dream → 003
Dream effects: A sense of safety and gratitude at the end
Warnings: none
The cell they kept him in was dark. It was both lightproof and soundproof-- an isolation chamber, a seven-by-seven box that he spent his days and nights in. Not that he knew when it was day or night, or what day it was, or how long he'd been there. One of his many skills was in keeping track of time, but after a few days he just... couldn't be sure. All that he knew was that he'd been here for a long, long time. Years, maybe. God only knew. It felt like civilizations could have risen and fallen in the time that he'd spent there in the dark.
His back was in a corner, his fingers tracing over the lines of cracks in the concrete floor. His body ached from the twin assaults of abuse and neglect; his captors had never had much of a generous hand with meals, and recently they had been even less so. Water was a rare and precious commodity, and one that he would have killed over if given half the chance. He’d tried to escape recently, and his captors hadn’t taken well to it; they had decided that a little starvation and dehydration and an especially long session with an interrogator would take care of whatever fighting spirit he had left. They were making an example of him, making sure all the other prisoners knew: this is what happens when you try to escape.
A shaft of light suddenly cut through the darkness as the door was opened.
Liquid raised one hand to shield his eyes; after being in complete darkness for so long, exposure to any light was blinding. The arm that covered his face was painfully thin for a man of Liquid’s stature.
"Are you sure this is him?"
American voices. Liquid had never been so glad in his entire life to hear American voices.
"I'm sure." The voice was familiar, though perhaps a little younger and a bit less rough from cigarettes.
He lowered his arm slightly and saw a silhouette in the doorway; an American around Liquid's height, broad-shouldered and strong, dressed in US gear. He took a few steps into the room until he was standing right in front of Liquid, and knelt down.
"You look like hell." His eyes were sweeping over the British soldier's starved and battered body, taking stock of his injuries. His hand reached back, and Liquid flinched; he'd learned to expect blows. The American said nothing in response to it, but when his hand came forward again there was a canteen in it, and Liquid could hear the sound of water inside. It was held out to him, and Liquid grabbed it and all but tore the lid off, drinking it down with greedy gulps as though it might be taken from him. He'd downed half of it before he stopped and glanced back to the American; water was precious in the desert and, parched as he was, if the squad needed it--
"We have more."
That was all the confirmation Liquid needed, and he drained the rest of the canteen within moments after that. For a little while, the burning of his throat was lessened and he remembered how good it felt not to be thirsty. His tongue didn't feel like it took up all of his mouth anymore.
His eyes had gotten used to the light by then, as well, so when he looked up at the other soldier he could see his face clearly. Green eyes, brown hair, stubble-- but what transfixed him was the fact that, aside from those changes in coloration, the face was practically identical to his own. It was like looking into a mirror. There were the same angles, the same cheekbones and lips and shape of the eyes, the same nose and strong chin.
"...brother?"
His voice was low and hoarse; he almost didn't recognize it.
"Yeah, I guess I am. Didn't really believe it until now."
Somehow, it was hard for Liquid to work up the seething rage he'd always thought he'd have upon meeting his hated brother. It was hard to hate the man who'd given him water and was wrapping his arm around his shoulder to help him stand. He leaned against the American, using him as a crutch, and ignored the pain from all of his ill-tended injuries.
"Why are you here?"
Snake started leading him out of the cell and into the hall. "I'm not going to leave my brother in there."
Liquid said nothing in reply. He couldn't think of anything that he could say.
There were a few other soldiers who'd accompanied Snake; they spoke to him, but Liquid didn't listen to their conversation. He was focusing on walking, on putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to figure out what it was that was going on here. It was a complicated ravel and if he pulled on one end, it only made all the others more tangled.
They led him outside; it was night, and the air was cool and dry. There was a helicopter waiting for them, and Snake pulled him inside, bearing more than a little of his weight by this point, and controlled him when his legs buckled under him like hinges so that he didn't just fall to the deck.
“Our medic got killed a while back. You’ll have to make do with me.”
Liquid was propped into a sitting position only by the grace of his brother’s body; he was leaning heavily against the other soldier, head resting on his shoulder. He felt the prick of a needle sliding into a vein in his elbow, then rough hands winding bandages around his injuries, taping his ribs, setting the broken bones in his fingers. Snake’s hands were rough with calluses but had a gentle touch, a paradox in pairs. He felt the helicopter lurch as it took off, the sound of rotary blades scything through the air filling his ears; Snake’s arm went around his shoulders to keep him steady. Liquid felt wind on his face.
He felt safe.
---
The feed shut off automatically when the dream was finished; Liquid remained asleep in the hospital bed, the Dreamberry sitting on the table beside it.
