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These gloomy, fading corridors were becoming a second home, to Woolsey. When he looked at the sections the Dreamweavers had already repaired, an odd sadness struck him, seeing that sweet dream start to come back to life.
"If you're not free to cry...then there's no point in laughing..."
It didn't apply here as perfectly as the first time he'd said it, to that grey-haired trailblazer. But once this chaotic mess of a dream had been fully tamed, what would remain? It wouldn't feel right anymore, to sit at the bar with his new friend Siobhan, if the walls were golden and demanding him to be happy. With his heart still mending from having half of it taken too early, the forlorn mood suited him just fine. He allowed himself a moody sigh, before continuing to walk on the fading, ratty carpet he'd come to know so well over the past few weeks. In just a few moments, he'd complain about some uppity guy to Siobhan, she'd tell a joke, maybe they'd reminisce about Gallagher, and...he stops, suddenly. His ears, trained as they are to pick up on the sound of a fight brewing from afar so he could intervene, picks up on the change in his environment straight away. The sound of paper ripping, and then metal grinding against metal - a blade? Who could be here? The Weavers wouldn't carry weapons. Fortunately for Woolsey, his weapon of choice is built into his body. In an instant, his instincts as a Bloodhound kick in, and he whirls to face the source of the noise. He plants himself in a sturdy boxing stance, heavy fists hovering in front of his chest, ready to strike at any moment.
He doesn't break his stance even as the corridor begins to roil with heavy fog, billowing out from the empty hallway he'd just come from. The faint blue light from the lamps is soon drowned out by the thickening mist, concealing the full length of the corridor. Fully aware of the danger, his mind doesn't consider running for even a second - whatever this is, he had to protect the Weavers and Siobhan from it. Even if he wasn't prepared, it was his duty.
"Nice magic trick. Now step up, let's see you."
It takes only half a second for it to register. Gallagher. He used to say that, the second part. It was his *thing*. Why did Woolsey decide to say it now, too? He was supposed to be focused. Only thinking of the task at hand, only thinking of protecting Penacony, but now his heart was bleeding fresh and, Aeons, he was so, so tired...But before he had the chance to shake this from his mind and give his all to the the fight that would surely start any second now, his opponent finally revealed itself.
"Gal...lag...her..."
The meme pushes itself out from the cloud of fog blocking the hall, and floats there impossibly without its limbs touching the floor. Black mirrors, which Woolsey soon realizes are eyes, sail without motion through the air behind the creature, and their lids ripple ominously. They open one at at time, then close, without rhythm or pattern, suggesting this horror carved from obsidian is blinking in confusion. The main eye atop its fearsome maw radiate purple energy, and fixates on Woolsey, analyzing him. Woolsey, to his credit, doesn't panic when the thing reveals itself. In fact, he doesn't feel much of anything. An emptiness surrounds his heart, and he can't help but call out into that darkened, lonely corner of the world, wondering how this monster could know that name. It has completely stopped now, the only movement from it being the occasional flexing of a golden talon, its myriad of eyes staring down the burly Bloodhound. He has to know. He has to ask. Even if this moment of vulnerability costs him.
"Gallagher?"
Recognition flashes through the maze of purple eyes - the mirror-sockets close all at once, then re-open with renewed vigor. The creature begins to tremble, and its black tail wags uncertainly. It reminds Woolsey a little of the look that puppies would give, when they know a treat is coming soon, but hasn't been given just yet. The anticipation, the longing, the hope...He didn't expect to find it cute, but now it was happening. Slowly, he relaxes from his fighting stance, folding his thick arms against his chest. Maybe this meme was just as lonely as he was. In response, Sleepie hovers closer, slow and steady, pausing at a respectful distance. How could he communicate with it? Was there even anything to communicate with, behind those eyes? What if this was all just a freak coincidence? The logic of his mind fought against the emotion of his heart. He feels stupid the moment the question leaves his mouth, but he had to try something. Anything. As he speaks uncertainly, the eyes separate from the main body, revolving around him clockwise, irises burning brighter in the fog.
"Why did you...why did you say Gallagher?"
"Gal...lag...her..."
