deercountry | [closed] back when we were kids

Entry tags:

[closed] back when we were kids

Who: Flynn & Yuri
What: having a much-needed conversation they should have had a while ago
When: February 9th
Where: their house in Crenshaw

Content Warnings: Mentions of sad teen angst and sad teen fights and also maybe day-drinking, who knows what these boys got up to

Flynn leaves camp a little early that day.

His ride with Daisy was enough to clear his head a little, enough to get him through a day of working through strategies with the engineers over in the mechyard, but Flynn knows himself well enough by now to know that he's certainly distracted. His thoughts keep straying to Yuri and the flippancy in his voice, the insistence that he hadn't done anything with that time.

Flynn doesn't know, is the thing. He knows a little of what Yuri was up to in the Lower Quarter, knows about his actions and their consequences and the gossip that had chased after him in their wake (wasn't that your friend, Flynn?; those Lower Quarter brutes just need a firm hand; a hundred other phrases that had burrowed under his skin like termites, that Flynn had gritted his teeth and smiled through). He has no idea what Yuri felt about all those years. He doesn't even know how Yuri feels, really, about—

About everything. The way they left things, what felt like the end of their friendship, the ragged chasm between them that made Flynn question everything that they were. They've built a bridge over all of that, and it feels solid beneath Flynn's feet, but peeking over the edge is a terrifying thing, which of course means that they should probably just jump into it the way brave people do in the face of terror.

The conversation didn't start there, of course. It started somewhere so ridiculous, so—Yuri.

But Flynn is walking into it, bundled up with hearty greens and early potatoes, a few soft onions left over from the year before, and some hard cheese with an interesting profile that Yuri hadn't put on the list but that Flynn figured he might like. He could have used the lamps to come home and been there in an instant, but the walk through the oddly-sunny afternoon, buffeted by cold wind, has been helpful. He lingered a little in the market, talking to the vendors, learning about their business and their worries and the things they wanted changed. Now, with the sun just starting to sink below the jumbled roofs of Crenshaw, he finally shoves open their creaking little gate.

Their tiny patch of front garden is overgrown. Flynn thinks about his promise to Blue to plant seeds there, notes that he needs to get some seeds for them along with oil for the gate, and pushes open the door while Daisy vanishes into smoke and simply reappears on the other side, apparently impatient to get into the warmth.

"It was going to take two seconds," he tells her, grinning, and Daisy simply reappears, much smaller, and trots on delicate hooves into the kitchen to find Repede. Flynn shakes his head and shuts out the cold evening behind.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No! They're, they're--

[ Yuri struggles for another moment, but then lets Flynn push him down because Flynn feels so much more solid than everything else in this place, so much more solid, and there's blood on Flynn's hand where he's touching Yuri, blood on his hand even where there wasn't a cut on Yuri's body. His breath is coming too harsh, too fast, but he stares up at Flynn, wanting so desperately for Flynn to be able to help, to get them both out of here. ]

You came back.

[ I didn't, Flynn almost says, I tried but I couldn't, there was nothing—

but the focus is blurring, the two pictures getting farther apart. Flynn reaches for his sword and comes up with nothing, bites down a sharp, frustrated noise. He has to stay calm for Yuri, to combat the fear and anger screaming through him. The bonds aren't moving, are cutting into Flynn's hand as he tugs, tightening under his grip. He grits his teeth. ]

I'm here—

[ He can't say I always will be because that would be a lie, wouldn't it? There is a part of him, that unreal part, several steps to the left of all this, that says this is a dream and also this is that place, the farm, the place he hadn't managed to find, the place he'd hunted for days and days.

But this is a dream.

This is a dream, isn't it?

The knowledge drops icy over him, cutting through his frustration all at once. Flynn sucks in a breath. ]

Yuri, this is, we don't need a knife. This isn't real.

[ The problem is that it feels real to Yuri. It feels very real, and Flynn saying it isn't doesn't help, because the fear and the buried memories of this place are rearing up. The blood runs faster from Yuri's body, staining the jumpsuit that's pulled down around his hips, staining Flynn's hands and arms ]

No, I have to, I have to-- we have to get out.

