Dream a little dream of me

[Brayden Smith]

Rateably.

Bray scrawled it into the notepad with shaking hands, the writing spidery and jittery and all over the place. But he had to write it down before either of them forgot. He was quaking, stunned by the vision of his own death. His past self's death, so young and so full of hope and anxiety for the future. Prince Brayden was going to be king. He was supposed to be coronated, to have that wild party, to slip King Jack wine under the table because just like this Brayden, he was terrible at holding his alcohol.

Tears blurred Bray's vision. Such a young life lost in the blink of an eye. Anyone's life being taken that way would have been distressing but to watch himself dying... And then to see Jack running to him and calling his name, frantically begging him to come back while Keith sent others to their deaths to protect him. Something... something about that struck Bray as being odd. The men Keith sent, their eyes were blank—like the hollow beasts. Blank.

Sliding clumsily off the bed, Bray clung to Jack as he had in the vision and he buried his face into Jack's shoulder. His heart was raw, broken at the violent end of the vision. He died. He had to die for the next reincarnation to begin but... he didn't die of old age. He died young. Young, both times, both visions started with them being young men. Young Brayden being rejected as Jack closed the door on their relationship, young prince Brayden cut down in the heat of battle.

"Jack." He lifted his head. The way Jack screamed coming out of the vision still rang in his ears, adding to his distress. "Jack I'm sorry. I didn't—" He never meant to put them through so much anguish. But Bray was beginning to wonder if... he died in every life. Young. If in every life, he left Jack behind while he moved on to the next, waiting for his lover to join him, to taste happiness before something happened to him again.

If that was the loop that trapped them, with no way to escape...

[Jack Ripley]

Blood.

He just kept seeing it.

Blood sprays.

People he loved, people he killed.

Logically, he knew he didn't kill Brayden. He didn't kill... anyone. But the vision was so close to the nightmares that they were blending into one. A future where he did kill somebody, a future where the blood spattering on his face and clothes really happened because it was him doing the killing.

And before he even realized he was doing it, he was ugly-sobbing. Brayden was right next to him but it felt like he kept losing him. How many times did it happen? Every time? Did they skip it this time when Brayden died but the fixer... fixed him? Or was it just predestined every single time? His ears felt like they were ringing, still hearing the sound of horns and gnashing teeth and the cries of dying and wounded fae.

He said before he didn't like the past; he really, really didn't like it now. What was the purpose of having visions, what was the purpose of past lives, if they were all going to play out in the same ugly way? Was his vision of a pretty future just wishful, not truth? Or was it something that happened right before the ugly? It felt like his visions kept directing him to the moment when he lost Brayden.

"I don't," he said shakily, "want to do that again."

[Brayden Smith]

"Jack." Bray held him and stroked his hair and pressed soft kisses to his temple, letting him ride out the tidal waves of emotion. He was on the verge of tears too, but not ones of self-pity, though he felt hollow and horrible at the vision of himself dying. It was mostly just the tragedy of it all. The way that he and Jack, in these two lifetimes—and possibly more—suffered through so much pain and loss. The emotions rocked him to the core too but... somebody had to be strong here. And when Jack couldn't be, Bray was here to hold him up.

"I'm sorry." He kissed Jack again, kissed away the tears, the sadness, the horror of it all. But he couldn't promise that Jack would never have to go through it again because this was important. This was more important than either of them now. Something told Bray that if they didn't see this through, the cycle would continue and they might not have another chance to break it. This... couldn't go on forever. This constant cycle of losing one another, finding each other again only to experience that harrowing loss, it couldn't go on.

"I'm sorry." Bray could only whisper it again and again, knowing what had to be done, what he had to ask of Jack. Not right now, perhaps, but... eventually. They were given clues in those visions in the form of nonsensical words. This wasn't something they could ignore or turn their backs on because it was hard or heartbreaking. Nobody wanted to watch themselves die. Nobody wanted to watch themselves go through any of that.

But not right now. Not tonight. Bray closed his eyes and when he did, all he saw was himself laying slumped over, in his blood-stained robes, and Jack crying over his prone form. He took in a shuddering breath and held Jack tighter. Not tonight.

[Jack Ripley]

Everybody said it: they wanted to be happy. And all of Jack's life--his whole life--he just wanted to be happy. Most of the time, honestly, he was quite miserable. But he feigned indifference, he feigned confidence, he feigned a kind of satisfaction in his life that he didn't really feel. It was a substitution for happiness, but it was the kind of attitude nobody really associated with misery. Jack seemed quite satisfied and confident and therefore, Jack--for all intents and purposes--was happy.

