Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hydrangeas looked as though they would bloom any day. Their bunches of buds beginning to appear amongst the large leaves, still unopened. The ground beneath my feet was soft from the moss that covered it, through the moss rose short walls of stones, like farms of old used as a way to store their rocks. Though here they seemed more intentionally placed, creating borders for the little perennial garden, any annuals had died away years ago, likely when the original gardener passed. There were chick and hens between the rocks, flowering Irish moss, and the remnants of wood chips littering the flower beds. Hostas were a common sight, almost as common as the trees that surrounded and intermingled with the garden. Beams of soft light made their way through the early spring leaves and evergreens, clouds fluffy clouds preventing it all from being too much before the trees recently blooming leaves really had a chance to hide the place.

I knew this place, I missed it terribly. But right now, I was here, and, that was what was important, at least in this moment.

"You know, with the harsh switch to contentment this place tends to fill you with, I'd almost feel that I should worry you're entering a manic state." The smooth low and well-humored voice came from the old wooden porch swing, tucked off to the edge of the gardens. Hidden in the dark of the shade rested a monster dressed in soft black slacks and a black turtle neck, I could spot the black one-eyed skeleton leaning against its armrest and legs crossed at the knee.

I smiled, a soft laugh leaving me before I could respond, "You say that like my lack of anxiousness here surprises you. " I say lightly, a smile growing on my face, at his words. " Also you blend in far too much with the shadows of those trees." I teased lightly. "Living up to the first half your namesake even in the light of day." A soft nose left him, I turned in time to see him shaking his head. "My dear, I do not believe you even begin to comprehend just how correct that statement may be." There was humor in his voice, and something else, though what that something else was I am not sure. If he wanted to share, he would tell me.

The elderberry bush has the beginnings of small white flowers, its red stems reaching well above my height, but I could still prune the poor thing of its dried branches. The winter had not been kind to the little garden it seemed. "How have the boys been?" He seemingly needed a change of topic, that was easy to see, and when it came to his boys, he seemed he never ran out of things to say. There was a faraway look about him at the change of topic, not a bad thing. I am not certain but if I had to guess, I'd have to say it was like he was checking in on them, or perhaps their dreams to be more accurate. "Cross has been getting along with the rest of them well, though he does still spend a great deal more time training and sparing than I personally believe he needs to. He's anxious, worried that something will go wrong. He's been spending more time with the rest of them though as of late, which I find to be relieving. I was admittedly worried for some time as to how he would settle in." Cross was the newest edition to Nightmares little family. From what I've heard it sounds like he might be a teenager, possibly even the oldest but I'm not sure. It sounded as if he had lost his home and family, and Nightmare wrangled him into his own. Nightmare seemed to have a habit of that.

"You were right though about Axe-well Bear now, he sometimes takes a few seconds with the new nickname to register but he seems happier once he realizes it's him whom we are addressing. Still won't let Killer into the kitchen unless he supervises though, but I doubt that's ever going to change at this point. Truth be told I don't mind it either, keeps me from worrying about him starting a fire." Fondness turned to mirth the second they spoke of Killer's antics. I knew all his kiddo's names were really nicknames. A symbol of having torn away from hard pasts he had once explained to me. The little teddy Bear of a kiddo with a history of food scarcity was always spoken of rather gently. I suspected he was the youngest but if he was allowed to cook in the kitchens alone perhaps Dusty was the youngest.

"Killer, well he's himself as always. He's been locking himself up more in his lab lately, but I believe one of his experiments is going well, truth be told I'm not sure which one. He's so sporadic when it comes to his work, I am glad though that he seems to be enjoying himself in that work. However, that does not prevent him from ever being the usual terror of our home. Always getting into things he shouldn't, but you couldn't wipe the joy off the other's faces when he is up to something if you tried" Killer, the menace who just in description alone I can see how he could steal Nightmare's heart.

I knelt near a patch of orange daylilies, there were strands of grass pocking through that needed to be weeded. "Well, I'd be glad he's as rambunctious as he is, while I could be wrong, I think his willingness to act a little crazy is likely a sign of comfort. Being able to exercise his autonomy freely in a safe environment with people he sees positively. People he would find comfort and trust in, a lack of fear of repercussions of being himself. You did say that when you first brought him home, he was rather shy was he not? A bit like how you describe Dust?", a look over my shoulder let me see the rather contemplative expression he had. He was swinging softly in the seat, the rusted metal chains holding the bench squeaking slightly.

" Killer, I would never describe him as reserved, rather he was emptier. Almost hallow, no signs of personality. Like he didn’t know that he was safe, or rather what safe was. Dust, well, he is more in control of himself than Killer was back then, Dust knows he has control of his actions. It’s more like he gets caught up in having too much control like he gets lost in himself." there was a lowering in Nightmare's shoulders, as though he had pushed air out of nonexistent lungs. "I, have a hard time trying to help him. I worry for him. I do not wish for him to lose himself in the noises of his mind, he blames himself for a lot of things that to a great extent are his fault but truthfully, I do not know anyone who could handle his former situation and have not been driven to similar, possibly even worse actions. " I had turned to face him fully as he spoke about Dust, the worry and stress were evident. His face slightly scrunched as though he was in pain, whether it was his own or the pain of his child I was not certain. His eye was closed, his face scrunched and leaning against his arm, a tense, concerned, and pained aura about him in this moment.

"Have you told him that?" He opened his eye, a questioning mmm, coming from him. A question of clarification, "Tell him what exactly?", possibly rhetorical, though I was not certain.

