A Life In Dreams: Chapter 5
Woot for 11,925 words... And writing for the first time in weeks >>
“”You can talk!” Wes blurts, falling over.
“Yer an idiot.” The sock glares at him, the material between the buttons furrowing as the distance between them shrinks. “An’ yer lucky She has an interest in yer safety, or you’d already be dead.”
“You can talk.” The boy repeats, staring.
“It was the agent who distorted things.” The sock sniffs, voice filling with disgust. “I don’t know how you caught her attention… She usually doesn’t tolerate slow ones. Protecting one’s just insane - not that I said it.”
“Who’s She?”
“Someone you should be very honest with, she doesn’t like liars either.”
~
As the Steamroller smashes into the Razerblade, Kari’s arms tighten around Alicia’s waist, cringing. The screaming of metal and the rumble of the trucks’ engines were extremely loud even with earplugs. She could feel the woman’s excitement through the tenseness of her body as Alicia screamed along with the rest of the crowd, could feel the thrum of engines through the cement floor. The air itself was full of excitement, crowds of men and some women drank and hollered for their favorite truck, sweating in the heat of their proximity as the smell of gasoline pressed down on them.
Honestly, she did not see the attraction in large machines that made the building tremble, but Alicia loved this kind of thing… and then showed her appreciation in a way that was extremely interesting. Kari closes her eyes, slipping a hand under Alicia’s shirt, feeling the smooth skin as she nibbles on an earlobe. Though the other’s words were drowned out by the noise around them, she did lean into Kari, arching her neck to the side to allow further access, should the writer choose to follow up on it.
She could hear the catcalls in her mind as she looked at the leers around them, but a sweet look from Kari turned most of their attention back to the trucks. Nobody could mistake the meaning behind a look like that, the predatory gleam in her eyes made it too chilling. Alicia, as always, remained blissfully oblivious to the dangerous aura Kari could project.
Something tugs at the back of her mind, a tripped warning line calling for attention. A mark was in danger from more than itself.
She leaves a trail of kisses down the length of Alicia’s neck, taking strength from the reality of the moment and the light that kept her anchored, and sends a signal through the fabric of human consciousness. Then, Kari removes her barrier.
It was not time to reveal herself yet.
~
The lilypad starts to tremble. And the queenly lady slipper became a void with an indignant “HOW DARE YOU!” The gaping darkness oozed smugness as the last residual traces of pink darkens to night, and the carrot warriors lose their shape, becoming little more than orange blurs as their substances are pulled into the void. Wes stares at the void for a moment, paralysed by the cloud of cold that billowed out from the darkness.
“Moron!” The sock growls, expanding so it was able to touch his shoulder. Warmth penetrates the cold, and Wes stumbles backward, away from the void. The sock follows him, resting the tip of its head on his shoulder. It contracts to its former size,
“What did I do?” Wes yells.
“Yer like an effin’ magnet!” the sock’s voice becomes tinny, like an old radio Wes listened to at his grandparents’. “I can’t stay no more! Keep yer head on yer shoulders and remember to keep yerself above water!”
Before Wes can reply, the sock dissolves into the fabric of the dreamscape, its button-eyes conveying its doubt that the boy could follow its advice.
With the disappearance of the union representative, the dreamscape shifts and Wes suddenly finds himself on a ship. Rain pounds the already-slick deck as waves threaten to tear the vessel apart plank by plank. Brimy air stung his throat as he stumbles forward, almost using the rail to steady himself as he wipes the water from his eyes.
He nearly falls twice, and it takes all of his strength to hold onto the rail to keep from being flung overboard. The third time the boat lurches, he stumbles forward and hits his head on the top of the rail. “Fuck.” He moans, climbing the stair to the stern of the ship. “ow!” he falls to the side and bumps his elbow against the rail,” ow!” he falls the other side and bangs his hip, “ow!” he trips, “ow!”
If he were awake he would be covered in bruises, he knows that much.
