applesaucedream | [closed] I could be bounded in a nutshell & count myself as a king of infinite space, were it not...

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[closed] I could be bounded in a nutshell & count myself as a king of infinite space, were it not...

[[ooc: This post is Jazzy Approved for Zagreus visitations: we have a standing agreement that Johnny has a little hallucinatory Zagreus running around in his subconscious, just giving a face and a voice to Johnny's preexisting issues.]]

It's hard to say Johnny's dreams are getting worse when they've always been terrible. Sleep has been an enemy for a long time, and it's no different now. What's changed are the circumstances. More and more he dreams communally, or finds himself an active participant in someone else's nightshow. More and more, the poison left in his head manifests into the predator that put it there, sneering at him from the dark, whispering lessons into his ear.

Tonight Johnny sits in a circle of blood, at the center of an endless room, its walls too distant to be perceived; infinity frightens him, dizzies him, and he curls over himself, wanting to be found.

Zagreus stalks around him outside the lines, as if unable to cross. "You can't hide there forever," he says.

"You're not welcome here," Johnny retorts, a tired refrain.

"That old chestnut." Zagreus chuckles and stops, his feet coming as close as they can to the bloody threshold. He leans over, precariously balanced, until he's close enough to curl his fingers into Johnny’s hair. "It's always you who welcomes me, Truant."

Johnny holds himself stiffly, corpselike, incapable of movement, positioned like a stone. Not tonight. Not tonight.

His fingers sink into the hard wood, crack it apart beneath his enemy's feet. Zagreus staggers back, forced to release him. Johnny experiments, twisting the floor harder, pushing the invader away. Wishful thinking though it may be, this action is not insignifcant: a symbolic resistance against a symbolic entity, and Johnny knows, somewhere, that his power is about establishing domain.

Zagreus waits and watches him hungrily on the outskirts and Johnny turns his attention away. To break the floor is not enough. He wants to be elsewhere.

He slips aside, trading the blood circle for one made of stones, piled neatly, only ankle high. He steps out of it gingerly. The walls are no longer distant, but invisible: made from glass. Sunlight pours through it. This is better. His muscles relax. His guard lets down, just enough.

"Should have stayed put," whispers the voice, so close behind him now. Johnny wants to run, or better, to shatter the whole enclosure, but Zagreus' hands are in his hair and on his throat, holding him back. Johnny struggles with an adrenaline burst of violence, but he's always been shit at defending himself from his own demons. "Should have stayed there in the dark, Johnny dear."

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Johnny frowns thoughtfully. That makes it sound like he can do what Zagreus does (and as far as Johnny knows, only Zagreus can do it) -- drifting through the Dreaming at will.

"You came through the Rift?" he guesses. "Are you, uh... human?"

Is it rude to ask? Maybe not, when just about half the people he's met so far have turned out to be significantly more than human.

"Yes to both," he answers. Well, that answers that question. He's glad they don't have to be too cagey about this, or that Topher doesn't have to explain the concept for the umpteenth time.

"Well, not this Rift. There's one in San Francisco too, I came out there." He's only sharing things that one could find out with the smallest ounce of research, of course.

"Wait, really?" Johnny sits up a little straighter. San Francisco's so much closer to home. Why'd he have to end up here?

More interesting is how much Topher seems to know about the whole Rift business. "Do you know... Is there a way back?"

Worth a punt.

"To San Francisco? Yeah. Through the Rift? 'fraid not," he answers, shaking his head. "Better men than me have tried, and I don't say that lightly, because I'm very good."

Well, at least he hasn't lost his arrogance.

"Uh... okay." Johnny tries to take this in stride. At this point it's hard not to expect the worst at every turn. "So... how long have you been here?"

Topher screws up his face in concentration at this. He's gotten really bad at timekeeping. Spending so much of time in an effectively time-less place, he mostly seems to judge passing days by when it's crowded in the dreaming and when it's not.

He eventually gives up trying to figure out roundabout what date it is. It's summer, right? He's been cranking the AC. "Early September. What date is it?"

Whoa. Johnny stares at him, feeling a mixture of shock and pity. That's a hell of a long time to be stuck here -- and he doesn't know the date. Does he know how long it's been?

"June, uh..." Shit, what is the date? Hard to remember these things in a dream, even when he knows it's a dream. "Seventh, I think? Maybe eighth by now." He holds up his hands to show the lack of wristwatch. "Something like that."

Topher nods thoughtfully at this. Sounds about right, probably. He could've sworn it was still May but, whatever. It doesn't seem particularly important.