Warnings: none
The cell they kept him in was dark. It was both lightproof and soundproof-- an isolation chamber, a seven-by-seven box that he spent his days and nights in. Not that he knew when it was day or night, or what day it was, or how long he'd been there. One of his many skills was in keeping track of time, but after a few days he just... couldn't be sure. All that he knew was that he'd been here for a long, long time. Years, maybe. God only knew. It felt like civilizations could have risen and fallen in the time that he'd spent there in the dark.
His back was in a corner, his fingers tracing over the lines of cracks in the concrete floor. His body ached from the twin assaults of abuse and neglect; his captors had never had much of a generous hand with meals, and recently they had been even less so. Water was a rare and precious commodity, and one that he would have killed over if given half the chance. He’d tried to escape recently, and his captors hadn’t taken well to it; they had decided that a little starvation and dehydration and an especially long session with an interrogator would take care of whatever fighting spirit he had left. They were making an example of him, making sure all the other prisoners knew: this is what happens when you try to escape.
A shaft of light suddenly cut through the darkness as the door was opened.
Liquid raised one hand to shield his eyes; after being in complete darkness for so long, exposure to any light was blinding. The arm that covered his face was painfully thin for a man of Liquid’s stature.
"Are you sure this is him?"
American voices. Liquid had never been so glad in his entire life to hear American voices.
"I'm sure." The voice was familiar, though perhaps a little younger and a bit less rough from cigarettes.
He lowered his arm slightly and saw a silhouette in the doorway; an American around Liquid's height, broad-shouldered and strong, dressed in US gear. He took a few steps into the room until he was standing right in front of Liquid, and knelt down.
"You look like hell." His eyes were sweeping over the British soldier's starved and battered body, taking stock of his injuries. His hand reached back, and Liquid flinched; he'd learned to expect blows. The American said nothing in response to it, but when his hand came forward again there was a canteen in it, and Liquid could hear the sound of water inside. It was held out to him, and Liquid grabbed it and all but tore the lid off, drinking it down with greedy gulps as though it might be taken from him. He'd downed half of it before he stopped and glanced back to the American; water was precious in the desert and, parched as he was, if the squad needed it--
"We have more."
That was all the confirmation Liquid needed, and he drained the rest of the canteen within moments after that. For a little while, the burning of his throat was lessened and he remembered how good it felt not to be thirsty. His tongue didn't feel like it took up all of his mouth anymore.
His eyes had gotten used to the light by then, as well, so when he looked up at the other soldier he could see his face clearly. Green eyes, brown hair, stubble-- but what transfixed him was the fact that, aside from those changes in coloration, the face was practically identical to his own. It was like looking into a mirror. There were the same angles, the same cheekbones and lips and shape of the eyes, the same nose and strong chin.
"...brother?"
His voice was low and hoarse; he almost didn't recognize it.
"Yeah, I guess I am. Didn't really believe it until now."
Somehow, it was hard for Liquid to work up the seething rage he'd always thought he'd have upon meeting his hated brother. It was hard to hate the man who'd given him water and was wrapping his arm around his shoulder to help him stand. He leaned against the American, using him as a crutch, and ignored the pain from all of his ill-tended injuries.
"Why are you here?"
Snake started leading him out of the cell and into the hall. "I'm not going to leave my brother in there."
Liquid said nothing in reply. He couldn't think of anything that he could say.
There were a few other soldiers who'd accompanied Snake; they spoke to him, but Liquid didn't listen to their conversation. He was focusing on walking, on putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to figure out what it was that was going on here. It was a complicated ravel and if he pulled on one end, it only made all the others more tangled.
They led him outside; it was night, and the air was cool and dry. There was a helicopter waiting for them, and Snake pulled him inside, bearing more than a little of his weight by this point, and controlled him when his legs buckled under him like hinges so that he didn't just fall to the deck.
“Our medic got killed a while back. You’ll have to make do with me.”
Liquid was propped into a sitting position only by the grace of his brother’s body; he was leaning heavily against the other soldier, head resting on his shoulder. He felt the prick of a needle sliding into a vein in his elbow, then rough hands winding bandages around his injuries, taping his ribs, setting the broken bones in his fingers. Snake’s hands were rough with calluses but had a gentle touch, a paradox in pairs. He felt the helicopter lurch as it took off, the sound of rotary blades scything through the air filling his ears; Snake’s arm went around his shoulders to keep him steady. Liquid felt wind on his face.
He felt safe.
---
The feed shut off automatically when the dream was finished; Liquid remained asleep in the hospital bed, the Dreamberry sitting on the table beside it.