sweet dreams
Title: Sweet Dreams
Author: presea
Character/Fandom: Emil Castagnier [d2] / Tales of Symphonia 2
Prompt: 07. disposable;
Word Count: 918
Summary: A typical night in Emil's dreams.
Author Notes/Warnings: None, really. I wrote most of this under the influence of caffeine. I also switched tenses twice, then decided present tense fit better somehow.
Sweet Dreams
In Emil’s dreams, he is someone else. Sometimes he is two people. Sometimes he’s a third, a watcher through the wall, someone who can’t be seen. Some people fly in their dreams, but all Emil can do is die. There are no heroic actions, only murder. Blood and fire and murder. Like when he saw the flag above the summit at Hakonesia Peak. He remembered Palmacosta burning, woodsmoke and the scent of coaled flesh choking his nostrils. It made him sick to his stomach, and once, he’d jumped out of his tent to hurl.
But waking up is worse. Because when he closes his eyes to sleep again, he can see the cold dead eyes of his parents staring up at him. He tried so hard, so hard. He tried to save them. No, he couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t do anything. Never does anything... He’s such a failure. So he lets the dreams go on in quiet torment, seeing someone else’s memories. That’s what it feels like, sometimes. He’s not sure, despite what his friends have told him. How could he be anyone else but Emil? Ratatosk Mode or not, it’s just power, and his friends’ assumptions that he’s too weak to stand up for himself are not helping his self-esteem.
At least in his dreams he doesn’t have to be himself. Tonight he is traveling with Richter to look for an ancient ring that will summon a spirit no one’s ever heard of. There’s no word of the Vanguard or hidden agendas, just watching the tough redhead fend off monsters easily, and sometimes remarking on how grim he looks. That’s right. Richter doesn’t smile much. But he’s happy to be in his company anyway, though something nags at the back of his mind that maybe they’re in more danger than it seems.
“Stay behind me,” Richter warns.
“Or what?” the blonde replies, earning a solemn look in return. “You should really try to relax and enjoy this trip. There haven’t been any monsters or people around for years.”
“I don’t trust it. And I don’t trust the townspeople’s testimony.” He hacks a thick bush in half to create a path.
“You don’t trust much, do you? But you trust me.”
The redhead stops but doesn’t turn around, his axe lowering for a moment. “… I suppose.” And then he goes back to forging the way through the underbrush.
Dreams have a tendency to wander, like thoughts, and soon Emil finds himself in a new place. It’s not one he recognizes. The trees seem purplish, and the lake in front of him pulses fluorescent green. He studies it before someone grabs his hand. Emil gasps, startled, and he’s quickly admonished by his companion. “Emil,” Marta whines. “Don’t you like me?”
“M-Marta, I…”
“Well, don’t you? I’ve been trying really hard! Why don’t you like me?” Her voice sharpens to a squeal. “You hate me! You hate me just like you hate everyone else!”
“Wait!” He calls out to her fleeing form, but it’s too late. The forest has swallowed her up. “I don’t hate everyone! Especially you! Please, come back!” He steps forward, but just as suddenly he’s shoved back. He finds himself staring into his own face- one twisted with anger, his eyes burning a deep red.
Emil is terrified. Like usual.
“Who… who are you?”
“Are you always this slow on the uptake? I’m you.” Yet there is a tremble in his words, like he doesn’t believe them.
“You can’t be me! You’re… you’re different.”
“A stunning observation. Really. I should give you a prize.”
“I don’t get it.” His voice cracks. The power emanating from the other Emil is sickening and familiar, and he thinks of that soldier from the Church of Martel he nearly beat to death with his fists. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. Keep to that story or I’ll have to take over for good.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense!”
Something snaps in the other Emil’s gaze. Suddenly he’s lunging forward, strong fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic and yanking the boy to his feet. “Listen to me, you shivering little insect. You’re nothing but disposable as long as I’m here, got it? If you screw up, you’re gone.”
“Let go!” Emil pleads. Those fingers feel more real than anything else he’s dreamt tonight. “Let me go!”
The boy with the red eyes looks like he’s about to say something else. He hesitates, then his nose wrinkles in disgust and he tosses Emil aside. Emil snaps wide awake as soon as he hits the ground and finds himself staring at the wall of the tent, gasping for air in a choke-hold that doesn’t exist. His heart pounds so hard that he’s sure Marta can hear it wherever she is.
“Mm… Emil?” comes the sleepy question. Looks like Marta isn’t too far; she’s managed to sneak into his tent. Again. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. It was just the wind.” He frees a hand from his pillow and stares at it to make sure it’s still his own. He’s so bothered by the dream that he can’t even tell Marta to sleep somewhere else. For once her presence isn’t obnoxious. It’s almost… nice, to have something normal and unchanged curled up around him when his dreams betray.
Emil closes his eyes and breathes deeply. This time, he dreams of a darkness so deep and warm that he never wants to leave.