The small not yet flowering sedum that lay just on the edges of the rock was growing in thick and healthy this year so far. "Tell him that his past actions while not morally right, are understandable. You once said that he had had a troubled path and that his actions reflected his situation. Try to make him feel and understood, less alone. Truthfully, in my experience, it’s those who are most alone who tend to spend too much time in their head. Reassure him. Work to make him understand that you can empathize with him and that he is cared for." I stood up from the squishy ground, walking across the mossy pathway between the curving stone garden borders, and into the overgrown bush of plants into the edge of where the intertwining woods and flower beds reverted to more natural woods. To where the black skeleton rested on the rotting wooden swing. I got on my knees again, choosing the ground over the seat beside him. He sat above me, peering down at me with an expression of ease on his face. I rested my hand on his own, giving it a soft squeeze. "It takes time, though you know that quite well. Do not be afraid to remind him of the care and understanding he not only needs but you are more than willing to give to him. I see the love in your eye, and I feel it in your voice when you speak of your boys, you just need to help him understand the same." He turned over in his palm, he leaned down before putting his mouth against the back of my hand, one of his many gentlemanly gestures.

He only moved the hand away to rest it against my cheek, gently directing my head downward so my forehead rested against his knee. "Your wisdom and kindness never cease to amaze me." I peeked up to meet his face, only to be greeted with a sad smile on his face. "I am afraid I am needed, even in his rest Dust worries me. I can hear him calling in his sleep."

I shook my head low, "Do not apologize for doing as I ask, even more so do not apologize for taking care of your family. Go Nightmare, take care of Dust."

He lowered his head forehead to meet the crown of my own, "I will be back for you soon my dear." A warm promise was spoken. The hands on my face that had gently guided me into my current place, seemed to fade away, like a breath had swept him away. Beams of light seemed to finally reach into the dark corner where he formerly stayed, warming my face and giving way to the clear sight of the rotten wooden bench swing. Still swaying slightly.

Chapter Text

"Hey Doc, just leaving to tell you that you're amazing! I feel better than ever as of late, and I'm canceling our upcoming meetings. I feel so damned good doc! Thanks for all your help!"

There was a buzz of someone who had just hung up coming from the phone's little speaker.

I was shocked "I didn't even get the chance to respond." I muttered; I was certain I looked like a guppy with how wide my mouth was. This is not something I had expected.

A floaty voice rang through the air of the counseling office lobby, "Oh well what can you do!" That was not a tone I ever remembered coming from her, and this was certainly not the situation for such unexpected behavior. She sat behind the desk of the lobby, the white countertop clean but outdated on the top of a curved half wall that opened on either side of its little alcove. The lobby was a light shade of sage green, and two hallways led one off onto either side of the desk leading to several private offices used to conduct therapy and psychiatric testing of various kinds. We were an outpatient program, so we didn’t have much need for major medical equipment that you may find in an inpatient program. Directly in front of the desk was the entrance to the clinic, a grippy black matt between both sets of push and pull glass doors, and despite the summer season, there was still a snow shovel and a beat-up five-gallon pale with salt and gravel mixture in it. The lobby had soft warm lights and moveable fabric privacy walls where seats of chairs of different kinds were stationed for the comfort of any incoming patient. Everything within the office’s setup appeared as it normally did, a somewhat normal sight, in stark contrast to what I was feeling and taking concerning my co-worker.

Something felt off, there were alarms ringing in my head. I couldn’t place if it was the sudden call from my patient or the uncharacteristic lack of care from the typically very professional and kind Riley. Who at the moment was using the reception computer screen as a mirror for fixing up her loose strands of curly hair. I was taking the reception phone off of speaker and dialing before I even started to process Riley’s oddness. " I have to call them back, if they don't respond we'll have to send in a request for a wellness check."

Her voice bounced around the air once more, like she was on the edge of a giggle, "Why so dramatic about it? So the guy doesn't want to come to therapy anymore, isn't that a good thing - like he must be feeling better, no reason to get the police involved." It was like she found the situation funny, or rather my reaction funny. There was a relaxed smile that seemed to start at her eyes and envelope her entire body language with some odd sort of relaxed unserious joy. She stood up from her office chair, and plucked the black corded office phone from my hands, placing it back into its little holder.

I was reaching for my phone before I had even started, "Riley, we’re mandated reporters. You have done the suicide prevention training. You do not need to be a psychiatrist, a psychologist, or even a therapist to know that this could very well be a euphoric moment. The ones that tend to occur before they - well you know. I am making the call." While this was not a rare part of the job it was not common either. Every employee in the building besides the janitorial staff were mandated reporters and had done the training. We all knew the signs, and we all knew the action plans. Why she had chosen now of all times to leave her seriousness out the door I was not sure. Either way, I was not about to take this call around someone so unwilling to take the possibilities of our jobs and this situation seriously, and so I made my way back down the hall and to my office.

I had the app we used for contacting patients pulling up his contact information under the file including his points of contact. I had the dial tone ringing in my ear almost immediately, once. Twice. Three and then it went dead. Jeff was not going to be picking up. Ten minutes, he has ten minutes before I call in the wellness check.

-

I couldn't sit down; I was pacing in circles and at this rate it would show on the floors soon enough and I would lose my rental security deposit on my flat. The floor was slippery and cold, but grippy socks were my savior. The kitchen island and my desk were covered in textbooks and research journals. Both monitors on my computer open different Word documents with the history of notes on the patient. DSM -5 and DSM -3 both laid on my bed, sticky notes on all the conditions having to do with manic episodes and mood disorders that could bring sudden upswing.

The situation felt crazy.

Everything felt crazy.

The world felt crazy.

I felt crazy. too much felt wrong for something not to be.

First, it was the client.

Then Riley.

Then the operator.

Then everyone else.

If everyone was off their rockers then maybe it's me that’s wrong.

I don’t know

Jeff was not someone who would just drop out of therapy, he had come a long way in his recovery. He had been an alcoholic who had been given an ultimatum by his daughter when he found out she was engaged, said she wouldn't let him walk her down the aisle without his ten-month Alcoholics Anonymous chip. He decided he would go cold turkey, certainly not the best option, but he made it work. He had called to schedule an appointment on that very same day.

