Waylon's Crossing - 15. Chapter 15: The Dream After

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 15: The Dream After

Far away in the city, at the Cathedral for evening prayers, something strange happened to Duncan. The hundreds of candles in their display flashed so brilliantly that an up flung hand did little to shield him from the afterglow. He shook his head, blinking quickly, but everything he saw was washed out and overwhelmed by the bright white light.

"Hello?" Was this some other trick by the elemental? What was happening?

The priests to either side caught his shoulders as Duncan twisted and almost fell, but he didn't feel them. He turned from side to side, seeking something that made any sense, his eyes fastening on the book on its pedestal. Staggering like one drunk, Duncan hurried up the stairs to the altar and the Book of the Ancients. He clutched the cold marble, staring down at letters and words that slithered and danced across the fragile parchment.

He flipped through the pages, noting the presence of the priests only as an afterthought, until the words flashed once and were still. His finger traced the glowing symbols, while his other hand turned palm-out over the book.

"Benigno numine," he intoned, the words lingering like the chimes from the bells in the tower. "Caelitus mihi vires, dirige nos Domine." He closed his eyes, but the words stayed vividly in his mind. Like warm wine, strength flowed into his tired body, filling him to overflowing and reaching for an outlet. His spine arched, hands snapping to the book as he bowed over the binding.

"Candor dat viribus alas. Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit, cras amet."

With the last words, all warmth and strength fled. Duncan's knees turned to water and he would have fallen if not for the supporting hands of the priests. They eased him to the floor, the world going cold and dark around him. He blinked groggily, taking a moment or two to understand that his eyes were in fact open and to bring the worried faces of the priests into focus. They held his head up, urging Duncan to sip wine from a glass.

"Wha-what happened?" he whispered in a raspy voice.

"My boy," said one of the elders, cupping Duncan's face in his hands. "Do you have any idea what you have just done?"

He wet his lips, blinking again and frowning, not sure if he saw concern or anger or worry or ... or what. "I, er, apologize, Elder."

"Nonsense!" he boomed, patting Duncan's jaw when he flinched, startled from the loud reply so very close to his face. "My dear boy," continued the priest in a softer tone, "that was the most remarkable thing I have ever witnessed. You called upon the power of God, and He answered!"

"Oh, goodie," sighed Duncan. Unable to hold open his eyes any longer, he fell back to loll gracelessly in the supporting arms. Weariness tugged at him, but did not take him right away. There was no way he could rest with all the jostling and chattering by the excited priests. How could he have done what he did just then? It didn't feel wrong; it felt really, really right, but how was it possible? Magic? Really?

"Why me?" he groaned, lifting a heavy hand to cool his fevered and pounding head. Why me? Why the fuck me?

*          *          *

Kynan floated in the pain-foggy realm of near-consciousness, dimly cognizant of movement around him, of being kept clean and someone squeezing water into his mouth, but his mind shied away from reality. He couldn't determine at first why he was semi-awake; he didn't dream, and he hadn't been sick in so long he didn't remember what that was like. He twitched, as if to move, halting at once at the tearing sensation and sheer agony that lanced across his shoulders, his mind spiraling down again, but he fought for, clawed his way into the dreamscape instead.

//.. Enter Dreamscape..\\

Everything felt tight and awkward somehow as he lay there on the street, but a great deal easier to block off his body's pain there, and he hurt. Everything hurt. Why? How long had he been unconscious? Surely long enough to have healed by now....

Then he heard a call, felt a tug. He lifted his head. Alan? What was wrong?

Staggering to his feet, Kynan took a deep breath, using all his senses to home in on Alan's position. He was so tired! He stumbled, falling to his knees as the pain hit him broadside leaving no energy left for even a whimper. He kept his senses only through sheer determination. Alan needed him. He struggled back to his feet and took a couple of careful steps. He wanted to hunch his shoulders, but that hurt even more. Head down, closing his eyes against the nausea, Kynan took one small, slow step after another, moving through the shadow-city to where the werewolf waited, the chain, as ever, dragging slowly and noisily behind.

