Dreamcatcher
Jun. 24th, 2011 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowTitle: Dreamcatcher [Pending?]
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Alden, Bertram
Status: Complete but very rough, likely typos everywhere
Rating: PG-13, just in case. Also if you don't like gay couples, well, this isn't for you.
Summary: Sometimes you lose trust in others, when you can't find trust in yourself.
Prompt: "The worst thing is the insomnia"
---
He could hear the owls in the night -- surprisingly, considering the pounding of blood in his ears, looking for any sort of way to burst through. He couldn't fall back to sleep due to it; too loud, constant, and frantic, his heart preparing for battle, body tense a board and ready to punch the nightmares. This one had involved some grotesque zebra-beast, but its stripes were peeling off of it in gooey strips, and when it opened its mouth Alden's head fell out with a splat of blood and saliva, and asked him "Why did you eat me?"
It was probably around half-past three, but he would not let himself check the time. For about another half-hour he tried to fall back to sleep but that damned zebra monster hovered on the edge of his vision, and when it spat out Alden's arm, seeming to land smack onto his sheets, Bertram jerked upright in bed, dizzy from the movement, and gave up.
The owl kept on hooting, a constant aggravating sound, grinding in his ears. With a curse he stripped off the bedsheets, soaked through with sweat, and peeled himself out of the bed. He swayed a bit upon rising but soon recovered, the blood rolling in his ears with confusion, forgetting how to work. Fresh air, he decided, was what he needed -- maybe he could find some rocks to throw at the birds, or the nearest zebra.
The balcony was only two rooms away, but the walk felt like an eternity. First he staggered into the door as his balance gave up again, and then he fumbled with the doorknob when coordination joined the party. That familiar buzz was back in his head, one thousand angry hornets asking him what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what the fuck was his problem. Finally the door opened and he sort of walked, mostly staggered out into the hallway, and somehow managed to make it all the way down the hallway and into the kitchen without tripping over the air.
Then the door to the balcony attacked him with a cold-blooded smack to the forehead. With an angry grumble Bertram found the doorknob and gave the door a good pull; it knocked him again and this time he almost fell over, holding onto the door for dear life as he felt his body sway. Somehow he made it without destroying himself or the house in the process; with a lurch and a heavy swallow of bile Bertram took the great step out into the balcony.
The fresh air blew his sweat cold and settled his blood, but the pounding in his head refused to stop. Still, Bertram found he could stand a little straighter, and took a few great gulps of the wind, until he was coughing and spitting up acid. With one last hack he found the railings and leaned heavily against it, staring down at the grass below.
And as always, he wondered what the hell he was doing, and how easy it'd be to stop it. Just one little drink -- he wouldn't even need to have much. Just a small shot of vodka, Alden would never know, but oh yes he would, what the fuck was Bertram thinking. With a groan he set his head on his arms. He couldn't do that. He knew that. If he had just one little sip he would feel better for maybe a few hours and then he would have to restart this entire nightmare.
Oh how he hated the nightmares, but the worst part was the insomnia afterwards. Sure, zebra demons haunted his dreams, but in his dreams he was coherent, and he could stand tall and eat breakfast and his mind was clear, clear as the sky. But once he woke up he was dizzy and vomiting and an impenetrable duststorm settled into his head and kicked up the world.
He spat up acid over the side of the balcony and hoped it hit an owl. The cold breeze made him shiver madly but at least his blood was slowing down, the pounding in his ears reduced to an unpleasant hum. He found he was able to think, mostly about his misery but at least he could hear the thoughts. And at least that worthless zebra was out of his thoughts.
"Stay out, fucking bitch."
An owl hooted in reply. Bertram imagined it was some obscene comment and gave a rude gesture back. Then he set his chin on his arms and stared out at the endless expanse of plains. The river sparkled in the distance due to the stars; it made his head hurt even more and he finally turned his back on the world--
The light was on in the kitchen. Bertram stared at it flooding the balcony and wondered how he had missed it. Then his heart sank; his stupid thudding around and swearing had been too loud. He took a deep breath, and thought of his very best apology. "Sorry I'm a fucking worthless jackass?" "Sorry for vomiting on the porch?" "Sorry you should have left when you threatened to?"
Maybe just "sorry" would suffice. With a deep breath Bertram entered the kitchen.
The dark spots under Alden's blue eyes were far too large and prominent, threatening to swallow him. He smiled anyway, walking over and wrapping his arms around Bertram, hugging him tight enough to be meaningful but without making him want to vomit again.
"I made us some tea. Hopefully it will help with your headache and help you sleep better." Alden gave him a kiss on the cheek as he pulled back.
