, either.
"I'm sorry. I'm…"
Hunter's head snapped up, eyes opening. "You're sorry?" he demanded. "I just told you that I've been repeatedly dreaming about murdering you and you say you're sorry?"
"What the hell were you expecting me to say? That I think you're a monster? Newsflash, Hunter, I'm not a jerk!" Shane's shout faded into the night without leaving echoes. Hunter just stared – and Shane stared right back. His arms dropped to the sides of his body. "You really thought I'd say that, didn't you," he said, and it wasn't a question. "You thought I'd judge you for this – for a nightmare that scares the hell out of you."
Hunter swallowed. Yes, that was the reaction he'd been expecting, even if not consciously. Instead, Shane seemed sympathetic – and hurt and disappointed that Hunter would think otherwise. For the first time in their months of knowing each other, Hunter realized that Shane really cared.
They started talking at the same time, both stopping after the first syllable.
"It's not…" Hunter turned aside. "It's…" He could hardly say it. He felt like he couldn't – but he had to. He owed Shane the truth – that much he understood, now. Whatever happened after Shane heard the whole thing – well, he'd deal with that in a few moments. "That's not why I… why I just snapped." He gulped some air. "It started changing, a couple of nights ago. This dream. It did it before, but the variations came and went – this one stuck. It starts the same – at that beach, with me under that spell, and Dustin… and then it changes."
He only had a second to appreciate the sight of yellow's blood staining the sand, before red and blue were at him again. He shot both of them point blank, making them demorph and fall to the ground, barely conscious. He picked blue up by her collar and made sure to slash across her pretty face before running her through with her teammate's sword and dropping her body – and yellow's sword - in front of their leader's face.
He's heard Blake before he saw him – the fool shouted as he charged forward. It was almost too easy: Hunter's staff caught Blake under his chin, and then came down directly on Blake's wrist with a violent bolt of electricity that had made Blake cry in pain as he demorphed. Hunter let his face plate pull back, allowing Blake to see his smile of satisfaction: at this point he was aiming for pain, not just for killing. He hadn't even bothered to give his brother a personal death – a single shot turned Blake's body to cinders.
Then he turned around, demorphed and picked red up like a rug doll, pressing him up against a well-placed rock. Red's eyes blazed with defiance as he struggled to break free, but his attempt was futile: Hunter's arm was pressing against his windpipe, cutting his air supply – enough to make him weak and dizzy, preventing him from fighting at whatever strength he was still capable of, but not enough to make him lose consciousness. Shane was pressed between the sun-drenched rock and Hunter, struggling and losing, his defiance now tempered with fear. Hunter leaned closer, lips parted.
He couldn't say it. He couldn't spell out what would've happened in the dream if he hadn't managed to shake himself awake. He was fighting just to keep himself together, barely aware of the violent shaking of his body or Shane's softly-whispered "Damn." Then something touched his shoulder and he jerked back, hard, almost hitting Shane in the face before he caught himself. For a long second they only stared at each other."I'm sorry."
"It's just a dream, Hunter." But he didn't sound like he believed it. "It's not real."
"None of this is."
"What do you mean?" Shane's voice was sharp, short. He took a step towards Hunter, and Hunter didn't try to step back. With everything he'd just told Shane, the guy could make his own decisions.
"How do I know if any of this is real, Shane?" He sounded hysterical even to his own ears, but it wasn't like he cared about appearances right now. "You showing up in the middle of the night just to keep me company and being impossibly understanding about all this shit? I've had dreams before that were just like real life, where I thought I was awake and all that. This is all just too weird to be real."
"Hey." Shane pried Hunter's arms away from his torso, and Hunter hadn't realized how stiff he was until Shane forced him to straighten his arms. Then Shane touched his chin, tipping up Hunter's face. "How do I convince you I'm real?"
Don't, Hunter almost said. Don't make this real. He didn't want to share the nightmares; he didn't like having anyone see him at his most vulnerable. But if this was real – if Shane was truly there, and Hunter didn't have to face any of this alone – wasn't it worth exposing himself?
He shook his head. It was all purely hypothetical, anyway: he'd never been able to tell the more realistic dreams from reality until Blake all but shoved coffee under his nose.
"Come on." Shane's voice, soft as it was, was still urgent. "There has to be something."
Maybe he could think more clearly if Shane hadn't been standing so disturbingly close that Hunter could smell the hot chocolate on his breath.