But really, he wasn't. It started at home, with his bitter mother and her abusive partners. Jack took the brunt of their abuse and she accused him of being a liar when he told her the first time, the second time. After that, he stopped telling her anything. She knew and he knew she knew. She just didn't care. And as much as he tried to pretend that didn't hurt, it hurt. It burrowed down into the core of him, the need to prove that he was just fine without all the things he really needed. Like simple human kindness, the comfort of touch, the need to be loved and admired.

Probably all the people he loved, he really just loved for loving him. He liked people quickly, attached himself to them quickly. He was a terrible and incorrigible flirt. Playing hard to get was fun, making somebody chase after him for once felt good. Making somebody prove to him they were good enough satisfied something inside of him.

But he wasn't sure he was ever really all that happy. With anyone, anywhere. He had become so used to faking it until he made it that he almost believed the lies himself. And he told himself he was happy in bumfuck Ohio with his teaching job. That he was in love with somebody, that they loved him. And it was some kind of happy, he supposed. Even if deep inside, he still felt restless, seeking out something he had no name for.

And then there was Brayden. Oh, how it just clicked without him even realizing it at first. Pretty man. Quiet man. Shy man. Instantly, he was attracted. But he had been instantly attracted before. There was nothing new about this one, he said to himself. But oh, how he kept thinking about him. It drove him a special kind of wild but that was fine, it was okay. Jack was used to games, he could play them all day if Brayden wanted to play coy.

But the problem was, he really genuinely liked him. And that meant a hard pass. A hard no. He was on a relationship hiatus. No relationships. No death. At least, that was the idea. Funny-sad how that ended up working out.

Happiness, though, felt true for once. It was a thousand little bubbles inside his chest when Brayden so much as looked at him, let alone smiled at him. He knew... he could care deeply for him and he knew what trouble that spelled for him. Stay away, he tried to warn him. And in the end, he didn't. And he died.

Jack felt... so selfish as he sat there with what felt like a ceaseless sense of despair in his gut, a twist in his heart, and heat behind his eyes and down his throat and stinging his nose. He was so in love it almost hurt physically. And somehow, Brayden's feelings for him were just as strong, palpable, like something he could pluck from the air. He never doubted Brayden's feelings for him. Nor did he doubt his own for Brayden.

But he wanted so badly for it to just be the happiness part. When they were laughing together, when they were close and content and everything felt like it was right in the world. When every part of them fit like it was made to fit there. Brayden slotted right into him, melted into him whenever he was close and it felt right. It felt... so right.

He felt like he could hardly breathe through the tight band around his chest and he buried himself in Brayden, held him close and tight and secure.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my entire life. I don't..." He felt his voice break a little and the heat in his eyes sprang anew. "I don't think I can go through something like that again. I can't lose you. I can't."

[Brayden Smith]

"I love you too, Jack." They were made for one another. Their souls were parts of a whole, to an extent that even Bray didn't think they could realize or begin to understand. Something was trying to come in between them. Some... force or some person. Something had gone horribly wrong the first time—their first life together—and either his or Jack's soul refused to bend to the machinations of man or fate. One of them, or both of them, set this up. He knew it.

He knew it.

This wasn't to torment them. It wasn't to put them through a thousand cycles of pain. It was to stop that outsider from interfering in what was meant to be. That was why there was a clue in every vision, that was why they were given the abilities they had in this lifetime, to make things right. Jack and Bray together was right, and it was so right that if they couldn't be together to the end of their lives, then they had to start over again just to give them a chance to be together.

They needed to go back again to the first life—to the end of the book, that was listing everything in reverse chronological order. The first vision was probably one lifetime ago, so it made sense that the last page would be their first life, and everything that happened there would pave the way for every life afterwards.

Bray lowered his head; he didn't know how to tell Jack that they had to do this one more time. He couldn't, not when Jack held him so tightly that he could barely breathe. If he ever doubted his importance—he never did—then this was proof positive that he held the court of Jack's heart. To Jack, he was the king—and to Bray, Jack was the king. Just like in the vision.

"I'm right here, Jack. Look. Look at me." He tried to lift Jack's head. "See? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." Bray touched his forehead to Jack's, letting his eyes drift half-closed. Blurrily he could still see Jack, the color of his eyes, the long lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

[Jack Ripley]

He looked. Inside, his heart shivered and shook and he probably looked like a goddamned mess with reddened eyes and a crumpled up face. But he looked at Brayden when he bid him to, eye to eye. True, Brayden was here. He was alive. Jack lifted a hand to his hair, to brush Brayden's hair from his face, fingertips grazing the upper shell of his ear.

How could anybody love somebody as much as he loved Brayden? It was a connection far beyond his understanding. When he first saw him, he felt attraction, of course. But he also felt a deep sense of familiarity, of family, of home. Love. He always sort of scoffed at the idea of love at first sight. Lust, yes. Attraction, yes. But love? Love was more complicated than that. Yet it was so simple.

