Brick/Inception: Après Moi, le Deluge

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Après Moi, le Deluge (6/24)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 3,474
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.

Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3



SIX

The inside of Mal's house was clean and modern and perfectly put together. With its white leather couches, black accent furniture, and red throw pillows, Brendan felt like he was standing in a room that only existed on magazine covers. The hardwood floor left no secrets of his footsteps as he moved further into the room, unconsciously moving towards the fireplace where it was warmest. There were quite a few voices coming from the room to the left, and through the archway he could see a dining table and a hint of the kitchen. Eames was one of the voices, Mal another, and there were a couple of others he didn't recognize.

"This is quite the place," Brain marveled from behind him, stamping his feet on the welcome mat before shouldering the door closed. "You won't find houses like this back home."

"Not in this style at least," Brendan supplied, setting his bags down and rubbing his hands together. "It's about what I'd expect out of Mal."

"Glad to know you can read me so well, Mr. Frye."

Both of them jolted before turning towards the doorway where Mal was leaning, dressed in a man's shirt with the sleeves rolled up and paired with finely tailored black pants. Her hair was tied back, though not as tightly as he'd seen last time, a few loose curls falling around her face. Without the sunglasses, Brendan could look directly into her dark blue eyes. She seemed softer, more approachable, but he still had every intention of keeping his distance.

"You boys must be starved. Come and sit. I've made spaghetti."

Brendan glanced first at Brain who shrugged and then made his way through the archway, shying away from Mal's hand when she reached out to touch his shoulder. She didn't seem the least bit bothered, moving back around behind the kitchen island to turn down the heat on the stove. Brendan tried to stay focused on the people moving about the room towards their seats rather than on the enticing smell of the food, but it wasn't easy. He hadn't eaten in over a day, and it was causing his thoughts to blur around the edges. It made the conflict he was fighting with over being awake or being in a dream all the more difficult to define.

All he could do was sit in one of the unoccupied chairs and accept the steaming plate of spaghetti covered in meat sauce that Mal placed in front of him. He needed to get his thoughts together.

As he ate, the fog in his head dissipated a little bit, and he was able to take in the people around him. There was an older man to his right at one head of the table, a man whom Brendan was fairly sure was Mal's father. Brain was to his left and Mal at the other head of the table. Across from Brendan was Eames, looking just as delighted as ever, and next to Eames was someone Brendan didn't know at all. He was a young man, probably around Mal's age, blond and scrappy, a little too bright-eyed and a bit too handsome to be completely sane.

"You're not much for introductions, are you?" the old man mentioned, and when Brendan glanced back at him, the man was smiling.

"I would have thought Mal would have already shared with the rest of the class," Brendan replied after swallowing a mouthful of food and licking sauce off the corner of his lips.

"She says that she expects you to be a promising student."

Brendan looked back to his plate and took another bite.

"Well, if you need to speak with any of us, you can just call me Miles," Miles said. "You've already met Eames and my daughter, and that young man is my best student, Dominic Cobb."

Brendan took note but said nothing.

"Uh, he's Arthur, and I'm Sam," Brain supplied awkwardly when it was obvious Brendan was going to remain stoic.

"Are those your names then?" Miles queried a joyful skepticism in his voice.

"They are the names on our passports," Brain replied, chipper. He couldn't stumble over something that wasn't false after all.

"Considering we all already know your real name, Mr. Frye, don't you think the alias is a bit unnecessary?" Eames piped up, the cheeky bastard.

"You don't know his name," Brendan replied lightly, tilting his head towards Brain. "Hell, I don't even know his name."

Brain's brow furrowed momentarily, but then he just shrugged and sipped at the tall glass of water next to his plate.

"Oh," Brendan added, "and don't call me Mister."

"Well, don't bloody call me Mister either, Arthur," Eames replied, grinning as if he was having a marvelous time. That seemed to be Eames's default emotion.