He can feel Johnny's surprise though. He doesn't seem to take great care in hiding his emotions, and since Topher is in his head, and specifically watching out for that sort of stuff, he can tell. "How about you?"

"Coming up on a month now," says Johnny. He rubs his hands over his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the press of time. "I guess that's not a lot of time, but... it feels like it is. Especially with everything that's happened." He counts off on his fingers, falling more easily into small talk as he gets more and more comfortable with company. "Made some allies, made some enemies, got tortured, had sex with a legitimate fucking god. Is that a normal schedule for the first few weeks? I'm just curious."

"Apart from the 'sex with a god' bit, it sounds pretty familiar, yeah," he answers with a nod. Never mind that Topher hasn't had sex with anyone, god or no, since he got here.

"Which god?" he asks conversationally. He feels like he should make sure he's got a full count of the people who can qualify as gods in this city.

"Bummer. That was the best part." Johnny can't believe he's just admitting this. But what the hell? They're already here.

"You know, I have no idea which," he says, missing Topher's meaning slightly. "Like, pantheon-wise. He claims he doesn't have a specialty. Whatever. I'm basically just taking his word for it anyway." He rubs the back of his neck, somewhat self-conscious. "He calls himself Gabriel."

Topher tenses imperceptibly. The fact that he involuntarily gives a physical response to an emotion while in the dreaming is in itself a bit of giveaway, really. On top of that, the surroundings seem to darken a little.

"He's not a god," he answers seriously, letting the juice box disappear. For a moment he contemplated just pretending he doesn't know him, but chances are he'll have an easier time convincing Johnny not to tell Gabe he met Topher than hope it just won't come up at some point.

"Um," says Johnny, definitely noticing the subtle changes in -- everything. "Oh."

Well this is nerve-wracking. He doesn't know why, really, but he didn't expect Topher to actually know Gabe, much less have... strong opinions about him. Maybe not good opinions, from the sound of it. He's not sure he's ready to hear someone talk shit about a guy he's just started feeling really good about -- and he's definitely not comfortable hearing Gabe's secrets from someone other than Gabe -- but he can't stop the question from coming. It was so obviously prompted, and it's so hard not to ask.

"Whhhhat is he?"

"An angel," Topher answers, but without the flare or excitement he'd usually have with an announcement like that. "Like, the actual Gabriel. Purveyor of whatever justice he sees fit, punisher of the wicked, or at least those he decides he doesn't like."

Suddenly a third figure appears next to them. A hunched up man, with huge, birdlike, rich brown wings, that seem to drift in an our of focus. He seems to have trouble keeping himself standing, weak and frightened, but definitely Gabriel. Just when Topher had taken him out of the cell at Romac, the only time Topher's seen the wings in person, and the second to last time he's seen Gabriel in person. The image only lasts a few seconds, though.

"What?" Johnny has a hard time not laughing at such an absurd idea -- like god wasn't bad enough -- but then it's hard not to ignore the name, he'd even had the thought before, in passing, "Gabriel like the archangel"... but why would Gabe lie about that? Isn't being a god better than being an angel? Did he think angel wasn't impressive enough for Johnny? As if Gabe would ever need to put effort into impressing him.

The image is something altogether different. The wings are enormous, brushing quite close to him, even as huddled as the figure is. Johnny jumps up, toppling some of the rocks as he backs out of the circle. Gabe looks... all wrong. It's not the wings, it's the fear. He looks really, really hurt. Johnny realizes he'd come to believe Gabriel couldn't be hurt, never felt fear. Seeing it so clearly, even for just a moment, is upsetting as hell.

It flickers out and he wheels on Topher, fists clenched, heart pounding. "What the fuck was THAT?" he demands.

Topher doesn't even move in reaction to Johnny's alarm. He's watching the image himself, with a twisted expression.

"That's what he looked like when I rescued him from the cell that Romac had locked him in," he answers, pulling his legs up into the seat, leaning back with a tired and bitter expression. He's not even bothering with pretense at the moment. "Unfortunately Gabe thought I'd been involved in putting him in there in the first place."

This is way too fucking much. Johnny doesn't even know what to say, just stares at Topher for a moment of heavy silence. He barely even knows what Romac is -- heard the name once or twice in passing. Nothing about apparent evil activities.

"What did they want with him?" he says coldly. "What did they do to him?"

"They thought it would contain him," he answers tiredly. It's not a subject he likes, but he doesn't actually have any problems spilling Gabriel's secrets at this point. Perhaps it might warn Johnny away from Gabriel. "The problem is that a guy like him isn't meant to be contained."

"Yeah, no shit," snaps Johnny, angry at how casually Topher's telling him this. This whole thing is making him uncomfortable. He takes another step back. "Why are you telling me this?"

