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The Fourth was a bit of an odd position among the vessels of Sleep.
If the First tended to be more devout, the Fourth was more apathetic towards Sleep. The perfect counterbalance.
They also didn’t stick around for as long, typically leaving within 2 or 3 years. Their usual excuse was that the ‘cult aesthetic’ wasn’t very appealing to them, the forced anonymity was also quite the problem for aspiring guitarists who want their name plastered everywhere.
Sleep was tiring of the constant changes in the Fourth, while having four vessels allowed for stability and even division of His powers, He only had so much to spare for every new Fourth that would disappear.
Of course, it also broke His vessel’s hearts everytime a Fourth left. His vessels were full of flaws and love in their hearts, freely giving it out to any Fourth who’d stick with them for more than a month. Perhaps it was an oversight on Sleep’s part, to make His vessels so deeply intertwined that they couldn’t resist giving each other their hearts, regardless of the inevitable future.
Though it’s that aspect of His vessels that Sleep oh so adores.
“Sorry guys, but…”
“I’d like to make my own mark in the world.” he smiles sadly, “Of course, I loved playing with you all, I’ll always be a supporter of your journey.”
“But the anonymity…” he trails off hoping that the other people in the room would understand him.
“It was stated in your contract that you could freely say you played for Sleep Token when applying for other bands…” Vessel points out quietly, trying to keep his voice from trembling at another Fourth leaving them. “It’s so your career would still be safe even if you’ve never had your face revealed.”
“I know, Vessel.” he begins, “But every time I see my masked face on posters and videos, it always feels like that’s not really me up there but some kind of a copy.” the Fourth laments, “A false imitation of myself, walking around on stage and playing riffs that aren’t even mine.”
Vessel twitches at the statement. The former Fourth notices and winces, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, your riffs are beautiful Vessel, but I… I would like something that’s mine.”
Vessel doesn’t respond, only nodding in understanding.
“...Is that so?” II mumbles, he then claps the man on the shoulder “Then we wish you good luck man.” The former Fourth pats II’s hand and then moves away. He briefly glances at III, offering him a sad smile and a mumbled apology falling from his lips. III tries to be stoic, to show the former Fourth that his absence will not affect him. But he cannot help himself from capturing the man in a soul-crushing hug.
The former Fourth squeaks out a surprised noise, before gleefully enjoying the warm hug. Patting III’s back as best he can with their large height difference.
“I’m sorry III, I’m so sorry.” he tearfully says, “I’ll still go to shows alright? Please don’t ignore me.”
“The thought never even crossed my mind mate.”
They separate, and then the former Fourth then drives away from the manor, never to be welcomed again, his memories slowly being erased. He will never remember the smaller details of his time with the vessels, but he will remember that he played for the band and that would be enough for a resume.
III sighs, the weight of another Fourth leaving resting on his shoulders.
II only flexes the hand that touched the Fourth’s shoulder, contemplating their time together and the transient but searing heat that burns the top of his hand.
And Vessel wonders what exactly it is he’s doing wrong, why the Fourths keep leaving.
Is it the fact that the Fourth tended to be indifferent to Sleep? He knew that they treated the Fourth well, they made him sign a contract that, at the end of the day, was beneficial for him. They never forced their beliefs onto any of their Fourths, explaining patiently the ins and outs of their little cult. They allowed him to choose for himself whether to believe or not, as belief was not needed to channel Sleep’s powers, but it was a supplement allowing the power shared between them to grow even stronger making the worship more potent.
Vessel reviews all the encounters he had with the Fourth. Trying to see if there was anything he could glean for when they inevitably find another Fourth. The manor will always call out to any potential Fourths, it just depends if they bother to answer the call.
III taps Vessel’s forehead, shaking him out of the thought spiral. Vessel blinks at III, the Third’s expression is exhausted, eyebags looking a little darker than lask time, his brow creased in dissatisfaction.
III was quite close to this Fourth in particular, they had shared many similar interests and it seemed that maybe, just maybe, this Fourth would actually stay, forever.
Alas, it was not so.
“Come on Vess, let’s come inside.” III mumbles, his hand clasping II’s shoulder “You also II.” the other two vessels nodded as they made their way back to the manor, the shared warmth of their clasped hands soothing the void that had once again opened up in their right ventricle.
They enter the foyer and try to ignore the fact that the atmosphere was a little more bleak, that the windows felt as though they were frosted over, only allowing pinpricks of light through.
Vessel sighs, trying to push away the thought spiral threatening to spill over. He tugs the others towards the kitchen, each taking their respective seats. Pointedly ignoring the empty chair, they’ll have to put that somewhere else, lest someone break another chair in anger.
II finally breaks the somber silence that blankets them, “...tea?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, instead standing up immediately and going through the motions. They both know that II needs something to do, to keep the Fourth’s absence out of his brain, so they don’t protest when their tea comes out a little more bitter than they’d like, not a single drop of honey for Vessel or two cubes of sugar for III.
They drink their tea in tense silence.
Vessel can sense it in the air, the desire to lash out, or maybe break down crying that they weren’t able to keep another one. That once again they have a Fourth that will eventually forget them and move on to do great things.
III finishes his tea first, before moving to gently place the cup down into the sink, he stays near the sink, his hands gripping the sides as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat.