"Actually, the use of an alias is probably for the best, even if we already know your name," Dominic mentioned, though he never paused in his devouring of Mal's (admittedly delicious) meal. He was clearly American by the accent, though Brendan couldn't decipher from where. "It helps you get used to the name so if we're in public and need to get your attention, you'll respond to it. Probably best that we don't go shouting your real name over crowds, considering these guys who are after you know it too."

Brendan blinked. "That's right."

"Ah, so you're smarter than you look," Eames teased and Brendan was tempted to jam his fork into the top of Eames's hand, but all he did was glare at him for the moment.

"Eames, Arthur is our guest. Do try not to antagonize him or his friend," Mal said, her voice lilting and soft. It made Brendan think of Emily's voice, softly crooning out her favorite song of the week while she got dressed, the melody sending him to sleep. The memory made his eyes water a little.

"So," Brendan said, swallowing a gulp of water, "tell me about this John Wells guy. What's his angle? What does he want exactly?"

"Sorry, but why exactly do you need to know that?" Eames asked.

"He's the reason I'm here," Brendan replied flatly. "The palookas who work for him are the ones that fogged me in the leg and took me hostage because they thought I was part of a sting brought about by the rest of you."

"Oh? Why is that? Pardon me, I haven't been filled in on all the details," Eames responded. Brendan could tell he was enjoying ruffling his feathers way too much.

"Eames," Mal warned.

"They were in dealings with the Pin," Brendan said softly, not raising his eyes from his plate as he pushed food around with his fork. "I ran with his gang for a bit. War broke out and everyone ended up in the can except for me. Maybe some of their stash went missing that night. The Pin had already lost a brick, so it's not impossible. I guess they thought I did it."

"Well, if not you then who did?" Cobb asked.

"I don't know, and I don't care," Brendan shrugged and took another bite before proceeding to talk with his mouth full. "They already know I didn't take it, but I did lift their PASIV device on the way out of their hostage situation. I knew they weren't going to just let me go since I knew what they were up to, so I figured I might as well get it out of their mitts. So what's the deal? Why'd they have it? Who's John Wells?"

"I think I can explain that," Miles said, setting aside his half eaten plate and taking a swallow of wine before continuing. "Mr. Wells was the one who started using my PASIV device in the military. My wife and I started out creating the device with the intent of helping those with mental disorders, wanting to attempt to see into the subconscious of human beings with our own eyes to find what is causing the distress. Wells came to me after reading about my research and asked to incorporate it into the military. I suppose I was naïve to think he would be using it to help soldiers."

"What did he do with it?" Brain asked. Brendan took another swallow of water and pretended not to notice Eames's foot lightly kicking his own as if to make sure he was paying attention.

"He started his own studies, started using it to train soldiers to feel nothing when killing each other, had hordes of them convinced they weren't even awake in reality."

"That's ridiculous," Brain scoffed. "How would they not be able to know they were awake?" The skepticism slid off of his face as soon as Brendan uncomfortably shifted in his chair. Brendan wondered if he was being obvious or if Brain just knew him well enough to read his tells.

"You'd be surprised how difficult it is to discern," Mal said. "It comes with the territory of our fantastic human minds being able to fill in the holes."

"Besides, if you think about it, dreams feel normal while you're in them. It's only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange," Cobb said, and again that too-interested brightness was in his eyes. Brendan had a feeling that it would get him in trouble later in life, but Mal seemed to look upon his passion with fondness. "You could dream you're riding a roller coaster on the moon and it makes sense at the time, but as soon as you awaken you realize that never could have happened. When the dream world created around you is set to be realistic, it's even harder to discern."

"Wells didn't seem to realize that allowing these soldiers to get lost in the space between the actual and the fictional would have detrimental effects. They were killing machines, but they were torturing themselves as well. Several of them killed themselves in the attempt to wake up," Miles said softly.

For once Eames's expression sobered. It was a blink-and-miss-it response, but Brendan caught it.

"So what happened?" Brendan asked, but his eyes didn't leave Eames's face until the other man met his gaze.

