"Barry."
He wandered aimlessly, dragging his socks on what felt like wet tile. His eyes tried to filter through black fog but there was nothing to see.
"We need to talk."
Oh God. That's certainly one of the scariest things a person could say. He'd rather follow the fog to find himself in a giant blaze. And for a person who's afraid of both fire and the water needed to save him, that's saying quite a bit.
"What are you doing, Barry?"
He stopped. His knees were trembling too hard to support him.
A face conjured out of the fog. He wanted to recognize it, he swore he could tell where he's seen it, but he couldn't. Despite its anger, it was slightly cheeky with rosebud lips. The twinkle in its eyes were very easy on his eyes, and very hard on his heart.
Diana's voice broke through, saying his name.
The face gleamed. "Who is that?"
His throat was voiceless, his chest beatless, but he wasn't fearless.
"I thought you cared about me, Barry?"
"Barry."
"Barry?"
"Barry."
"Barry."
His face scrunched, before his eyes fluttered open. His head was on Diana's shoulders, with her head loyally cuddled onto his. She was grasping his hand, massaging his fingers.
She felt badly about having to raise her voice to wake him up, but she couldn't bear to watch his heavy breathing and twitching.
He dipped his face. It was hard to remember what even startled him. It was just confusing, no one certain way to feel.
Diana cuddled him tighter. She knew he had nothing to say, though she asked if he needed to talk.
He pulled out of the cuddle. His hand hurried to his bandaged arm. He started roughly grazing it, to irritate the wounds underneath. The most aggressive grip he could conjure, around his wrist. Trying to break the wounds open and stretch the scars, since he wasn't able to create more of them. He moaned at the searing pain and the feeling of adrenaline kicking into his blood.
"No, no, Barry..." Her hand intervened, her fingers interlocking with his. "Squeeze my hand."
Glossiness eclipsed his eyes. The black swirls were coming back, the life in his eyes fighting for control. Diana was fighting for control as well, to not let his pain get the best of her. His arm was thrusting, desperate to rip his hand free. She held onto his hand even tighter and her other arm wrapped over his arm.
"No."
"Barry, don't tell me no."
Barry choked another 'no'.
She prompted him to lean in and put his head back on her shoulder. Rubbing the fury from his hand.
He sulked. Cheeks sullen, eyes and chin quivering. Staring at the TV, studying the colors and flamboyant movement of a shampoo commercial. Then cartoon fruit and oat people bouncing around in an abstract world, being announced as "part of a healthy and nutritious whole grain breakfast." It didn't help that Diana had turned the volume down after he'd fallen asleep. It's as if she knew that he would use the television to ignore her.
She found the remote and turned the television off. "Please don't tell me no. I want to help you. I worry about you. If you tell me no or become violent, I can't help."
A miserable breath escaped him. "I do..."
His eyes drifted shut to see the face again. He did care... He cared.
Diana's voice went softer. "You do what, Barry?"
"Diana..." It was Diana. The voice was Diana.
She pressed her cheek to his head as a cushion. "Yes, sweetheart, I'm here."
He started to thrash. Feet kicking up and down the bed. Enclosed fist jerking around, now wanting to hold his chest. Muttering random phrases between hiccups, which Diana was starting to understand. The face was burnt into his mind, with its shining eyes burning into his heart. His chest was physically aching, his throat being overcome with a very dull sizzling pain.
"Barry, sweetheart..." Diana squeezed endearingly and she demanded, "Stop."
With his head lashing backwards, his body started splaying onto her. His head and shoulders were in her lap. One of her arms was around his torso, holding him down.
"Barry, stop."
She managed to cross both of his fists against his chest. Her free hand fiercely rubbing through his hair to stop his head from lashing.
He bent his knees up, planting his feet to the bed. The energy from his legs shot up into his arms, but it wasn't enough to break Diana's hold.
"Stop." Her thumb massaged deep into his skin. "It's alright. Calm down." His blood pressure was chattering again and it was hard for her to stay soft.
His eyes wouldn't comply to her attempts of eye contact. The blackening orbs gave her only a glance, unintentionally, as they scrolled around her upper body. Hiccups shot from his lungs.
He caught his breath. The color came back to his eyes. They looked into hers, shallowly due to how fatigued he was.
She reached her hand from his hair down to his cheek. Lightly stroking his jawline, she demanded, "Tell me about your dream. What's wrong."
"I-I don't remember." A part of him did, but the part of him that controlled speaking didn't.
"Barry, please tell me something. Anything." She gave him a moment. She'd stop stroking his cheek and massaging him until he gave her a reply.
