Dark Waters Rising

Awake

Valentine's eyelids felt glued together with dirt and sleep dust when consciousness began to stir him awake. With great effort he managed to separate them, but his eyes were closed again almost immediately after because of the bright light of day flooding in from the open window. He was so tired—so weak—that even while awake he felt like he was dreaming.

As he gradually let his eyes adjust to the light, an image of milled cedar beams on an unrecognizable ceiling met his gaze. It was not a craftsmanship style he was familiar with, which meant he was not aboard a ship. This confused him since while his eyes had been closed, he had been nearly certain he was on the sea. His head was swimming, causing the world to dip and spin as if ocean waves were crashing into him from all sides. He groaned lowly, his temples feeling like a seaside cliff being battered by massive breakers during a storm.

"Val?" a voice he did recognize questioned softly, though it was deep and distorted by sleep. Valentine's heart leapt in his chest, speeding to life as his eyes widened and frantically searched for the merchant. Lavender irises locked onto blue and Valentine's chest seized.

"No," he said, panic squeezing the air out of his lungs painfully. Horrified tears sprung in his eyes as he backed away while clutching his head and willing the image to go away. "No, no, no. Not again."

"Calm down," Wesley put his hands up in a gesture of peace, moving away slightly from where he sat next to the cot Valentine woke up in. His chair groaned in protest, but the merchant was more concerned with the man in front of him. In a surprisingly soothing voice, he managed to say, "Look at me, Val. I'm right here. You're all right. Everything is going to be fine."

Valentine squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He couldn't bear to watch whatever came next. He had been forced to see it too many times already.

"No. You're not real," his voice was highly distressed. He clamped his hands over his ears because he didn't want to hear the screams that he knew were coming.

"I am real," Wesley said, worried tears making his eyes glossy. "This is real. You're not in Hell anymore, Val. We brought you back."

Valentine shook his head again, his face contorting as if in pain, "It's just a cruel trick. Y-you can't be real."

"Look at me, Valentine," Wesley said a bit forcefully, causing Valentine to reluctantly open his eyes. "Do I look fake to you?"

Slowly, Valentine shook his head.

"No," he said softly. "You do kind of look like shit though."

"Thanks," Wesley deadpanned. He sighed and ran his hand over his face, feeling the stubble taking over his jaw and the heaviness of the bags beneath his eyes. With a slight frown, he realized Valentine was right. He probably looked like a drunkard after far too long with a bottle. Gods, he practically was. "I haven't been sleeping well."

Valentine snorted softly.

"See, that's how I know you're not real," he mused, his thoughts sweeping over distant, bittersweet memories. "The real Wesley is out there sleeping soundly knowing he lives in a world where Valentine Cross does not exist."

The words stung as he heard them. Wesley could see why the pirate would think that, but it didn't soften the blow.

Wesley's eyes became fixed on his knees. After a moment he softly said, "That's not true."

"It is," Valentine said with conviction, "and you know it as well as I do."

Wesley shook his head. He felt awful knowing that was what the pirate thought, and unfortunately, arguing with him wasn't going to change his mind in the slightest.