Work Text:
Crack!
A sudden flash of lightning casts a purple hue against dark storm clouds rushing across an inky black sky, only occasionally uncovering a full moon that stands pale and cold high above them in the darkness. Long seconds after, still far away, thunder rumbles.
Crack! Crack!
Two more flashes of lightning follow in quick succession, much closer this time, illuminating the inside of the Jingshi through its large round windows as bright as daylight, throwing everything inside into stark relief before once again receding into darkness. The thunder comes sooner this time, it too is much closer.
Wei Wuxian sits bolt upright in bed. Stiff. Tense. He is not yet fully awake but even asleep his brain registered the sound of lightning and cast of purple that shot across the sky and connected them, automatically and immediately, to another flash of purple and the pain and emotion attached to that: Zidian being wielded by Madam Yu to whip him at Lotus Pier. The table he broke with his body, falling forward on being hit. The demands behind him that he be punished and that the painful whipping is not enough, that punishment must be more severe.
He can almost see the next purple flash coming. Even now. Even with his eyes closed.
Crack!
Another flash of lightning shoots across the sky, showering the Jingshi in a display of light and shadow for a fraction of a second before returning it to darkness.
Wei Wuxian breathes fast now. Fast and shallow. His entire body is tense and ready to bolt from the room, but he is frozen. His own body won’t allow him to move. Although his eyes are now open, he cannot focus. His vision seems dark, unable to take in anything on the periphery, and what lies before him appears cloudy, sleep still heavy in his eyes.
His heart races.
The clouds uncover the pale moon and the inside of the Jingshi is bathed in light as bright as that of the lightning. Shadows are playing around Wei Wuxian from the rippling curtains that surround the bed and divide the room. Outside the storm tears at the bamboo forest and the trees beyond the window, making the shadows come alive. They move, snaking around Wei Wuxian like the dark spirits he controlled with his flute. They reach their black tendrils out to touch him. To caress. To tempt.
A cold sweat breaks out across his body and he pushes himself into the back corner of the bed, his back toward the window, his hands grasping at the railings in a desperate attempt to ground himself and ignore the shadows. But they flicker around him, moving like living beings, black fingers curling around his body, quivering through his hair.
In the rustling of the bamboo outside, he can hear their voices. They whisper to him, a quiet multitude of spirits like the ones that caught him when he fell into the Burial Mounds.
Wei Wuxian, they call for him. The false tenderness is so tempting to believe. There’s so much still left for you to do. Don’t you want us to stay and help? We’ll help you. Don't you want to be with us? Let us in. Call us back. We are here. We will always be here. We are a part of you. Come, Wei Wuxian, let us return. Call us. You need us.
He is trembling now, frightened, overwhelmed. Trying to block out the shadows that are caressing him and the voices that are vying for his attention from all directions, he brings his knees to his chest, buries his face in them, and covers his ears.
He cannot block them out. Not matter how hard he presses his hands into his ears, he still hears them. Beckoning. Tempting. Calling.
Stop, please stop, he begs. First just in his mind and then out loud. Please go away. Please leave me alone. Please. Please don’t do this. Please stop. Please.
They are everywhere. They curl around his back, touch his hands, pull at his hair. They pull at the darkest memories he has locked up in the deepest recesses of his brain, luring them to come out, to bubble to the surface, to envelop him.
Let us in, Wei Wuxian, they whisper, tugging at memories of the Burial Mounds. We are here for you. Memories of Nightless City. You need us. The blood across his sister’s dress. We won’t leave you. His brother shoving him away in his grief. We’ll always be here. Lan Zhan’s terrified face as he catches him on the cliff. You don’t even need to call us. Falling. Falling.
He is sobbing now, pleading, shaking.
Please, stop. Please. Please.
Something touches his wrist and he flinches and pulls away at first, but then registers that this touch is different from the dark tendrils that have been curling around him. This touch is warm and gentle, and when he flinches, it loosens and moves upward from the wrist, tender fingers closing around his own, which are still pressed against his ears. Thumbs, one placed on each of his palms, are rubbing ever so gently with just the slightest bit of pressure to send a warm energy, which spreads into his palms and up his arms, calming him to stop him from trembling.
He feels the touch take away some of the tension in his body and then, from far away, he hears a faint sound through the whispering of the spirits. He cannot quite place it yet, but it reminds him of the ethereal notes of a guqin played by experienced hands. It’s a familiar tune and it pushes against that ball of memories that has expanded in his mind, folding it back into itself, and returning it into the recess of his mind where it normally slumbers when it’s not being called forth by lightning and panic.
He focuses only on that sound to block out everything else, but the spirits are not willing to let him leave without a fight. Don’t ignore us, they whisper to him. Come to us. Come. He tries to concentrate on that other sound which soothes and caresses instead of lying to him and the memory of it comes to him suddenly, spreading across his mind like a protective blanket. A gentle hum in a dark cave.
Lan Zhan.
He doesn’t even realize he said the name out loud when he recognized the sound, but the hands that were holding his, that were gently rubbing his palms, now pull him forward and strong arms fold him into a warm embrace.
His head rests comfortingly against a familiar chest, the even heartbeats the only thing he hears now. Bu-bump. Bu-bump. Bu-bump. His own breathing starts to synchronize with the heartbeats and the voices have gone quiet. Now he can hear the wind brushing through the trees outside and the gentle flutter of the curtains, quiet and familiar. Lan Zhan’s warm hand rests against his back, rubbing it gently as one might a sick child, and it’s the most relaxed Wei Wuxian has felt in days.
Lan Zhan.
Mn, Lan Zhan answers. I’m here