"...Uh." Blood rushed to his face along with the sweat. As he came back, his eyes started getting deeper into hers. The colors of her face - the pale rose of her lips, the curves in her cheeks, and her enlightening ash eyes - burned into his brain. Her voice, its hushes and coos, and her breathing, broke through a gate in his memory. "I remember you... were there..."
Her head turned in listening mode. She began stroking him again.
"Well, you weren't there. But..." It rang around in his head. "I heard you. Maybe I saw your face."
"Can you tell me what else you saw?" She stopped stroking.
He closed his eyes. His imagination traveled back. "I know... I was lost. Somewhere."
"You were scared. Were you angry?" Voice lowering, because she hated to ask. "Did somebody hurt you?"
Shapes and colors bounced under his eyelids. They slowly distorted into an understimulating nothing as if his eyes were being scraped from the sockets. Any light that soaked through would melt into a fog. His throat tensed as if his Adam's apple slid down and set on fire. "I..." His head trembled, as he struggled to remember how to open his eyes. "I-I don't know."
Her lips gave a mild peck to his forehead. Barry was getting warm again.
"I'm sorry, I don't know. I recall less and less of it every time I try."
Diana glanced over at the counter, to her purse. Where an obedience lasso was tucked away, and was ready to have his name on it anytime. She looked back down to find his eyes open. "Alright. If you remember, you can tell me."
His gaze distanced from hers. His head turned, facing her knee. Nothing came out when he sighed.
"No, no, Barry," she cooed. "Here." Diana guided him towards her. She moved to eliminate the gap between her and the bed, and pulled more of his body onto her lap.
Curled up, facing her, was the warmest he's ever felt. Not only because of the snuggling, but because of Diana. A natural incubation, had him convinced she could make a garden bloom in the arctic, really. The radiance made him fuzzy, as her arms wrapped around his back and cradled his head. One cheek nestled to her breast, he looked up at her.
She was smiling. His blood pressure and temperature began neutralizing. He could breathe steadily again; his pulse and breathing had adopted her pattern. This was very-well, very-longly needed.
He cuddled into her breast and lap tighter. Body weight sinking into her warmth, all his voluntary muscles tingling.
She told him, in a lullaby voice, "It's alright, Barry. You lashed out, which I was unhappy about, but it's alright. It's easy to be upset, or angry, and scared."
His wrists crossed tighter underneath her breasts. A goddess heartbeat ran through her ribcage, as well as the vibrations of her voice.
"It was only a dream. Whatever hurt you then cannot really hurt you." Or, she hoped.
"You know what dreams are, Barry?" She began to preach about the human mind. Different realms of a person; how one's spirit and environment and position can affect hopes and fears; how the realms of a person are projected through feelings and dreams. The astrology of dreams, the symbols and spiritual positions that surface in dreams. Why people dream, and that it's alright to be fearful or curious about one's dream.
Barry took a moment to absorb, before he quietly asked, "How do I know who it was?"
"What do you mean?"
The lack of energy and large doses of oxytocin made him slur, "I saw a face... I think... A person... It was dark. I wandered around, and there was a woman. Not you... I either couldn't recognize her, or... Not you. Not... Either I couldn't recognize, or I can't recall enough to know who."
She was going to prompt him to think, but she bit her tongue to let his ramble flow.
"It just... It's... I can't."
"Alright. When more comes, you can tell me."
Alfred's voice teased from the doorway, "Might I get you a better room?" He presented a cart, with a plethora of lunch and napkins.
Letting out a chuckle, Diana glanced at the food then to Barry. "You must be starving."
Barry turned to look at the cart, with a watering mouth.
Alfred's eyes were on Barry, whose cheek was red from being pressed to Diana's breast. Obviously not referring to the mashed potatoes from before, he said, "I was thinking you'd like something else. A larger, more solid, and appropriate meal."
Diana smiled. She didn't get the quip, she was happy that he'd gone through the trouble for Barry to eat. "Thank you, Alfred."
The saint handled the cart and retrieved the overbed table while Diana resituated Barry into bed. He said to Diana, "And hopefully we'll see you grabbing a bite?"
"Barry really should get some food." She tucked the blanket into Barry's underarms. "I will wait until the dinner tonight."
Alfred sighed, suppressing the need to feed her. "You're welcome to come by the kitchen before then."
She thanked him. She helped unload the cart onto the table.
Barry grimaced when a large protein shake made its way onto the table. The taste of it immediately came back to him.
Diana named off items as they appeared. Mashed red potatoes, creamed spinach, cranberry waldorf, with a side of noodle soup, milk, and water. And an unnamed item, hidden under a lid, emitting a very faint confectionery scent. Leverage she'd use to get him to cooperate.