We're going to get out.

[ Flynn puts as much confidence into those words as he can, leaning over Yuri, trying to anchor him with gentle hands. There's so much blood, was there this much blood? Was this what happened? Flynn is breathless with an awful sort of nausea, and all the more determined for it. ]

Yuri, listen to me. Trust me. Please. I can't get these off, but you can, this is a dream.

No, it's--

[ Yuri looks up at him, meeting his eyes and-- yeah. Okay. This is Flynn, and Flynn is trying to convince him that this is a dream. Is he really going to argue with Flynn?

No, he's not. He's going to believe Flynn, because he's Flynn. ]

Okay.

[ If it's a dream, then... what? How can he do this? How can he get the straps off of him? He tries to shoulder out of them, but that doesn't get him anywhere, his heart echoing too loud in his ears.

It's a dream ]

I don't know how.

[ He grates out the words, words he would never speak away, but here he is, saying them, and then, suddenly, as it admits defeat, the straps are gone, like they were never there at all. He sucks in a breath, and grabs onto Flynn's hand, using him to pull himself up. ]

[ Flynn clings to him, locking his bones in place so that he is a steady anchor, a pillar to help Yuri to his feet and then to help him stay here. He clings tight to Yuri's blood-slick palm and slides his free arm around the expanse of his back, trying not to feel the seeping warmth.

This is a dream, it isn't Yuri's blood.

But it is, isn't it?

They'll deal with that later. For now, Flynn wraps that solid arm around him, pulls Yuri against his side, and turns them bodily around, away from blood and table and bucket. There isn't a door.

That's fine. One step at a time. Flynn sucks in a breath. ]

Where are we?

That place. The tower.

[ Yuri grips Flynn's arm, unsteady on his feet, and Flynn is solid and sturdy, and somehow Yuri was able to get out of those bonds, somehow he's standing, even as blood still drips from him, leaving a trail from his bare feet ]

Why're you here? You got out.

[ It's almost an accusation. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have to see this. He was safe. He got out. ]

I was pulled out.

[ Flynn corrects softly, the words stinging things, like insects buzzing sharp over his skin. He pulls Yuri a little closer, tries not to smell the copper of blood, and fails. ]

I would have stayed, but we're not staying now. This is your dream: can you make a door?

[ The thing with the straps worked, at least. Maybe he can make this work, too. Yuri looks at Flynn, then at the... wall. If there's a wall. It's all just white expanse, but he frowns and tries to think about a door, a door, some way out of here, someway home, but then the white space around them starts to change, but not into home. No, into a darker room, with Sleepers strung up against the walls, all pale from blood loss, and a familiar girl is working to untie them, to get them down, to rescue them.

Yuri doesn't remember this all that well. He doesn't remember it, but he remembers the fear, he remembers the pain, he remembers--

He lets go of Flynn and stumbles to one of the people, trying to work to get them down, and he can't quite help himself, can't quite concentrate on doing something else, on getting out, when he has to help these people ]

Yuri, wait—

[ Flynn hurries after him, sloshing through blood slick and awful on the ground. He remembers the smell of this place, the crushing hopelessness, more massive and more awful than even Ghasfarost.

He can't just not help. This is a dream, but he has to try, has to reach up with fingers too clumsy for this and steady the people Yuri is working to untie. ]

How often do you dream about this place?

[ If he can keep Yuri focused on the fact that it is a dream, it's possible he can keep that control. Flynn is fighting blind here, but he can't stop fighting. ]

[ Yuri's mind flickers, between being aware of Flynn being there, and being fully back in this memory. This awful memory, worse than the blood collection, even. He doesn't think about this part when he's awake. His hands work as quickly as they can, trying to get these people down, laying their limp bodies against the wall. He doesn't have a plan to get them out, but Lysithea does, she does, that's what matters.

At the question, he looks back, and sees Flynn, and is surprised to see him there ]

Flynn?

