Dream a little dream of me

[Brayden Smith]

Fresh off a successful game night, Bray felt extremely uplifted and optimistic. Everyone had a great time; the most unexpected person won (Niall) and there was some controversy over how he did it, but overall nobody came to blows over the card game and in the end they all agreed that Niall deserved the grand prize, which was to not have to clean up. It surprised—and amused—him how seriously some people took the game, though. Ken even pulled him over to one side to ask what the next game was, and when Bray told him that he didn't know, Ken requested that when he did know, to let him know so that he could appropriately research it and read the rules.

Ah, Bray thought, Ken was like him—he liked to be prepared.

As he was clearing up with the others, he heard a certain sour somebody claiming that he might as well have cheated too, and used his powers to sway the dice rolls. Bray couldn't help smiling to himself. He saw Rhys taking Raf's game pieces throughout the evening, as though he had every right to have them—and Raf offered up no resistance, looking happy to be there even though half the time he didn't know what he was doing. Well, at least he had fun. And Rhys did too, at points, Bray was sure, despite his grumbling!

But throughout the evening, Bray was distracted thinking about his past, shared lives with Jack. The evening of the game night there was too much going on to properly dive into their conversation but Bray did what Brays did best—think. He thought about it as they were cleaning up, thought about it as he laid in bed with Jack and he thought about it the morning after and throughout the day. The next evening presented an opportunity for him to be alone with Jack briefly; Ken had taken Niall out to the courtyard in search of privacy, the two young lovers were over at Bray's apartment—Bray told Raf he could pick out a teacup to start his new collection—and Marge...

Marge was laying on the couch with a hot towel over her eyes, still suffering from a horrible hangover from the night before.

Bray slipped a hand up Jack's arm. Dinner was simmering on the stove, garlic bread was baking in the oven and for the first time in what felt like years, they had no prying eyes on them. "Hey." He pulled Jack closer by the arm, smiling. "I've been thinking about those visions. Do you think you're ready to give them another try tonight?"

Jack Ripley

[Jack Ripley]

Game night had definitely been a thing. It was no raging party from his 20s but it was fun in a different sort of way. Jack admittedly never took the games very seriously, even when it was just himself and Brayden. It was never about the games themselves for him; it was about having time with Brayden. And he sort of had time with him, even if not nearly as often as he liked. Mostly, he just had to deal with looking at him or watching him and wishing he would stop not being close to him but Brayden insisted.

It didn't help, though. Jack was still distracted by him and he was pretty sure Brayden was just as distracted by him.

And now... Now, Jack leaned into Brayden and kissed him on the forehead as he was drawn in close. Despite everything, it was so easy to be with Brayden. Or maybe because of everything. He smiled peacefully, up until the mention of the visions.

Honestly, they scared Jack. He didn't know that he liked how it felt, having all those... memories hitting him like a hammer. Plus, he felt like he physically assaulted Brayden with them the last time it happened, what with him getting sick. But maybe that had more to do with the... other thing. Jack's father.

If he had visions, then Jack couldn't exactly sit on his abilities. And there must have been a reason they were suppressed for so long. It took him literally swallowing magical fairy fizz for him to awaken to his powers. Niall used his powers without even trying! And Rhys had unnerving control over his powers but of course he would, he knew he had them his entire life. But the point was--they all used their powers a lot sooner than Jack did.

So... that had to mean... something, did it not?

With a sigh, he rested his cheek against Brayden's temple.

"I think I have to be ready or we're going to end up fucked, and not in the good way."

[Brayden Smith]

"No, not... definitely not in a good way," Bray sighed as he melted into Jack. They sort of just propped each other up for a moment as Bray's arms wrapped tightly around Jack's waist and he leaned into him. Those affectionate kisses to strange but endearing places were harder to come by lately, with so many people around who needed their time and energy. Most of them could take care of themselves but the ones who seemed to need attention needed a lot of attention. And Bray was too soft-hearted to tell them to buzz off while he stole a couple of hours alone with Jack, knowing that everyone's lives were disrupted at the moment, not only his own.

