recolle | [open] october nightmare/fog catchall & overflow

Entry tags:

mcu: matt murdock

[open] october nightmare/fog catchall & overflow

WHO: Faolan and YOU?
WHERE: Dreamscapes and around the city
WHEN: Spanning the month of October
WHAT: Catch all/overflow for the October nightmare/fog events
WARNINGS: Violence, death, references to sexual behavior and threats; will updated as needed

ii. nightmares

a) dubhan cw: death
[The nightmare starts as it's always done. The street is narrow and dark, and though it's difficult to identify for certain, they're definitely in Ireland. Faolan's home-town. The streets old and well-worn with the feet of many a traveler like those who have dared to brave the damp, chilly night.

Faolan stumbles from a nearby pub. It's where he'd been, the night Dubhan had died. Drinking with his friends, celebrating their upcoming year at University, while his brother had bled out in the alleyway where his attackers had left him for dead. Well not this time. This time he won't fail him. His brother. His hero.

Dubhan.]

Hey!!!

[Faolan calls out, lunging at the closest passerby, reaching to grab them by the lapels. He probably looks like a mad drunk but he doesn't care. He needs to find him. Before it's too late.] Where is he? You need to help me find him!

b) laurent
[This time, the nightmare is different. This time, there are no damp, narrow streets of Ireland. This time, his brother is nowhere to be found. This time, he is not forced to watch his boyhood hero killed before his eyes while he stands aside, unable to do nothing.

This time they have Laurent.

Faolan fights against his compulsion. He fights against whatever it is that has him frozen in this spot, with everything he has, until finally a scream bursts forth. He doesn't care what happens to him, he doesn't care if their attention turns from Laurent onto himself, he needs to make them stop, he needs someone to help him make them stop.]

Help!!

iii. the fog

[Faolan doesn't know what to make of it at first, this fog that creeps its way across the city. He's used to living his life on edge, constantly on watch from the fear of attack, given his position of bodyguard. But whatever it is that has brought this fog has only doubled that sensation. That feeling as though someone is watching from the shadows. It's unnerving, and coupled with the nightmares he's been experiencing each night, Faolan feels as though he's losing his mind.

Leaving Laurent safely at home (with the promise that he would call him should even the whisper of trouble come knocking, because yes he really is that paranoid, the lack of decent sleep is really starting to get to him), Faolan decides that it's worth going out for coffee and trying to get himself to relax and take a breath.

At least that had been the idea, up until the arrow comes hurtling through the fog in his direction, to wedge itself in the grass of the curb before him. Faolan whips his head around in the direction that the projectile had come from and reaches for the weapon at his side, but how does he protect himself from arrows, especially ones that are shot from an enemy in the fogs that he cannot yet see...]

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Was it? His eyes lift to Faolan's face finally, scan his expression. No trace of pity, not yet, and he feels a flash of relief.

"Is it a memory?" Laurent prompts, and drops his eyes to his tea again. "I don't recognise the place, nor the man. The only one I have recognised was you this time, but as far as I know you don't remember at man either."

So was it ever real? Would a nightmare made up of fragments of fiction replay so reliably? Laurent hardly knows enough about psychology to say. All he knows is that it felt real, at the time. That his fear had been real, when he awoke.

He supposes it's a fair question. Is it a memory, or... What is this thing that haunts Laurent's dreams? Why? He had assumed they were memories, isn't that what Laurent thought they were himself? But if he had been there. If he had been there.

"I came to help you though," he says. The words not exactly a question but he feels as though it may as well be one. The image is still so real in his mind -- Laurent tied to the chair, so close and yet so far. The noise of the man's meaty fist connecting with his face. The glint of the knife and his own fear at the sight of it. The sound of--

Faolan fights to keep himself still in his seat. It can't be the same. He'd heard of Laurent's nightmare before, from Laurent himself. His own mind must have conjured his version of events up to torment him. The things that happened. The things that were said. It couldn't possibly be what Laurent is referring to. Still, a sick feeling roils in his gut and suddenly he wishes he did not have his guitar in his hands after all.

"You did," Laurent allows, lowering his tea slowly to rest against his leg. "You came to help me. Although you ended up stuck the other side of the bars. I suppose that's proof it's a nightmare. If you'd really been there, you'd have done something. You'd have found a way in to help me."