That day was three years ago. He had gotten his thirty-day chip, then his six-month, his ten, then his year, his two years, walked his daughter down the aisle, three-year chip, then he was working on his fourth year of sobriety. My clientele was not focused on the drugs, alcohol, or addiction variety, but I was trauma-focused. Trauma often leads to such things.

It was true he was doing amazingly well, but he was not the type to excitedly call everything off in one go, despite what the cold turkey turnaround might make you think. The fact that he called me "Doc", was also exceedingly strange, it's well-known I only had my master’s not a Ph.D. nor an M.D., I was a clinical mental health counselor, a therapist, not a psychiatrist nor was I a psychologist. He knew all of this, I had actually sent him to a psychiatrist at one point as well, they had helped to officially diagnose his major depressive disorder. A common practice in my work, though I always made sure to provide ample notes and researched reasoning explaining my suspicions about my client's possible conditions. He had never shown signs of mania or any flippantness that could be found in other mood disorders. It’s true he had had suicidal thoughts in the past, but he has never once attempted, and according to my notes from our meetings, the last time he had seriously considered had been several months ago. That's not to say that they couldn't have returned, but he had not shown any signs of falling down as of late. If he had been struggling he would have contacted me, he knew to message me, he had done it in the past when he struggled. He had been doing incredibly well, but this, today he just felt off.

Then there was Riley. She was always so professional, a little stern at times, and occasionally a sharp joke could roll off of her tongue. This though, this felt strange, wrong. It was like she lost herself to a wave of high school girl age girl behavior, something completely unlike the older, near-retirement lady she was.

The emergency operator, while a stranger to me, had a sickeningly sweet tone to their voice when I had made the call. It made me feel like they had ran out of the ability to take the seriousness of the situation seriously.

Many of my clients today, had been seemingly normal. Well normal in the sense that things were the normal of my patients. Some seemed to be progressing in their treatment plans, some not so much. Both were always okay, all had bad days and nights occasionally, sometimes far longer than just a night. Something I knew well enough, experience in life and experience in his career field has taught me time and time again how true that was. Today though, it seemed like a majority of them were in rather shinning moods. A lot of positive reports, and very little on the downswing for many of them. Something that I would typically love to celebrate, but considering the number of patients I had, and the number of smiling faces I saw today it just felt off. Maybe not at first, no I don’t think it really hit me till the end of the day the pattern of my patients seeming so joyous.

I needed to breathe, just to take a breath. In and out. I finally stopped in my pacing, in the space between my kitchen island and the end of my bed, a nice few steps of space for my little studio apartment. Sitting down criss cross apple sauce on the wooden floors, I took another breath. Closing my eyes in an attempt to stop the spinning I hadn’t realized had started. That and the headache. I was tired. I could admit that. I was hungry too. I was not going to admit that.

I don’t think I have the energy to really cook or eat, feeling as though I had used all of my energy into trying to figure out Jeff, and so many of my other clients. Too many thoughts on Riley. Certainly too much concern over the almost dismissiveness of the emergency operator.

I.. I. Today has been too much. I felt, confused, why did this all happen? What was I missing? I was frustrated by the lack of results to the hours of research both in my downtime at the office and the continued once I had retreated to my apartment. And now, with a glace around my once tidy though admittedly somewhat empty personal space, I felt almost anxious with all the books everywhere, but that was not a job for tonight either.

Maybe I should rest, get some shut eye. After all, sleep was a time for our brains to process information, including unconscious information. Maybe I just needed time to process everything. Possibly see if something will come to me tomorrow. Or maybe just let today slip away and hope tomorrow would be normal. Honestly, I'd take any of these. Though, maybe a certain skeleton monster would have some thoughts on this as well. Nightmare did appear to have rather extensive psychological knowledge, though his knowledge did so far seem to be in line with his dream and sleep-related abilities. At least as far as I have inquired from him at this point.

That didn't mean it wasn't worth a shot to ask, or get a second opinion from a trusted individual. Does it count as a HIPPA violation for me to ask?

Probably…

Does it count as a HIPPA violation if monsters are still politically struggling for equal rights?

Maybe not, after all, it's not against HIPPA to tell an animal about a patient, and sadly that’s where that train is currently stationed at.

I racked a hand through my hair, and scratched lightly around my bun before pulling the tie off and letting it down. Ultimately it was bedtime.

I took the two different editions of the DSM and placed them on top of the island counter books. I scanned my room again, looking for well anything. When nothing seemed to catch my attention, I made swift work of flossing, bushing, mouthwashing, turning off the light, and climbing under the covers. Downing three exedrine migraine as well.

I finished my nighttime routine by tossing a melatonin gummy in my mouth for good measure. Today was not a day I could let my restlessness win.

Chapter Text

The garden was not where I was. There were no hydrangeas. No trees to enclose the area. No struggle between rays of tree-filtered sunshine and shadows. No, instead there were four warm brown walls, a white foam tile ceiling, and a thin roughly textured black carpet covering the floors. The room was furnished with both necessities and comforts, an L shaped desk in a corner of the room, a soft love seat with a small pile of blankets and pillows made up of a variety of colors and textures, a big bean bag, and a papasan making up a seating area in one half of the room. There was also a corner row of storage cabinets directly in line with the wall the door was on, a Keurig and a variety of drinks to be used with said Keurig, as well as a mini fridge. The window was large but had a half opaque curtain that let early morning, or possibly even evening light trickle on through. The office was built for comfort, not just for the user of said office, but for its many welcomed guests as well.