Still, he wondered often when it would all end. Or—where. Would it end when they got rid of Keith? When they confronted Jack's father? What was the end point here? Bray wished he knew, or that someone could tell him. From what Rhys said, the Fallen King wanted to resurrect his kingdom but also that he wanted to reclaim his sons. That meant he wanted to take them and... there didn't seem to be any way to negotiate with someone like that, was there?

"We can do it while the others are having dinner." They could serve themselves, and dinner would take them at least an hour with everyone chatting and still getting to know one another. Niall and Raf could talk up a storm on their own; together they were something of an unstoppable force. Bray pulled away slowly. "I'll put the food out. Do you want to go to the bedroom and start your meditation? I'll let Marge know what we're doing, in case we need someone to pull us out of the visions."

[Jack Ripley]

"Yeah..."

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Brayden. He should start meditating now, to get the process underway. He cast a longing look at the place where his alcohol used to be. Brayden had locked it all away, lest their resident addict get his hands on it. But he could use a little liquid courage right about now. Instead, he kissed Brayden once more, gave his hand a squeeze and then forced himself to go to the bedroom.

Sitting in the middle of his enormous bed, legs crossed, hands on his knees, he closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, counting. One, two, three... Another deep breath... He needed to clear his mind. But what came next, after that? How did he... tap into those memories? Visions? How did he direct his mind forward or backward?

He opened his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh before dropping down onto his back on the bed.

[Brayden Smith]

"Scream if you need me," drawled Marge as she lifted a corner of the towel so that she could look at Bray. "I'll be here wishing I was dead. No big." She replaced the towel.

Smiling, but somehow not exactly reassured by her attitude towards this undertaking, Bray went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. The food had been left out with a note telling everyone not to wait for him and Jack. They could serve themselves; he already made the salad and had the bread warming in the oven.

Bray entered in time to see Jack falling onto the bed in frustration, a sight that made him laugh softly. He scrambled into bed too and crawled the hundred meters over to the center of the mattress where Jack was. (Okay, not that drastic, but the bed really was extravagantly large!)

"Are you okay?" He cupped Jack's face with one hand, sitting cross-legged beside him. "Did you manage to clear your mind?"

[Jack Ripley]

"No," Jack said as he turned to look up at Brayden. "Help me."

He was no good at this. And part of it was because he wasn't sure he wanted to be good at it. This, coming from a nothing street brat that managed to get into and graduate from Harvard with dual degrees and a pretty intelligent head on his shoulders. Admittedly, his interest in the psychological part was selfish but it did teach him quite a lot.

But now? Now he was lying on his back in bed, trying to clear his mind. Without sitting up--maybe lying down would help--he closed his eyes again. More breaths, concentrating on the beat of his heart, the flow of his blood.

"How do I access the visions, B?"

[Brayden Smith]

Jack didn't look in any way, shape or form relaxed so Bray slowly laid down beside him, curling up against him for warmth and a measure of comfort and familiarity. Just like when they slept, he wrapped his arms around Jack and pulled himself closer, twining a leg with his, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. Bedtime was the only time they had to be this close, and for Bray it was very relaxing and very intimate to lay with him, even without doing anything naughty.

"Breathe. Focus on the sound of my voice. Block out everything else. Imagine a book lying on a table. Imagine yourself walking up to that book, slowly. Slowly... We're not in a hurry, right? We just want to see what the book is about but we're not trying to read all of it right now. Now imagine flipping open that book, just the cover... Now you're turning a page... It's the first page... Do you see anything?"

[Jack Ripley]

Better.

Much better.

Now Jack could actually relax.

He took in a deep breath again. Focusing on Brayden, that was never a problem. So he followed along, blocking out every other thing except Brayden's voice. A book appeared in his imagination, a thick book, with a nice leather cover and fancy words gilded in gold leaf. He stepped forward and touched the book. He could feel the leather under his fingertips, the gilded letters.

Opening it, he found a white blank page.

"...no... just..."