Well. He should have expected that. Shouldn't have let his heart surge with emotion, with that feeling that he might reclaim another piece of the man who had been ripped from his life. It was just as stupid as when he'd tried to make a replica with the power of the dream, wasn't it? But it hovers closer, closer. Close enough that it could reach out with one of its golden talons and claw his arm to shreds. Before he can back away from it, the arm grips around his shoulder, but without any pain. Its grasp is as gentle as the dream-fog that brushes against his hair. A few seconds later, he finds himself in a sleepy memory. Sleepie watches over him.
"Come on, enough gallivanting already. Take me home."
Woolsey grins, wider than he has in a long, long time. He's smiling so much it hurts. How long has it been, since he felt like this? Since he felt so special, so wanted, so needed. Still beaming brighter than the sun, he rushes forward to sweep up Gallagher into a princess carry, handling him with ease. He pauses to glance sideways at his cargo, letting out out a bemused chuckle when Gallagher decides to bring a firm hand forward to take off his glasses. The view was certainly nicer without his shades dimming it.
"Of course. This is what you had in mind, right, Gallagher?"
"No, but now that I can get lost in those eyes while you do all the work...I think I changed my mind."
This guy. This guy pushing all his buttons...he'd gotten off his security shift feeling his legs aching and his arms exhausted from having to settle fights, but now that he'd picked Gallagher up, it was like he'd tapped into a well of energy he didn't even know he had. Enough to carry him all the way home and then some. Right now, the dream truly felt like the beautiful dream he'd promised to protect. What could be sweeter than time spent with him? He walks with him held tightly into the distance, slowly fading beneath the shimmering horizon of a thousand lights-
"Wait. Wait. Don't go yet. I love you. Hold on-just give me more time-"
The Woolsey in the present tries to speak, but this is the past.
Sleepie's talon releases its grip on his shoulder, and it brings its eyes to Woolsey's front, having each blink slowly in harmony. The pupils stare at the floor, like a dog that thinks it has misbehaved. But there is recognition in the glowing orbs - an understanding of the pain that Woolsey feels, the longing for more time, more memories. It feels it, too.
"So...rry..."
"It's - it's okay. It's alright."
He speaks while his eyes glimmer with fresh tears he can't hold back, and unconsciously, his hands reach out to touch the meme. The surface of its head is like warm, polished marble, and his palm presses against it, rubbing it gently, unsure if this is even something the creature would like. He's mildly relieved when its grim expression softens at his touch. Maybe it does like it. He continues the petting motion with a touch of uncertainty, his mind working overtime to try to process what just happened. Could it show people memories? It had all felt so vivid, like he was right there holding him again. Letting go of the glimpse felt like losing him all over again. Slowly he draws his hand back, then tilts his head to the side slightly, taking his chance at another potentially foolish question.
"Can you show me how you met Gallagher?"
The talon gently seizes his skin again, careful not to cause any injuries, while Woolsey's vision is overwhelmed by another glance into Penacony's past.
"Hey...You're gonna be my new best pal, alright?"
It stares up from the floor at him, viewing him from multiple angles. It's much smaller than it is in the present, half-formed and taking in the world with fresh newborn eyes. It observes the room, briefly, curious - it is chaotic, torn apart, objects in disarray. A broken wall of clocks can no longer tick. Its creator looks exhausted, bloodshot eyes ringed underneath by heavy bags.
" What can I call you...Sleepie. That's your name."
Sleepie is pleased with this, its perspective shaking up and down as though it cannot contain its joy at being named. At being something deserving of a name. In its life, currently only 30 seconds long, it has already decided that this is one of the greatest moments of it. It surges with the energy of the Enigmata.
"Come on, then. We have a lot to do."
Its creator, despite being so exhausted, strides with renewed purpose down deeper into the primordial dreamscape. Sleepie hovers behind, joyfully, as the memory begins to fade.
"Gal...lag...her...come...back...plea-"
It tries to speak, but it has no power to change the past.
The moment Woolsey snaps back to the present, he lurches forward, strong arms wrapping awkwardly around Sleepie's onyx frame. He had known what it was like, to drown in his own sadness over missing Gallagher, and to feel it so strongly through Sleepie's memory...even though they had just met, and he had thought it was trying to fight him, at first, he felt so close to it. It points its head very carefully, to ensure its jaw does not pierce him, as his tears fall upon its hide. He runs his hand over its head again, his warm embrace aiming to comfort the poor creature. If only he had known sooner. This thing was just as homesick for Gallagher as he was, and he couldn't bear to let it go, even if its spiky jaw dug a little into his reinforced vest. That was alright. He could bear that, at least. The floating mirrors that hold its gaze ascend upward to press against his shoulders, the creature trying to mimic the act of human comfort, and he can't help but let out a laugh as one of them accidentally bonks against the back of his head.