I couldn't help but be a little disappointed that this is where my mind took me. Not surprised, however. Spend most of the day at work, might as well spend my night here too it seemed. I had gone through the textbooks and research journals in my home and found nothing, now I have to go through the books in my office and hope I find something. Though this was a dream, I honestly do not know if the books will even be readable, or if they will be accurate. I stepped from the center of the room towards the door, to the line of white oriented strand board cabinets. Kneeling down onto the floor, opening the first cabinet door I was greeted with a top shelf filled with a little snack bin and a first aid kid, on the bottom was a row of books I often found useful when working with the rooms welcomed guests, books that could be used when explaining possibly useful psychological information to clients, or to be read and researched. I was thankful for the work that they did for me in the daytime. I was thankful for every aspect of this little office and its necessary privacy and the luxuries it provided my clients and occasionally myself.

It was not daytime now, no, the light that made its way past the window shade of the thin curtains was just a display of false reality. Sadly I could only ever control myself in my dreams, never the environment. A quick sweep of the bound books on the shelf told me that none of what I could wanted to learn would be available tonight. The books had scribbles where letters would be, odd gibberish, like if someone wrote the noises the adults make from Charlie brown.

"Is this your place of work?"

Did I jump and gasp like I was surprised, yes. Will I admit it, also yes. Why do I admit it, because I can't lie to save my life. So with a hand still to my chest, in my best impression of a wealthy elderly woman clutching their pearls, I quickly collected myself along with the escaped of an exasperated sigh. I made sure to take my actions to home base with my words, "You spooked me. Why are you so spooky, you've never been so spooky before." He was standing above me, just staring down at me. I think he found my comment funny.

He took a slow glance around the room, taking in the expansive and wonderous sights that were my office, "I have never seen your workplace before. Is there a reason, you are focused on work during a time of rest?", the way he asked was firm, his tone was a gentile command to answer his query. In a way that reminded me that he was in charge of a bunch of troubled kiddos. Though it was soft enough that if I said I didn't want to talk about it he would probably accept that answer. No parent I ever met seemed to truly leave their parenting skills beyond their doors, and his words seeped experiences in such forms of leadership. It was always easy to want to listen to him.

With him behind me, taking in the sights of my cozy little workspace, my seat slowly leaned into me lying backward on the floor, my mess of hair fanning around my head and into my face, I locked my fingers together laying on my sternum just below my chest. I didn't want to worry him. Though I knew lying was never an option for me, and it seemed my current mindset and body had no energy left even in midst of rest. He directed a seemingly concerned glance in my direction as I hit the floor, my eyes were on the ceiling, and even though he was not in my sight I could feel the breath he released as my head hit the ground. I was not sure where to even begin with what to say, "Things are crazy."

"Oh?", a soft encouragement to continue.

My eyes bounce from wall to wall, following the edges of where the ceiling corners, "I am not sure where to start. I'm not even sure if things are really off or it’s, in my head." I didn't like how quiet my voice seemed to get at the end. "You might think I'm what's crazy, and honestly maybe I am". My vision was unfocused, lines of the room parameters making the best focus point in my odd restlessness that called me to not star at one spot too long.

He was kneeling beside me on the floor, just beside my legs. When did he get that close? "Now if I do recall you once said that 'crazy' was something you'd never call someone. So why is that different when referring to yourself?" Definitely a parenting tone, not sure how else one could describe it. His eye has a slow swirl of greens and purples, circling in the dark ink-like appearance of his body. No matter how wet he appeared it never felt wet like ink, it was cool and almost solid to the touch, a little like a pleasantly textured slime but like an extremely thin layer of it. The shades of slight blueish greens and purples could be caught in slight amounts across his body, a fleeting coloration impacted by the light's reflection across him. The only place where the colors could be seen vibrantly and consistently was in his eye. He has only one eye but it was very pretty. "Y/n? Can you answer the question?" That deep voice of his roused my mind from its distractions, possibly dissociations, can you dissociate in a dream? How long had I been looking into his eye? How long had I been thinking?

"I'm sorry, could you repeat it again?" Was I blushing from embarrassment, yes absolutely. I hadn't meant to avoid his question, really. And now I honestly was not sure what it was again.

He seemed to be considering something before he spoke, his single eye meeting my own for a bit. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I do believe that the DSM has no such definition for crazy my dear, I am certain you are no exception to the current lack of need for such a definition."

A correctionhe asks for? How fun. Was I smiling? I feel like I am smiling. "Every DSM is outdated the moment it is published as new research and cases come diagnosis are redefined and reorganized. You know, CPTSD is not in any DSM yet it is a widely accepted diagnosis amongst mental health professionals. Debated and politicized, yes, but still widely accepted nonetheless. Though maybe you are right, maybe I'm not crazy. Maybe I'm slowly falling into insanity. That's not in any DSM either, however, it is a legally recognized state of being by the courts. Can get out of a lot of trouble with a label like that." The room was going slightly fuzzy, were the walls brown or blue? Nightmare was still in front my eyes, he appeared less fuzzy, was I fuzzy? Oh spinning, the room was spinning no wait, nightmare was moving.

He did not apeaeed impressed, though a mix of thoughtful regard and slight levity fell upon his expression, "You hate the government, government in general actually from what I remember. They twist medical work and needs, to the needs of the courts and the government. You know that all better than anyone. You are not crazy. You are not insane. There is no such thing as insanity either and you are highly aware of that." I could see the sharp lines were the ceiling met the walls again, less fuzzy now. The walls. They were brown. Not blue. Warm inviting brown.

There were fingers carding through my hair. Lightly scratching along my scalp. When my head ended up in his lap I'm not sure, possibly during the spinning, and the blurriness. His eye, that ever so dark yet colorful eye of his was rather mesmerizing to look at. The little vortex that granted him sight. "Your anxious, perhaps dissociative, confused, and concerned as well. Is that what started this? Confusion and concern?" His voice was as low timber, I could have sworn that I could feel it as much as I heard it. I wanted to keep listening to it. To him. It apeared my suspensions of my state being dissociative were confirmed.

