ooc: Ficlet - Nightmares
Feel free to ignore this. Nanowrimo is coming up, and it seems that extra inspiration being stored up sloshed into fic.
Fic is canon for TST.
"Oh," she said, watching herself as a child, pushing open the door to the lab, dark and close, hands laden with a tray. "It's a dream."
The scene changed, in the way dreams do, skipping whole bits of the memory the dream had hijacked to the part where she'd handed him the syringe, and his hand was on her shoulder, and she couldn't tell how tall she was anymore, standing beside her master who had always been so much bigger than her--a god in her world.
It couldn't have been. There was no way. She'd never remembered the face of the man who had died on this table all those years before, but it certainly hadn't been Reno's. The fact that she couldn't remember left the gap, the possibility, however impossible, psyche pasting itself in unwanted places.
She tried to turn away, tried to hide from the sight of him, the drug working through his system, making him sweat, contorting in pain. But the dream, or her sensei or her own betraying body, wouldn't let her. "Stop," she fought, trying to get away, but the sight and the awful sounds wouldn't let her go. Little noises, the sound of someone used to pain unable to ignore something inside his very veins, even more terrifying then a scream, to her. 'Stop it!"
And then she was on her knees, in an alleyway, in the old town, retching and heaving, her hands covered with blood and she didn't know whose and--he was laughing. She'd never be able to get away from that laugh, so full of the madness she'd come to know so well.
"No!" She shouted the denial, though she wasn't certain what of, and then he was grabbing her arm and--
Anko woke with a start, her journal beeping at her insistently. She'd managed to get caught in the blanket she'd curled under on her bed, the dark cloth wrapped tightly around her arm, damp with the cold sweat of a nightmare. "Fuck."
Sitting up, she grabbed the journal, pushing damp bangs out of her eyesight. Axel. She repeated, "Fuck," more as a general curse on the entire race of idiots and betrayers than specific, as she stood to go, ignoring things like shaking limbs, and fears in the pit of her stomach.
Nightmares, Axel had said. It seemed she'd merely gotten the head start.
Fic is canon for TST.
"Oh," she said, watching herself as a child, pushing open the door to the lab, dark and close, hands laden with a tray. "It's a dream."
The scene changed, in the way dreams do, skipping whole bits of the memory the dream had hijacked to the part where she'd handed him the syringe, and his hand was on her shoulder, and she couldn't tell how tall she was anymore, standing beside her master who had always been so much bigger than her--a god in her world.
It couldn't have been. There was no way. She'd never remembered the face of the man who had died on this table all those years before, but it certainly hadn't been Reno's. The fact that she couldn't remember left the gap, the possibility, however impossible, psyche pasting itself in unwanted places.
She tried to turn away, tried to hide from the sight of him, the drug working through his system, making him sweat, contorting in pain. But the dream, or her sensei or her own betraying body, wouldn't let her. "Stop," she fought, trying to get away, but the sight and the awful sounds wouldn't let her go. Little noises, the sound of someone used to pain unable to ignore something inside his very veins, even more terrifying then a scream, to her. 'Stop it!"
And then she was on her knees, in an alleyway, in the old town, retching and heaving, her hands covered with blood and she didn't know whose and--he was laughing. She'd never be able to get away from that laugh, so full of the madness she'd come to know so well.
"No!" She shouted the denial, though she wasn't certain what of, and then he was grabbing her arm and--
Anko woke with a start, her journal beeping at her insistently. She'd managed to get caught in the blanket she'd curled under on her bed, the dark cloth wrapped tightly around her arm, damp with the cold sweat of a nightmare. "Fuck."
Sitting up, she grabbed the journal, pushing damp bangs out of her eyesight. Axel. She repeated, "Fuck," more as a general curse on the entire race of idiots and betrayers than specific, as she stood to go, ignoring things like shaking limbs, and fears in the pit of her stomach.
Nightmares, Axel had said. It seemed she'd merely gotten the head start.