Topher shrugs. 'Casual' might be the wrong description. But it's ancient history by now, an old wound that never quite healed, just dull pain. "You brought it up," he answers honestly. "Just thought you might like to know who you're dealing with."

"Bull. Shit." Johnny's gone well past courtesy now. "You brought this up. All I did was drop a name. I know who Gabe is without you giving me a clipshow."

He doesn't, really. Even now he knows that, but he's too busy being pissed off to really examine that.

"You say that like he's dangerous," he continues, knowing he shouldn't step further into this, knowing he shouldn't take the obvious bait, and taking it anyway. "But all you've shown me is that someone tried to hurt him. That doesn't tell me shit about 'who I'm dealing with.'"

Go on, Johnny, poke the hive.

Topher doesn't seem particularly affected by Johnny's anger. If he really wanted to, he could quite easily manipulate the atmosphere of the dream to change his mood. That's what he does, after all. Calm and soothe people in their dreams. Sometimes for their benefit, sometimes for his own.

When Johnny finishes, Topher smiles darkly. "I'll show you, then."

Then there's a quite dramatic scene change. Another one of Topher's memories, but this time Johnny's living it. Seeing it through Topher's eyes, feeling his feelings.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you." Johnny struggles underneath Gabriel's weight, his hands pinning him down on the couch.

"The TARDIS won't forgive you," he answers defiantly, but it's Topher's voice Johnny'll hear. Topher's panic and anger and betrayal that flows through his mind, the dull pain of already having been manhandled and having his mind violated. Gabriel's smile disappears, and he cuts a thin line across Topher's throat with a sharp blade. Topher closes his eyes, and in place of Gabriel, the many varieties of brutal deaths that might soon befall him flashing across the inside of his eyelids. "Try again."

"Please.." he answers weakly, opening his eyes and looking beggingly, pleadingly up at Gabriel. "Please," he repeats, his voice breaking.

"Shh." Gabriel's lips curve into a small smile, his face a poor imitation of someone offering comfort. His voice is soft, but his eyes are too bright, his glance too focused. "Shh, shh." He keeps his blade at Topher's neck for a moment, lifting his spare hand to tenderly push back Topher's hair from his forehead once more. "It'll be okay." He settles his hand back at Topher's shoulder, keeping him pinned, and removes the angel blade from his neck.

He smiles reassuringly as he stabs Topher in the side. The blade presses through layers of flesh and viscera until only the hilt is visible outside of Topher's body.

And there's nothing but pain, pain and pure terror and hopelessness. Not only the sharp, excruciating pain in his side, but in his throat as Topher's scream tears through it and echoes around him.

And then... finally. It fades away, and Topher and Johnny are back where they were a moment ago, Topher looking even more grim than he did before.

"NO-" Johnny's voice tears out of him, suddenly there again, where it had been taken away, replaced by Topher's. The word gives way into a scream; his knees buckle and he hits the floor, holding his head. The memory of the pain is still there; the fear, fear that wasn't his, fear he doesn't want, still burning through him.

He huddles, quivering, on the floor for moment. He realizes he's crying.

"That didn't happen," he hears himself saying. "That didn't fucking happen. I don't believe you."

Why should he, even? Who the fuck does this guy think he is, coming into his head and spoonfeeding him this shit? Johnny presses one hand down on the smooth, cold floor.

"You think you can just go inside my head, make me feel that... that bullshit story?!" He looks up at Topher, face red, fingers buzzing with the onset of panic. This isn't the first time it's happened: someone entering his head without asking, making him feel things he didn't want to feel. He feels violated. He's been made to fear one of the only people he's ever felt really safe with. He hates this dream. He wants to wake up. "You're a liar. Gabe wouldn't do that. He wouldn't!"

The floor cracks beneath his palm, just a little bit, hardly noticeable even to him.

If Johnny were calm and rational at this point, he might notice Topher takes no particular joy in this. No smugness or anything, nothing to indicate he's proud of himself for manufacturing an impressive bit of illusion and trickery. That's Gabe's business.

Even if Johnny doesn't believe him, doesn't want to believe him, hopefully it'll plant enough doubt that Johnny tries to look more critically at Gabriel. Try to see him for what he really is.

"That's what I thought, too," he answers grimly. "Got me nowhere good."

He does notice what Johnny's doing to the floor. He's particularly aware of any changes made to the dreamscape, even after that little trip down memory lane.

Johnny's much too aware of how much doubt's been planted -- in fact, that's the problem. He didn't need that doubt. Doubt has a way of growing, overtaking and strangling him, rewriting his beliefs and his securities. He doesn't need any more fucking doubt.