He throws himself at the madly spinning helm, trying for some kind of control. It flings him to the ground the first time, his quick reflexes barely saving him for smashing his chin against the tar-bound planks. The second time, he manages to hang on to the spokes for a moment but then the ship lurches to the side and the helm spins madly on. The third time, he knows what to expect and gathers his resolve before using his full strength (and some he didn’t know he possessed) to stick to the helm like a large barnacle.
A skeletal hand digs into his left shoulder, cold seeping into Wes’ flesh through his soaked shift at the contact. The scent of rotten flesh permeates the air, suffocating in its strength. “Fresh meat.” A voice rasps, crawling over his skin like a bunch of ants with tentacle-feet. Wes screams, jerking away from the creature instinctually. Without his full attention to manage it, the helm breaks out of his grip and the ship lurches to the left. Startled and afraid, the boy loses his balance and hits the ground, just managing to avoid breaking his face once again.
Since the boards are so slick with sea water and a filmy layer of something Wes hopes is algae, the boy’s roll turns into a rolling slide that only ended when his back struck the stern’s railing. He groans, curling up into a protective ball hands firmly wrapped around the little wooden pillars. He does not look at the creature’s face. It would only make him sick.
Large flat leaves of seaweed sneak around his hands, binding them to the rail as a large wall of water loomed behind him. He takes a deep lungful of air just before it breaks, crashing into the ship enthusiastically.
At first, he hopes that the monster would be washed away, banished by the salty black water; but when a hand in the water covers his mouth and nose, he knows it was a fool’s hope. “Mmpf!” He struggles against his seaweed bindings, trying to angle away from the nightmarish hand but the wooden boards were hard against his body.
“Freshly watered,” the nightmare gurgles, forming a face once the wave ebbs. Half made of sea-things, the creature’s face was mostly bone with only the thinnest layer of droopy skin hanging from its chin like the remains of a forgotten dream. “Tasty,” it adds, a skeletal hand drawing blood as it traces Wes’ jaw line. It holds the blooded hand above its head, letting the pink rain drip down into its tongueless mouth. The scent of rotten seafood is suddenly so strong that it makes Wes’ head spin.
“Let me go!” He pleads desperately, struggling against his bonds with renewed vigor. He was not going to die like this, and death was imminent if he did nothing to save himself.
The fallen star in his back pocked flares to life, warming his body in a way that was more potent than the touch of the sock. The nightmarish creature pauses, reaching towards his back pocket curiously. “Tinker?”
A silver-tipped harpoon passes through the nightmare, striking the post the seaweed is wrapped around with a solid thunk! Wes isn’t sure whether it is the creature or the seaweed that is screaming in pain, but he quickly rolls away from his captors. The harpoon quickly becomes a dark of light and streaks back to the girl’s hands, becoming a large scythe twice as tall as its bearer. The girl from the other day did not seem to mind any more than she did the pole-arm.
“I hate raining dreams.” She tells the boy, her hair matted against her skull. The short jean skirt and black halter-top she’s wearing caresses her skin; her forearms are covered in some time of mesh-like sleeve that did not connect to her top.
“You should wear something more appropriate.” The boy shrugs, his bright yellow parka covering his upper body nicely.
“But that’s so bo~ring!” The girl sniffs, looking at Wes through her long black bangs. “Isn’t that the kid from the last Man-Eater Hunt?”
“Unlucky Dreamer I guess.” The boy agrees, barely glancing at Wes.
“It tried to drown me!” Wes blurts, struggling to his feet as the ship lurches yet again. The other two seem not to notice, as if they were standing on level ground. “Who are you guys anyway? And why are you in my dream? Not that I’m not thankful -I don’t know if the star could beat that thing in the state its in- but this is my dream!”
“You can see us?” The girl asks, mouth open in surprise.
“He doesn’t have a sash.” The boy notes, his wide eyes making him look a couple years younger. “He has to be a Dreamer.”
“But he can see us! And talk to us! Dreamers never notice us!” The girl looks positively excited about this. “We could use him to find out about the Waking world without going on all these hunts!”
