The Wildness Within

Bad Dreams 1

Augus woke in the early hours of the morning by something of a premonition, horror trickling down the back of his spine, his eyes weren't even tired when they bolted open.

He yanked back the covers to his bed and was already out of his room and moving towards Ash's, horror transforming into sympathy. He knew how to deal with this. He knew what to expect. This was something of a staple of their brotherhood, though a less pleasant one.

He was surprised to see Gwyn standing in Ash's room, helplessly, by the ramrod straight form of Ash who was covered in blankets so that only his terrified, open eyes and his rictus mouth were exposed.

'I didn't do anything,' Gwyn said quickly, and Augus shook his head and then waved a hand because he knew that.

He climbed onto the bed and straddled Ash's waist, then lay himself down flat, calling his waterhorse weight to make himself even heavier, framing Ash's cold face in his palms. There was nothing else for it now, except to wait.

'Night terrors,' Augus said by way of explanation to Gwyn, who seemed rattled and out of sorts and would have no idea what was happening, except that – for once – he wasn't the one having a bad time. 'He's had them all his life.'

Their content, peaceful childhood had been marked by these formless horrors. They only pounced Ash rarely, but when they did, they were encompassing. Even now, Ash's body temperature had dropped too low, and Augus was already thumbing at his cheekbones, encouraging blood to flow. He felt his own glamour swell around him, not to incite fear now, but gentleness instead, to lull. He looked down at Ash's open eyes, sheened with tears, heard the choking of his breaths and frowned.

'Come back, Ash,' Augus said. 'I'm right here.'

'Can I do...anything?' Gwyn said, and Augus didn't look away from Ash as he thought about it.

'A glass of water,' Augus said over the sound of Ash's hoarse breaths. 'But otherwise...this needs to run its course.'

Gwyn was already out of the door, and Augus found it strange to hear someone else in his kitchen, touching his glasses, pouring water from his carafe.

His hands moved up to Ash's forehead and then into Ash's damp hair.

'Brother,' Augus said, 'it's all right. Come back now.'

All his life, Ash had these night terrors. Augus didn't know what caused them, and Ash always swore he could remember nothing but falling in the dark. Augus could feel quivers running down Ash's frame. Feel the tension in his arms under the blankets. He never tossed or thrashed, he went straight, his eyes snapped open, his pupils blown out and the air around him reeking of a fear that Augus never felt to this degree otherwise.

'Come on now,' Augus whispered. 'We're all here, not going anywhere.'

Gwyn was back in the room, carefully set the glass down on the chest of drawers by Ash's bed, right next to a book on...Augus squinted at the title. What on earth was psychotherapy, anyway?

Another five minutes passed, though they felt much, much longer. Ash took a full, deep breath, and Augus' forehead rested on Ash's chest, feeling that pulsing beat of his heart even through the blankets. Another full breath, another, and then Ash's arms struggled with the blankets and wrapped heavily and clumsily around Augus' shoulders. Augus knew he was blinking awake now, coming back to himself, and Augus scratched gently at Ash's scalp.

The word 'fuck' repeated a few times, and then Ash laughed shakily as Augus straightened, Ash's arms trying to stay heavy upon his shoulders until they had to withdraw.