"I think so." It does seem to be a reasonable conclusion, a client, and a coworker behaving so strangely, and the oddness of the operator.

The fingers on my scalp rubbed in a slight forward and backward motion, occasionally circling around the crown of my head. It was soothing in an unexpected way, and i couldn'thelp but lean into it a little. "Can you pinpoint the moment in today when things first started to feel 'crazy' as you described it?" When did it start? The phone call was one thing, but things were off before that I think. Mr. Jane, that’s where it started. "My neighbor, he handed me a cookie this morning. I always thought he disliked me." Then there was the drive to work, always on crowded busy streets with blares of horns and speeders flying by one another. "The drive to work was nice as well, usually it's very hectic. It felt like the city was silent in a still noisy way"

I could hear my breath leave my nose, "Then there was work, Mr. Zimmerman called off our appointment, and then canceled his future ones. It's not like him. Not the way he acts or does things. He has been doing remarkably well, but it felt, twisted. Like, something was wrong, and I'm not sure what. Riley, the receptionist at work, she felt, backward. She’s usually extremely professional and detailed, not a personal person if that makes sense. Today she was kind of just there. She seemed to be in a good mood, actually, most folks seemed to be in a good mood today." I took a moment, just to sit on that, well lay on it. I could feel hands, no hand, it was pulling down my hair, slow. Untangling the knots from the waves and the curls. "When Mr. Z was on the phone, with what he was talking about, and how he talking, his tone, well honestly it frightened me. It gave me the same feeling that you get when you think someone who's being in the dumps is finally on the up and up. Which I know to most people it sounds like a great thing, but in my experience that is extremely concerning, at least when it's so juristic. I know that a burst of energy for a few days is one of the biggest tell tales of an oncoming suicide attempt, and honestly, it felt like that." A highly deceptive bout of joy. It was the worst thing to recognize when it comes.

I know that.

I've seen it.

I’ve felt it.

"The operator, for the police, I was sending in a wellness visit request, seemed so, so happy. Like their voice diminished the seriousness of the situation. "

"Honestly this whole day was filled with so much happiness. I probably am just being paranoid, and thinking of the worst."

"No."

"No?"

He was staring straight ahead now, his eyes unseeing what was in front of him, maybe someone needed him in their sleep again. Maybe one of the good little troublemakers he had back home needed him. "I don't know if you are being paranoid, but if something feels wrong then there is likely a cause. Whether the cause is internal or external is the struggle you have already realized. Give it a little time to see if the feeling passes before you pursue anything, you did say this is a recent occurrence, just starting today?"

There was a tension to his voice now. Like what he said something far more important than what I felt I could recognize. "And what do I do when the feeling doesn't go away? "

The hand in my hair was untangling some of the curls, "Then we'll explore the cause, and see what solutions can be found." The was a moment of comfortable silence, "Even if it is internal." He assured me so kindly; he was always so kind.

"Why?"

He tilted my head up, when my eyes had left his own I was not certain, but I was looking into his now. "Why what?"

"Why do care about me? We met by chance, you walked right into my dream and we had a conversation. You've been popping by ever since, and don't get me wrong I enjoy your company greatly, but I just don't understand. Why do you care about me?"

There was a very serious expression on his face and a flicker of perhaps apprehension as well. "My magic allows me the ability to travel through in and out of others' dreams, and truthfully even to manipulate them. In my life I have met extremely few true lucid dreamers, many claim to be when they recall their dreams vividly after waking, but often they simply feel as if they are in control. Not that they truly were." his fingers were simply brushing through my mess of hair, far less messy at the work of his detangling. "Though it is an exceedingly rare skill, monsters are more likely to have control in such a way that they may begin to lucid dream. Humans are far less likely to. Imagine my surprise when I not only found you, a true lucid dreamer, but you also noticed me. Among my ability to walk through the rest-induced visuals of others, I do not do so openly, as you could likely guess many people would be very unhappy with me if they learned of this ability of mine. I do not wish to upset others or to make them feel violated, and so I often choose to blend into their dreams. Even on the occasion that I do not choose to blend in, dreams of those without lucid abilities often continue on as though I was not there at all, with no notice from their host. The only exception is if I should make the host aware of my presence, and when they do are not aware of their dreams, which may then trigger a person to become lucid. " There was a great deal of apprehensiveness as he spoke, very clearly choosing each word with great consideration. It made sense, he made sense. He didn’t want to disturb others with his abilities, and though he didn’t say it I do doubt that he would want to stop using his magic in this way. Such gifts and talents are given to be used after all.

There was a soft firm rub against my scalp between the long strokes through my hair, I could not prevent my eyes from closing or the exhale that left me at the motion. "When I came across you, I was, surprised. Admittedly also, excited." A slight hesitancy, as his schooled lecture held an almost joyous tone. "You saw me, asked who I was, and caught on incredibly quick that I was not of the illusions of your mind induced by sleep. Despite your lack of monster interactions before our meeting, and the thought of having your mind's privacy invaded, you were not afraid, not hostile, but rather you yourself were kind. You allowed me to explain my ability and displayed great grace and calm at my explanations. Furthermore, I found myself enjoying your company. You are kind, incredibly intelligent, and wise beyond your years. Yes, certainly you are an old soul, and I appreciate you for more than just that, and certainly more than I describe in this spoken language." There was a level of depth to his words that put meaning that felt rooted in the emotions that bled into the emotions of his words. Small peaks into his typically formal shell. It was certainly not a cracked shell, but rather one that held his typical decorum in place while still allowing me in, an invitation to small pieces of himself.

I opened my eyes to glance up at him again. He was staring forward, towards the desk and the blinded window, that was not dark enough to prevent light from breaching through. The shape of rectangular lines of the light came to a top line on my body before it reached my head before it reached him who held my head in his lap. "There is more to it than that, a large bit more in truth, but I ask that if you are able, allow me some time before I come forward with more. I do not wish to lie to you, but I do not know that now is the best time to discuss the other influences on our reoccurring meetings."

