Dreams & Whispers(Michael)
Title Dreams & Whispers
Author: miriel
Character: Michael
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Michael (02x18)
Written For: littlemimm, who wanted something on Michael as an individual.
Author's Note: This is a short piece, written as a 'filler' until the originally designated author wraps her fic up. Hope you like it ^_^
It’s not the screams within Michael’s nightmares that wake him. That’s what everyone assumes, because that’s the part he mentions. Doctor Kate spends hours with him discussing the monsters in his dreams, the terror he sees in the mirror.
“It’s normal,” she reassures him. “It’s to be expected, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”
His third night in isolation (Hell, as far as he can remember it could very well be his third night alive), he lies awake and tries not to slip back into the dreams. He wonders if he should be worried. Because there are screams in his nightmares, he hadn’t lied about that, but they don’t come from him - sounds of pain, sounds of fear, and even sounds of death. He is frightened to realize that he knows, somehow, how to sense death in a man’s scream. He wonders how he learned such a thing, but it’s not something he can ask.
He remembers death, both in his dreams and in his waking mind. It, unlike so many things, seems an old and familiar friend; one whom he has known for as long as he can remember. He has vague memories of legends told about the bringers of death, the givers of life, and how a great god melded them together into a form capable of walking among the stars. In these stories, whispered in the corners of his mind, there is always something missing. It is the same something that is missing from his dreams, although far less tangible.
He wants to ask, but he’s afraid. Because he can hear fear in the voices around him; it’s an instinctive knowledge as sure as he would recognize the sound of death. So he keeps the question close, buries it just a little more every time he talks to Doctor Kate so that she won’t hear the lie in his voice. She’d probably just think he was crazy, anyway, and he doesn’t want to have to leave. He’s not sure he’d do any better anywhere else, and at least here people hide their fear.
Every day that he’s awake, things get a little bit better, and he feels a little bit more at home. But he can’t help but wonder, just the littlest bit…
If normal people dream in screams, in terrors and chaos, then why does he dream in silence? That is what it is, a great yawning emptiness where sound should be; where instead there is but the hollow feeling of screams as they echo off his skin, but never in his ears.
~ Finis ~
Author: miriel
Character: Michael
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Michael (02x18)
Written For: littlemimm, who wanted something on Michael as an individual.
Author's Note: This is a short piece, written as a 'filler' until the originally designated author wraps her fic up. Hope you like it ^_^
It’s not the screams within Michael’s nightmares that wake him. That’s what everyone assumes, because that’s the part he mentions. Doctor Kate spends hours with him discussing the monsters in his dreams, the terror he sees in the mirror.
“It’s normal,” she reassures him. “It’s to be expected, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”
His third night in isolation (Hell, as far as he can remember it could very well be his third night alive), he lies awake and tries not to slip back into the dreams. He wonders if he should be worried. Because there are screams in his nightmares, he hadn’t lied about that, but they don’t come from him - sounds of pain, sounds of fear, and even sounds of death. He is frightened to realize that he knows, somehow, how to sense death in a man’s scream. He wonders how he learned such a thing, but it’s not something he can ask.
He remembers death, both in his dreams and in his waking mind. It, unlike so many things, seems an old and familiar friend; one whom he has known for as long as he can remember. He has vague memories of legends told about the bringers of death, the givers of life, and how a great god melded them together into a form capable of walking among the stars. In these stories, whispered in the corners of his mind, there is always something missing. It is the same something that is missing from his dreams, although far less tangible.
He wants to ask, but he’s afraid. Because he can hear fear in the voices around him; it’s an instinctive knowledge as sure as he would recognize the sound of death. So he keeps the question close, buries it just a little more every time he talks to Doctor Kate so that she won’t hear the lie in his voice. She’d probably just think he was crazy, anyway, and he doesn’t want to have to leave. He’s not sure he’d do any better anywhere else, and at least here people hide their fear.
Every day that he’s awake, things get a little bit better, and he feels a little bit more at home. But he can’t help but wonder, just the littlest bit…
If normal people dream in screams, in terrors and chaos, then why does he dream in silence? That is what it is, a great yawning emptiness where sound should be; where instead there is but the hollow feeling of screams as they echo off his skin, but never in his ears.
~ Finis ~