ataraxionlogs | (no subject)

CHARACTERS: thomas and william.
LOCATION: william's room!!
WARNINGS: probably maze runner spoilers.
SUMMARY: ill advised decisions, that's about the long and short of it.

[ this is a bad idea. it's not like thomas doesn't know that, but knowing something is a bad idea hasn't necessarily stopped thomas from doing anything before. besides, he trusts william. whatever happened on that last recon mission, there was next to no one left from it besides william. thomas isn't sure whether or not this place is another test, another kind of maze to solve, but he has the same ties of loyalty to william as he does to newt and minho, to any other glader that might show up here. when he offers to let william try to test his powers on him, it's all born of that.

which is why he's fidgeting in william's room, fighting down the urge to start asking question after question about how this works. he's about to get a very practical demonstration, so it seems only polite to wait until after that to start interrogating him. ]

How do we do this? [ okay, maybe some questions are unavoidable. ] Do I need to go to sleep right here?

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No-- [William twists around to look at Thomas, almost, nearly about to remind him-- this is only an experiment, to see if the boy finds himself animated by some horrible somnambulism or if he stays neatly laid up in his bed. They don't have to go any further.] We don't--

[--but the fact of the matter is, his powers are weaker when they aren't morbidly out-of-control. The tide of Thomas' dream turns, and William vanishes compliantly into the darkness of certain escape. Leaving Thomas behind, facing the ever-hardening contrast between the crumbling wall and the light seeping out through it.

The Griever ripped in two, or something like it. There's a splashy mess of a carcass still hanging off the lip of the maze, but down below, guts and spatter and metal parts. Gally's there. There's something wrong with him, familiar and no less terrible for it. Mania in his eyes, which glint despite the depth of the black, black silhouette he's standing below. He comes toward Thomas at a staggered run. There are strange guts strewn all over his trousers. Gally was always kind of awful, but he barely looks human, now.

We're all shucked because of you, [he says. Screams, really. In his hand, he's holding-- something, it's hard to tell until Thomas gets a little closer, and then it becomes apparent that Gally is merely holding his other arm.

But his other arm looks wrong. Not crank-wrong, wrong in a way that turns in a whole other universe. Claws. Skin bubbling with cellular-level reconstruction, too much muscle mounded over his bicep. Something like a tattoo peeks out, barely visible under the pained twitch of his flat-boned wrist.] Did you think about that, slinthead? Not just the glade, but your new home, too. what are you gonna do when you can't run?

[ distantly, thomas is aware of the shift. whatever part of him that had associated william with safety knows that this was foolish, that he shouldn't have left him, but it's too late. thomas is left to witness the carnage of his dreamscape, the mangled mess of the griever, the twisted face of gally. thomas is backing away in spite of himself, even as he's forcibly reminded of the last time he saw gally.

this is worse. it's everything from that last meet magnified, gally turning grotesque and mutated as they'd all been on the tranquility. thomas' face is screwed up, tears mingling with the sweat on his face. thomas trips over himself and lands hard, still trying to scramble away even as gally looms over him. ]

No. No, Gally, stop! I was trying to save you, I tried--

[ and failed. he failed them, and he's here now, where he can't do anything to help anyone. gally's claws dig into his chest, twisting, and thomas screams, and--

and bolts upright in bed, so forcefully that he half-flings himself off of it, flailing for a moment before he hits the ground. he can't breathe, can't tell if he's crying or sweating or dying even, trying to catch his breath as he shakes, the realization of what happened catching up with him. ]

[When Thomas sees his face again, William doesn't look scared. Pinched and drawn from worry, maybe, but fear and compassion look very similar sometimes. He's immediately reaching over to grasp Thomas' hand, instinctively. Something about comfort; something about keeping the boy grounded in a mundane physical way, after the dream nearly swept him away from himself. Two different kinds of anchors, but they're both anchors.

William grip is tight.]

You're back. You're all right, Tommy-boy, [and then because it's true to a nearly bewildering degree, as much a personal apology as one for unspeakable loss, he adds,] I'm sorry.

[ thomas clutches william's hand tightly, clinging on like it's the only tether he has to reality. it's jarring, the way nightmares always are. this one had felt so vivid. it had been all thomas' dreams and memories jumbling together, and he'd signed up for it, but going into this willingly hadn't prepared him for any of this.

it takes him a few minutes to catch his breath, steady himself enough to speak. he doesn't let go of william's hand. ]

Sorry? [ it's a little bit of an alien concept. thomas doesnt know if anyone's said that to him and truly mesnt it. ] It was just a dream. It's okay

[ he might be telling himself more than he's telli william, but he looks up at him anyway, squeezes his hand again. ]

It worked though, right?