“And how would we find him again, Tisha?” The boy asks sourly, the brief look of hope in his eyes fading as his logic catches up with him. “The Lord Shaper would have a fit if we plant a tracker.”
“The Lord Shaper needs to smile more, kind of like you.” The girl shoots back, “if you weren’t such a pessimist-”
“Excuse me,” Wes interrupts, irritated that they appeared to have forgotten he could, in fact, hear them quite well, “but what is going on? And who are you?”
“Oh, we’re Dream Hunters. I’m Tisha and sourpuss over there is Dresden.” The girl answers with a charming smile. “We catch Broken Nightmares like that one,” she points at the recovering creature, “for the Lord Shaper.”
“Why?”
“Unimportant.” Dresden answers, running a hand over his bead necklace absent-mindedly. “I think its name is Drowning.”
Wes’ retort is forgotten as the Broken Nightmare starts wailing and the ship crashes into a pile of rocks. The momentum throws him forward, over the railing and straight towards the little cluster of rocks. His screams only intensify as a cold hand grips his ankle. Wes feels the star start to fall from his pocket and twists in midair, just managing to catch it before it is lost to the churning sea. He holds it tightly in his left fist as he dangles.
The nightmare turns to face the Dream Hunters, its face bubbling like heated oil in its glee. “My flesh!” It declares, holding the terrified Wes in front of its body. “Tinker-flesh tasty!”
“Tinker!” The Dream Hunters chorus, exchanging surprised looks before turning their attention back to the nightmare. With all the rain, they did not see the softly glowing star fall out of Wes’ pocket, though they did see him move quickly. The girl -Tisha, she said her name was Tisha- takes a step forward, her scythe turning into a bladed chain-whip. “He’s still a Dreamer!” She declares, twirling the whip. “Ready Dres?”
“Dresden… it’s Dresden,” he mutters, knowing she did not care to listen.
“Go!” The whip cracks through the air, slicing neatly through the nightmare’s arm. Wes falls towards a particularly nasty-looking rock, crossing his arms in front of his face in the vain hope that that will protect him. Instead, he stops in mid-air, a cheerful white bubble-shield surrounding him. It carries him towards the ship as the bladed whip flashes in the corner of his eyes, tearing into the nightmare mercilessly. It shrieks in pain, clouds of shadow dissipating as they separate from the main body. No matter how much it tries to shield itself, the girl’s whip penetrates the defense every time. The star in Wes’ hands becomes cloudy blue with red tips, giving the boy an impression of disappointment.
‘What do you want me to do? I can’t fight.’ He thinks at it.
It flashes a petulant green, a red tinge pointing at the wailing nightmare.
“Stop hurting it!” He yells, his green eyes wide as knowledge passes through the star to his mind. The whip pauses and then wraps around the nightmare in a way that any movement on the nightmare’s part would incur damage from the blades.
As soon as Wes lands, the bubble disappears. “What are you going on about? It tried to kill you!” Tisha demands, pushing her bangs out of her eyes irritably.
“It’s in pain!”
“So? It consumed the energy of ten Dreamers before we caught up with it.”
“So you just destroy it?! I thought you said it was broken! Can’t you fix it?”
“We’re not supposed to destroy them.” Dresden says mildly, putting a hand on Tisha’s shoulder. She glares at him, a little bit of colour on her cheeks. “But neither of us is a Tinker, and you’re no Dream Hunter.”
“The nightmare called me a Tinker.” He points out.
“The nightmare lost its mind. That’s why it’s broken.” The girl says slowly. The whip starts to shrink, bringing the nightmare to the ship. “Dres can Bind it, I can hurt it; but we can’t Mend it.”
“Dreamers cannot mend nightmares either.” Dresden’s tone of finality reminds Wes of the closing of his aunt’s coffin.
Unfortunately for their preconceptions, Wes is not one to back down just because someone tells him something’s impossible. He inherited that from his mother, among other things. “Give me a chance, I know I can help.”