He lifts his eyes again after a moment's hesitation, studies Faolan's features. Tell me you would. Tell me you'd come for me. It's dangerous, and selfish, but all of a sudden Laurent isn't even sure he can trust that. Can trust that Faolan would pull him from the grasp of a man seemingly in his uncle's pay. Surely Faolan is safe? Faolan was hired by his brother. That mean's he's a good man, doesn't it?

Faolan makes certain to sit very still as he speaks. He makes certain to keep his breathing slow and steady, though he can feel his heart racing in his chest. He can feel Laurent's eyes on him. He can feel the weight of Laurent's faith in him, and as much as he had longed for it in days before just now the pressure of it feels as heavy as the world. Laurent's words cutting like a knife. If he had really been there, he'd have done something. He'd have found a way in. Except he hadn't. He couldn't. And the knowledge of that failure is nearly too much to bear.

He suddenly feels too warm. As though he cannot get enough air, and perhaps he can't, for how fast his heart is racing and how slow he's forcing his breathing to go. The strap around his neck is far too tight, and the question in Laurent's eyes is far too much, and Faolan needs this guitar out of his way now before he accidentally ruins it, but he can't seem to make himself move, because Laurent remembers it too and that means--

"I..." Faolan starts, trailing off and shaking his head at the younger man in disbelief.

The way Faolan is shaking his head at him makes Laurent's stomach drop, feels like a knife being pressed into him and twisted. No? No what? No Faolan doesn't think he could? No Faolan wouldn't come to rescue him? No Faolan wouldn't want to? No what? He feels an irrational rush of panic and betrayal, presses down on it and tightens his fingers a little around the cup to control himself.

He forces his expression blank, tries to ignore the dizzying wave of fear threatening to come back.

"If the pressure is too much I understand," Laurent says, in a voice sharper than he really intended. "I'm sure I can have another look at the agencies available in Recollé--"

Laurent pushes to stand up suddenly, not wanting to be quite so close any longer now that he's been seemingly pushed back.

Faolan only realizes what his lack of response has implied after the fact. As Laurent's expression shuts down, the way he speaks to him, the way he moves -- as though he cannot get away from him fast enough. He feels sick; Laurent's disappointment in him is almost too much to bear, pressing against his chest like a physical weight and he can't breathe. He can't get enough air. He can't--

"Laurent--" He slips the guitar strap from across his neck and puts it down -- he doesn't even know where, he isn't paying attention, the instrument is expensive and it should only go back in the case but he can't focus past the pounding in his ears and the painful lash of Laurent's words. The echo of the dream within his head, and everything that happened. Everything that happened.

"That's not -- wait, please!" He forces the words out past the bubble of sick panic rising within him, reaching in the desperate attempt to catch his hand, his arm, the hem of his shirt, anything he can reach before Laurent steps too far away and once again the bars between them settle into into place.

In the time it takes for Faolan to shrug off his guitar and reach out for him Laurent has turned away and taken a step, tea still cradled in both hands, but Faolan's fingers snag on to his loose sleep shirt and he pauses.

"I understand," he begins carefully, back still to Faolan. "That his job is no longer what you signed up for. I understand that I have..." he closes his eyes, presses down on the wrench of guilt in his stomach. "That I have complicated it. That it is more dangerous than it should have been. If anything in these memories is true than it might be more dangerous for me to return to Paris, but if you think this is too much then I will let you go."

Laurent's words sink in deep, the ache of them making Faolan feel wretched, like salt in an open wound, and his fingers tighten in the younger man's shirt convulsively as he fights to regain control of himself enough to salvage something of this situation.

"Laurent, please," he says again, pushing himself to stand. Taking a step toward him and moving his hand from where he has hooked his fingers in Laurent's shirt to rest on his arm, fingers curling against the cool press of his skin and squeezing gently. "I didn't mean to -- it isn't that, it isn't you. You've done nothing wrong, it's not. This is exactly where I want to be, and I would do anything to keep you safe, anything, I just -- I couldn't--"

You've done nothing wrong, Faolan says, and Laurent wants to ask then why are you doing this.

He turns a little toward the man, half facing him, and keeps his down -- studies Faolan's fingers where they're resting on his pale skin.

"Couldn't what?" he prompts, voice steadier now. He feels as if he's expecting rejection here. 'I'd do anything to keep you safe, but I can't do this'. Something of that sort. As sweet as Faolan's protests are they ring hollow when he adds an exception to the end of them.