"I don't get how you can kiss me when I'm covered in sweat and smell like shit." Well that wasn't the apology he wanted to say.
But Alden just grinned. "Oh like I haven't kissed weirder things." And then he gently led Bertram over to the table and sat him down. The warm steam from the mug brushed against Bertram's nose, and he didn't realize how badly he had been shivering. He tried to take the mug but his hands shook to much, so he held them near it, desperate for the warmth.
A thick blanket was draped across his shoulders and then Alden sat next to him, pulling the chair until it touched his. Wrapping his arm around Bertram, Alden rested his head against him, staring at the drink.
"So what was it about this time?"
So it hadn't been the crashing into things. Bertram wondered how violently he reacted to the dreams -- he never noticed any bruises on Alden, but clearly he did something that kept the man awake with him. Guilt burned in his stomach.
"Some melting zebra. It ate you, I guess, because it vomited up your head and you asked why I had eaten you." Slowly he watched his hands slow down, and he grasped the cup lightly.
"Because it's fun?" Alden could not hide the concern in his voice, though Bertram smiled regardless. "Hopefully those will go away soon. Being eaten by a zebra sounds horribly unpleasant."
He couldn't really understand how Alden just dealt with it, most of the time. Sometimes he could tell the entire thing was frustrating Alden -- when he'd find him sleeping on the couch after a particularly bad night, for instance. He knew he must complain to someone about it. Yet in the middle of the night, when Bertram would be most cranky if he was in Alden's position, Alden always seemed so calm, collected, treating him gently until he could fall back to sleep.
Perhaps it was so he could stop being up all night. Bertram supposed he shouldn't assume complete selflessness on Alden's part. With a sigh Bertram got a full grip on the cup and lifted it carefully to his lips; he wanted to give himself a pat on the back for not spilling it all down his shirt, but thought that movement may be a bit too complex for him.
The tea was strong, but Bertram was used to that; Alden thought that no tea was good unless it left you in need of a glass of water. But the stuff had helped him with headaches in the past, and Bertram put in a weak hope for it for this time. It was the most he would try for, though; tonight felt so much worse than other nights, between the melting zebra, the vomit on the porch, and then knowing he had woken up his boyfriend with his stupidity.
He looked down at Alden then; he still had his arm around Bertram, head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed.
"You can go back to sleep. I'll be fine."
"I'm good, thanks." Alden shifted slightly, leaning more into Bertram, glancing briefly at the tea. "How is it?"
"Drying me out."
"Excellent, I made it perfectly then." Alden paused, then squeezed Bertram. "I'm not sleeping until you are."
"Oh really. How do you plan to get up for work then?" Bertram had witnessed Alden a few times when low on sleep. He had dedicated his life to preventing it from ever occuring again as a result.
"Same way you will. Cursing the world, stomping around, and possibly vomiting into the toilet. It seems like an effective strategy." At Bertram's cool glare Alden smiled warmily and reached over to pat Bertram's cheek. "Besides, if I try to sleep right now I'm just going to toss and turn and imagine you tripping over a chair or something and me falling asleep while you bleed to death. It's not worth it."
"I need to force-feed you chamomile or something. I don't trip over chairs, I stagger into them and swear angrily. And besides, even if I did trip, I wouldn't crack my head open." Bertram paused to sip his tea.
"It's too thick?"
And with that comment Bertram choked, spitting up tea, trying desperately to breathe, choke, and laugh at the same time. Alden gave his back a few pounds for good measure, but Bertram wasn't sure whether they were for show or not.
"Yes." Bertram coughed a few times, drowning out his own word. He tried again. "Yes. I'm so glad you understand."
"And with that glorious head you stomp into Welen territory and no matter what bullshit they feed you you come out of there, still a Msakajunia." Alden smiled dreamily, eyes closed.
"Should I start pounding on my chest and grunt a few times? I bet I could pull it off pretty well. Bertram Wekesa. Warrior. Advisor. Uncivilized grunter."
Alden grinned. "We should all visit with a little warning letter. 'If I start to grunt and look at you with beady eyes, give me some raw meat and stick to simple words.' 'Food'. 'Chair'."
"'The Great Sorrowful Mother of Welen'." Bertram set down his tea and hugged Alden close as the man started chuckling uncontrollably. "I still don't get how they can call her that with a straight face. Someone should give her some fucking saffron or lithium or something."
"And then we all learned that the Great Dragon was not in such great pain because of our actions, or inactions. It was because she just needed a little push to help her get over the loss of her planet. Bertram Wekesa was named the new saviour of the planet--"
"Oh fuck no."