"Well, when the soldiers start killing themselves on the battlefield then there's clearly a problem. They dishonorably discharged him from his service. He stole a PASIV device however, and that was when the governments started hunting for him. It seems that various world leaders were convinced he could perform acts of terrorism with the device, which I suppose isn't completely incorrect considering it's currently being used to steal the thoughts of the enemy of the highest bidder. They also shut down my practice and had all of my prototypes destroyed."

"So the reason you want the PASIV I stole is because you don't have one," Brendan said.

"Oh, no, we have them," Mal assured him lightly. "Papa built the originals after all. We've just been more careful about it. That was why the blueprints were online."

"But then Wells found out about the blueprints and stole them so he could make more," Miles explained. "This mind crime he's committing has become quite the lucrative career for many a criminal. There's an underground network of them operating all over the world."

"We never wanted the device to be used for criminal activities," Mal said. "We know that we can't put a stop to it completely, but Wells is rising up as a kingpin and may start attempting more than corporate espionage very soon. He wants all of us killed so that no one against him is trained enough on the PASIV to stop him."

"Even if you do stop him, someone else will just rise up to take his place," Brendan said skeptically. "Seems kind of pointless if you ask me."

"You think that," Eames mentioned, "but, as I'm sure you're fairly well-versed in now, once the kingpin topples, it becomes a bit of a messy free-for-all for a tic. That kind of disorganization is really all that's needed for this rapidly growing crime ring to be caught up to by each country's respective governments and regulated. The ones in it for the money or the power or whatever won't last without someone calling the shots. All that's left are the creative ones. They may not be doing good deeds with their talents, but they also aren't trying to start wars or take over. See, the best and brightest work on the underneath, slip out unseen, and go about their business with a little extra in their pockets.

"Dreaming with the PASIV, in its essence, isn't about the money, after all. It's creation, plain and simple. They may be thieves, but they are also artists. Mind crime isn't going anywhere, we know that. We're just trying to shift the direction it will take, savvy?" Eames paused to take a drink and then added,"None of that matters to you, though, now does it? You're just trying to make sure you've got an arsenal to fight them off with should they find you."

"The last thing I need is to get involved in another war," Brendan mumbled.

Eames's smile was slightly tight when he remarked, "Pardon, but I don't think you know what war even is."

Considering it was Eames, Brendan was tempted to smart off, but considering the tone he'd used, he thought it was best to instead clarify. "Turf war."

"Nice to see you making friends," Brain whispered to Brendan.

"Close your head, Brain."

When dinner was done, Mal insisted she show them around the house. Neither of them were terribly interested in a tour, being worn down from the long flight, but if they were going to be staying it was probably best to know their way around.

"You've each got a room at the end of the hall here," she explained once they'd climbed the steps to the second floor. "You can decide which you want, but they're both basically the same. My bedroom is here at the other end of the hall, and Eames's is there in the middle, right across from the bathroom. Now, I know you're Americans, so it's a bit different than your typical ones, but I'm sure you'll adjust. This is the only room in the house with a bath actually in it, and there are two other toilets downstairs. Please don't use the bidet like a toilet."

One of the bedrooms overlooked the terrace so Brendan picked it, not necessarily because he gave a damn about the view but because he thought it could perhaps be useful in case he needed to escape the building. It wasn't a horrific jump down because of the part of the house built in next to it with a slightly lower roof. He could make the climb fairly easily. Brain seemed more interested in the room where he could pull down the shades and close the curtains and cocoon himself in his separate world anyway.

"There are extra blankets if you need them. We keep it fairly warm, but the chill outside is rather bad right now. You're responsible for cleaning up after yourself. In the morning we'll start explaining the ins and outs of the PASIV device and put it into practice, but for the rest of the evening you're free to do as you will."

"Thanks," Brendan mumbled and didn't have time to move away again before Mal placed her warm palm on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you got involved in all of this," she said gently. "I know you don't trust any of us yet, but I promise you that we mean you no harm."