As he watched the page, though, words began to pop up, in an old fashioned looking script. It figured that his imagination would summon up something beautiful and totally his aesthetic. When he touched the page, the words began to shiver and shake and then they slid up his fingertips and up his arm.

"Oh... oh shit."

The words were becoming visual as they seeped into his head.

"I see... you. But you're younger."

[Brayden Smith]

Bray didn't actually expect Jack to get anywhere his first time summoning a vision. This was difficult; it was magic of a high order that most fae couldn't even fathom. For Jack to unleash so much power the first time really spoke to his heritage; it was an old family that he belonged to, and one with an impressive magical lineage.

But as expected of a Harvard graduate, Jack stepped up to the plate and hit a home run. Even Bray couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement when Jack began to speak. "Hold it," he whispered, so as not to break Jack's concentration. "Hold the vision, I'm going to join you right now. Hold it steady, like you're... pausing a TV show. Let everything stay just the way it is... for a moment..."

He closed his eyes. At first there was darkness, but slowly it began to fade. A picture emerged of a young boy strolling slowly through a dingy alleyway at night. It looked like a younger version of himself but the clothes were wrong; they were like something out of the 1940s. And he was dirty, obviously a vagrant or homeless, with holes patched over in different colored cloth. Yet, he was smiling and whistling a jaunty, soft tune as he walked.

He turned into a dimly lit doorway and knocked softly on it a few times, still smiling. Slowly the door creaked open; a pair of eyes peeped out. "Hallo Jackie boy," young Bray whispered, winking. "Not too late for a visit, I 'ope!"

[Jack Ripley]

"...okay."

He held his breath for a moment, like if he breathed, the scene unfolding in his vision would move on without Brayden around to join him. And then... The young Brayden lookalike continued, humming, confident, nothing at all like Brayden that Jack currently knew. He knocked at a door and Jack waited curiously as somebody edged a door partway open to peek out. Jackie?

That almost made him laugh; what were the chances of his name being the same across different lives? And the world he was seeing... it didn't look magical, which somewhat disappointed him. He had been half hoping to see the fairy realm. Did they live all their past lives on Earth? No... because he remembered many of the visions that didn't, like the one where he had been watching Brayden marry somebody else. That had definitely been filled with a sense of... magic, and odd architecture.

But this wasn't that far back, was it? Maybe just a life ahead of this one...

He watched the vision unfold with a million thoughts on his mind and he was surprised they didn't pull him away from what he was seeing. But they didn't; it was like he had to see the vision through now that he'd accessed it. And it must be... important, if it was in the book... yes?

The Jackie that opened the door did appear to look like him and again, he thought it somewhat amusing that they always looked the same in every life, too. What was this? What did it mean?

"What're you doing here?" said the Jackie at the door, standing super tall and super straight and super stiff as he closed the door behind him and stood with his back to the door. "You shouldn't be here!"

[Brayden Smith]

Past-Bray pressed his cheek to the door and splayed his fingers flat against it as though he could somehow connect to the person on the other side. The Jackie inside couldn't see his expression but it was filled with wistfulness and pain. That jaunty smile had faded; for a moment he looked so full of longing that it struck something deep within Bray, too, recalling how much it hurt to be rejected in just such a way by his past lovers.

Only this time it was past-Jack rejecting him, and he knew that it had to hurt a hundred thousand times more than anything a past lover had ever done to him.

"Come on, Jackie," Past-Bray whispered pleadingly, still pressed against the door, eyes closed. "Just five minutes? I couldn't hardly get a glimpse of you with that old battleaxe guarding you day and night. I just... want to see you. You don't have to let me in. Let me see you."

[Jack Ripley]

What are you doing? Jack wanted to shake the young Jackie by the shoulders. He looked right proper, too. Like a little prince with a carefully cared for coif of dark curls and fancy looking clothing, as if he'd come home from some kind of... social function. Did his past self want to protect Brayden too? Or was he really unhappy to see him? It was hard to tell by vision alone.