Faolan's fingers tighten on Laurent's arm for a moment as he searches for the right words to say. How can he respond, how can he possibly answer this? But answer him he must, because Laurent deserves an answer. Laurent deserves much more from him than he probably has any ability to give, but he wants to be enough for him. He wants...

"I was too late," Faolan whispers, repeating what he'd said from earlier. When he'd described his own dream to Laurent. He shakes his head at the other man, pressing his lips tight against each other before he releases Laurent's arm. His hand falling to his side as he struggles for words. "I would give anything to keep you safe and I was too late, I --" It's all his fault. Everything that happened. And Laurent knows it. He's failed him. God, Faolan feels sick. He needs to sit down but he doesn't dare move lest Laurent assume the worst from it.

Too late. That was what Faolan had said of his own nightmare, and he supposes similarly Faolan had been in his too. Although in a way, he wasn't. He was there. He was just separated from him, unable to help.

"But you are here now," he says after a moment. "And I am here now."

Laurent has not lost his tongue yet, has not had his arm dislocated yet. Whatever that dream -- a memory of a past life, a memory blacked out or simply a fiction... For now, Laurent is safe. For now, they have not been separated. Surely that is worth something?

It is worth everything. Faolan forces himself to take a steadying breath, for Laurent is right. Whatever might have happened in that dream, it was a dream. However Faolan may have failed him then, it hadn't happened. Not for real. Laurent is whole and well and he is standing just there before him now. And Faolan can never allow such a thing to happen in the light of day. Not to him.

Faolan takes a step towards the younger man and reaches a tentative hand out to gently brush a curl away from his face. To trace his fingers along the line of his cheek, where the big man's fist had marred his skin. "I'm here," he agrees softly. "I'm sorry. I won't... I'll never let them take you like that. I'll never let them hurt you. I promise you, Laurent. Please..." His dark eyes search the younger man's expression. "I want you to feel safe with me."

Laurent closes his eyes at the feel of Faolan's hand on his face, and tries to draw on some internal strength. Faolan deserves to know. Faolan should know, if he's his bodyguard, and yet all the same Laurent can sense already that Faolan will react far more emotionally than he would want.

He needs steadiness, now, confidence. Hopefully Faolan can still give that, past his storm of feelings.

"There's something I need to tell you," Laurent says finally. Then, in anticipation -- "sit back down, please."

Faolan studies Laurent's face for a long moment, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Something to tell him. Something he needs to sit down to be told. Is Laurent sending him away after all? After what he has seen, has he decided he can no longer trust him as he once did?

He swallows down the roil of uncertainty within him and nods in response to his request. His fingers curling against Laurent's cheek for one moment longer before he drops his hand and steps away to carefully step around his guitar and sit back down. Glancing down at it for a moment before taking the moment to put it away. It gives him something to do with his hands, protects the precious instrument, and distracts him from the sudden downswing that is threatening once more, before he turns back to the younger man again.

"What is it?" he asks softly, wondering if Laurent would accept his hand, if he reached for him now.

"Something in the dream I had. I... don't know how much truth there is, if they are memories. How long ago they might be from. If... anything in them might relate to my life now. If there's any chance that it does, however, you should know. You were hired to protect me, after all."

Laurent pauses, takes a sip of his tea to steady himself, and begins to pace a little.

"The man I see in my dream, he implied he was hired by my uncle. That... he had my uncle's blessing to keep me captive."

Which is, in truth, the gentlest wording Laurent can come up with for the situation.

Whatever news Faolan had been preparing himself for, it had not been this. Laurent sitting him down to share with him that his uncle was the one who had given him to the brute of a man. He watches Laurent pacing the room, watches him cradling his tea in his hands, wondering if there is a further thought that he has to share from there, for so far none of this is news to him.

He nods slightly along to the younger man's words. He's still having a hard time trying to understand how he fits into the picture himself, he can't know whether he was truly there or not, but at least he remembers the dream. "Because he was hoping you would dispatch each other," he says, repeating what he had heard in the dream. "Laurent, I need you to give me an honest answer. Your uncle. I know you don't recognize this man, but you know your uncle. Do you believe he could be capable of something like this? Here?"

Faolan's words give him pause and Laurent stops pacing, turns to study Faolan for a long moment.