“You should just wake up kid.” Tisha recommends, standing between him and the nightmare. “You really don’t want to mess with nightmares, they can suck you into this madness and you’ll lose everything.”
“I want to help it.” He insists, “it’s important.”
“More important than your sanity?”
“I don’t want to regret this!”
“You’ll forget when you wake up.” Dresden remarks.
“I never forget.” Wes snarls. “Please!”
“Fine, try.” She sighs, forcing the nightmare down against the deck.
“What about your chain!”
“It stays. I’m not about to let it rip you apart just because you pity it.” She declares stubbornly, and Dresden nods his agreement.
“Fine.” Wes stalks over to the nightmare, holding the pleased star in his hands. At least he thinks it’s pleased, it glows a soft pink that gives the boy an impression of an eager flush. Tisha’s whip flexes around the nightmare in warning, like a snake with a firm hold on its prey. Ignoring the blade as it weaves to and fro inches from his face, he kneels down beside the trapped nightmare and holds out the star. “Lost you may be, your darkness consumed in mad confusion, but I see your core; wooden plank of this mighty vessel,” as he says it, he sees the core veiled by the nightmare’s darkness. “Still yourself for a moment.”
The dream hunters make little surprised sounds at the mention of a core, but their surprise is greater when the nightmare actually freezes. Wes ignores them… the star in his hands is so bright now he cannot help seeing the cracks all over the wooden core. There is a long slice down the middle, so deep that the two sides are only held together by a grain of wood.
‘Fix that, and it won’t be Broken.’ The star tells him in a voice that he does not recognize, but may have been his own.
Wes reaches out with the star, pressing it against the edge of the nightmare’s substance. “Mend.” He whispers,
Light envelops the nightmare and the boy, blinding the Dream Hunters and forcing the bladed whip to return to its original form, a bright purple gel pen. The star’s power fuses the two sides of the nightmare’s core, and in the time it took for Wes to realize he was actually succeeding, it also filled in the gouges made by Tisha’s weapon.
As the light fades, the nightmare’s hold on his dream breaks.
“”You can talk!” Wes blurts, falling over.
“Yer an idiot.” The sock glares at him, the material between the buttons furrowing as the distance between them shrinks. “An’ yer lucky She has an interest in yer safety, or you’d already be dead.”
“You can talk.” The boy repeats, staring.
“It was the agent who distorted things.” The sock sniffs, voice filling with disgust. “I don’t know how you caught her attention… She usually doesn’t tolerate slow ones. Protecting one’s just insane - not that I said it.”
“Who’s She?”
“Someone you should be very honest with, she doesn’t like liars either.”
~
As the Steamroller smashes into the Razerblade, Kari’s arms tighten around Alicia’s waist, cringing. The screaming of metal and the rumble of the trucks’ engines were extremely loud even with earplugs. She could feel the woman’s excitement through the tenseness of her body as Alicia screamed along with the rest of the crowd, could feel the thrum of engines through the cement floor. The air itself was full of excitement, crowds of men and some women drank and hollered for their favorite truck, sweating in the heat of their proximity as the smell of gasoline pressed down on them.
Honestly, she did not see the attraction in large machines that made the building tremble, but Alicia loved this kind of thing… and then showed her appreciation in a way that was extremely interesting. Kari closes her eyes, slipping a hand under Alicia’s shirt, feeling the smooth skin as she nibbles on an earlobe. Though the other’s words were drowned out by the noise around them, she did lean into Kari, arching her neck to the side to allow further access, should the writer choose to follow up on it.
She could hear the catcalls in her mind as she looked at the leers around them, but a sweet look from Kari turned most of their attention back to the trucks. Nobody could mistake the meaning behind a look like that, the predatory gleam in her eyes made it too chilling. Alicia, as always, remained blissfully oblivious to the dangerous aura Kari could project.
Something tugs at the back of her mind, a tripped warning line calling for attention. A mark was in danger from more than itself.