"I can't believe I ran into you here just by chance..."
It subtly shakes its head side to side, and just like that, the talon is gripping him again. Off he goes, falling into another lost memory of his dearly departed.
"I know. I know. I want you to meet him, you just - you have to understand, the Bloodhounds will think you're dangerous."
It narrows four pairs of eyes at Gallagher, annoyed. It is not dangerous, it thinks. It is a friend. It is such a friend.
"Oh, don't even give me that look. Just be patient. I'll figure it out - I'll get you to meet him when the time is right. Okay?"
If it was capable of sighing, it would, now. It needs to meet this man. This man who could make Gallagher's heart soar. It would very much like to be friends with the strong man who brings sweet happiness. Soon, it hopes.
One day in the future, after the long goodbye, it seethes with angry despair. That the time was never right, never right, that he had lied, please, make it right, please-
He has to hold himself back from hugging tighter, lest he risk that jaw cutting up his vest. But he can't deny the kinship he feels with this meme - it no longer felt intimidating at all. He laughed at himself with his eyes still sparkling, thinking about how he had been prepared to battle this poor lost puppy who had been left behind by its owner. Much like he had been left behind by his love. He understands, now, that this was never an accident. It had sought him out, so that it would no longer be alone. If the heavens did not love a creature, that creature needed love even more. So the duty would fall to him.
"Consider...consider us friends, then, Sleepie. It's nice to meet you..."
It nudges insistently against his body until Woolsey gets the hint and releases it, stepping back. He raises a calloused hand to wipe away the moisture on his cheeks, his jaw, fingers brushing over his goatee. Like how they used to touch Gallagher's face. Why did everything have to remind him of Gallagher...? But he couldn't dwell on that for long, as Sleepie had one last trick to show him. Its eyes vibrate wildly with a pulse of purple energy, talons poised in the air. A misty silhouette flickered into view, hovering just like Sleepie, and Woolsey recognized them right away. She'd spent the last of their life frolicking in the dreamscape, and had passed away in her room in the hotel unceremoniously. Her name was...Natalie? He couldn't recall the last name. Even his Bloodhound detective skills had a limit. He didn't understand where Sleepie was going with this, but he followed along anyway, wanting to humor him. He nodded his head, slowly.
"Not...find...dead..."
Natalie vanished now, the shape of her silhouette consumed by the fog until there was nothing left of her. Another shape took her place, coalescing from the fog until Woolsey could finally tell who it was. Of course he'd recognize one of his own proud Bloodhounds, Aymille - she was a great member of the investigation team. He could always count on her for intel right when he needed it. He'd spoken to her just the other day. Looking closer at her image, he realized there was more to this than with Natalie. A wisp of the same purple energy emanating off of Sleepie was traveling away from her silhouette, off into the distance, trailing up into the ceiling of the Reverie. It was faint, but it remained constant, always heading towards the same direction, like a lifeline.
"Finds...when...alive..."
Soon, Aymille is gone too, replaced with colorless fog. Sleepie is chittering excitedly now, vibrating in place where it hovers, while it finishes its attempt at an explanation. The last form it wishes to conjure comes into view, a sight that fills Woolsey's heart with longing...longing, and a bitter aftertaste. Gallagher stands there, motionless, floating, the silhouette of his love. As much as it hurts to tear his eyes away from him, the flurry of motion in the corner of his eye forces Woolsey to pay attention. Gallagher had a wisp of energy, just like Aymille, but unlike Aymille, his was erratic. Chaotic. It bounced around in all different directions, seemingly without purpose or reason...Why? He tries to fit the puzzle pieces together in his head, to make sense of it. It looks like it is moving without purpose, but...what if it was? Was Gallagher's essence scattered into a thousand pieces across the dreamscape, so that Sleepie's wisp thinks he is everywhere? Or is the lifeline moving around because it doesn't know what state he's in? Because it's more complicated than being dead or alive? Because...because it's triangulating his position. Trying to fit the pieces together, just like Woolsey is now. Was he still capable of hoping? He was.
"...he might not be dead. Or alive. Something in between. Maybe we could-...maybe...come on, then."
12 unblinking violet eyes followed Woolsey as he called it to follow. They had a lot to do.