tunicaintima | Supernatural AU for Roland

[Firo looks. At first his expression is mild, his eyebrows raised in simple curiosity. Those eyebrows knit together the more the shadow speaks.

What's left of him? And here Firo had been thinking of the shadow as something else rather than something less.

For once, Firo doesn't react to being called a child--he's sort of brought his pack into this, so finding out what's going on is more important.]

...So you're saying that's what happened to you? You used to be normal before you saw that thing?

The hell is it?

It's-

[The thought can't finish, because the shadow has no idea how to finish it. It has never occurred to him to try to describe it before. The words to describe it might not exist. The thoughts to describe it might not exist. If they do they're locked away, and it would take more than a question - even from the first person he's spoken to in all his memory - to give him a reason to unlock them.]

A place. A very powerful place. One where all the forces which shape our... our existence, they all intersect there. To look into it is to see. To truly see. Worse, to understand. It's that which loses men their minds, I think.

Here... I don't know. In this place it might be just a memory. My memory. I don't know what I might remember. You said you'd never had lessons in the mental magics, didn't you? Damn shame. I could use a few thoughts on that, on what a place like that might symbolize here. Could be important.

[He sighs again, sending the leaves into a brief rattle.]

But what it could do to you even as an echo, even just an impression of itself... How badly do you want to leave here, Firo Prochainezo? How badly do you want the risk?

[Whatever the shadow's saying is clearly important, but it's all too abstract--Firo only continues listening in case it winds up having some sort of relevance to his family.

He doesn't miss the juxtaposition of this "echo's" power with the prospect of leaving that place. He rocks forward on his toes, clearly interested once again.]

But you do think it could get us outta here?

[A growl low in his throat.]

We don't exactly have a lotta options here.

[He'd be frowning, if he could. That is not exactly what he said. Can't help but feel as if the boy doesn't really understand.]

I think it could. Or it could-

[But how could he understand? There's no way to explain. Not to one who hasn't already risked it, who doesn't seem like the type who actually considers warnings. Is there a use in trying, again, to explain?]

[Killing all who come too near to it, he misses being able to do that. It's easier. Certainly more effective.]

-Or it could make things much worse. Not for me, but for you. In a way that's irreversible.

[The glow of it's still visible a little ways away, golden and beautiful and inviting. He stares at it. After a second, he sighs.]

You do have a choice, you know. Wander this place as we have been, search for something else. But that will take time. It's your choice, because it is your risk. But you do have a choice. So I ask you one more time: How dearly do you want to risk this?

...So either it'd bring me back or it'd keep me from gettin' back ever?

[His body sags, as if this revelation is a boulder that's been dropped into his shoulders. Even for Firo, a risk like this may simply be too much.]

You're the one who knows about this stuff. How long do you think it'll be until we find something else?

[He takes a second to think about it.]

Won't find anything else this powerful. Or more significant, which often counts for more in these situations. The memory itself holds a great deal of significance, and the object it represents is one which connects everything. Connects us too, maybe. Might take some time to find another symbol so fitting.

I don't know, boy. If I understood why you needed to get back maybe I could advise you better. It'll take a while. And that's if- if I can bring myself to be as open to you as I ought. Unless there's a memory more fitting in your mind somewhere, but I don't suppose you'd recognize it if you had one.

And? So if you're not open it takes even longer?

[Firo's hackles rise. He's tense and ready to spring, because that's not an answer he likes in any way. Though he's seen how ineffective the hunters' blows were, he's still tempted to go in swinging at this guy.

But then what? It doesn't seem likely that this guy would be bullied into helping him. They're not enemies. Firo straightens.]

I can't tell you more than I already have. I need to get back because we're supposed to be together. There's nothing else to it.

Now you be open with me. How're we gonna get out? If we're not using this thing, then what do we gotta look for?

And you think I can tell you more than I already have? Do you want a timeframe, boy? Humans are so impatient. Even before, they always were.

This is the first time I've done this. If I knew where to go to make the connection we need to, it wouldn't have taken so long as it has. We look for symbols, Firo Prochainezo. That's all I know to tell you. This in front of us is the most powerful symbol there is, and as long as we look we'll never see its like. Perhaps if I saw it with you I could direct it - it's my memory, after all. But I don't know. If we leave here, we'll find something else or we won't. That's all there is to tell you.

I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. This is a terrible risk for one who...

[The thought feels confused, sounds confused even as he says it. It comes out of him, but he's not sure from where.]

Who must miss his family very much. A terrible risk, to see their faces never again.

[Firo bites his lip as he listens. It doesn't sound too good either way, but this is what he has to work with.

He squares his shoulders and clenches both fists, facing the shadow straight on.

