dreams [1/1]
the emotions, at least, had to have been real. [bashou/buson]
pokemon; drama/romance; pg13; 1300 words
They’re chasing Raikou again, heading for the place on the horizon where dark clouds gather and lightning scars the sky. Sebastian’s technology has failed them thus far, compromised by those wayward obnoxious brats, and so they’ve decided that it’s time to try things the old fashioned way.
“This can’t possibly be a good idea,” Bashou says. “You know what we’re up against. Raikou will hardly go down without a fight, Buson.” He’s got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his instincts are almost always correct.
But Buson won’t listen to him.
“Don’t worry so much, darling,” he says with a grin, maneuvering their aircraft into an empty clearing. He runs a hand through his blond hair in an attempt at looking badass. “I’ve got this all under control. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Call me ‘darling’ again and I will not hesitate to hurt you.”
Buson just laughs and adjusts his sunglasses. Bashou still intimidates him, surely, but over the years he’s grown used to the silver-haired man’s empty threats.
They step out of the aircraft and into the clearing, Buson with confidence in his stride and Bashou with a hint of apprehension. They do not use the machine. Instead, they simply wait and watch. Raikou will come; that much is certain. It is only a matter of time.
When lightning suddenly strikes a few feet away from where they stand, a spear of blinding light thrown by the gods, neither of them flinch. And when Raikou emerges from the cover of the trees, muscles rippling dangerously beneath its fur, Buson’s lips simply twist into a smirk.
He steps forward and stares the beast in the eyes - a standoff of sorts, each of them daring the other to make the first move. Bashou’s eyes narrow. He can feel something (not worry, of course) gnawing at him from the inside out, setting his teeth on edge.
Buson’s hand reaches around and closes around the hilt of his tranquilizer gun, but not fast enough. Raikou lunges forward with a snarl, powerful jaws gaping wide, and before Buson can even draw his weapon the creature’s deadly sharp claws have slashed across his chest.
Time slows to a halt.
Buson wavers on his feet for what feels like eternity, and then collapses to the ground without a sound.
Raikou’s triumphant roar echoes through the forest, shaking Bashou from his state of shocked disbelief.
“No,” he whispers. This isn’t real; it can’t be. It’s all some kind of sick joke that Buson is playing on him. That has to be it. There’s no other explanation for why his partner is lying prone on the ground, as still and lifeless as the grave.
(But he knows deep down that this is no childish prank.)
He hardly feels himself running forward, and he hardly notices Raikou’s angry gaze upon him. All that matters is Buson.
Bashou kneels at his partner’s side, and a wave of fresh nausea washes over him. Four long gashes have torn the blond man’s uniform to ribbons and gouged deep wounds in his torso, all of which are bleeding with frightening intensity. The crimson blood is already dripping to the ground, staining the soft grass red.
Buson’s face is alarmingly pale. His sunglasses lie mangled and broken beside him.
“I guess you were right to be careful,” he whispers. His blue eyes are distant, and Bashou can almost see him drifting away. “I’ve always been a bit too hasty… Always jumping into the action without thinking ahead. You told me it would come back to bite me in the ass someday…”
“No,” Bashou murmurs, like a broken record. He pulls Buson’s head into his lap and pushes the blond bangs from his pallid face. His hands are shaking badly, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his veins.
“I never thought it would end like this,” Buson whispers. Blood is bubbling grotesquely from his lips. “I always thought I’d have more time… People to meet, places to see, you know how it is.” He pauses, and Bashou can see his light dimming. “Don’t miss me too much, darling.”
Bashou’s heart is aching, as if someone is trying to rip it from his chest. “Don’t call me that,” he murmurs.
Buson smiles.
And fades away.
-x-
He wakes with a gasp. The sheets are twisted around him, as constricting as a straightjacket. His heart is racing, pounding out a fast-paced rhythm in his chest, and a cold sweat has broken out along his forehead. He pulls himself into the sitting position slowly, trying to calm his uncontrollable trembling. He brushes a lank strand of silver hair from his eyes and sighs heavily, putting his head in his hands.
A dream. That’s all it had been.
He wants to laugh at his own foolishness, but he’s too shaken by the dream to do so. It had all felt so real. Buson’s voice, the ozone smell of lightning, Raikou’s vicious roar, the feel of warm blood on his fingertips… And the emotions. Those, at least, couldn’t have been a dream.
In the cot across from his, Buson stirs from his sleep.
“Hn? What’s goin’ on?” he mutters, his voice thick with drowsiness.