She leaves a trail of kisses down the length of Alicia’s neck, taking strength from the reality of the moment and the light that kept her anchored, and sends a signal through the fabric of human consciousness. Then, Kari removes her barrier.
It was not time to reveal herself yet.
~
The lilypad starts to tremble. And the queenly lady slipper became a void with an indignant “HOW DARE YOU!” The gaping darkness oozed smugness as the last residual traces of pink darkens to night, and the carrot warriors lose their shape, becoming little more than orange blurs as their substances are pulled into the void. Wes stares at the void for a moment, paralysed by the cloud of cold that billowed out from the darkness.
“Moron!” The sock growls, expanding so it was able to touch his shoulder. Warmth penetrates the cold, and Wes stumbles backward, away from the void. The sock follows him, resting the tip of its head on his shoulder. It contracts to its former size,
“What did I do?” Wes yells.
“Yer like an effin’ magnet!” the sock’s voice becomes tinny, like an old radio Wes listened to at his grandparents’. “I can’t stay no more! Keep yer head on yer shoulders and remember to keep yerself above water!”
Before Wes can reply, the sock dissolves into the fabric of the dreamscape, its button-eyes conveying its doubt that the boy could follow its advice.
With the disappearance of the union representative, the dreamscape shifts and Wes suddenly finds himself on a ship. Rain pounds the already-slick deck as waves threaten to tear the vessel apart plank by plank. Brimy air stung his throat as he stumbles forward, almost using the rail to steady himself as he wipes the water from his eyes.
He nearly falls twice, and it takes all of his strength to hold onto the rail to keep from being flung overboard. The third time the boat lurches, he stumbles forward and hits his head on the top of the rail. “Fuck.” He moans, climbing the stair to the stern of the ship. “ow!” he falls to the side and bumps his elbow against the rail,” ow!” he falls the other side and bangs his hip, “ow!” he trips, “ow!”
If he were awake he would be covered in bruises, he knows that much.
He throws himself at the madly spinning helm, trying for some kind of control. It flings him to the ground the first time, his quick reflexes barely saving him for smashing his chin against the tar-bound planks. The second time, he manages to hang on to the spokes for a moment but then the ship lurches to the side and the helm spins madly on. The third time, he knows what to expect and gathers his resolve before using his full strength (and some he didn’t know he possessed) to stick to the helm like a large barnacle.
A skeletal hand digs into his left shoulder, cold seeping into Wes’ flesh through his soaked shift at the contact. The scent of rotten flesh permeates the air, suffocating in its strength. “Fresh meat.” A voice rasps, crawling over his skin like a bunch of ants with tentacle-feet. Wes screams, jerking away from the creature instinctually. Without his full attention to manage it, the helm breaks out of his grip and the ship lurches to the left. Startled and afraid, the boy loses his balance and hits the ground, just managing to avoid breaking his face once again.
Since the boards are so slick with sea water and a filmy layer of something Wes hopes is algae, the boy’s roll turns into a rolling slide that only ended when his back struck the stern’s railing. He groans, curling up into a protective ball hands firmly wrapped around the little wooden pillars. He does not look at the creature’s face. It would only make him sick.
Large flat leaves of seaweed sneak around his hands, binding them to the rail as a large wall of water loomed behind him. He takes a deep lungful of air just before it breaks, crashing into the ship enthusiastically.
At first, he hopes that the monster would be washed away, banished by the salty black water; but when a hand in the water covers his mouth and nose, he knows it was a fool’s hope. “Mmpf!” He struggles against his seaweed bindings, trying to angle away from the nightmarish hand but the wooden boards were hard against his body.
“Freshly watered,” the nightmare gurgles, forming a face once the wave ebbs. Half made of sea-things, the creature’s face was mostly bone with only the thinnest layer of droopy skin hanging from its chin like the remains of a forgotten dream. “Tasty,” it adds, a skeletal hand drawing blood as it traces Wes’ jaw line. It holds the blooded hand above its head, letting the pink rain drip down into its tongueless mouth. The scent of rotten seafood is suddenly so strong that it makes Wes’ head spin.
