Almost done with this nightmare sequence! I really just want to write the angst of the banshee's taunts. That's my entire goal, but hand holding and camaraderie are some nice side benefits. Apologies in advance for any funky stuff spelling or grammar wise. I wrote this quickly and have only skimmed it for readability. My deepest thanks to everyone reading this story, favs, ratings, or comments. Every little kernel is treasured. 3 Enjoy!
Reaver kicked at the splintered remains of the chest, in his face twisted into a disappointed scowl. Blood dripped down the right side of his face, stinging his eye. He swiped at it, grimacing as the rough fabric of his sleeve brushed over the gash on his brow.
"It should have worked." The young red head said. She was kneeling only a few paces away, smoke still rising from her fingertips. She had made short work of the chest while he had held off the hordes of hobbes. "I saw them…the strings, the glowing little lights. They all lead here, to this spot."
"You said if we burned the box, then we'd wake up." He kicked at another charred piece of wood. "You were wrong. We're still stuck in your creepy dream." It was so obvious that the dream was hers. He couldn't remember exactly who he was when he fell asleep, but he must have been some kind of special asshole to call himself "Reaver" of all things. Reaver was fairly certain he would never dream of something so dull as a stoically decorated colosseum battle against a bunch of bloody hobbes.
"My dream?" the girl looked back at him, her green eyes and burnished hair were the brightest things in this dreary place. Her skin still glowed with a faint blue light though the blue cracks had faded. "Why is it my dream? Why isn't it yours? You're the one who said it was a dream first anyways!"
"Of course, it's your dream! Only a little girl would come up with such a lame boogeyman." He scoffed "What, did you have too many sweets before bedtime?"
She narrowed her eyes, brows furrowing into an angry line as she squared up against him. She was tall for a kid, but she was only chin height against him. Reaver waited for her retort, an adolescent smirk coming unbidden to his lips. There was something about this heated exchange that he enjoyed. It was like hiding under the blankets from a storm, comforting but ultimately useless. He wouldn't admit it, but right now he really wished he could just hide under the blankets until he woke up from this nightmare. His throat burned with shame, how could he be scared when she didn't seem the least bit phased? Here was this kid who was more upset that she got the puzzle wrong, never mind the fact that they were stuck in an abyss being hunted by some disembodied entity that thought friendship was best expressed through murder.
Whatever angry retort the red head was about to sling at him was interrupted by the delicate notes of a music box. They each froze, both waiting for the next round of horrors to assail them. Instead, another square of white parchment floated down between them.
Reaver's hand darted out, snatching it from the air.
Hey! That wasn't very nice, you know, hurting Hobbes like that. Don't you know that they're only little children? Children who've had their souls devoured by dark nymphs? I'm only Super Best Friends with nice people. But it's okay.
I forgive you.
Chesty
"I really hate this thing." He muttered, passing the note over to the red head.
She scanned the page quickly, shuddering as she read over the last part. "Do you think that's what is happening to us?"
Reaver felt the blood drain from his face. She was joking, right?
"Maybe that's why we're in the same dream? Because it's not a dream and this if just what happens when a dark nymph is eating your soul? Or maybe it's already happened? What if-what if-." She was spiraling, her voice winding up and up as her imagination ran wild.
He scooped her hand up in his and held on to it tightly. Her palm was warm against his own, which he only just realized was cold. He knew where she was going and he one hundred percent did not want to think about it.
She dug her fingertips into the back of his hand and looked up at him. Her bright eyes were rimmed with tears and one had already dropped and was rolling down her thin cheek. He realized how foolish he was, of course she was just as scared as he was. Scared of the unknown, of the lack of control or agency in this bizarre situation.
Skorn's balls he needed to say something didn't he?
"We aren't hobbes, we aren't going to become hobbes, and we are going to get out of here, together." Reaver said, looking straight into her wide green eyes. It was the best speech he had ever given.
"Together." She repeated, her voice trembled but the pure panic seemed to have left it. She tore her gaze from his, scanning the surrounding mist. "I can still see the strings or glowy trail thing. I think we need to follow them."
"Is there more than one now?"
She squinted and looked at her feet and then back at him, "No, but it's goin' off that way now."
He looked over his shoulder, following the jut of her chin. Go deeper into the nightmare? Of course that was the solution.
The red head squeezed his hand. "Together." She whispered, her voice strong and steady.
They moved as one, hands still grasped firmly, padding softly in the direction that she said the trail lead. He didn't know how long they walked for, or truly in what direction they were traveling. There was no sun, no stars, no breeze to give even an inkling of a sense of direction. They did not speak as they walked. Occasionally, she nudged him this way or that, but for the most part the girl with whom he was entrusting his life was silent.
At some point, Reaver noticed that he was taller. It was a strange thing to suddenly realize that from one step to the next that he had grown from a young, teen to a grown man. He turned his grey gaze to his companion wondering if the magic of this place had worked the same on her. He was met first with a well curved ass because, clearly, it had. His gaze slipped up her body, now toned and scarred, and was soon met with her intense, emerald eyes. The moment their eyes met everything, everything was suddenly back in his head. Every memory, every thought, all of them came rocketing through the haze that had plagued him at once.
Oakvale, quiet even after the fall of the heroes.
His mother, the same dark hair and grey eyes, whispering to him the secrets of their blood.
His father's disapproval when he won the village archery contest.
Margret, his first love, bloody and ashen, "Monster!" she screams at him, her voice echoing and echoing.
The Shadow, winding around his neck, a chill sinking into his bones that hadn't left in nearly two centuries.
Men and women swirl in and out of his life some lovers, enemies, victims, and then her. Fierce and brazen she barges into his mansion, but he doesn't believe she is who she claims.
Lucian. A deal struck with a devil.
Betrayal.
The memories come back to him with such clarity it was staggering. His vision blurred for an instant and he found himself quietly thankful for Sparrow's steadying hand.
Neither made a move to release the other, the lone physical connection seemingly the only thing keeping either of them from falling flat on their asses.
Like the last time, they had no time to process this new information. Water, cold and murky, sloshed around their feet, sinking into Reaver's worn boots and soaking his socks. The mist shifted before their eyes under the command of a phantasmal wind. It rolled away but was quickly replaced by a thick, wet fog.
"Reaver?" Sparrow said, her voice tense with fear. It curled around the edges of her voice, undercutting the way she said his name like barbed wire. He could no longer see her. She squeezed his hand again. "Don't let go."
"I won't."
He saw a flash of red fabric out of the corner of his eye, he turned, reaching with his free hand for Sparrow's slingshot at his hip. Instead the smooth wooden handle of her childhood weapon, Reaver found the cold grip of his pistol. His relief was short lived. Cold, fetid breath chilled the skin on the back of his neck.
"You bring only despair to this world." The banshee rasped, her voice like discordant bells. "It is better off without you."