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 Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2016 9:20 pm
All Michael knew when he was drawn back into consciousness that night was that it was late. He didn’t immediately know how late, but as he pushed himself up in bed, a glance towards the clock showed it was almost four in the morning. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what drew him out of his sleep, but a flash of light and quiet buzzing on the bedside table meant that someone had either just texted him or was trying to call.
A wave of panic suddenly washed through him as he quickly reached out to grab the phone and pulled the plug out from the bottom. Had someone been hurt? Did he need to put clothes on so he could leave the house?
Caspian, the name read, and he only had to glance at it for a second before he unlocked the phone to answer the call.
“Hello?” he answered, his voice sounding both tired and awake at the same time. He was sitting up in bed now, ready to throw the covers off if he needed to. The heat meant he wasn’t wearing a shirt; only shorts to bed. His hair was a mess, having been tossing and turning not too long ago, unable to fall back asleep until just recently.
“Are you okay?” he rushed out, lifting a hand to rub at his face, trying to wake himself up a little more. Surely, Caspian wouldn’t have tried going out to fight monsters while still healing from his previous encounter with a Negaverse officer, but images of him bleeding, face down in an alley, were vivid in Michael’s mind.
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2016 9:40 pm
He hated these nightmares.
There seemed to be one every night, in a different form or another, though so far Caspian had refrained from calling Michael every single little time. It would be both childish and rude to wake someone up continuously in the middle of the night, and some of the nightmares were at least not bad enough that he couldn't fall back asleep afterwards.
Some, unfortunately, were the exact opposite, and these were the ones that Caspian hated the most. He'd managed to weather through three of them since that night with the captain, and, not wanting to wake Cassie in the next room, had turned on his phone and watched ridiculous YouTube videos with his headphones in until the sun had come up and he could doze off again.
This one was different.
This one had him snapping away, gasping and almost retching he was breathing so heavily, his mind twisted in the black tendrils of memories. Caspian had shot up in bed so suddenly that his head was spinning dangerously, a hand clutching his chest, eyes wide.
For a few disorienting, frightening seconds, he didn't know where he was. His hand grappled at the bedside table, almost knocking things off in the process as Caspian fumbled to find his phone, finally grabbing the damn thing and practically snatching it up. He scrolled down his list of contacts with only one thought in mind, one of his hands pressed to his temple, half buried in his hair, and called.
It was mostly without conscious thought, so when Michael's semi-groggy voice came up on the other line, it jolted him into more awareness than Caspian was actually ready for.
"Oh - s**t - " He closed his eyes, exhaling a ragged breath. "It's...hey. I'm just...sorry."
He swallowed hard, trying to get himself back into the present and not his terrible dreams.
"Nightmare," Caspian mumbled, by way of explanation. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. I just...thought..."
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2016 9:49 pm
I’m just… sorry. Nightmare,” he heard Caspian say, and while Michael was still concerned, he was at least able to breathe and paused in almost ripping off the covers to jump out of bed.
“It’s fine,” he said, not wanting him to think that it was an issue. It wasn’t. In fact, he was surprised that this was the first time Caspian had had a nightmare since that night with the Captain. “Really, it’s fine Caspian. I… hey, breathe, okay? It was just a dream,” he said, hearing the panic in the other’s voice.
And then he realized that this probably wasn’t the first time. Caspian most likely would have avoided calling, just as Michael had avoided taking him up on the offer of calling when he had nightmares. For Michael, it was his pride and not wanting to seem weak, and he was sure Caspian felt similar.
But it wasn’t a show of weakness to want the company of others, and Michael was slowly starting to realize that.
“Breathe…” he said again, just in case Caspian was too out of it to really focus on that. “Don’t apologize. I said it was okay.” He was repeating himself, but Caspian needed to know that it really, really was okay.
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2016 10:07 pm
He hated the fact that something like this made him feel more childish than ever; as though he was too young to handle it on his own, the difference between them in ages more frustratingly obvious than ever. Things like that had never bothered him before, but times like these...
Caspian felt the sweat beading on his forehead, sliding down his neck. He felt clammy and constricted, in spite of the tank top and shorts he was wearing; grappling for the covers, he threw them off, sliding over to the edge and letting his legs dangle off, one hand gripping the mattress.
Michael's voice wafted towards him through the haze of thoughts, strong and simple. Caspian's head was pounding; he forced his eyes open again, and rubbed at his throbbing temple, feeling his back strain a little with the movement, his fingers trembling slightly.
"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling almost unbearably like a kid. He was half tempted to hang up and try to work through it on his own, but Michael's voice was familiar, keeping him in the present and out of his own head, still mired in that blackness.
"I hate this," Caspian muttered, gripping the mattress. "I hate these ******** dreams."