“Let me go!” He pleads desperately, struggling against his bonds with renewed vigor. He was not going to die like this, and death was imminent if he did nothing to save himself.
The fallen star in his back pocked flares to life, warming his body in a way that was more potent than the touch of the sock. The nightmarish creature pauses, reaching towards his back pocket curiously. “Tinker?”
A silver-tipped harpoon passes through the nightmare, striking the post the seaweed is wrapped around with a solid thunk! Wes isn’t sure whether it is the creature or the seaweed that is screaming in pain, but he quickly rolls away from his captors. The harpoon quickly becomes a dark of light and streaks back to the girl’s hands, becoming a large scythe twice as tall as its bearer. The girl from the other day did not seem to mind any more than she did the pole-arm.
“I hate raining dreams.” She tells the boy, her hair matted against her skull. The short jean skirt and black halter-top she’s wearing caresses her skin; her forearms are covered in some time of mesh-like sleeve that did not connect to her top.
“You should wear something more appropriate.” The boy shrugs, his bright yellow parka covering his upper body nicely.
“But that’s so bo~ring!” The girl sniffs, looking at Wes through her long black bangs. “Isn’t that the kid from the last Man-Eater Hunt?”
“Unlucky Dreamer I guess.” The boy agrees, barely glancing at Wes.
“It tried to drown me!” Wes blurts, struggling to his feet as the ship lurches yet again. The other two seem not to notice, as if they were standing on level ground. “Who are you guys anyway? And why are you in my dream? Not that I’m not thankful -I don’t know if the star could beat that thing in the state its in- but this is my dream!”
“You can see us?” The girl asks, mouth open in surprise.
“He doesn’t have a sash.” The boy notes, his wide eyes making him look a couple years younger. “He has to be a Dreamer.”
“But he can see us! And talk to us! Dreamers never notice us!” The girl looks positively excited about this. “We could use him to find out about the Waking world without going on all these hunts!”
“And how would we find him again, Tisha?” The boy asks sourly, the brief look of hope in his eyes fading as his logic catches up with him. “The Lord Shaper would have a fit if we plant a tracker.”
“The Lord Shaper needs to smile more, kind of like you.” The girl shoots back, “if you weren’t such a pessimist-”
“Excuse me,” Wes interrupts, irritated that they appeared to have forgotten he could, in fact, hear them quite well, “but what is going on? And who are you?”
“Oh, we’re Dream Hunters. I’m Tisha and sourpuss over there is Dresden.” The girl answers with a charming smile. “We catch Broken Nightmares like that one,” she points at the recovering creature, “for the Lord Shaper.”
“Why?”
“Unimportant.” Dresden answers, running a hand over his bead necklace absent-mindedly. “I think its name is Drowning.”
Wes’ retort is forgotten as the Broken Nightmare starts wailing and the ship crashes into a pile of rocks. The momentum throws him forward, over the railing and straight towards the little cluster of rocks. His screams only intensify as a cold hand grips his ankle. Wes feels the star start to fall from his pocket and twists in midair, just managing to catch it before it is lost to the churning sea. He holds it tightly in his left fist as he dangles.
The nightmare turns to face the Dream Hunters, its face bubbling like heated oil in its glee. “My flesh!” It declares, holding the terrified Wes in front of its body. “Tinker-flesh tasty!”
“Tinker!” The Dream Hunters chorus, exchanging surprised looks before turning their attention back to the nightmare. With all the rain, they did not see the softly glowing star fall out of Wes’ pocket, though they did see him move quickly. The girl -Tisha, she said her name was Tisha- takes a step forward, her scythe turning into a bladed chain-whip. “He’s still a Dreamer!” She declares, twirling the whip. “Ready Dres?”
“Dresden… it’s Dresden,” he mutters, knowing she did not care to listen.