He'd been expecting surprise, horror, anything other than the casual acceptance Faolan has so far give him.

How did he know that? Has Laurent already explained this and simply blacked out doing so? Forgotten somehow? Drunk himself into a stupor? He -- Laurent blinks rapidly and then frowns hard, drops his eyes to his tea.

"Did we talk about this before?" he prompts.

Just to be clear, because if he has and he's forgotten it then... it's a concern.

Faolan's brows furrow at the question. Have they spoken about the subject before? Why would Laurent ask such a question? Faolan had been there. Laurent had seen him -- there was no way he couldn't have seen him. And Faolan remembers it just the same as he.

"No," he replies, studying the younger man's face uncertainly. "Not of your uncle, at least. You've mentioned the dream before, of course. The memory. You never mentioned me there before, though." He presses his lips together, hovering on the question, before asking, "I. Had not been there before, had I? That is. Not before tonight?" He wonders if there is a difference. If he'd been there before, or not, and what sort of difference that might make. Or not.

No, Faolan says, and his confusion begins to grow.

"You have not been in them before," Laurent begins. "I am always alone with him."

Yet then -- how did Faolan know? It makes little sense. Laurent feels as if he might be losing his mind.

Faolan reaches up to run a hand across his face, brushing his fingers against the ever-present layer of stubble found there as he thinks. Always alone, but for this night. Is there some significance in that, he wonders. Well, undoubtedly, but he wonders just what the significance is. If these are memories, and memories from earlier in Paris, Faolan couldn't possibly have been there. If they are memories from another time, however, he isn't so certain. He is certain that at at least part of that had been a dream. He's never lost Laurent before. And after this dream, he'll be hard-pressed to let him out of his sight any time soon.

He sighs, running a hand across his eyes. He's tired now, but he still doesn't think he wants to sleep again. Not tonight. Not with the memory of -- whatever it had been -- still so fresh in his mind. "And when you've dreamed of this before, it had never progressed so far as that? Has it?" He hopes that Laurent would have told him otherwise. If he had learned of his uncle earlier. If the man had pulled that knife on him before. He'd like to think that he would have done, anyway.

"Not this far, no," Laurent admits, but -- again, he feels awkwardly stuck on this. "How did you know? If we didn't talk about this before."

How did Faolan know they were meant to kill each other? How is he so calm about all of this? Laurent feels as if he has missed something vital, as if the world has ceased to make sense and his grip on reality has slipped. As if things that made sense just a moment ago have all turned and Laurent is the only one who doesn't understand what has happened.

How did he know? Faolan raises an eyebrow at the younger man, giving him a questioning look at the question. Why is he asking this? Is this some kind of a test, he wonders as he regards Laurent curiously -- cautiously.

"What do you mean?" Faolan responds, his eyebrows raised. "Because I was there with you. On the other side of the bars." Laurent had even said so himself, just a few minutes earlier. There's no way that he's forgotten that since, why question it now?

Laurent feels a slow, clawing sense of dread grip his heart. The room seems to go out of focus, and he feels something akin to a wave of vertigo -- a sensation as if the world is out of balance, spinning, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

"That was just a dream," he answers flatly. It was just a dream, Faolan wasn't really there -- because if he was? If he was it was real, and Laurent doesn't want it to be real. Doesn't want the pain in his arm, the rope around his hands. Doesn't want any of that.

Faolan studies the younger man's face as he responds, unsure of what it is that he sees there. Uncertain of just what sort of a reaction it is that Laurent is giving him here. Who can say whether it was any more a dream than any of the other of Laurent's memories, that is what Faolan is trying to figure out for himself.

"I... Who can say for certain what it was," Faolan replies studying him closely. "But I was there. I remember it. I remember -- everything, Laurent. I remember everything. The way he spoke to you, the things he said." The way he treated him. The things he did. "I don't know your uncle. I've never met the man, so I can't say for certain how believable the claim may be, but. I know that you believed it then."

Edited (oops) 2017-11-04 00:09 (UTC)

Everything.

He takes a half step back, blinks slowly as he tries to rationalise this. How had Faolan been there? Why? Was it truly a memory Faolan had been involved with? Did they share a past?

"How is that possible?" he prompts. "Have you dreamt of me before?"

In this way. Of his past. Not... in other ways, although he hopes he doesn't have to clarify that.

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