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2016 10:26 pm
Michael rubbed at his face again, trying to wake himself up a bit more, although the fact that Caspian wasn’t in immediate danger was a relief. After a few more moments, he eased himself back down onto the pillows, although he kept the phone to his ear.
“Are you sitting up?” he asked, recalling things that might be helpful for Caspian to try and ground himself after waking up so suddenly. “Make sure your feet are on the floor if you’re not already. It’ll help,” he told him, staring up at the ceiling as he did so, lifting his right arm to slide under the pillow and behind his head.
“Tell me what you see. Anything you can see in your room. Just start naming them,” he said, wanting to get Caspian to focus on the present and not the dreams. He knew from experience that it might take a few different methods to help. Michael knew it wouldn’t get rid of the nightmares entirely, but there were things they could work on that could help once he actually woke up.
“Talk to me, alright?” and then Michael paused, knowing that talking wasn’t always going to help. “Do you need me to come over?”
It was a strange offer he knew. He didn’t expect Caspian to really agree to it since he was sure he wouldn’t want to wake the people in his house, or wherever he lived, but at least he knew the offer was on the table.
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 9:37 am
"I'm sitting up," Caspian mumbled, which was perfectly true. He lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to keep his eyes open, not closed, though every instinct of him wanted to simply try and block out the entire world.
The world was what he needed right now; a glimpse of what was right in front of him, what was here and now and existing.
"Uh," he said, and his thoughts shifted madly inside of his head, blood dripping from fingertips and mouths, the scent of it bitter and sharp and coppery in the air, the slice of a knife across flesh and the feel of a hand embedding itself inside of his chest.
"My bed," said Caspian, because it was the first thing he could think of. "My laptop. A few books. My bag. One of Cassie's shirts because she left it in here, that brat."
His eyes fell upon Michael's sweatshirt, lying draped over the back of his desk chair. A part of him wanted desperately to say yes, to have Michael come over so he could have someone he knew with him, but -
"No," said Caspian, pushing himself up onto unsteady legs. He made his way over to his desk and slid the sweatshirt off, backing back up and sitting back down with it held in his lap. "I - Cassie's home, she doesn't...know anything about this."
He pulled the sweatshirt a little more securely against his chest; an unconscious gesture he was barely aware of doing.
"I can't tell her," he mumbled. "I wish I could, but I can't. I...there was just so much ******** blood, I thought I was going to drown in it, and now I can't stop thinking about it."
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 10:13 am
Michael could hear in Caspian's voice how distracted he was. He was naming objects as requested but it was obvious that his mind was still on the dream. That wasn't good if he wanted to get himself to a point where he could begin to overcome them.
"We can talk about your dream tomorrow," he promised trying his best to get Caspian to realize he was awake and being safe.
"Right now I need you to focus. I don't want you thinking about whatever you saw. I need you to think about what you see. What color is your bed? Is there anything metal you can touch? Something cold? A lamp base maybe? Do you have anything with a strong smell close by? Like lotion or candy?" Michael asked, frowning in concern about what he was sure Caspian was going through.
As much as he wanted to ask about his dream, he knew that wasn't as important as making sure Caspian realized he was fully awake and everything he saw wasn't real.
"They're just dreams," he tried again, figuring he would have to say it multiple times for someone as stubborn as Caspian was. "And alright, I won't come over. But let me know if you change your mind. I wouldn't have to go inside. We could sit in my car or go somewhere else for a bit," he made sure to offer, but wouldn't blame him for wanting to stay in the safety of his room.
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 4:53 pm
He'd washed the sweatshirt, but it still kind of faintly smelled like Michael. Caspian held it up to his face and buried his nose in it, though he was looking at the window across from him, at the shades drawn so that the faint moonlight streamed in. He could see the vague outline of the trees outside, waving gently in the wind.
Focus.
Caspian tried to listen to what Michael was saying, on those words. "Black," he said, in reference to his bed. "It's got - " No, he couldn't say he'd jokingly put Batman sheets on his bed just to make Cassie roll her eyes, that would make him seem even more childish. " - it's black. I think I have some chocolate here somewhere..."
He kept the sweatshirt in his arms and leaned to rummage in the bedside drawer, finally coming up with a Snickers. Caspian unwrapped it and took a bite, closing his eyes and trying to stop his heart from feeling as though it was going to pound straight out of his chest.
"Michael," he said quietly, after a moment. "Can you just...can you talk to me? I don't care what it's about, just...something, anything."
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 6:19 pm
There was a long moment when Michael just didn’t know what to say. He’d heard Caspian’s request of course, but he had no idea what to talk about, even if it was just something casual. What did someone talk about when trying to distract someone who’d obviously just woken from a horrible nightmare?