Yes, he does miss them. But he won't admit to that weakness--he has a duty to take care of.]

So this could be my only chance. If we leave this thing, I might never get back

Then I have to do it. No point in thinking about it.

[He turns to the light and starts walking.]

[It takes a moment for the shadow to shake off his thoughts - thoughts of family, and risk, and memories with no faces - enough to realize the boy's set off. He follows. The closer they get the closer the memory, the feeling, gets and the more it grows inside the shadow, the brighter the light ahead of them gets. Bright and brighter still, and by the time they near it the shadow has been forced to exist only in the shade of the boy werewolf's footsteps.]

[If the boy looks it will resolve itself into its easier shape, but only for a moment. The shape of the rose is nothing against the light which spills out from within it. If the boy looks into it, it will open to him. Everything will open to him and, because that is the way the shadow remembers it, it will do so all at once.]

[The shadow had said this could take him to his pack, so Firo marches up to the flower heedless of the light. He looks directly at the flower; he intends to touch it, make it do something.

He doesn't get the chance. The light streams out and swallows his vision. He almost wonders if he's been blinded--but the problem isn't that he can't see. He sees too much. He doesn't breathe.

He tries to look for his pack, and he sees everything but. The world--no, worlds--around them are too massive to ignore no matter how much he tries. He thinks he's calling out for them, but he doesn't have the air in his lungs to make a sound.]

[The vision seems to be everything the shadow thought it would. Of course it is; it's his. It's his clearest memory, for all its details are vague, have to be vague for his own sanity.]

[But it isn't his sanity on the line here. He sees the boy's pain, finds himself thinking of that family he'd been so eager to get back to. Finds himself thinking of eternity, and grief, and a long, empty desert.]

[He steps forward. Into the boy. In the physical world that trick takes a great deal of effort; here it is easy. Here it sets this particular memory right. Him being the one to look on it, when it was too bright for him to even exist near it before, changes the source of all that light, all that knowledge, into the symbol it actually is, here. It narrows down that knowledge to one memory - a wall, a bloodstain, a hand moving its way toward it - and the memory fills out. It's his father he'd - and it had been him, when he'd still had eyes to look with - seen slumped against the wall like that.]

[Steven. His father's name had been Steven.]

[The rest of the memories fill out too into their own, likewise horrible shapes. The boys playing in the distance, Alain and Cuthbert. The memory later had been them, too, and then just Cuthbert, the last battle, the end of everything at Jericho Hill which he'd tried so hard to hide from.]

[It hadn't been the end of everything, though. That had come later. Even after all the death and all the grief - he remembers every one now and it's overwhelming, but it comes too quickly to be overwhelmed - there had still been more to lose.]

[He remembers the long and empty desert. His own family long gone, his own memories on their way out. The man who'd lost them had felt like a different person, had been a different person. It makes you a different man, doesn't it, dying.]

[He remembers wondering where he'd left his body behind, remembers only wondering it for a moment. It hadn't mattered. The only thing that mattered had been going on. And so he had.]

[He remembers having a name, once.]

[Once that thought comes, the instant after it comes, things feel different. Fuller. Heavier. That is how the physical world feels, he thinks, but only vaguely. There's time to be overwhelmed, now, and it comes to him all at once. The mind still sitting around his own might be party to another memory, one of bright and golden light, and horror, and pleading, that last utterly fruitless. It might be party to his horror now, too, and then to a great deal of silence.]

[The mind inside Firo Prochainezo's is trying very hard, if the boy can tell, to faint. It might not be capable but it's trying, all the same. With a little help, it might or might not succeed.]

Edited 2017-03-02 12:54 (UTC)

[The memories give Firo a raft to cling to, and in his panic he sucks in every detail. It feels almost novel, safe, to focus on the everything of one story rather than the everything of the universe.

Steven. Alain and Cuthbert. Roland.

The shadow's mind pulls him towards blackness, while the memory of the truth whispers more and more awareness, knowledge into his ears. He can't stand it. Yes, it's easier to faint.

He lets go--

--And wakes up, curled up on his side with a rock poking into his hip. The sharp smell of the grass mingles with the earth; this place is new to him. He knows that even before he opens his eyes.

He pushes himself up on his hands and looks around. The clearing is almost dark, and Firo realizes when he turns his eyes upward that the dimness is due mostly to the tightly woven vegetation around him.]

Where is this? ...Roland?

[Strange to say it, but that had been the name in his head.]

[Something - something still nestled inside Firo, somewhere - shivers at the name, starts trying to shut its consciousness off again. But the question penetrates - the location penetrates and he knows what to do, when someone enters here for the first time. That much he knows. That much he is used to knowing.]