And what's so, so much worse, is the doubt that Johnny plants for himself: the realization that, this is still a dream, and the influence left by Zagreus is still there, and even beneath that influence lies Johnny himself, Johnny who is better than anyone at gaslighting himself. What makes him think Topher is telling the truth? What makes him think Topher is even real? His powers are so close to Zagreus' -- and what's to stop Zagreus from creating this trustworthy spectre who spins such fabulous, realistic yarns about someone he trusts? Of course, of course he would do this, find any excuse to drive them apart. Of course he would do it to himself. Johnny has never allowed himself to be comfortable.

"Fuck you," he snarls. "Get the fuck out of my head."

The crack becomes a fracture; the floor separates violently, a jagged gap crawling toward Topher. Johnny may hate this power but he'll use it if he has to.

Topher may not be able to follow his train of thought, but given how bad Johnny is at containing his emotions, he can follow some of the underlying emotions.

When the floor starts cracking, Topher calmly stands up. The chair disappears, and Topher walks towards the crack, observing it with calm detachment. "Is this your power, then? You can do this while awake, too?" he asks. It seems weirdly specific if he's able to manipulate the dreamspace in other ways.

Johnny pulls back, almost affronted that Topher isn't perturbed by his little show. This only convinces more than Topher's a product of his self-sabotaging subconscious. The complete lack of surprise. The lack of caution. Johnny can't surprise a reflection of himelf.

Johnny grits his teeth and ups the ante, rendng the floor further apart, such that Topher will either have to step back or fall into the crevice. The glass walls crack threateningly. Johnny doesn't bother answering the question.

Well, Topher doesn't move. If he were awake and this was happening, he might even be running in the opposite direction, possibly cursing in a flustered and defensive way. But this is his domain. The only people who could take him down in here are either on his side or thinks he's dead. And even if he was trapped in someone's head, he's got allies to rescue him.

And then the crevice reaches him, the ground coming apart underneath his feet. But his feet stay exactly where they were, now seemingly standing on thin air. Topher's expression hasn't changed from casual interest.

Johnny lets loose a strained roar of frustration, slamming both hands to the floor, trying to do anything to shake this asshole's balance, but he knows now it's useless. This isn't a fight; it's him railing against a shadow he can't touch.

So he tries something different. He gets up and he runs. Shatters the glass around him, cuts through the woods outside the room -- woods, why not? -- no idea where he's going, no matter he can manipulate now, just trees and distance.

Of course, after Johnny's been running even just a little while, he'll find himself right back where he started, the ground fully healed and Topher seemingly not having moved.

"You know what, you seem busy. How about I get out of your hair?" he suggests, then narrows his eyes a bit. "Or head, more accurately."

Johnny staggers to a halt and crashes down again, gasping for breath. No. No no no. This is bad, this is the kind of trap that gets set in the worst of his nightmares. He doesn't take Topher at his word, too ready to believe he's being toyed with again, a mouse caught under a cat's paw.

"Goddammit!" he yells, his voice raw with fear and anger. "Let me go! I want to wake up!"

"Well, that's not really under my control, but, yanno, good luck with that," he answers insincerely. And then he's gone. If Johnny's aware of that sort of thing, he'll feel that Topher's not just out of sight, but his presence is gone. Whether Johnny will wake up or if he'll just once again succumb to Zagreus's nightmare, well, that's up to his mind.

Johnny does wake up. Maybe it's self-induced, or a bodily reaction to the loss of contact, but in the next instant he's staring up at his ceiling, sweatsoaked, heart pounding. Again.

He sits up, rolls out of bed, moves on shaky legs to the kitchen, where he drinks two straight glasses of water, pausing to cough violently in between. He collapses partway, leaning his arms on the counter, resting his head. Images of Gabriel's eyes, looking dark and cold and so, so wrong, flash past, and he pushes himself back up, as though rejecting the countertop itself.

"Fuck," he mutters.

He could go to Gabriel right now. Ask him about Topher, about being an angel, about everything. Did Topher mention the TARDIS? Doesn't even make sense. Feels more like a particularly grim nightmare, all jumbled nonsense, the more he thinks about it.

No. He doesn't want to ask. If it was just lies in his head, then why repeat them? Why let Gabe know he's inventing such dark shit in his dreams?

If it was true...

There had to be a reason. Gabriel would have a good reason.

This is stupid. He pushes the thoughts away as best he can. Goes to the window and lights himself a cigarette -- takes him four tries to light it, his hands are trembling so bad. He sits and smokes. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

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[closed] I could be bounded in a nutshell & count myself as a king of infinite space, were it not...

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