“Go!” The whip cracks through the air, slicing neatly through the nightmare’s arm. Wes falls towards a particularly nasty-looking rock, crossing his arms in front of his face in the vain hope that that will protect him. Instead, he stops in mid-air, a cheerful white bubble-shield surrounding him. It carries him towards the ship as the bladed whip flashes in the corner of his eyes, tearing into the nightmare mercilessly. It shrieks in pain, clouds of shadow dissipating as they separate from the main body. No matter how much it tries to shield itself, the girl’s whip penetrates the defense every time. The star in Wes’ hands becomes cloudy blue with red tips, giving the boy an impression of disappointment.
‘What do you want me to do? I can’t fight.’ He thinks at it.
It flashes a petulant green, a red tinge pointing at the wailing nightmare.
“Stop hurting it!” He yells, his green eyes wide as knowledge passes through the star to his mind. The whip pauses and then wraps around the nightmare in a way that any movement on the nightmare’s part would incur damage from the blades.
As soon as Wes lands, the bubble disappears. “What are you going on about? It tried to kill you!” Tisha demands, pushing her bangs out of her eyes irritably.
“It’s in pain!”
“So? It consumed the energy of ten Dreamers before we caught up with it.”
“So you just destroy it?! I thought you said it was broken! Can’t you fix it?”
“We’re not supposed to destroy them.” Dresden says mildly, putting a hand on Tisha’s shoulder. She glares at him, a little bit of colour on her cheeks. “But neither of us is a Tinker, and you’re no Dream Hunter.”
“The nightmare called me a Tinker.” He points out.
“The nightmare lost its mind. That’s why it’s broken.” The girl says slowly. The whip starts to shrink, bringing the nightmare to the ship. “Dres can Bind it, I can hurt it; but we can’t Mend it.”
“Dreamers cannot mend nightmares either.” Dresden’s tone of finality reminds Wes of the closing of his aunt’s coffin.
Unfortunately for their preconceptions, Wes is not one to back down just because someone tells him something’s impossible. He inherited that from his mother, among other things. “Give me a chance, I know I can help.”
“You should just wake up kid.” Tisha recommends, standing between him and the nightmare. “You really don’t want to mess with nightmares, they can suck you into this madness and you’ll lose everything.”
“I want to help it.” He insists, “it’s important.”
“More important than your sanity?”
“I don’t want to regret this!”
“You’ll forget when you wake up.” Dresden remarks.
“I never forget.” Wes snarls. “Please!”
“Fine, try.” She sighs, forcing the nightmare down against the deck.
“What about your chain!”
“It stays. I’m not about to let it rip you apart just because you pity it.” She declares stubbornly, and Dresden nods his agreement.
“Fine.” Wes stalks over to the nightmare, holding the pleased star in his hands. At least he thinks it’s pleased, it glows a soft pink that gives the boy an impression of an eager flush. Tisha’s whip flexes around the nightmare in warning, like a snake with a firm hold on its prey. Ignoring the blade as it weaves to and fro inches from his face, he kneels down beside the trapped nightmare and holds out the star. “Lost you may be, your darkness consumed in mad confusion, but I see your core; wooden plank of this mighty vessel,” as he says it, he sees the core veiled by the nightmare’s darkness. “Still yourself for a moment.”
The dream hunters make little surprised sounds at the mention of a core, but their surprise is greater when the nightmare actually freezes. Wes ignores them… the star in his hands is so bright now he cannot help seeing the cracks all over the wooden core. There is a long slice down the middle, so deep that the two sides are only held together by a grain of wood.
‘Fix that, and it won’t be Broken.’ The star tells him in a voice that he does not recognize, but may have been his own.
Wes reaches out with the star, pressing it against the edge of the nightmare’s substance. “Mend.” He whispers,
Light envelops the nightmare and the boy, blinding the Dream Hunters and forcing the bladed whip to return to its original form, a bright purple gel pen. The star’s power fuses the two sides of the nightmare’s core, and in the time it took for Wes to realize he was actually succeeding, it also filled in the gouges made by Tisha’s weapon.
As the light fades, the nightmare’s hold on his dream breaks.