“… Nothing,” Bashou says tersely, in a tone that clearly says go back to sleep you dolt.
Instead of listening to the hidden message, the blond man swings himself out of the cot with a yawn. “I was only half-asleep, y’know,” he says. “I heard you talking in your sleep. What was all that about?”
“… What did I say?” Bashou asks. His voice is steady, but he can feel himself ready to snap at any moment.
“Not much… You just said ‘no’ a few times, and then near the end you said ‘not him’. But you seemed really… distressed.” In the semidarkness, Bashou can almost see his partner’s embarrassed expression. “I don’t know. I was just wondering what kind of fucked up dream you could be having to make you that upset.”
Bashou stares at him for a moment, then looks away. “It’s not important,” he says. “Just go back to sleep.”
“Wha…? Like hell I will!” Buson exclaims. “Not if you’re going to be all mysterious like that!”
Bashou says nothing - he simply disentangles himself from the sheets, gets out of the cot, and heads straight for the cockpit.
“Hey, what are you doing!?” Buson demands.
“I’m taking us back to HQ, obviously.”
“Why? Did the boss call?”
“No.”
“Then why the hell are we leaving?”
“Because…” Here, Bashou pauses. What can he possibly tell him? That he had a dream where he died upon the claws of the very creature they’ve been hunting, and he’s worried it might come true?
“… I have my reasons,” he finishes lamely, and fiddles with the controls to prepare the aircraft for takeoff. “If the boss calls us out for abandoning a mission, I’ll take the blame for it, alright? So just… Either go back to sleep or make yourself useful.”
There is silence for a few moments, and then Buson flops down in the copilot’s seat with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” he mutters. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but… I trust you. Plus, I’m getting really sick of this damn forest. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
-x-
They’ve been flying for nearly a half hour when Bashou suddenly speaks up.
“Hey,” he says, nudging his lazy copilot in the arm, never taking his eyes off of the sky.
“Hmm?”
“You know how I always tell you to stop being such a reckless dumbass?”
He can feel Buson’s grin without seeing it. “Yeah, you tell me that a lot.”
“… Well I mean it. Promise me you’ll stop rushing into things without thinking them through.”
Buson is confused by his partner’s sudden concern, this much is obvious. But he takes it all in stride.
“Sure thing, darling,” he teases. “Anything for you."
pokemon; drama/romance; pg13; 1300 words
They’re chasing Raikou again, heading for the place on the horizon where dark clouds gather and lightning scars the sky. Sebastian’s technology has failed them thus far, compromised by those wayward obnoxious brats, and so they’ve decided that it’s time to try things the old fashioned way.
“This can’t possibly be a good idea,” Bashou says. “You know what we’re up against. Raikou will hardly go down without a fight, Buson.” He’s got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his instincts are almost always correct.
But Buson won’t listen to him.
“Don’t worry so much, darling,” he says with a grin, maneuvering their aircraft into an empty clearing. He runs a hand through his blond hair in an attempt at looking badass. “I’ve got this all under control. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Call me ‘darling’ again and I will not hesitate to hurt you.”
Buson just laughs and adjusts his sunglasses. Bashou still intimidates him, surely, but over the years he’s grown used to the silver-haired man’s empty threats.
They step out of the aircraft and into the clearing, Buson with confidence in his stride and Bashou with a hint of apprehension. They do not use the machine. Instead, they simply wait and watch. Raikou will come; that much is certain. It is only a matter of time.
When lightning suddenly strikes a few feet away from where they stand, a spear of blinding light thrown by the gods, neither of them flinch. And when Raikou emerges from the cover of the trees, muscles rippling dangerously beneath its fur, Buson’s lips simply twist into a smirk.
He steps forward and stares the beast in the eyes - a standoff of sorts, each of them daring the other to make the first move. Bashou’s eyes narrow. He can feel something (not worry, of course) gnawing at him from the inside out, setting his teeth on edge.
Buson’s hand reaches around and closes around the hilt of his tranquilizer gun, but not fast enough. Raikou lunges forward with a snarl, powerful jaws gaping wide, and before Buson can even draw his weapon the creature’s deadly sharp claws have slashed across his chest.
Time slows to a halt.
Buson wavers on his feet for what feels like eternity, and then collapses to the ground without a sound.
Raikou’s triumphant roar echoes through the forest, shaking Bashou from his state of shocked disbelief.
“No,” he whispers. This isn’t real; it can’t be. It’s all some kind of sick joke that Buson is playing on him. That has to be it. There’s no other explanation for why his partner is lying prone on the ground, as still and lifeless as the grave.