His eye was sharp as he continued, "You are someone I care about, because I choose to care about you. I choose to care about you because of who you are, and who you continue to be. " Another scratch to my head, and a moment of my eyes shutting again to enjoy it. "If you are struggling then I would like to aid you, internally or externally. That starts with you allowing me to help, including putting aside the possible claims of craziness and insanity. Conditions that do not exist." It was as though I could feel his intentions in the spoken words. Intensions filled with a great complexity of care. Damn near love, but that would be odd. Though if I recall, monsters are supposed to be made of love, so maybe it was not so far off.
"I also enjoy your company, and you do not need to share information that is not mine to know Nightmare. Your privacy is your own. I am glad to have you as a friend. You do not need to offer me any assistance, yet you do so anyway. I don’t know how to repay you." My face was warm at those words, but they were completely true. A small smile appeared on his bank face, "I also enjoy being your friend."
"May I ask you a favor, as a friend?"

"Ask."

"Be cautious and be observant. We'll talk about the apparent spread of positivity tomorrow, for now just don't let yourself get too caught up in either the internal or the external of these observations, yes?"

"Sure, sounds like a plan."

Chapter Text

03:24 am

Huh, maybe my clock needed new batteries. The sunlight coming through my window was definitely telling a different story than the clock at least. Either way, I needed to get up and get going. It was Saturday, and I had a week's worth of errands to run, the bills were already paid, but I did need to get groceries. I also needed to either continue with my investigation on the oddities of human behavior that occurred yesterday or clean up, whichever way that went. Though a run was a good way to start the day.

First things first, getting out of bed. The hard part.
The weighted blanket was both a great comfort at night and a nuisance in the morning. Shoving it out of the way, along with the fluffy throw that had been wrapped around my shoulders, I went to work at untangling myself further from the two comforters and assortment of throw blankets.

I could feel the morning dizziness as I sat up too fast, putting my feet onto the cold floor I was quick to get moving. The sooner I was moving the faster my blood would flow and take away the cold and numb sensations of the escape of my blanket pile brought. I didn't bother making the bed, it was the only really cozy spot in the apartment, and I'd end up there again soon enough. I was quick to get dressed, stretching as I went.

Thirty seconds of touching my toes. Thirty on both my left and right legs spent on a slightly bounced lunge position. Thirty with either foot's toe pushed up and against the wall, holding my body tight and angled up against the wall to stretch my calves. A few airplane circles with my arms and another thirty seconds each or across the shoulder stretch. I was quick to kill off my pint of water from yesterday, putting the glass in the sink and filling a new one to drink once I had returned.

I dressed in loose black and grey shorts that kept my behind covered, a good-fitting sports bra, and a purple racer-back tank top. My runners were in good shape, and my armband with my seemingly ancient mp3 player was connected to a pair of wired earbuds I had gotten free with the phone I had yet to even look at today. I didn't need to track my routes, I had tracked all the spots of interest for lengths and what the ground felt like long ago at this point. Today's choice of poison would come to consist of six miles, three miles out, and three miles back. Starting off with a cracked cement sidewalk and turns to paved asphalt trail as it follows the river out of town.

I adored the countryside or any side that was not the city in truth. Sadly, the city is where work is, and so I did my best to rent a place on the edge of town. Where the escape routes are closer than you may first think.

The first steps outside I was met with a humid morning sort of heat, wee you tell the temperature has already begun to steadily incline. The heat of the oncoming summer was sure to be a doozy if this was its first tell in the late spring.

The city block of copy-and-pasted apartment buildings was first spent staring into the oddly empty streets. It was just the same as yesterday it seemed, with little to no activity in the typically far too busy city. The air was as thick to breathe as a fog despite the lack of mass condensation within reach of the ground. The apartments turned to townhomes as I ran nearer to the highway that served as the exit and entrance to the city, the highway was not my goal, however. Under the highway overpass ran the river, a cracked uncared for graffitied cement path with a guard rail with chipped blue paint led to a scene of decreed industrial urbanization meeting into the rushing currents of the murky to see-through its river.

The waterway was wider than it was deep, but the speed of the waters could mean danger for any unlucky passersby. The cement soon turned to gravel and dirt, crunching noises coming from beneath my feet with each step and occasional leap as small animal holes and tree roots hazarded the path.

A farm field with fresh shoots of corn peaked up from their tilled rows across the water. There were rows of trees lining the banks of the river, growing thicker and thicker as I continued further on my way. Turned my view of the fields into peaks of the plants, and eventfully they began to blend with the ferns and tall grass that covered the sloping area of land.

The large dried maple on my side of the river was my two-mile marker. There woods was lush with green, and shade that helped to keep the heat at bay, though it didn't prevent me from working up a sweat, no it was not nearly cold enough for that.

I kept going, letting my feet carry me forward as the land lifted above the river, the hillsides of the trail path became the sides of exposed sandstone cliffs. They had streaks of colors created by mineral deposits, the cliffs were not particularly high, maybe only fifteen feet or so before the hills began to curve with their soil-covered tops. Not nearly as beautiful as the in the south Dells or the areas along Picture Rock to the just farther north, but still a beautiful natural sight so close to the city. It was when the trail rose back up to meet the top of the hill, to where the rocks were no longer exposed and only soil was even with the trail that I took to a stop. The river rushed below, both sides of the river were all greenery, great trees reaching for the sun. Further ahead I could see the land continue to curve in and out of hilly formations, hosting a myriad of flora. What was odd though, was the lack of anything else.

