Word Count: 1535
It was difficult to see exactly what was going on through the darkness. Everything happened so fast that he wasn't even sure how he got there. There were shouts and yelps of pain as weapons and magic clashed together. Moon and starlight filtered through the holes in the ceiling of the old warehouse, a woman crouched some ways away, obviously in pain and unable to fight on her own any longer.
She had been attacked; Ilian was aware of that much. And Sorin rushed in to help her, demanding that he, Jericho, and Lovely remain out of sight. It was difficult not to try and help, but Sorin fought expertly, and Ilian remained, as requested, in the shadows. A hand was holding onto his arm, as if to prevent him from getting up and taking action, but that wasn't necessary.
He never realized Sorin had the power that he had. He wielded a pole arm with hardly any effort, and despite being injured by the orange haired woman’s attacks, he was holding his own very well. Ilian had always been impressed by his brother, but this reminded him why he looked up to him so much.
Not only was Sorin kind and considerate of others, but he never failed to try and help those in need. This woman, whom he’d called Azurite, needed help and he was quick to offer it. Now Ilian could understand a little bit about what Sorin did at night. He helped to fight the people that threatened the city. It was admirable and befitting of someone with such a good heart.
But the scene soon shifted. Blood splattered the floor, the color a vibrant red that pierced the darkness. Ilian felt his eyes widen as the young man who looked so much like himself suddenly crumpled to the ground. He wanted to scream out, but a hand was quickly over his mouth. He didn’t know whether it was Jericho or Lovely who stopped him, probably concerned that they wouldn’t be able to make it out alive should they reveal their location. But Sorin was in trouble, and Ilian struggled to get away from the two he considered his friends.
The woman in orange moved forward like she was going to attack the white haired woman again, but hesitated and seemed to think better of it. She retreated then, leaping back through a broken warehouse window and into the night. As soon as she was gone, Ilian ripped himself away from the hands that held him back, and stumbled his way to the prone form of his brother.
“Sorin!” he tried calling to him, reaching his brother’s side and grabbing onto his shoulder and shaking him. Sorin had fallen onto his side. Blood was already pooling below him. Ilian didn’t know how it got there. What caused the injury? Was it his own weapon that he carried, or did the woman’s strange magic cause this? Tears filled his eyes as he saw Sorin slowly open his. His face was pale, and he looked like he was in pain, but he forced a small smile.
“Sorry,” Sorin said softly, weakly, wincing as he tried to move, and Ilian quickly pulled his hand away from Sorin’s shoulder in case that was what caused him pain. Ilian could feel the presence of others around him, but he didn’t look up to see who. He didn’t care. He could barely see anything as it was with the tears filling his eyes and pouring down his face.
“Shut up!” Ilian demanded, “Don’t say that!” It was too final. It was as if Sorin already knew he would die.
No.
No no no no. Ilian refused. Sorin wouldn’t die!! He couldn’t. They had to do something. They could try and get him to the hospital. They could try to patch up whatever wounds he had.
“Please,” Ilian heard himself begging. “Please don’t.” The look on Sorin’s face said it all. There was nothing that could be done short of a miracle. Ilian wished for one.
Desperately.
“I need you,” he sobbed, his whole body shaking as he knelt beside his brother. What was he supposed to do? He was only fourteen. He had no one else. He didn’t want to go back to the foster system. He wanted to stay with his brother.
“Please.”
Sorin either didn’t know what else to say, or couldn’t, but he reached out to grab onto the back of Ilian’s hand that was pressed against the floor to support himself. Ilian was quick to take hold of the hand with both of his own, pulling it to his cheek and squeezing it tight. Nothing he could do was going to help.
Just as when their parents died and left them on their own, Ilian was going to be left again. But now, instead of having Sorin with him to help him and take care of him, he was going to have to do everything on his own. He was going to be forced to grow up much faster than he ever wanted to. He didn’t know if he could do it. He wasn’t strong enough on his own.
He could feel Sorin’s hand grow limp in his own, and he opened his eyes, desperate to do something. Anything. He had to figure out some way to help him.
But when he opened his eyes, it was no longer Sorin lying on the ground in a pool of blood. The hand he held onto was smaller, paler. A head of curly brown hair, just like his own, was replaced by a blond with a smattering of light freckles all over his face.
Ilian woke with a start, his breathing heavy and tears falling from his eyes, soaking into the pillow below. He blinked rapidly as he stared up into the darkness at the old ceiling fan that whirled on the highest setting, trying to cool the warm spring air. Beside him, sitting up on the bed and staring at him strangely, was the same blond he’d just seen; a pool of blood beneath him, the life gone from his eyes. Ilian gasped and tried to draw in deep breaths, finally releasing his death grip from the sheets that covered him.
He heard Lovely mutter something about him being a baby, and how whatever it was was just a dream as he withdrew the hand from his arm, having obviously been the one to shake him awake. Lovely shifted to lie back down, but Ilian couldn’t get the image out of his head.
It had been so vivid. Nightmares of his brother dying was always so real, just as the nightmares of the car crash that killed their parents before had been. But now, for some reason, Lovely was starting to be superimposed into those dreams. Before, with the dreams of the crashes, he often saw Jericho beside him in the backseat, even though he hadn’t even known Jericho at the time.
And now Lovely started making his way into those dreams as well. Was it because he was growing to think of Lovely as family, just as he did Jericho? But in the other dreams, Jericho always survived with him and Sorin. So why was it different? And why did it leave him feeling as though his heart was being torn out each time he woke from those dreams?
Still working on catching his breath, Ilian shifted to turn onto his side with his back to Lovely, who had already rolled over with his back to him. He just couldn’t get over it being so real. All the dreams he was having these days were so real. Lovely dying as Sorin did. Finding Lovely dead in a cell after being kidnapped and tortured by senshi. It terrified him, and he didn’t know why the thought of losing Lovely was just as horrible as losing Sorin and his parents had been. Maybe even more so.
He closed his eyes, trying to get back to sleep, but he was restless. He couldn’t stop thinking about how vivid everything was. His heart kept pounding in his chest, unable to settle.
After a while, he finally started to drift back off to sleep, and as he did, he felt Lovely shift just a bit to press his cold foot against the back of Ilian’s leg. Surprisingly, it calmed him somewhat, knowing that Lovely was there. Lovely was never good at offering comfort, but at least he didn’t press him to explain why he kept having nightmares. He was also grateful that Lovely didn’t seem to be too annoyed that Ilian probably kept waking him up with his bad dreams. Part of him wondered if Lovely even cared what his dreams were about, or if he’s already decided that he didn’t want to know.
Of course, the little voice in the back of his head reminded him: what was going to happen when his nightmares came true? Jericho had his own family to worry about. What would he do if Lovely did end up dying?
What would happen to Ilian then?
His thoughts were put on hold as he finally drifted off into a restless sleep.