(But he knows deep down that this is no childish prank.)
He hardly feels himself running forward, and he hardly notices Raikou’s angry gaze upon him. All that matters is Buson.
Bashou kneels at his partner’s side, and a wave of fresh nausea washes over him. Four long gashes have torn the blond man’s uniform to ribbons and gouged deep wounds in his torso, all of which are bleeding with frightening intensity. The crimson blood is already dripping to the ground, staining the soft grass red.
Buson’s face is alarmingly pale. His sunglasses lie mangled and broken beside him.
“I guess you were right to be careful,” he whispers. His blue eyes are distant, and Bashou can almost see him drifting away. “I’ve always been a bit too hasty… Always jumping into the action without thinking ahead. You told me it would come back to bite me in the ass someday…”
“No,” Bashou murmurs, like a broken record. He pulls Buson’s head into his lap and pushes the blond bangs from his pallid face. His hands are shaking badly, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his veins.
“I never thought it would end like this,” Buson whispers. Blood is bubbling grotesquely from his lips. “I always thought I’d have more time… People to meet, places to see, you know how it is.” He pauses, and Bashou can see his light dimming. “Don’t miss me too much, darling.”
Bashou’s heart is aching, as if someone is trying to rip it from his chest. “Don’t call me that,” he murmurs.
Buson smiles.
And fades away.
-x-
He wakes with a gasp. The sheets are twisted around him, as constricting as a straightjacket. His heart is racing, pounding out a fast-paced rhythm in his chest, and a cold sweat has broken out along his forehead. He pulls himself into the sitting position slowly, trying to calm his uncontrollable trembling. He brushes a lank strand of silver hair from his eyes and sighs heavily, putting his head in his hands.
A dream. That’s all it had been.
He wants to laugh at his own foolishness, but he’s too shaken by the dream to do so. It had all felt so real. Buson’s voice, the ozone smell of lightning, Raikou’s vicious roar, the feel of warm blood on his fingertips… And the emotions. Those, at least, couldn’t have been a dream.
In the cot across from his, Buson stirs from his sleep.
“Hn? What’s goin’ on?” he mutters, his voice thick with drowsiness.
“… Nothing,” Bashou says tersely, in a tone that clearly says go back to sleep you dolt.
Instead of listening to the hidden message, the blond man swings himself out of the cot with a yawn. “I was only half-asleep, y’know,” he says. “I heard you talking in your sleep. What was all that about?”
“… What did I say?” Bashou asks. His voice is steady, but he can feel himself ready to snap at any moment.
“Not much… You just said ‘no’ a few times, and then near the end you said ‘not him’. But you seemed really… distressed.” In the semidarkness, Bashou can almost see his partner’s embarrassed expression. “I don’t know. I was just wondering what kind of fucked up dream you could be having to make you that upset.”
Bashou stares at him for a moment, then looks away. “It’s not important,” he says. “Just go back to sleep.”
“Wha…? Like hell I will!” Buson exclaims. “Not if you’re going to be all mysterious like that!”
Bashou says nothing - he simply disentangles himself from the sheets, gets out of the cot, and heads straight for the cockpit.
“Hey, what are you doing!?” Buson demands.
“I’m taking us back to HQ, obviously.”
“Why? Did the boss call?”
“No.”
“Then why the hell are we leaving?”
“Because…” Here, Bashou pauses. What can he possibly tell him? That he had a dream where he died upon the claws of the very creature they’ve been hunting, and he’s worried it might come true?
“… I have my reasons,” he finishes lamely, and fiddles with the controls to prepare the aircraft for takeoff. “If the boss calls us out for abandoning a mission, I’ll take the blame for it, alright? So just… Either go back to sleep or make yourself useful.”
There is silence for a few moments, and then Buson flops down in the copilot’s seat with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” he mutters. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but… I trust you. Plus, I’m getting really sick of this damn forest. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
-x-
They’ve been flying for nearly a half hour when Bashou suddenly speaks up.
“Hey,” he says, nudging his lazy copilot in the arm, never taking his eyes off of the sky.
“Hmm?”
“You know how I always tell you to stop being such a reckless dumbass?”
He can feel Buson’s grin without seeing it. “Yeah, you tell me that a lot.”
“… Well I mean it. Promise me you’ll stop rushing into things without thinking them through.”
Buson is confused by his partner’s sudden concern, this much is obvious. But he takes it all in stride.
“Sure thing, darling,” he teases. “Anything for you."