"So, where do Miles and Cobb sleep?" Brendan asked rather than acknowledge her statement.

"Papa sleeps at home, and Dom has an apartment close to the University. It will just be the four of us living here during the night," she explained, letting Brendan's icy response slide right off of her shoulders. "Oh, and don't worry. There are locks on the doors, so I promise that Mr. Eames won't antagonize you while you're trying to rest."

"He seems like the type that could pick a lock."

"Well, I'll make sure that he behaves, I promise. I know Eames can be a bit of a nuisance sometimes, but I guarantee you'll find no one who is better at what he does. Papa says he's a regular prodigy."

Brendan set his bags down inside the room, adjusted his glasses. "I'll judge that for myself tomorrow."

The room itself was lovely, though as plain as any other guest room might be. There was a watercolor painting hanging above the admittedly comfortable bed, a trunk at the end of the bed for storage. There was a dresser as well with a mirror hung behind it, and both an alarm clock and a lamp on each bedside table. The duvet was a cool gray, the sheets underneath a darker shade of such, and they were soft and recently washed. Brendan liked it. He'd never been one for flashiness.

As Brendan started unpacking his things, he turned to see Brain hovering just outside the doorway, watching. "Hey, um… earlier when… when they were talking about the soldiers who didn't know they were awake…"

"If you're asking whether I'm okay or not, the answer is that I'm fine," Brendan said, picking up a few shirts and stuffing them into a drawer.

"I'm asking if you know whether or not you're awake."

Brendan paused, wet his lips, and said, "I do… It just takes a minute to be sure sometimes. The dreams really do feel real when you're in them."

"What if it gets harder to keep track?"

"I don't… Look, for now I'm all right… I won't let myself get all goofy and pull the Dutch act, all right? All of these plugs here have been using the device and they seem like they got their heads about them more or less. I won't… I won't get lost."

Brain sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "It's not my business what you do, Brendan. You're going to do this whether I think it's a good idea or not because you're thick as what all, and we both know that. I'm just going to say right now that you shouldn't make promises you aren't sure you can keep. If you're saying that you won't get lost down in all that mess then you'd better mean it. I already told you that I don't want your body on my name, you got that?"

"Brain, I'll be fine," Brendan assured softly. "I've been through worse scrapes than this and come out all right."

"People died during those scrapes, Brendan. I just want to make sure it's not you."

"It won't be me."

"Do you swear?"

"I swear. I've got you to op for me after all. I haven't got anything to worry about."

"I think you put way too much faith in my abilities."

"Not faith," Brendan said, mirroring Mal's sentiment from before. "I'm choosing my best options."

Brain grinned, leaning forward a little. "I wouldn't put my trust in your picks, Brendan. I think it's a well-deserved rumor back in San Clemente that anyone who associates with you is a bit on the insane side. Even if we are capable of giving you good advice, it's not as if you're going to stick to it, you know? That's not how you play the game. It's just who you are but it makes you pretty dangerous."

"It hasn't killed me yet."

"That doesn't mean it won't."

"Those are the chances we take."

Brain smirked. "Chances, my ass. Don't even pretend like any of this was left up to fate and coincidence. You know better than anyone that there's always a tale, always a reason behind whatever happens. Anyone who doesn't think so is a sap."

"See, that's why you're the best option. You get how it works," Brendan said, resuming his unpacking.

"I said I wouldn't put my trust in your picks, but I never said they were bad ones," Brain reminded. "You absolutely promise that you'll be okay?"

"Nothing has stopped me yet, so I doubt this will."

"Brendan… you're not invincible, you know."

Brendan looked up to respond to that but found Brain was already retreating off to his room. Brendan didn't get the chance to tell him that this as something he was well aware of. In fact, it was something that absolutely terrified him, being as un-invincible as he actually was.

He couldn't even keep himself out of Laura's web when he'd known she was dangerous from the get go.

He couldn't even save Emily when he'd known she needed help.

No, he was entirely breakable. He knew because he'd already been broken.

also available at AO3