Alden laughed. "Fine, don't be the hero in this. Are you feeling better?"
"Sort of." Though he supposed it was more miraculous than he implied. His head still hurt, yes, but it was a dull throb, pushed down by the conversation and the laughter. Alden's hold kept back his tremors, and the tea he had given him settled in his stomach reluctantly but safely, the nausea not trickling back up. He felt like he could stand, maybe, if he went slowly about it and used Alden as a makeshift cane. He may even be able to make it back to bed.
Fatigue washed over him at the thought, but all the same he stiffened, the melting zebra looming in his mind, its eyeless sockets questioning him.
"Come." Alden extracted himself, rising carefully and holding out his hands. "It's more comfortable in the bedroom."
It was easier said than done; upon standing up Bertram's head immediately spun, his brain tumbling around in confusion, forgetting which way was up. He felt Alden wrap an arm around his waist, take Bertram's arm and slip under it, and then he realized how he alwasy forgot how strong the man was. Bertram knew he was couple of inches taller, and outweighed him with ease, and yet Alden seemed to support him with ease. His former soldier training never really left, or perhaps he was just born strong for his size.
Together they walked to the bedroom, one wobbly step at a time, Bertram at one point feeling a push of nausea. Frozen to the spot, Alden rubbing his back, he felt dread creep into his mind, seizing his body, and he could see the horror in his mind -- vomiting everywhere, Alden holding him away from it, getting himself dirty as he helped Bertram into bed and made sure he was comfortable before walking away to clean up the mess...
Perhaps it was avoiding that that gave Bertram the strength to keep walking. And then he was on the bed, with Alden beside him, pulling the sheets over them both before coming in close, wrapping one arm over him, head against his back, breathing into him.
But he knew that he thrashed in these dreams, maybe even whimpered or shouted. Bertram stiffened, finally turned so he was facing Alden, who looked up at him with a sleepy smile.
"What about the nightmares?" He could hear the tremor in his voice and hated it instantly. "And the insomnia? I just toss and--"
"I can handle it." Alden reached up and kissed Bertram, stealing the doubt from him. "If you can't sleep, just talk. I'll listen. And I bet..." Another kiss, this one longer. "I bet I can scare away the nightmares."
And as he felt warmth flood him, hugging each other close and curled up as one, resting beneath the hooting of the owls and the silent gaze of the zebra, Bertram believed him.
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Alden, Bertram
Status: Complete but very rough, likely typos everywhere
Rating: PG-13, just in case. Also if you don't like gay couples, well, this isn't for you.
Summary: Sometimes you lose trust in others, when you can't find trust in yourself.
Prompt: "The worst thing is the insomnia"
---
He could hear the owls in the night -- surprisingly, considering the pounding of blood in his ears, looking for any sort of way to burst through. He couldn't fall back to sleep due to it; too loud, constant, and frantic, his heart preparing for battle, body tense a board and ready to punch the nightmares. This one had involved some grotesque zebra-beast, but its stripes were peeling off of it in gooey strips, and when it opened its mouth Alden's head fell out with a splat of blood and saliva, and asked him "Why did you eat me?"
It was probably around half-past three, but he would not let himself check the time. For about another half-hour he tried to fall back to sleep but that damned zebra monster hovered on the edge of his vision, and when it spat out Alden's arm, seeming to land smack onto his sheets, Bertram jerked upright in bed, dizzy from the movement, and gave up.
The owl kept on hooting, a constant aggravating sound, grinding in his ears. With a curse he stripped off the bedsheets, soaked through with sweat, and peeled himself out of the bed. He swayed a bit upon rising but soon recovered, the blood rolling in his ears with confusion, forgetting how to work. Fresh air, he decided, was what he needed -- maybe he could find some rocks to throw at the birds, or the nearest zebra.
The balcony was only two rooms away, but the walk felt like an eternity. First he staggered into the door as his balance gave up again, and then he fumbled with the doorknob when coordination joined the party. That familiar buzz was back in his head, one thousand angry hornets asking him what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what the fuck was his problem. Finally the door opened and he sort of walked, mostly staggered out into the hallway, and somehow managed to make it all the way down the hallway and into the kitchen without tripping over the air.
Then the door to the balcony attacked him with a cold-blooded smack to the forehead. With an angry grumble Bertram found the doorknob and gave the door a good pull; it knocked him again and this time he almost fell over, holding onto the door for dear life as he felt his body sway. Somehow he made it without destroying himself or the house in the process; with a lurch and a heavy swallow of bile Bertram took the great step out into the balcony.