"That battleaxe is my father," said Jackie indignantly. But his fingers curled inward. Probably pretty hard for him to turn down that pleading tone. And he didn't, because a moment later, he opened the door again.

"And you know you shouldn't be here." He peered down the street, first one way and then the other. But after a moment, he moved back to allow the younger Brayden inside, perhaps finding it less dangerous than having Brayden begging at his door.

[Brayden Smith]

Past-Bray laughed softly at the indignant tone, but he didn't appear sorry. He did however put that carefree expression back up as he heard the door unlocking and his smile was bright as anything when Jackie not only opened the door but allowed him space to enter—which he did, with alacrity.

Inside, Bray could see the opulence and it reminded him strongly of Jack's rooms now. The trappings and furnishings were of an older style, but they definitely screamed upper class. Tasteful. Rich. And Past-Bray standing there in his rags seemed awfully out of place but he didn't even seem to notice it himself. His eyes were glued to Jackie, and the smile softened into one of genuine pleasure.

"You look a treat," he said admiringly, even though his gaze hadn't even flicked past Jackie's face. "Another fancy supper?" Past-Bray stepped toward him and reached out to lightly brush his fingertips over Jackie's sleeve. His hand dipped; the fingertips brushed the back of Jackie's hand.

This Past-Bray was clearly more... forward than present Bray, he could clearly say. Out of the corner of his eye, Bray caught something strangely out of place. On the far table by the closed windows with the rich purple velvet curtains, there was a tiny metal square. What was that doing there? Bray tried to focus on it as the scene unfolded; Past-Bray was holding Jackie's hand now, stepping closer, still smiling in that soft, soft way. "I missed you something awful, Jackie."

[Jack Ripley]

Is this where it came from? Jack's unreasonable love of old, beautiful, fashionable things? Of rich colors and huge four poster beds with soft bedding and clothes that fit well, in colors and patterns only a brave man could pull off? It never made sense, given where current Jack came from. But he loved all these things, even now. Was it run-off from the most previous life...?

"I was meeting my fiancée's family..." Jackie said softly. He looked so young. Late teens, very early twenties. And he was already marrying... And apparently... not Brayden. His heart hurt. But of course, this was a different time. Men couldn't love other men in the open, not back then.

Past-Brayden was so brazen, though. Look at him. Stepping closer, hand in Jackie's hand. And Jackie taking it. His eyes were so soft and shining when they looked at Past-Brayden. Was... that how he looked at Brayden now? Jack was too wrapped up in the moment to even notice that Brayden was no longer paying attention to the scene unfolding before them.

"We can't keep meeting like this," said Jackie. "Soon, I'll have a wife and..." He stopped talking, though, because his lips were on Past-Brayden's and he was kissing him with fervor and need, as if he couldn't stand the thought of a wife--neither could current Jack--and wanted more than anything to make that moment with his apparent lover last forever.

"Brayden," current Jack whispered, "I don't know if I want to keep watching this..."

[Brayden Smith]

There was a word on the metal square. It was no bigger than the size of one of Birdy Bee Cafe's cookies, but he saw the writing on it growing clearer the more he squinted at it: armed.

What did that mean?

Past-Bray uttered a sound so jarring that it snapped him back to the present. Past. To the vision. It was a sound Bray never thought possible coming from him or even an iteration of him—the sound of so much pain and anguish and need and stark emotion that it shocked him. He watched past-Bray clinging to Jackie as they kissed fiercely, bodies fused, stumbling back towards the four-poster bed with its gilt bedposts and fancy silk sheets.

That—this Past-Bray was definitely very, very bold. Or very desperate, because Bray heard the part about a fiancee and wife and—children. But they wouldn't be children Jackie shared with Bray. This felt like a good-bye. It was a good-bye.

"Let's go." He knew that what happened next was not for their eyes, even though this was them in a different life. And maybe Bray didn't want to watch himself being pushed to the brink of desperation like this, holding on to the man he loved even though he knew that he could never truly have him. "Close the book, Jack, and open your eyes."