He acted on instinct, not quite realizing what he was doing until after the fact: he could always hear the waves in his dreams, but he never smelled the ocean – he felt the weapons in his hands, but he never choked on the smoke. The dreams were perfectly real in all aspects but one, and Hunter's world narrowed to that one sense as he buried his face in Shane's neck, breathing him in. Shane was real, most definitely real, and the nauseating sense of surrealism was chased away by the scents of dust, soap and just Shane. He didn't fight it as Shane's arms closed around him, drawing him as close as possible. If Shane was surprised or shocked by Hunter's meltdown, it didn't show at all: he simply held Hunter, rubbing circles against his back, until Hunter murmured, "You're real," and pulled back just enough to make eye contact.
Shane hadn't been ready for this. He'd sensed the storm in Hunter, yes – it was part of what drew him in. He'd gotten glimpses of this raw force before, but Hunter had always been guarded, closed. That night, though, the walls were thin to begin with and had been breaking down since Shane tackled Hunter outside the apartment building; and when Hunter pulled back and made eye contact, Shane hadn't been prepared for the openness of his expression or the sheer impact of the jumble of emotions in his eyes. He acted on instinct.
Lips on lips, touch as soft as a whisper; he'd felt Hunter's intake of breath more than he'd heard it as Hunter opened to him without a prompt. It was everything Shane hadn't dared to dream of – intoxicating, pulling, overwhelming. He took everything Hunter had to give, and offered it back, the cold of the winter night chased away by the heat of the two of them pressed against one another. He hadn't realized what he'd done and what it meant until the kiss broke and he found himself staring into eyes that should've been clear blue, but their pupils were so wide that they appeared black. Frozen in place, he expected Hunter to hit him.
Seeing Hunter cry was more devastating than a blow would've been.
"God, I'm…"
Hunter shook his head. Shane shut up.
"Stupid dreams," said Hunter at last, his choked voice barely audible. "Get in the way of everything." The look he gave Shane was knowing to the point that it would've been disturbing, if Shane hadn't been shaken beyond that point by then. "You don't get it, do you?"
"I made you cry," said Shane. The tremble of his own voice made him pause for a moment. "What's there not to understand about it?"
Hunter may have snorted at him, but the sound was distorted. "You don't get it at all. This isn't what it's about."
Hunter wasn't making any sense; Shane told him that.
"It isn't a nightmare because it's about you. It's a nightmare because I hurt you."
Shane had almost repeated that Hunter wasn't making sense – and then it hit him what Hunter had actually said and he swallowed.
"I still made you cry," he said as silence stretched too long. "It's killing me."
Hunter shook his head again, but said nothing.
Heart hammering, Shane removed one arm from Hunter's back and brought his hand to Hunter's face, the thumb caressing the cheek in a futile attempt to wipe away the tears. He'd almost stopped breathing as Hunter's eyes closed at the touch. They weren't much more than a breath apart and Shane closed that distance, only touching and letting go, just to assure them both that this was real.
Later, much later, they were across the street from the building where Hunter lived. They had been standing there, holding hands and gazing at the darkened windows for quite a while, as neither of them seemed willing to move. Finally, Shane looked at Hunter, and found Hunter already looking at him.
"I could stay," he offered.
Hunter shook his head. "And when your parents wake up tomorrow morning?"
"Point."
"I wish we could stay right here," said Hunter. "I don't want… It's too small, in there."
"I'm afraid that's not an option, either. We're both going to be too tired tomorrow, anyhow."
"I've been doing this for months, Shane, and nobody noticed"
"Yeah, right," muttered Shane. He let go of Hunter's hand and pulled him close for a half-hug. "What do you think Cybercam was doing, monitoring you at night?"
Hunter turned, fully facing Shane. "You asked him to?"
"Duh."
Hunter shook his head. "Now I know how Blake feels when he complains about me being overprotective."
Shane snorted. "Dude, I'm so not over protective of you."
They were silent again after that, until finally Hunter moved forward. Shane moved with him, making sure not to break contact as they crossed the street and came to another halt by the building's door. "Kiss you good night?" he offered.
Hunter's lips moved, forming the hint of a smile. Both of them leaned forward, meeting halfway.
Shane's eyes followed Hunter as he opened the door and into the darkened stairway, and he didn't look away until Hunter turned into the second flight of stairs and disappeared from view. Then he forced himself to turn away and crossed the street again, pausing at the very spot where he had stepped out of the shadows an hour and a half earlier. He stood there, not quite sure what he was waiting for, until he caught a movement, a shadow, in the window of Hunter and Blake's apartment. He raised his arm in a greeting, and thought he saw the shadowy figure do the same; and then it was gone.
Shane checked his watch: four in the morning. Twelve hours before they would see each other again. He looked up at the window again. Sleep well, Hunter.