The fresh air blew his sweat cold and settled his blood, but the pounding in his head refused to stop. Still, Bertram found he could stand a little straighter, and took a few great gulps of the wind, until he was coughing and spitting up acid. With one last hack he found the railings and leaned heavily against it, staring down at the grass below.
And as always, he wondered what the hell he was doing, and how easy it'd be to stop it. Just one little drink -- he wouldn't even need to have much. Just a small shot of vodka, Alden would never know, but oh yes he would, what the fuck was Bertram thinking. With a groan he set his head on his arms. He couldn't do that. He knew that. If he had just one little sip he would feel better for maybe a few hours and then he would have to restart this entire nightmare.
Oh how he hated the nightmares, but the worst part was the insomnia afterwards. Sure, zebra demons haunted his dreams, but in his dreams he was coherent, and he could stand tall and eat breakfast and his mind was clear, clear as the sky. But once he woke up he was dizzy and vomiting and an impenetrable duststorm settled into his head and kicked up the world.
He spat up acid over the side of the balcony and hoped it hit an owl. The cold breeze made him shiver madly but at least his blood was slowing down, the pounding in his ears reduced to an unpleasant hum. He found he was able to think, mostly about his misery but at least he could hear the thoughts. And at least that worthless zebra was out of his thoughts.
"Stay out, fucking bitch."
An owl hooted in reply. Bertram imagined it was some obscene comment and gave a rude gesture back. Then he set his chin on his arms and stared out at the endless expanse of plains. The river sparkled in the distance due to the stars; it made his head hurt even more and he finally turned his back on the world--
The light was on in the kitchen. Bertram stared at it flooding the balcony and wondered how he had missed it. Then his heart sank; his stupid thudding around and swearing had been too loud. He took a deep breath, and thought of his very best apology. "Sorry I'm a fucking worthless jackass?" "Sorry for vomiting on the porch?" "Sorry you should have left when you threatened to?"
Maybe just "sorry" would suffice. With a deep breath Bertram entered the kitchen.
The dark spots under Alden's blue eyes were far too large and prominent, threatening to swallow him. He smiled anyway, walking over and wrapping his arms around Bertram, hugging him tight enough to be meaningful but without making him want to vomit again.
"I made us some tea. Hopefully it will help with your headache and help you sleep better." Alden gave him a kiss on the cheek as he pulled back.
"I don't get how you can kiss me when I'm covered in sweat and smell like shit." Well that wasn't the apology he wanted to say.
But Alden just grinned. "Oh like I haven't kissed weirder things." And then he gently led Bertram over to the table and sat him down. The warm steam from the mug brushed against Bertram's nose, and he didn't realize how badly he had been shivering. He tried to take the mug but his hands shook to much, so he held them near it, desperate for the warmth.
A thick blanket was draped across his shoulders and then Alden sat next to him, pulling the chair until it touched his. Wrapping his arm around Bertram, Alden rested his head against him, staring at the drink.
"So what was it about this time?"
So it hadn't been the crashing into things. Bertram wondered how violently he reacted to the dreams -- he never noticed any bruises on Alden, but clearly he did something that kept the man awake with him. Guilt burned in his stomach.
"Some melting zebra. It ate you, I guess, because it vomited up your head and you asked why I had eaten you." Slowly he watched his hands slow down, and he grasped the cup lightly.
"Because it's fun?" Alden could not hide the concern in his voice, though Bertram smiled regardless. "Hopefully those will go away soon. Being eaten by a zebra sounds horribly unpleasant."
He couldn't really understand how Alden just dealt with it, most of the time. Sometimes he could tell the entire thing was frustrating Alden -- when he'd find him sleeping on the couch after a particularly bad night, for instance. He knew he must complain to someone about it. Yet in the middle of the night, when Bertram would be most cranky if he was in Alden's position, Alden always seemed so calm, collected, treating him gently until he could fall back to sleep.
Perhaps it was so he could stop being up all night. Bertram supposed he shouldn't assume complete selflessness on Alden's part. With a sigh Bertram got a full grip on the cup and lifted it carefully to his lips; he wanted to give himself a pat on the back for not spilling it all down his shirt, but thought that movement may be a bit too complex for him.
The tea was strong, but Bertram was used to that; Alden thought that no tea was good unless it left you in need of a glass of water. But the stuff had helped him with headaches in the past, and Bertram put in a weak hope for it for this time. It was the most he would try for, though; tonight felt so much worse than other nights, between the melting zebra, the vomit on the porch, and then knowing he had woken up his boyfriend with his stupidity.
He looked down at Alden then; he still had his arm around Bertram, head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed.
"You can go back to sleep. I'll be fine."