[ The dream is a powerful thing.

Of course it is: this is such an awful place, and it must be so embedded in Yuri's memory. Flynn helps him ease another body down, careful and slow, props her upright, and nods. ]

I'm here.

[ Simple, small, and true. Flynn watches him for a moment, then steps around outstretched legs (the poor girl looks on the verge of death, so many didn't make it, so many just like Yuri, drained—has he ever talked about it? Flynn can't remember that he has) to hold a hand out for Yuri. ]

We need to leave.

[ Yuri wants to reach out for him, he wants to, but he can't. He can't, his hand getting halfway there when the doors to the room burst open, a troop of zealots entering. Lysithea summons up magic, and suddenly Yuri is closer to the zealots, as if he intends to fight them one on a dozen. He can hear Lysithea saying something, but he can't understand what, the words lost to time, and she and the bodies are gone from the room in a burst of that white like.

Yuri isn't quite there, either. Not the same as he was. His body is shifting, changing, spine elongating, fingers turning to claws, his hair turning lank and greasy, face sprouting fur and fangs, and he springs forward, into a memory even Yuri doesn't remember when he's awake. It's buried in his subconscious, his body fighting these zealots, tearing at them with claws and teeth, his hands paws stained red with blood. ]

[ Flynn lets out a sharp cry, something like surprise, yanked into breath and stolen from him. It's lost in the rending noise of claws in skin, the tear of flesh, and there is a bare moment where all Flynn can do is stand and watch in horror as the man he loves tears at his captors with claws like a monster.

Had he—?

Is this—?

It doesn't matter. Flynn shoves down his fear, his worry, knots it into a ball and tosses it all away, because Yuri is getting lost in the dream (memory?) and Flynn is here, must be here, to stop that.

He doesn't draw his sword, because he doesn't have one, but he moves, slides on slick blood and then ends up over there anyway, diving in front of Yuri like they're at the top of Zaude with seagulls crying. Claws land in his shoulder, dig in, and Flynn grits his teeth and shoves himself into Yuri, yelling. ]

Yuri! Listen to me!

[ The fog in Yuri's mind as he fights the zealots, determined to take them out, to pay them back for everything they've done, it lifts at the sound of Flynn's voice, and the beast he's become whines, whines with his ears back, flat against his head.

But the lull is all it takes for the zealots to take their advantage, surging through Flynn as if he wasn't there to take Yuri down. He struggles, trying to fight back, but he doesn't have it in him. They know how to handle beasts, and they subdue him too easily.

And then the dream shifts again, and Yuri is back on the table, staring at white all around him. ]

[ This is how he was captured.

Flynn lurches, braces for impact, and feels nothing but the tug and shift of space, lands back on his feet unharmed and whole in front of Yuri, strapped to a table all over again. ]

No.

[ Flynn says this not to Yuri, but to the dream at large, ringing and angry, full of command. ]

This is not happening again!

[ He whirls, staring at the walls, looking for—there, where there was nothing, a knife on the ground. Flynn yanks it up and cuts through the cords this time, his teeth gritted. ]

Flynn--

[ Flynn is there, and relief washes through Yuri, before concern and fear over take it again, just like it did the first time, when Flynn first showed up here ]

Flynn, you can't be here!

[ But Flynn is cutting the straps, and letting Yuri roll off the table, crumpling on the ground, his limbs weak from blood loss, hands slick with it. This time, it's black, darkblood that's glittering into the air, staining his hands as they move through it. ]

Shit, Flynn, we have to, we have to get out of here.

You're dreaming.

[ Flynn says again, a little desperate as he drops to try and get an arm under Yuri's shoulder. All he really succeeds in doing is getting Yuri, blood-slick and weak-limbed, half into his lap. ]

This isn't real, you're fine, you just have to wake up.

[ This time, it gets through to him more, maybe because this has already happened. This time, he holds onto Flynn, and he feels so much more real than everything else here, and he's here, and Yuri feels stupid and weak that he's so relieved to not be alone because he shouldn't wish this on anyone, let alone Flynn. He shouldn't, but he wants Flynn to be here with him. If they'd been together, they would have found a way out of this.