This was definitely the part that he wasn’t good at. How was he supposed to comfort and relate to someone else that he was trying to help when he locked everything about himself and the past away. There was nothing for him to draw from, nothing other than talking about the weather, but that didn’t seem appropriate in this situation.
“I think I was maybe four or five when I first flew a kite,” he said rather lamely, staring up at the ceiling with his hand still behind his head as he spoke through the phone. “It was red, which made sense since my father’s family was originally from Boston. My grandparents still live there. I forget which beach it was since we moved around so much, but something as simple as flying a kite really lit my imagination as a kid.”
“My parents always loved the beach and the ocean. My mom is from the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Emerald Isle. I haven’t been in many years, but the beaches were always sandy, which is a lot different than the beaches up north. Somehow I convinced my parents to let me try parasailing. I wasn’t much older than when I’d flown my first kite, maybe seven or so, but I was pretty obsessed with idea of flying.”
“Soon after, I started hang gliding, but it was always the best at Kitty Hawk, where the Wright Brothers flew. If you’ve never tried it before, it’s quite liberating. The closest I’ve gotten to that feeling is when I’m sailing. It’s not the same, but it’s better than nothing. Maybe one day I’ll try a wingsuit, but I’ll hold off for now.”
He paused for a moment, wondering why he’d suddenly started talking about his own life instead of just making something up, or saying random nonsense about his plans for the summer, or what he planned on eating for breakfast.
“Sometimes,” he continued, realizing he already knew why, but didn’t really want to admit it. “When I have nightmares, I like to imagine myself as a kid again, with the wind in my hair, gliding over the sand dunes and the ocean. It helps me remember to breathe and focus on something other than what was just in my head. I try to think of stuff like that before going to sleep, too. To plan out my dreams if I could. Then I would just… fly…”
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 6:43 pm
For a few seconds of tense silence, Caspian wondered if he'd pushed too far; if he was asking too much of this new, tentative friendship they'd begun. Michael was intensely private, shuttering everything away, and asking him to talk at all about himself wasn't something he apparently heard often.
But then he began to speak, voice low and level and calm, and Caspian closed his eyes against the soothing sound of it, letting it take the place of the screams of his nightmares. It wasn't anything serious, and he didn't need it - or want it - to be. In fact, the simplicity of the story Michael was telling was exactly what Caspian did need.
The beach - it was where Caspian would have deemed his safe space, his happy place. He'd spent years combing the sand with Cassie, playing volleyball, diving in the ocean. He was an outdoor person by nature, preferring the sun and the air to the inside of a house, but there was something so very liberating about the beach. The vastness of the ocean was empowering, in its own way.
Caspian couldn't quite picture Michael as a kid, but he could think of himself, running barefoot through the sand, feeling the heat and the sun on his face. He pressed the sweatshirt in his hands up to his face and breathed deeply, a not quite conscious gesture that made him think vaguely of cedarwood and citrus.
"I love the beach," said Caspian, eyes still closed. "It's...where I wish I could go more often, but there's not much around here that can take it's place. But if I could live there, I would."
There was a beat of silence, and then he said softly, "It would be...nice if maybe one day you could fly."
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 7:29 pm
Although he’d known Caspian liked volleyball, and he knew he must like being outdoors, Michael didn’t think to picture him as anything but a child of the city. But the way Caspian said how he loved the beach and how he’d like to go more often made Michael wonder if he only pictured Caspian as someone who loved the city because Caspian was… almost like a chameleon. With his bright colors and (usually) vibrant personality, it was no surprise that he could blend into his surroundings and adapt to whatever place or situation he’d found himself in.
Of course, it was also very lonely, blending in and adapting. Taken from one element to another and being expected to fit the mold and follow the rules and go with the flow. Michael suddenly thought that, if he was right, it was no wonder Caspian seemed to rebel whenever he got the chance, if only to prove that he wasn’t just another face in the vast crowd.
Michael, on the other hand, used to feel that same way, but somewhere along the line he had given up his idealism in standing out and decided it was best to just fade, blending in with all the others. It was definitely safer that way.
He knew he hesitated longer than he probably should have when Caspian spoke softly into the phone, saying how it would be nice if he could fly one day. The childhood dreams that Michael liked to recall suddenly shifted in his mind and faded, and he frowned at himself when he couldn’t bring himself to say any more on the subject.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said softly in return, still staring up at the ceiling and remembering that Caspian had taken his hooded sweatshirt with him from when he’d been injured. The sweatshirt with the wings and anchor and shield adorning the back, big and bold and proud.
“What’s your favorite thing to do at the beach? Volleyball? Swimming?” Michael shifted gears and tried turning the conversation back to Caspian. This was probably the topic he needed to get Caspian to push the images of the nightmares away.