"I'm good, thanks." Alden shifted slightly, leaning more into Bertram, glancing briefly at the tea. "How is it?"
"Drying me out."
"Excellent, I made it perfectly then." Alden paused, then squeezed Bertram. "I'm not sleeping until you are."
"Oh really. How do you plan to get up for work then?" Bertram had witnessed Alden a few times when low on sleep. He had dedicated his life to preventing it from ever occuring again as a result.
"Same way you will. Cursing the world, stomping around, and possibly vomiting into the toilet. It seems like an effective strategy." At Bertram's cool glare Alden smiled warmily and reached over to pat Bertram's cheek. "Besides, if I try to sleep right now I'm just going to toss and turn and imagine you tripping over a chair or something and me falling asleep while you bleed to death. It's not worth it."
"I need to force-feed you chamomile or something. I don't trip over chairs, I stagger into them and swear angrily. And besides, even if I did trip, I wouldn't crack my head open." Bertram paused to sip his tea.
"It's too thick?"
And with that comment Bertram choked, spitting up tea, trying desperately to breathe, choke, and laugh at the same time. Alden gave his back a few pounds for good measure, but Bertram wasn't sure whether they were for show or not.
"Yes." Bertram coughed a few times, drowning out his own word. He tried again. "Yes. I'm so glad you understand."
"And with that glorious head you stomp into Welen territory and no matter what bullshit they feed you you come out of there, still a Msakajunia." Alden smiled dreamily, eyes closed.
"Should I start pounding on my chest and grunt a few times? I bet I could pull it off pretty well. Bertram Wekesa. Warrior. Advisor. Uncivilized grunter."
Alden grinned. "We should all visit with a little warning letter. 'If I start to grunt and look at you with beady eyes, give me some raw meat and stick to simple words.' 'Food'. 'Chair'."
"'The Great Sorrowful Mother of Welen'." Bertram set down his tea and hugged Alden close as the man started chuckling uncontrollably. "I still don't get how they can call her that with a straight face. Someone should give her some fucking saffron or lithium or something."
"And then we all learned that the Great Dragon was not in such great pain because of our actions, or inactions. It was because she just needed a little push to help her get over the loss of her planet. Bertram Wekesa was named the new saviour of the planet--"
"Oh fuck no."
Alden laughed. "Fine, don't be the hero in this. Are you feeling better?"
"Sort of." Though he supposed it was more miraculous than he implied. His head still hurt, yes, but it was a dull throb, pushed down by the conversation and the laughter. Alden's hold kept back his tremors, and the tea he had given him settled in his stomach reluctantly but safely, the nausea not trickling back up. He felt like he could stand, maybe, if he went slowly about it and used Alden as a makeshift cane. He may even be able to make it back to bed.
Fatigue washed over him at the thought, but all the same he stiffened, the melting zebra looming in his mind, its eyeless sockets questioning him.
"Come." Alden extracted himself, rising carefully and holding out his hands. "It's more comfortable in the bedroom."
It was easier said than done; upon standing up Bertram's head immediately spun, his brain tumbling around in confusion, forgetting which way was up. He felt Alden wrap an arm around his waist, take Bertram's arm and slip under it, and then he realized how he alwasy forgot how strong the man was. Bertram knew he was couple of inches taller, and outweighed him with ease, and yet Alden seemed to support him with ease. His former soldier training never really left, or perhaps he was just born strong for his size.
Together they walked to the bedroom, one wobbly step at a time, Bertram at one point feeling a push of nausea. Frozen to the spot, Alden rubbing his back, he felt dread creep into his mind, seizing his body, and he could see the horror in his mind -- vomiting everywhere, Alden holding him away from it, getting himself dirty as he helped Bertram into bed and made sure he was comfortable before walking away to clean up the mess...
Perhaps it was avoiding that that gave Bertram the strength to keep walking. And then he was on the bed, with Alden beside him, pulling the sheets over them both before coming in close, wrapping one arm over him, head against his back, breathing into him.
But he knew that he thrashed in these dreams, maybe even whimpered or shouted. Bertram stiffened, finally turned so he was facing Alden, who looked up at him with a sleepy smile.
"What about the nightmares?" He could hear the tremor in his voice and hated it instantly. "And the insomnia? I just toss and--"
"I can handle it." Alden reached up and kissed Bertram, stealing the doubt from him. "If you can't sleep, just talk. I'll listen. And I bet..." Another kiss, this one longer. "I bet I can scare away the nightmares."
And as he felt warmth flood him, hugging each other close and curled up as one, resting beneath the hooting of the owls and the silent gaze of the zebra, Bertram believed him.