Taking the earbuds out of my ears I took to pay more attention to my surroundings. The sound of the water rushed by, but that was all I came to hear. There was no buzz of cicadas, no chirps of birds. I had not seen a single animal my whole trek. Usually, the area was laden with wildlife, dragonflies near the water, and clusters of mosquitos were typical. Not a deer, a rabbit, a squirrel, or even a chipmunk had made their appearance. How odd. It was a Saturday, and while I do enjoy the solitude I have seemed to have found, the trail was always so busy on the weekend, bike riders, runners, and walkers alike. Today, nothing, no person or animal in sight or sound. The heat is not that bad, is it? No, think I've seen more traffic on hotter days.

It felt eerie, off, odd. Everything did, another thing in my head I was not sure. Maybe I just needed to find people? Too much time alone that was not in a work environment maybe. I don't really have anyone to talk to. Yeah, that won't work. My hands were stretched to the back of my head, still slowly catching my breath at the standstill. Maybe I just needed to be around people, and see if that does something for me. With that in mind I turned around and walked back, putting the now unplugged earbuds into my pocket, looking and listening to my surroundings.

-

One clean shower and a wet head of hair later, and I was walking through the grocery store. I was thankful as the speakers buzzed with music from the top 100 ten years ago, and shopping carts in need of WD-40 sealed around, pushed by people. Actual living people. Did I breathe a sigh of relief when I pulled into the parking lot to find some vehicles? The world may never know. Okay yes, yes I did. Currently scoping out the frozen section for some deboned chicken thighs, my head debating store brand and organic when I felt a tap on my side. Did I jump at the tap, no absolutely not. Not in your wildest dreams. No, I did a kangaroo impression, definitely not a jump. A bustle of giggles flew from below me. A little red-headed boy cackling at the sight of me trying to catch my breath. I was quick to pop on a smile.

"Hello there.”

His giggles seemed to change into an explosion of laughter. His smile grew bigger than I would have expected.
Oh, okay, what is happening right now? Taking a knee down to his level, and a glance around to see if a parent was around, "Um, hey is there something I can do for you? Do you need help?" The child blinked up at me with his large blue eyes, and oddly, he laughed again. The laugh itself was loud and joyous, but that's not what was strange no, it was as if the laugh he had before I spoke had repeated itself. Like a DVR had been rewinded. I felt unnerved. Something in my chest felt wrong.

Bells and alarms were ringing off in my head. What was wrong with this kid, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. His laugh, it didn't stop, it kept going. Over and over, the pattern of the laugh, the pitch, and the speed seemed to get higher and faster, but the pattern of the laugh was the same. I stood up, trying to take a step away, only to see the kid's chubby little fingers tightly holding onto my pants.

"I'm so sorry can you please let me go." His laughing continued, I gently placed my hands on top of his own and pried his little hands from my pants. Jumping back when I was free, his laugh finally stopped. I was off to the side of him yet his eyes remained fixed on the spot where I stood before. A large almost whimsy smile across his face, his eyes were glazed over. An almost pearlescent sheen over them. I scanned the grocery again, looking for any sign of a parent. There were other people, but they were, frozen? It was like a TV screen during a storm, people were just there. The woman whose face was turned away from me, who stood by the milk was reaching out, stagnant. The man by the fruit, I could see his face, and he was also smiling? A wide grin across his face, as he took in the sight of apricots. The more I looked the more I felt my eyes must be off. One moment they were frozen in place, the next they seemed to sway with their breath, just standing in place. Then it was over, the laughing started again. The woman by the milk finally had the container in her hands. The man by the apricots turned and walked the other way. The child's laugh though, it slowed, and I could hear him heaving his breath. I couldn't watch this, I couldn’t listen to this, I couldn't be here.

Was this a psychosis episode?

I was walking out the door, the basket on my arm I just placed on the table of oranges on my way out.

-

I did not in fact clean up my mess. My books were still everywhere, and notebooks too. I was trying to eat something, a small dish of cottage cheese next to me, as I scrolled through the recent monster-published scientific articles and research papers. Monsters seemed to have a very large depth of psychological knowledge, though almost all of it was specifically based around the psychology of monsters, not humans. To that as well, there was also the fact that their research was all conducted within the constraints of the underground at this point. Even then the information being released was all under a warning of lack of A.P.A. approval as of yet. From those articles, there was nothing, nothing on mass mania, which I don't know if that is what I would call the apparent happiness of everyone but I was not sure what else to call it.

Was there anything on mass magical effects? Yes, but none of them seemed to relate to behavior for an extended period of time.

This started yesterday at the earliest so at this point it's over twenty-four hours old.

Magic seemed a possible explanation, but that then brought about the problem of range. This is the Northern Midwest, monsters are still mostly closer to the East Coast, having originated from the ancient Apalachin mountains. While that's not too far, I can't say that I've ever seen a monster in person, well besides Nightmare, but do dreams count? Either way, if he can use his magic presumably somewhere states away from me, what's to keep other monsters from extending their magical prowess in this direction?

No, this is mass effect, Nightmares magic works in a way that he can only affect individuals, at least him leaving for his kiddos or others rest-induced visions seems to imply. Well, that's what it seems like at least. That might just be a personalization of his magic as well, if its even an accurate assumption on my part.

Another search on the officially released monster-based archives showed a few articles describing magical effects on multiple individuals. The range of these types of abilities seemed to be fairly contained to small groups within close proximity to one another. The most reoccurring group which were a monster subspecies called Temmies and their ability to communicate with various individuals at once using their magic to match magic frequency. Though this ability is noted as being seen between monsters with any close emotional connection to one another as well, the only real difference being that Temmies don't need to have even met each other to match each other apparently. Whatever was going on was affecting not just my co-workers but assembly the general population of my area. Magic was not off the table, but what else could cause mass mania?

