Chapter Text
The dream begins, and Jason knows he’s in it.
The problem is that knowing never helps. If anything, his awareness makes the dreams feel sharp. There’s a difference between being trapped but ignorant and being trapped and knowing it.
He’s back in his dorm room. Or at least one of him is back in his dorm room. At the moment Jasons floating a little to the left of other Jason’s shoulder. Seeing with no body.
He looks back at the window. It’s dark outside, only the solar powered street lamps are awake at this hour. Except, of course, for Jason. He’s burning the midnight oil, studying for an exam or just studying to study. When you’ve had nothing for so long, things like studying are precious.
Because his nose is practically touching the pages of his textbook, dream Jason doesn’t see the silhouette appear in the window. Non-corporeal Jason unfortunately does.
Before he knows it, Jason is reaching out for his own shoulder. He intends to shake it, maybe say “Get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you!”, or “You have no idea what he’ll do to you!”.
Instead, his hand flies straight through. Ah, the virtues of dreaming.
He watches as the thing in the window taps the glass three times. He watches as dream Jason startles so hard he propels his wheeled desk chair a foot backwards. Jason would have laughed if he didn’t know what came next.
He watches in horror as Jason, poor young Jason, flicks open the latch on the window. He’s letting it inside. He’s letting it into his shoebox of a dorm room. He’s smiling at it.
Stop it. You’re showing the damned thing your belly. He’s going to hurt you like you wouldn’t believe. You’ll never be the same person again. He’s killing you and you don’t even know it.
One second the thing is perching on the windowsill conversing with Jason. The next second, it’s got a hand around the kid’s neck. It had lunged forward in the blink of an eye. Maybe even less than that. He watches talons grow from the thing’s fingertips, pressing into the soft flesh of Jason’s throat.
The dream chooses this moment to shift completely, catapulting Jason’s consciousness back into his body with violent speed. He’s choking, clawing at the vice around his neck. Somehow, his vision is perfect.
He’s being dragged down a hallway. The walls are concrete. There are rust stains dripping from the tiled ceiling. Jason doesn’t have to think very hard to figure out where he’s being dragged.
Jason renews his thrashing with vicious determination. He bites, kicks, and bucks. The creature behind him is immoveable.
He’s going to die. He won’t survive a second time. He can’t do it. He can’t do it. He won’t do it.
His terror peaks, bright and visceral. His brain is melting inside his skull. It’s spewing out his ears. He’s never been so afraid in his entire life. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s-
He’s on his couch, chest positively heaving.
He’s having trouble keeping track of where he is. His dream is clinging to his brain like honey, dripping into his lungs. He thinks he can smell the putrid tang of infection in the air. He maybe thinks he can even hear laughter.
He claws at his shirt with absent desperation. The scratchy neck of his t-shirt is feeling bit too much like a hand. He’s spiraling and he can’t stop it.
He stays sitting in the dark for some time. He’s rocking back and forth slightly in a pathetic attempt to self-soothe. He can feel every inch of his skin.
The seam of his t-shirt is stretched to nothing by the time the dream begins to dissipate. The light seeping through his blinds is enough to pull him out of it, though the effects of the dream continue to linger.
He feels wrung out and nauseated. His muscles are so tight that they’re locked, and he has to practically peel his hands off his shirt. He rests his head in a handful of crooked fingers.
It was just a dream. He repeats it like a mantra.
It was just a dream.