Nothing in this world felt more simple than the two of them together. It was when he felt most like himself, like there was nothing to hide, that they could say anything, do anything. Being with Brayden was being home.

"I know." He closed his eyes for a long moment. He knew Brayden loved him. He knew he was here. He wasn't going anywhere. It was just those visions. They felt ominous. Frightening. He thought they must have lived a thousand beautiful lives together but now he questioned that. Now he was afraid that something was happening between them, pulling them apart.

Jack kissed Brayden, his thumb running over Brayden's jaw. An affectionate kiss, a loving kiss. And afterward, he pulled Brayden into an embrace, resting his chin on Brayden's shoulder.

"I know," he said again. He whispered, "I love you, B... I'm not going to let some curse break us."

[Brayden Smith]

"It's going to be okay, Jack." Poor Jack looked distraught and it was never Bray's intention to drive him to the brink of distress. He felt so guilty; if he hadn't asked Jack to revisit those past lives, none of this wouldn't have happened. And yet, a part of him knew that it had to be done. They had to at least know what the visions were all about, didn't they?

He was sorry, though. So, so sorry. He had never seen Jack like this, not even at the ridge that night when they touched upon Jack's sordid past—and when Keith attacked them. This was a new level of helplessness, beyond anything Keith had driven them to. And Keith being in that last vision... Well, there was a whole lot to unpack.

"I love you too." Bray could say that a thousand times and never get tired of it. He held on to Jack, a hand at the back of his head stroking through his hair, the other curled around the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, Bray breathed in slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to get his heart to stop hammering in his chest. The door opened behind them but he didn't look up for a long moment, not until he felt a hand on top of his head and Marge's voice nearby.

"Are you guys okay? I heard a shout." She knelt beside them. "What happened?"

[Jack Ripley]

Jack heard the door open and with it, his eyes opened, to see Marge enter the room. She rushed over, looking rightly concerned as she placed a hand atop Brayden's head. Reluctantly, Jack moved back, though he kept an arm around Brayden, like if he stopped touching him for an instant, he would die on him.

"Yeah," he said, knee jerk response. Then shook his head. It was probably obvious to her that nothing was okay with them right now. If not for the shout, then definitely for the way they were huddled against the side of the bed, clinging to each other like they just found out one of them had deadly cancer or something.

"No," he admitted in a low, quiet, tired tone. He ran his free hand over his head. "It's a long story, Margie..."

[Brayden Smith]

"Jesus. I can't leave you guys alone for a second," Marge muttered as she knelt beside them too and slipped an arm around Jack's shoulders, hugging him from the opposite side. "You look like shit," she added to Jack, with a wry little smile, as she fixed his hair.

Bray leaned into Jack and closed his eyes again. Swallowed. Thought. If ever there was a time to over-think anything, this was the moment. The visions kept flashing back in his mind and he kept wondering if there were other clues he could have picked up on, besides the two words and the items they were written on. A metal piece and a shield. Well, the shield was... sort of creepy, with all the blood on it.

His blood.

Bray's stomach churned unpleasantly. He put a hand over it and swallowed it again, feeling pretty green. "I think I need some water," he said faintly. Using his powers to follow Jack into those visions took a lot out of him, too, and it was both mentally and physically exhausting. Slowly, Bray got to his feet, feeling drained. "I'll be right back. I just... I need some water and some air."

[Jack Ripley]

"Great. Thanks. I feel like it."

Shit didn't even begin to describe it. Every part of him was exhausted and his muscles felt tense and sore, as if he'd been clenching the whole time he'd been in those visions. That would hardly surprise him, given the way he felt about them. But he was trying to relax, trying to remember to just breathe.

It didn't help him look any better, apparently.

Jack looked over at Brayden as he got to his feet, though he held onto him as he did so, and even when Brayden was fully on his feet, his hand grasped at one of Brayden's.

"Are you sure?"

A dumb question to be sure; if Brayden needed water and air--and a moment alone, then Jack shouldn't be afraid to let him go. The fear still gripped his heart in its icy hands, though. Slowly, he dropped his hand, knowing it wasn't going to help Brayden to cling.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, just... Yeah."

[Marguerite De Silva]

Marge watched Brayden with worried eyes. There was something... off about him. The light inside of him, it was different. Off. Very, very off. Even when he smiled at them both and reassured them that he was okay, repeating that he needed water and a breath of fresh air, she wasn't convinced. "Don't go too far, baby, okay?"

He nodded and walked off like a little old man, shoulders slightly hunched, back bowed. When he left and closed the door behind him, Marge turned immediately to Jack. She stared at his chest. Touched it with both hands, pressing down. Felt it. Looked Jack over from head to toe, then studied his light again, frowning heavily.