Do major traumatic events have the capability? What major event could have occurred in the last twenty-four hours that has seemingly affected all the people in the city? In the city. Oh no. What if this is bigger than just what's going on in the city? Bringing up a new tab on my computer, I brought up the local channel first, the free live screen popping up to show a video of two people, sitting at the main desk. Thought not sitting still. The first host seemed to be giggling to themselves staring straight at the camera with wide cartoonish eyes, pupils blown wide. Whatever color their iris had been, laid unknown as only the back of their pupils could be seen against the apparent reddish pink sclera, a disgusting look similar to that of pink eye.

Their co-host was an entirely different story, though admittedly equally deranged to watch. They sat in their chair, spinning, just staring towards the ceiling, their eyes hidden by their robust nose, not visible with the angle of their head pointed up so sharply. When I was not looking at the top of their head with their short dark hair I could see the bottom of their large smile. Same as everyone else so far.

I brushed a hand through my hair again. I was going to go bald with this nervous tic, though at least I had already begun to chew my nails down, unintentionally preventing harsher scraping on my scalp. My hands were in my hair it was not the soothing jester I knew it could be, no it did nothing for me right now.

It was as if the Joker escaped the comics and set the city ablaze with his laughing gas, and Batman was nowhere in sight.

My eyes reached the corner of my monitor, the spot that displayed the WIFI connection, time, and date. And I froze, an inhale stuck in my throat, and my hands stilled their ribbing through my hair.

03:24 am

What.

How?

So, not just my alarm clock it seemed.

I forced a breath out of me. I made for a slow turn around in my chair, as I now faced the shaded window. My legs shook. I don't know the time. I haven't all day. I knew the sun was well before its peak when I left for my run, and it appeared the same as before. Not yet at its peak. Not yet noon. That would be fine, but it should be closer to peak at this point. It was not.

A static screech broke the silence of my flat. My hands were over my ears, myself flinching into covering my ears, I had fallen onto my knees. The sound came from my computer's speakers. I couldn't unplug the things fast enough. The scene on the monitors had changed. Streaks of blue lines ran vertically across the video screen on my monitor, not reaching the website page. They flashed on and off, my eyes couldn't seem to focus on them. They seemed to pierce right through the two TV show hosts. It was not just blue lines either, glitches appeared across the screen, in all the places the lines seemed to inhabit. I could think of is that their cameras must be having problems. The feeling, the feeling was wrong.

The pressure in my chest, a tight constriction felt like my insides were being crushed. I was on my knees gasping. Tears were running down my face, I don't know what was happening. I felt insane. The most logical explanation, for everything at this point was that I was having some form of mental breakdown, and not just an anxiety attack in this moment. As my brain grew fuzzier and fuzzier. No, I doubted this was magic from monsters states away. It was not mass mania triggered by some nine eleven or nuclear reactor meltdown-level event. No this must be internal, I must be hallucinating.

I was on the floor, my head on my needs just trying to breathe. I tried to imagine a square, to follow the lines with counts of four for holding my breath. I shoved my earbuds in, hoping to distract myself. I couldn’t make myself turn on the music, the little player's worn buttons took too much concentration when I had none to give. Time had stopped, I knew that, but it finally felt that way.

Ten minutes, the body can only hold such a high anxiety state for ten minutes. Maybe it could hold onto anxiety for longer, maybe when time has stopped it can continue on forever. My head held against my knees and I was shaking, there was ringing in my ears.

I needed an inpatient facility. I needed help, and I don't know what kind. I can't trust myself right now. My uncle was right, I had no place in this world. I need to be gone. I don't want to die, I want to help people. I want to be kind. In a way that meant something, not just for myself but for others. I shouldn't have ever tried to do any of it, I shouldn't have become a therapist. How long has my mind been making things up, creating false truths. Time had not stopped, it can’t. Time doesn’t stop.

I could swear right now that I was not just shaking and panting on the floor, but that an entire earthquake was shaking the building or maybe the world.
My state has no fault lines, but the room was shaking.

It was not just visual, The books clattered off of the kitchen counter. A cracking sound, like a solid stone was splitting was echoing through my ears. I could feel the room shifting up and down like a boat on waves. I could see cracks forming in the walls of my room.

It’s a hallucination.

IT’S ALL A HILUCINATION.

I had my head tucked between my knees, my arms over my head, the wires from my earbuds were tangling in my hair, and the buds themselves brought little to no relief by means of dulling any sensation.

For not the first time in my life, though the first in a long time, I wanted to die. I want this to be over. If I had the ability to move, I would have had an empty bottle of Excedrin in my hand and a stomach full of migraine pills acting as a chaser too my cottage cheese. Cottage cheese I had barely eaten but had already vomited at some point in this mess.

As the world deteriorated around me, the blue lines from the TV screen began to appear again. They gripped the furniture. The walls widened the cracks around me. The roof floors above me were within my sight as the building seemed to spit open around me. I could see into my upstairs neighbor's apartment above me. A dresser was falling, it was going to hit me. There was a glitch, and blue strings seemed to grasp that too. The world fell apart around me, the world fell apart from under me. The floor beneath me had opened up. Streaks of blue prying open the last of the world around me.

Nothing I was sensing was real. I knew that. It was the only possible truth of this situation. For why else would the whole room crack open?

Why else did the floor swallow me whole, falling through the apartment below the crust of the earth itself?

Why were my eyes seeing floaters, shaped like glitches?

Why was I falling into a dark blank oblivion?

Why did the feeling of wrongness in my chest turn to splitting pain?

Why did it feel as though I was being crushed from the inside?

Why did it feel as though something important from myself was missing?

Why could I feel the air around me?

Why did everything above me as I continued to fall further and further away from it all just seem to be swallowed by blue lines?

Why did I feel like something was squeezing me?

Why did I feel as though several snakes had wrapped around my body, squeezing me?

When did everything get so far away?

What was so far away?

"It's okay. Your okay. I won't let you go. I have you. I won’t lose you."