The wolf, when he saw Alan by the well on Market Street, seemed different, somehow, but Kynan couldn't quite decide what. He lay down for a few minutes, gathering strength before transforming back to the image he used when talking to Alan. Jeans, t-shirt, boots, the only thing missing was his jacket, but he didn't want even the pretend feel of leather across his shoulders. The shackles, he saw, expanded to rest still around his ankle and he sighed.

Bracing himself on the well, Kynan wiped his mouth and eyes, straightening his back with effort. He was tired ... Daylight! Was he ever tired, and hungry, too, but those were normal hunger pains and he could ignore them. He had to ignore the rest, as well, spending precious minutes and energy to block off as much as he could. Satisfied that all looked as it should, he stepped forward, pausing right on the edge.

He could just walk away. He ought to turn around; he ought to not have come at all. He didn't know what was happening in the real world; he could be killing himself over this, could be putting himself at risk for Alan to tell him he never wanted to see him again. But staying unconscious kept the Prince from further abusing him or using him for information, and even though he could sense now that Alan's call wasn't urgent, he still wanted to see him, wanted -- no, needed to know how things stood between them. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and crossed into the dream.

He blinked in some surprise at the sunshine, at the park. The park was lovely in Alan's dream, just how Kynan had set it up when he came to visit the last time. Alan sat by the edge of the lake, dipping his toes into the brilliant blue water and listening to the children squeal delightedly as they threw bread to the geese. This was again not the boy Kynan remembered, but the young man. Only this time, two wolf-like ears poked out from underneath his shaggy, black hair, and a tail swished against his ankles with every step. The features were odd, but they were quite cute at the same time.

He was waiting for Kynan here, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he'd been waiting forever. In the distance, the ruin of a Cathedral looked over the park like a massive stone guardian. Waterfowl quacked and honked. Children giggled and shrieked happily. The sky was as brilliant a blue as could ever be seen.

By the time he collected himself again, still hovering by the boundary, Alan was walking across the grounds toward him. Kynan stepped forward slowly, pain tightening his muscles, and cautiously, wondering at each step if he shouldn't be going the other way. He couldn't read either Alan's posture or his emotional state and that worried him though Alan looked well, as much as Kynan could judge those things.

They stopped, just out of arms reach of each other and Kynan shifted feet, both soles tender, and tried not to look as nervous or sick as he felt. Alan, he saw with a perverse kind of fascination, was wringing his hands.

Alan had hoped that Kynan would come. They hadn't talked since ... whatever Kynan had done to him, and Alan was afraid that he'd never show up again with how skittish he always was. What had happened was beyond anything Alan had ever experienced or possibly dreamed existed. It was strange and intoxicating, frightening and exciting, and perhaps scariest of all, alluring. He wasn't sure how Kynan had done what he did, but then again, he wasn't sure of many things anymore. Kynan was such a mystery ... but maybe that'd change tonight.

Kynan's face and step were cautious; his eyes looked questioningly at Alan. Kynan, for the first time since Alan had met him, looked worried to see him. The silence between the two drowned out the laughter and their stares melted away the park. Alan stopped a few feet away from Kynan and the two looked each other over carefully.

Alan's ears pulled back shyly and with speed that stunned even himself, he wrapped his arms around Kynan's waist, nuzzling his head into Kynan's broad chest. Kynan went rigid as Alan hugged him, sucking in a quick, pain-filled gasp and blinking away sudden tears. He had to concentrate on his emotions again, hoping that the werewolf didn't notice the way Kynan's image flickered for a brief second as the pain almost overwhelmed him. Only Alan clinging to him kept Kynan from wavering and falling.

But Alan's happiness bubbled over onto him, raising his spirits, bubbling in his head like champagne. Kynan hugged him back, stroking the top of his fuzzy head and sighing in sudden relief. This felt unbelievably good. The sharp ache in his chest eased. Kynan never wanted to let go, but the reprieve was only temporary. His physical exhaustion pulled at him again, Alan's arms against his back an unwelcome reminder of real life.