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 7:56 pm
Easily adaptable only went so far. Caspian could fit into cities, into beaches, into new houses, new schools, new groups of people - but when it came to this, the things that mattered, he hit a wall. Being a senshi was unlike anything he'd ever done before, and having a friend that was both not his sister and someone who Caspian felt comfortable enough calling like this was out of his wheelhouse.
He was steadily coming back to his own thoughts, the blackness dissipating in the wake of Michael's steady voice. It soothed Caspian, made him feel a mixture of warmth and security, which, on top of everything, confused him. He did not know why Michael, of all people, was the one towards which he had started to look for advice and for reassurance, especially considering their less-than-stellar beginning.
But it was. And now that he was involved, now that he was invested, trying to disentangle himself from this seemed incredibly unlikely.
Especially considering what he was doing at this very moment. Caspian glanced down at the sweatshirt in his arms, as though it had just dawned on him what exactly he was doing. He lowered it slowly to his lap, frowning slightly, but rested a hand on top of it, idly smoothing his fingers over the worn fabric.
"Volleyball," said Caspian, and he stood up, moving restlessly around the room, Michael's sweatshirt held in one hand. "Swimming is fun, though, it's probably my second favorite. Or surfing, surfing is pretty good, I fell off a lot when I was learning."
He draped the sweatshirt over one shoulder and pressed his fingers to the cool glass pane of his window, feeling it against his palm. He did not know how to handle this peculiar feeling that seemed to well in the pit of his stomach, warm throughout his chest.
"I'm sorry for waking you up," said Caspian quietly. "But I'm really glad you did."
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 8:18 pm
“Didn’t I tell you not to apologize?” Michael asked, knowing that they would probably be exhausted in the morning, but that was okay. That was what coffee was for. “Seriously, it’s okay,” he tried to convince him, but he was sure he wasn’t doing that great of a job with it.
“I was having trouble sleeping, anyway,” he half lied, if only to get Caspian to settle down and not feel guilty about calling. The last thing Michael wanted was for Caspian to worry that he would be asleep so he shouldn’t call. He wasn’t lying about having trouble sleeping, even though this time Caspian had woken him.
“Like I said before,” he added, maybe a bit too nonchalantly, “It’s what I’m here for. To worry about you doing stupid things and to wake up when you call and to nag at you about going to the hospital. It’s what I’m good at.”
He paused, frowning at the quiet tone of Caspian’s voice. Was something else bothering him? Michael couldn’t tell.
“I’m glad you called,” he finally said, feeling strange about admitting it, but he really didn’t have to. He didn’t have to trust Michael would even care, but Caspian called anyway. “Feel free any time, okay? Are you going to try and get back to sleep? I can stay on until you do if you’d like,” he offered before he had a chance to think about it, wondering if that was strange.
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 8:31 pm
His hand slid down away from the window, and Caspian smiled a little as he turned, making his way back to his bed. He sat down on the edge of it, toying with the sleeve of Michael's sweatshirt, then slid it off of his shoulder and set it back over the back of the desk chair.
"Yes, well," said Caspian, sounding slightly more like his usual self, "Chances are, I'll always be doing stupid things, so unfortunately you're stuck with me for a little while longer."
Now that he'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to work past the black thoughts in his mind, Caspian felt a wave of exhaustion overtake him. He felt as though he'd run a mile, his limbs feeling heavy as he crawled back beneath the covers and lay down, curling carefully on his side. The strain on his back made him wince a little, Caspian yawning.
"I think I'll try and sleep now," he mumbled, and then, after another small pause, he said, sounding sleepy and like he needed the reassurance after all, "Stay on until I do?"
It was a childish request that made him irrationally annoyed with himself the moment he said it, even if Michael had been the one to originally offer it in the first place - but Caspian let his gaze rest on the sweatshirt, wrapping an arm around a pillow.
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2016 8:51 pm
Michael didn’t say anything in response to Caspian’s lighthearted comment about always doing stupid things, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling softly. It was good that Caspian seemed to be able to get to the point where he would be able to lay down and try to go back to sleep.
“Yeah, I can stay on,” he agreed, not thinking it was that big of a deal now that Caspian voiced that he wouldn’t mind. Of course, he didn’t want to just keep talking and potentially keep him awake, and he frowned at himself for his own hesitation. He didn’t want Caspian feeling like he was being treated like a child, but he also wanted to continue to keep him calmed.
“Wild nights, wild nights, were I with thee,” Michael quoted softly, one of the many poems his mother would read to him when he was younger, before his brother was born. Both she and his father had a love of words and stories, as well as the beach, so he figured it would only be natural for him to enjoy it too.
“Wild nights should be our luxury. Futile the winds, to a heart in port. Done with the compass, done with the chart,” he continued, the words almost taking on the quality of a lullaby, even though it was just a poem. “Rowing in Eden, ah, the sea. Might I but moor tonight in thee.”
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