"Whatever the hell you two did, promise me you won't ever do it again," she said grimly as she sat down opposite him after her inspection, crossing her legs. "It changed Bee's light. I don't know if it's permanent, but it's not good for him. Or for you. What did you do? What'd you see?"

[Jack Ripley]

Jack looked down at Marge's hands on his chest, knowing she was seeing something he couldn't see right now. Something to do with his heart light. She was frowning an awful lot, which made Jack frown, too.

"I have no intention of ever doing that again," he said, quite frankly. He had done what he had to in order to prove something to Brayden but as far as he knew, there had been no clue in that second vision. There was no conspiracy, no message to find, no puzzle to solve. And thank the fucking gods or spirits or angels or whatever the fuck was out there, because he was certain he never wanted to experience the past again. He lived here and now; he liked it here and now, despite some of the negatives.

But what she said alarmed Jack enough for him to sit up.

"What do you mean, it changed his light?" His heart sank to his toes. Permanent? Could a thing like that happen? Were they... not... soulmates anymore because of this? Had they unlocked something terrible in those visions? Jack slid a hand over his own heart as Marge sat across from him.

"What about mine...? Is it... did it change?"

He knew she wanted to know what they did and what they saw but this was a little more important first!

[Marguerite De Silva]

"It's like... different. A different shade than yours, a little weaker." Marge tried to press Jack down, seeing the alarm on his face. He looked weak too, and definitely not ready to hear any of what Marge was telling him, but... Shit, he had to know. This wasn't something that could wait until they both felt better, so they could sneak off and try it again.

As for Jack's light... Marge touched his chest again. "Yours is a little weaker. Probably because you're tired. Bee too, he must be exhausted. You two need to sleep. Rest. That's the only way to restore your light." Well, that and some TLC. Soup maybe. Marge let out a low sigh as she retracted her hand and glanced over her shoulder, wondering where Brayden had gotten to, what it meant that his light changed.

It was only the second time she'd even seen something like this—the other time was with Rhys. His light kept flickering between light and dark, as the corruption warred with the love blooming inside. But Brayden couldn't be corrupted... And his light wasn't flickering, it just... changed colors. Not to a darker color, either, just a different one. Like he'd evolved or something, maybe, if that was even possible.

[Jack Ripley]

"A different shade?"

Why did that make him feel so... miserable? When he had seen their lights together that night, when they told him what it meant for them to match... Jack had been elated. They were soulmates. Their lights were two of a kind, two parts of a whole. But it sounded to him like Marge was saying that had changed. And of course that worried him.

Being weaker, that seemed about right. They both used up a lot of energy. It took magic to do what they did and that wasn't so surprising. But his mind kept going back to the different shade. From what? From the visions? Did they fundamentally change Brayden forever?

"We were looking into my visions," he explained. "We accessed two of them. In one, I was basically breaking up with him. And in the other..." He closed his eyes, hoping to shut it out but all he saw now when he closed his eyes was that blood, those dead eyes. So eerily like his nightmares.

"In the other, he died." He felt emotional all over again, even saying the words. "He died and there was nothing I could do. I don't... I can't do it ever again. The past is in the past. I can't live there anymore, Marge. I... I can't do it... if every life we've ever lived leaves me alone without him..."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Yeah. Different shade... But I'm not sure it's all bad. I don't know what it means yet, I'll have to ask around and look into it." There were older seers she could ask, and books she could consult. While Marge didn't belong to a coven—that shit wasn't for a strong, independent woman who refused to follow any so-called 'leader'—she was friends with other witches. Some of them didn't mind her, and a lot of them liked to party with her so she had a good base of knowledge to draw upon when needed.

As for the visions... Oh, boy. Two amateurs sleuthing around without any guidance, tapping into Jack's powers without any safeguards! Marge rolled her eyes heavenward. "You idiots!" She slapped Jack on the shoulder hard enough to make a point, but not hard enough to actually dislocate it. "You could've gotten trapped! Do you know how goddamn hard it is to project yourself into the past? And to take a—a visitor with you? You're lucky you both got out!"

Jesus Christ! She really couldn't leave them alone for even a second! She was hoping that they were using 'visions' as an euphemism for sex, which she was perfectly fine with. But knowing that they were here doing dangerous shit? Marge felt a jolt of actual, pure fear for them. Then, a stroke of pride. That took a lot of magic! Both Jack and Brayden really were strong fae. Royalty. If they could learn to harness their abilities and to hone them, she doubted that anyone could stop them.

That was if they didn't get themselves in trouble first, like the dumbasses they were!

"So Bee died? In the second one?" Marge reached out and took Jack's hand in hers. "Shit Jack. I'm sorry you had to see it, but that's... It's all over and done with. You and Bee are both alive and safe now, and if you don't do crazy shit like this again, you'll stay safe. I will keep you safe."