"Careful, Alan, careful. I'm not feeling the greatest right now." He smiled a little as Alan looked up, eyes burning with unasked questions. "No, I'll be fine; I've dealt with worse before, trust me. It's just ... Daylight, Alan! I-I thought you'd hate me."

"No," murmured Alan, and Kynan winced again as the werewolf's arms tightened.

"I -- Alan," said Kynan, reluctantly grabbing those arms and pulling them away. "Alan, please don't."

Alan took a step away from Kynan, disappointment pouring out of him. His ears drooped downward and he crossed his arms, eyes averted from Kynan, tail hanging.

"Alan ..." He reached for the werewolf, but he moved away. Kynan took a quick, unsteady step to follow. He tried to find words to repair the hurt, realizing that what he'd said hadn't come out right, but his head was so fuzzy, he just wasn't sure.

Alan flinched every time Kynan spoke his name, refusing to look up. He couldn't -- just couldn't see the look of rejection on Kynan's face. Alan didn't think he could handle it.

"Alan, I'm sorry, that's not -- not what I meant to say, I --" he stumbled, groaned. "Alan?"

Kynan didn't even try to grab Alan's arm. Alan was certain, from the way his eyes glassed over, that he hadn't even been aware of it. Kynan slid down on his stomach, eyes closing, and let out another groan of discomfort.

He was so tired! Kynan felt a shadow fall across him and flinched, moving instinctively to shield his face and head, gritting his teeth against the pull on tender skin, against the nausea that made the world spin and his stomach flop around like a fish out of water. He held tightly to his image of himself. He had to concentrate to stay in the dreamscape, to stay with Alan. He didn't hate him! He seemed quite happy, in fact, the excess energy he exuded helping to rejuvenate Kynan's already overstressed resources.

"Are you okay?" asked Alan, crouching beside him.

Kynan flushed, relaxing his arms. "No," he replied with a grimace, "But I will be. I'm just tired, that's all."

"What's happened?"

The lie came so easy. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

Alan shifted suddenly, throwing his shadow across Kynan. The demon flinched and started to duck. He swore at Alan, scowling.

"Nothing, huh?" Alan remarked.

Kynan stared back, angry and annoyed, but amused all the same. He shook his head slightly. "It's not your concern. And I don't want you worrying about me."

"Then tell me what's really going on!"

"It's better this way!"

"For whom?" Alan demanded. "Your lies have gotten me nothing but trouble. What's it going to take to make you trust me?"

"It's not -- not that --"

"Not what?"

"I trust you."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough! Your lies are going to get me killed! And they're not helping you, either."

"I'm trying to protect you!"

"Kynan," Alan spoke a little softer, kinder, "I'm helping you now. I can't do that if we keep going as we are now, bumbling around all your lies. I ... I want to trust you, Kynan. I want to stay by you. I want to know you. I've never ...."

Kynan used his elbows to, gingerly, prop himself up a little. "You've never what?"

"I don't know!" Alan buried his face in his hands. "Sometimes my mind just wanders to you during the day and every time I think about you I smile! When you laugh, it makes me laugh! When you cry, I feel like my heart's being ripped open! You make me want to," he shivered, "do a lot of things I've never thought of before! And it pains me the most that I've been so open to you and I know next to nothing about you. I want to know you, Kynan. I --" I love you.

There was something ... odd that swelled inside Kynan's chest that made his pulse race and his mouth to go dry. He dropped his forehead against his hands to hide his expression, beating back his initial impulse to take Alan in his arms, to -- he shut down that train of thought, concentrating on the anguish in Alan's voice, his confusion, and let his conscience berate him for his recent actions.