Y o u shouldn't b e here

[The thought comes out sluggish and indistinct. It sounds different here than it did; it feels the same. It isn't Firo's thought.]

Go. You should go. Does he have a right to be here?

[That last isn't directed at Firo but the thought is still confused, fuzzy at all its edges. It doesn't quite know who it ought be directing itself to.]

[The voice sends an uncomfortable tingle down his spine, but it's familiar enough that he's not left wondering if he's gone completely crazy.

Wait, does this guy being in his head mean he can read Firo's thoughts? He doesn't like that at all; he tests the waters by speaking out loud.]

What're you talking about? I don't even know where I am.

[He presses both hands to the sides of his head.]

You gonna explain what just happened?

What

you saw

[The thoughts keep pausing, stopping to try and focus themselves. It's hard.]

was everything. You saw it. You know

what happened

Family. Yours. They'll be missing you.

What about yours?

[He wraps his arms loosely around his knees. With the absence of another body to face, he tilts his head up to the crowns of the trees.

He's making himself comfortable here.]

That's what I saw, right? Those kids, that man.

[It's not hard to get comfortable in a place like this. The ground is soft, covered in damp leaves and moss. Flower buds peek out here and there from behind rocks. The trees ringing the clearing are tall and list to one side; the way their branches grow around one another has always given the shade the impression of something large all fitted around him, spiraling upward.]

[In the distant center of the clearing, there's a hint of red. Never mind that for now. Already Firo has seen quite enough of it.]

[For the shade, though, comfort is the last thing on his mind. This has been true for some time, but in this moment it couldn't be more so.]

Those kids are dead. That man is dead.

[The shade wants very much to shudder. He feels as if he ought to. If he has any control over this body the fingers would tighten for a second, automatically; maybe he only feels as if they should. The shadows around, in any case - those can shudder, and they do. The thought which accompanies the motion is the most certain his thoughts have been since he awoke, and the feeling which carries them is accusation. Why mention it? Why ask? Gone things.]

[The tingling that infests his fingers is wholly unexpected to Firo, and he yanks both of his hands back as if he's been burned. He brings them closer to his face for inspection--and they look fine. Strange. He flexes them a few times to try to get rid of the strange feeling.]

Relax, I just thought I'd ask. They seemed important. Real important.

[His family is important. This leads to two thoughts, the first being that he should get back now. The second is that this Roland should get back to whatever's left of his.]

Is there anybody else?

[If he'd been left on his own after all that, he might even now be trying to forget those memories again. The thought disgusts him, and he knows that it is true. The way those memories are being presented to him now, though, asked after by a consciousness outside his own, he wouldn't turn away from them now. Not just yet. So he tells the truth. The only truth he knows.]

There's only this. There's only ever been this. You know that. You saw.

I don't know what you saw. You saw enough, surely. Would I have anybody else? Would it make a difference if I did, against the importance of this place?

You're talkin' nonsense. I saw those people, but that doesn't mean that's all. You had a really short life if that's all that happened in it.

[Probably an insensitive thing to say to a ghost. Firo doesn't seem to care, his tone as casual as ever.]

Didn't mean to open up any old wounds, but I figured I'd ask. In case there was anything we could do about it.

[His thoughts are settled. Quiet, not at all argumentative anymore. No reason to be.]

That wasn't all. There was-

It doesn't matter. Not now. You ought to go home.

[His thoughts are settled, but they aren't straight, are not at all organized. If they were he might realize that, in their present condition, Firo going home might present a problem.]

Sure.

[He pushes himself to his feet and shakes out his joints. He debates changing so as to get there faster, but then there's the problem of his clothes...

And before he sets off, there is another question. Firo casts around the hedges for an exit, then decides that it's easier to just try to wiggle through in any old place. He grunts, fighting the brambles and branches.]

So are you plannin' on comin' with me or what?

What?

[And it still hasn't occurred to the shadow, their little problem. He really does have quite a lot on his mind.]

You can just leave like this, easy as that? You don't feel it?

[He feels it. The pull toward this place. He has always assumed that is a physical quality of this place but this, along with his new memories, whisper a suspicion that maybe it's only him. Maybe it's his own fault, all this.]

[Some of those thought processes might bleed through, bound as they are. Some sense of dismay, a squirming, avoidant feeling, a heavy guilt. The shadow tries to ignore it.]

Feel what?

[But as he tries to navigate around a particularly prickly branch, he feels it. It starts as a tug so faint that he assumes it's just resistance from the wall of plants around him. But when he tries to wriggle forward, it's like he's punching his way through a burlap sack--the feeling is fluid and yielding, but there's still some definite resistance in his way.]

All right, you wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on here?

[He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth.]

You gotta be kidding me. Are we still in that stupid dream?

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