TW: mental health & graphic descriptions of violence

The laughing. The cold, humorless laughing. It reaches Hazel where she should be safe. It reaches her far beyond the depth of sleep, the walking in dreams. It touches her in a way that she cannot shake. In a way she cannot cope with. It started as a low, far away chuckle. It started as a sound that doesn't seem real to her. It did not seem real, it did not seem tangible. Intangible, but it could still hurt her. If it could still find her, then it could still hurt her. If it could still hurt her, then she wasn't safe.

It built in volume. It built in intensity. From a chuckle to a cackle, echoing the hallowed halls of her dreams. Pain blooming in her chest, as if the wound that nearly killed her was still fresh. It's still fresh... fresh blood. She can smell it. She can taste it. It floods her senses, but where is it coming from? Through the fog of dreams, Hazel can see it spilling from her. With great intensity, greater intensity than should be possible, there is blood spilling from her chest. There is blood spilling from her neck. Washing over the girl's body, and she can't stop it.

Hazel can see him. She can see the man that sired her circling, a vulture. Her head spun. Her gut lurched. Everything was dark, and everything was too bright, all at the same time. Quivering, trembling, shaking at the knees. Hazel lashes out at her father, but she can't catch him. He's too fast. He's too fast, she's too weak. She's but a child. The sinister cackling continued, and she lunges once more. Over and over, she tries. Over and over, she fails. It's only when she draws from a reserve that she doesn't have that she catches something, a leg, between her teeth. Her fangs rake across flesh. Hazel tastes blood.

In the real world, the girl is thrashing in bed, an afternoon nap gone wrong. She hadn't been sleeping well, not since the raid, but this was perhaps the worst yet. Shouting, mixed with her own manic cackling, in her sleep. It's Hazel's own crystalline fangs that have ripped open her foreleg. She continues to thrash, whimpering her way through the nightmare.

"Speech"

Basilisk had taken a nap with Hazel, laying down with her and snuggling against her familiar, warm body. But eventually, his stomach’s complaints had driven him from their bed. He was rummaging through their supplies, finding comfort in the familiar food before him. It took a lot of fuel to keep a wolf his size running. The wolves around him ate a great deal less, and he had felt embarrassed from a young age at how much he really needed to eat. His grandfather had teased him about it relentlessly. Had instructed him to catch his own food, before he depleted their stores.

He grabbed another chicken leg, and was biting into it when thrashing caught his attention. Alarmed, he let the food drop to the floor with a ‘plop’ and he turned, and looped back towards their room. The scent of blood caught him before he saw her. Spurring him on with greater speeds, until he was crashing into their room. Tripping over their stuff on the floor.

And then at last he reached her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, and held her down. “Hazel, Hazel, wake up!” He told her, eyes wide at the blood dripping from her foreleg.

"Speech"

She's relentless. She has to be relentless. It's the relentlessness, the undying spirit, that's kept her alive this long. That's let her see this whole living thing through. Hazel has seen it through, and here she is. Here she is, trapped in this nightmare, a construction of her own brain. A labyrinth of her own creation, Hazel's system working against her.

From somewhere far off, she can hear her voice. It comes again, louder. She was being shaken. Shaken, but she can't see the ghost. She can't see the ghost-- until she can. Her heart caught in her chest. When Hazel's eyes finally flicker open, when consciousness finally takes hold once more, she is panting. Panting, sweating profusely from her paw pads. Blood... she can still smell the blood. The girl thrashes for a moment more before going completely, utterly still. Her eyes wide, her head aching. Trying desperately to re-orient herself. At the center of it, Basilisk.

Trembling, Hazel looked up at him. Now more a man than a boy, he'd shaken her awake. Trying desperately to catch her breath, the girl felt as if she really had just been in a fight. Every bit of her ached, physically, mentally. "Bas, I... I saw him, in my dream," the words come as a pained, quaking whisper. Her voice hoarse. Eyes wide, bloodshot, she looks up at him. Every bit of Hazel shook, the adrenaline just beginning to fade from her system. It's only now that she can feel the wound in her foreleg. Fuck.

"Speech"

She continued to thrash, and he pressed more of his body onto her. Trying to keep her from hurting herself, from worsening the hurt she had already dealt to herself. He said her name a few more times, his heart pounding. But he didn’t dare get a healer. He knew she wouldn’t want anyone else to see this. They could work it out, together. Whatever she was seeing. Was it the Raid? Was it that Raider asshole in her head?

Finally, her eyes opened, and relief filled his own as he looked down at her. She spoke, and he was about to ask if she meant the raider. It was on the tip of his tongue. Then he realised her nightmares were always about her father. Her large, red, imposing father. How hadn’t he seen it earlier? “He’s gone, Hazel. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.”

"Speech"

She trembles. She shakes. There was something in her, something that was dying to get out. Hazel didn't get it. She didn't know why. She couldn't explain what was happening, but it was fucking scary. As the nightmare dissipated, she pressed herself into Basilisk's side. Clinging to him for dear life as she trembled. In these moments, Bas is the one keeping her together.

It felt so real. Every time, it felt so real. Hazel crumpled against Basilisk, letting him old her. Letting him keep her together. Trust is fragile and fleeting, but she trusted him. With everything Hazel has, she trusts him. "I thought the nightmares were gone." It was a long time before she finally spoke. When she did, the words were quiet, muffled against Bas's shoulder. How was she supposed to help lead the pack when her mind was playing tricks on her like this? How could she prove she was worthy when there was a war going on inside her head? Still trembling, Hazel holds to the boy's side. Why did everything hurt like this?

"Speech"

He held on tightly to her. Feeling her shaking, and feeling powerless against them. He would kill anyone that hurt Hazel like this, but what could he do when the one hurting her was herself? He couldn’t fight her nightmares, as much as he wished to. “I love you” He said helplessly as she trembled in his arms.

“I thought so too.” He said, worry in his tone, but not stress - no, he wouldn’t let Hazel here that - “But if they are, we'll deal with them. I won't let you hurt yourself again” He said, shuffling her in his grasp so he could get a better look at her leg. “I’m going to put you down, but just to grab a bandage, okay?”


"Speech"