Author: presea
Character/Fandom: Emil Castagnier [d2] / Tales of Symphonia 2
Prompt: 07. disposable;
Word Count: 918
Summary: A typical night in Emil's dreams.
Author Notes/Warnings: None, really. I wrote most of this under the influence of caffeine. I also switched tenses twice, then decided present tense fit better somehow.
Sweet Dreams
In Emil’s dreams, he is someone else. Sometimes he is two people. Sometimes he’s a third, a watcher through the wall, someone who can’t be seen. Some people fly in their dreams, but all Emil can do is die. There are no heroic actions, only murder. Blood and fire and murder. Like when he saw the flag above the summit at Hakonesia Peak. He remembered Palmacosta burning, woodsmoke and the scent of coaled flesh choking his nostrils. It made him sick to his stomach, and once, he’d jumped out of his tent to hurl.
But waking up is worse. Because when he closes his eyes to sleep again, he can see the cold dead eyes of his parents staring up at him. He tried so hard, so hard. He tried to save them. No, he couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t do anything. Never does anything... He’s such a failure. So he lets the dreams go on in quiet torment, seeing someone else’s memories. That’s what it feels like, sometimes. He’s not sure, despite what his friends have told him. How could he be anyone else but Emil? Ratatosk Mode or not, it’s just power, and his friends’ assumptions that he’s too weak to stand up for himself are not helping his self-esteem.
At least in his dreams he doesn’t have to be himself. Tonight he is traveling with Richter to look for an ancient ring that will summon a spirit no one’s ever heard of. There’s no word of the Vanguard or hidden agendas, just watching the tough redhead fend off monsters easily, and sometimes remarking on how grim he looks. That’s right. Richter doesn’t smile much. But he’s happy to be in his company anyway, though something nags at the back of his mind that maybe they’re in more danger than it seems.
“Stay behind me,” Richter warns.
“Or what?” the blonde replies, earning a solemn look in return. “You should really try to relax and enjoy this trip. There haven’t been any monsters or people around for years.”
“I don’t trust it. And I don’t trust the townspeople’s testimony.” He hacks a thick bush in half to create a path.
“You don’t trust much, do you? But you trust me.”
The redhead stops but doesn’t turn around, his axe lowering for a moment. “… I suppose.” And then he goes back to forging the way through the underbrush.
Dreams have a tendency to wander, like thoughts, and soon Emil finds himself in a new place. It’s not one he recognizes. The trees seem purplish, and the lake in front of him pulses fluorescent green. He studies it before someone grabs his hand. Emil gasps, startled, and he’s quickly admonished by his companion. “Emil,” Marta whines. “Don’t you like me?”
“M-Marta, I…”
“Well, don’t you? I’ve been trying really hard! Why don’t you like me?” Her voice sharpens to a squeal. “You hate me! You hate me just like you hate everyone else!”
“Wait!” He calls out to her fleeing form, but it’s too late. The forest has swallowed her up. “I don’t hate everyone! Especially you! Please, come back!” He steps forward, but just as suddenly he’s shoved back. He finds himself staring into his own face- one twisted with anger, his eyes burning a deep red.
Emil is terrified. Like usual.
“Who… who are you?”
“Are you always this slow on the uptake? I’m you.” Yet there is a tremble in his words, like he doesn’t believe them.
“You can’t be me! You’re… you’re different.”
“A stunning observation. Really. I should give you a prize.”
“I don’t get it.” His voice cracks. The power emanating from the other Emil is sickening and familiar, and he thinks of that soldier from the Church of Martel he nearly beat to death with his fists. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. Keep to that story or I’ll have to take over for good.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense!”
Something snaps in the other Emil’s gaze. Suddenly he’s lunging forward, strong fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic and yanking the boy to his feet. “Listen to me, you shivering little insect. You’re nothing but disposable as long as I’m here, got it? If you screw up, you’re gone.”
“Let go!” Emil pleads. Those fingers feel more real than anything else he’s dreamt tonight. “Let me go!”
The boy with the red eyes looks like he’s about to say something else. He hesitates, then his nose wrinkles in disgust and he tosses Emil aside. Emil snaps wide awake as soon as he hits the ground and finds himself staring at the wall of the tent, gasping for air in a choke-hold that doesn’t exist. His heart pounds so hard that he’s sure Marta can hear it wherever she is.
“Mm… Emil?” comes the sleepy question. Looks like Marta isn’t too far; she’s managed to sneak into his tent. Again. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. It was just the wind.” He frees a hand from his pillow and stares at it to make sure it’s still his own. He’s so bothered by the dream that he can’t even tell Marta to sleep somewhere else. For once her presence isn’t obnoxious. It’s almost… nice, to have something normal and unchanged curled up around him when his dreams betray.
Emil closes his eyes and breathes deeply. This time, he dreams of a darkness so deep and warm that he never wants to leave.