"Oh, Alan," he sighed instead. "I'm so sorry! That's not -- wasn't -- You were very brave, and I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear to that! I -- I promise it won't happen again. I'm sorry, I get like that sometimes, I don't understand it, and I shouldn't have forced myself on you. It was wrong and you've every right to --" He jumped, hissing in pain, at the hand that gripped his shoulder and shook him slightly. He looked up.

"No, you stupid demon." Alan shook his head, half-embarrassed, half-exasperated. "That's not what I'm saying at all!"

Kynan watched that hand, steeling himself not to flinch or bat him away as Alan reached for his face, touched a lock of hair, brushed it back. Then Alan gathered his hands back in his lap again, suddenly shy.

"I ... liked it," said Alan quietly, staring at his hands. "I want ... to be more than just friends. I am your friend, aren't I?"

Kynan stared, torn between horror and longing. "You -- you're crazy!" he stammered. "After what I did, you ... And what you are -- what I am ...."

Alan shrugged, picking at the grass. Kynan reached out and placed one sore hand over Alan's. They stared at each other.

"I can't give you what you want!" Kynan blurted, turning away to sigh, "You're so young, so very, very young."

Irritation flashed across Alan's face. "You've said that before. What's age got to do with it? You're not that much older than I am."

"Alan," Kynan corrected him, one side of his mouth turned up in a bit of a grin, "I'm older than your parents. And age ... well, I can't be sure that what you're feeling is simply because you are feeling that way and not because I've ... manipulated you somehow, or taken advantage. Do you understand? There's so much to experience, you should have the opportunity to see a little more, do a little more before --"

Alan snatched his hand away. "Are you saying no? Because if you are -- don't interrupt! -- because if you are, then --"

"I'm sorry."

"No!" Alan yelled, hands gesturing wildly. "I don't believe you! I may not be able to feel what you're feeling now, but I felt it before, have been feeling it and I know -- know -- that what you did, what we did, that --"

"Nothing," Kynan forced himself to say, voice gone cold and harsh for all his unwillingness to speak. "It was nothing!"

Alan spun back around to stare down at Kynan. The backhanded blow rocked Kynan's head to the side and he stared at the werewolf in shock.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" screamed Alan. "Just -- STOP IT! You're always lying, always! TELL ME THE FUCKING TRUTH!" He sank back down, hands falling limply into his lap, staring at Kynan sadly. "Don't I deserve that much? If not your trust, can't I even get your respect?"

"A-Alan ...."

"No." Alan cut him off, eyes shining with unshed tears, but narrowed in anger and determination. "You swear, and on something that I'll believe you mean, or that's it. I'll walk -- well, leave, and never come back."

"I ...."

Alan turned his head, continuing to speak, softly, "I promised to help you, and I will, but, Kynan ..." He stared back into the demon's blue, cat-like eyes, and bit his lip. He couldn't help the bitter sting of cold betrayal he felt, for all his mind had warned him that the demon might not have meant what Alan had thought he did.

"Kynan," he started again around the lump in his throat. "What choice do you have? How can I help you if I don't know who you are or why I need to help you in the first place? You're my friend, dammit! Aren't you?"

"Yes," Kynan answered in a small voice. "Yes, you're my friend."

"Then stop lying to me!"

While Kynan couldn't read Alan's emotional state through his own problems, he could understand the desolation written all over the werewolf's young face. His conscience told Kynan to take advantage of the situation, use Alan's threat to get him out of his life forever, and he opened his mouth to speak the words ... but he just couldn't do it. He'd been alone his whole life. Knowing that Alan was out there, just a thought away, had meant more to him than he could ever have believed. The idea of losing that ... it hurt, enough to overwhelm his physical pain. He also knew he'd be causing Alan injury, too, and that he just couldn't endure.

He grabbed Alan and pulled him near, tucking him along his body and curling his arm around his chest in an awkward snuggle. The price of Alan's secret was steep, but Kynan knew he would have paid it even if it were ever so much more. He whispered into the closest fuzzy ear, "I swear, Alan ... on the scepter of the Demon Queen that I will no longer lie to you."

"Then ... tell me something?"