Because this has happened before. Yuri lived this. It's not real. It's a dream.

He looks at Flynn, eyes widening ]

That make you my dream guy?

[ He laughs, just a little, despite everything. He doesn't know what to do with this information, really. What does it being a dream mean? His mind is having trouble focusing on that, wavering somewhere between awake and aware and asleep and trapped in this memory ]

Pff—Yuri—

[ Flynn shouldn't even be laughing, really, with Yuri dripping blood all over him and so weak and so pale, but it puffs out of him all at once, relieved and affectionate. If Yuri's joking, even a little, things aren't so bad. Flynn can get them out of this.

He pulls Yuri a little more thoroughly into his lap, clutching at him, letting all his weight rest against his own shoulder. ]

I'd much rather be awake with you.

Yeah, how do we... [ Yuri's eyes flick around the white, empty room. Fear rises in his gut again. The zealots could be back any second ] ...do that.

[ But like his fear summoned them, zealots start streaming into the room from nowhere. Their hooded faces, their gaping maws, it's all enough to bring back that old fear, the kind of fear Yuri hates, the fear of helplessness. He pushes away from Flynn, putting Flynn behind him, like he's going to face them alone. ]

Get, get out of here!

Don't!

[ Flynn may not have a sword, or armor, or anything else, but there is one thing he has: control over this space, himself, like Paul had. He can take this and twist, get himself out of it and then pull Yuri out of it too.

But—

he curls his fingers around Yuri's shoulder, squeezes hard. ]

I'm getting you out of here. Trust me.

[ His words are low and urgent and full of confidence, but the truth is, Flynn has no idea how to wake himself up. He knows that he's somewhat in control here, that he can pull at the fabric of the dream, just a little bit. There is intent, and one of the zealots says something in a low hissing voice, and Yuri goes tense under his hand, and then Flynn, hoping desperately to wake up, does exactly that. He blinks awake in the cool darkness of their room with Yuri's name on his lips, is up on his elbow before he's even thought about it, trying to shake Yuri awake. ]

[ Flynn is at his back, and suddenly, he's gone. He's gone, again, just like he left Yuri in the Farm, to fend for himself. He wasn't angry about it, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. He's glad Flynn is gone, so Flynn doesn't have to go through this. It's better if anyone has to, that it's Yuri who does it. He can take it. He can handle it. He can protect Flynn by doing this, again, doing it again.

In the dream, the zealots bear down on him, grabbing him, his arms, and he fights back, as best he can, with just his fists and feet, but after a moment, he comes to, flailing in their bed, his fist connecting with Flynn's side. He gasps and grabs onto Flynn, disoriented but he knows Flynn, he knows him, even in the darkness. He pushes himself up, turning to the rest of the room, convinced he'll find those zealots there but--

no. It's just them. It's quiet. Repede grumbles something from the end of the bed. Yuri's breath is coming hard and fast, chest heaving as he looks around, only for his gaze to land back on Flynn.

It was a dream. It was all a dream. ]

[ He's awake.

That punch hurt, and Flynn's a little winded from the surprise of it, but that doesn't matter. What matters is Yuri's ragged breath and the fear radiating from him in sick, dark waves, the fact that for a moment he must have thought that Flynn left him again—

Flynn lets his hand slide up Yuri's arm and around to the back of his neck, solid and comforting. ]

It was a dream.

[ But this is not the end of it. ]

[ It takes him a long moment to get his breathing under control, panting against Flynn, letting Flynn be a solid rock to lean on, to ground him. A dream, it was a dream. He wasn't back there, he isn't going to be back there. Flynn is safe, he's out here and he's safe and Yuri has been leaning on him so much, letting him in so much, and he feels like he needs to stand on his own feet (but he wants to be here, he wants to take care of you) (he shouldn't have to).

After a moment, he pulls back, running a hand back through his hair ]

Yeah, yeah. A dream. Shit.

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