Vessel and II ignore the slight creaking and cracking of the sink, they also ignore the small sob that escapes III’s mouth.
III goes up to his room, mumbling that he needs a little alone time right now. The remaining vessels acquiesce, wanting to give their partner some time to go through everything that had happened.
When the stairs no longer creak, it's II’s turn to let out a heavy sigh. He turns to Vessel, his teacup only half-full with bitter tea and asks, “Do you think the next one will stay?” He does not say it in any particular tone, keeping his question carefully neutral, if only to make himself believe that the loss of another Fourth does not affect him.
“...I can’t say II.” Vessel says, his teacup half-empty with bitter tea “We treat all our Fourths well, and yet they keep leaving with different reasons as to why.” Vessel tapping one of his many rings on the rim of his teacup. “We can never really hold them tight enough.”
II sighs, “Then how long shall we wait for another Fourth to break our hearts?” his teacup nearly empty.
“Soon, another will walk through the forest, and we will again see if he wants to join in on the fold or have him break our hearts once again.” Vessel says, finishing his bitter tea.
Vessel can tell that the constant leaving is taking a toll on the group, they can only take so much heartbreak until they themselves shatter from the absence. He himself can’t really take it for much longer, if this Fourth leaves them again he is afraid that they will turn into statues not fit for rituals or worship.
Not fit to be called the beloved Vessels of Sleep.
He shivers at the mere thought, a threatening presence crawling up his spinal cord.
The coming days are sluggish, each vessel trying their best to cope with another loss.
And it truly is like the loss of a beloved family member, they mourn for the Fourth, wondering when the cycle will stop. When they will finally call someone IV instead of Fourth or Fore. They wonder if they should even welcome the coming Fourth into their manor, instead guiding them out of the forest and leaving him to his own reality.
But they all know, the manor will constantly call him back, and through many ‘coincidences’ will somehow manage to worm his way into their hearts, and the vessels will have to count the days until their Fourth leaves again.
Vessel stays in the practice basement, letting the lowlight of the wax candles illuminate the keyboard. He does not make any new songs, only playing soft but haunting melodies, trying to let some of the grief out of his hollow chest.
Even before becoming Vessel, he had always used music as a way to cope. It was one of the few healthier mechanisms that didn’t involve waking up totally unaware of his own body. Without music, he fears that he would not be the man he is today.
So he plays his melancholy but non-existent heart out, plays until the sun falls and the moon is high in the sky. Plays for Sleep who curls around his shoulders like fox fur, a comforting, if threatening weight on his neck.
He plays for their former Fourths, expressing his sorrow, hoping that they could hear it. That they could feel what it was like, for again and again not choosing them, even when they’d always choose them in return. He plays as though they had personally trampled on their hearts and blew away the fragments.
He wants them to hurt in the same way that they hurt him.
A dissonant chord crackles along the walls of their basement. Rusling the ivy branches that climb along its walls.
“Be. Careful.” says a thousand different people, “You’ll. Regret.”
He takes a deep breath, trying to rebalance his thoughts. He ignores the warning signs of Sleep’s impatience for a moment, continuing to play various pieces, from classical music that he had thoroughly memorized once upon a time, to more modern pieces that sang about love and loss and everything in between.
The weight on his shoulders had gradually increased with every new song he’d play, he didn’t care for the first few songs, content to let Sleep increase the weight, but once he felt that one of his shoulders might dislocate, he conceded to Sleep.
So he pulls himself away from the piano bench, his bones creaking and aching, like he had truly become a statue and goes to fall into their shared mattress where Sleep and sleep claims him, restarting his forever weary body for another day without their Fourth.
II is the opposite of Vessel, he does not stay behind the drum kit, in fact he does not participate at all in the music playing marathon that Vessel has sequestered himself to doing.
II simply walks.
The crimson forest is quite large, it seemed as though it would stretch out infinitely. For any random schmuck who managed to find this forest through sheer luck, or perhaps something more, it was a nightmare to try to navigate and get out. But for II it was as familiar as the back of his hand, the forest stretching out infinitely meant that II had infinite ways of roaming, and he would always find himself back at the manor, safe and sound.
He had once thought that the location of the manor shifted so that he would always find the large doors that led to safety and comfort. Soon he figured out that it wasn't the manor, it was the forest itself weaving a smooth path back to the manor, all II had to do was just take the right paths.
This time he keeps dodging the correct paths, opting to keep walking. He needed to burn away enough energy that he doesn’t even have a moment to think about their former Fourth.
For II, their Fourths were starting to become a heavy burden on him and his partners.
It was an uncomfortable truth for II, but he had to admit to himself that the cycle of meeting another Fourth, falling in love and then saying goodbye was beginning to grate on his nerves.
He just couldn’t ever understand why they always had to leave, citing the band or in some cases, their worship of Sleep as a major problem. Enough to warrant them leaving to either form their own bands or to be a part of another. They never complained about finances, II made damn sure of that, he was the one who drafted the contract, he ensured that, at least legally, they were protected and that their careers were not in jeopardy.
But it still stings.
It stung to know that all their Fourths would rather pursue other means of becoming famous, it stung to know that at the end of the day their various Fourths would always leave behind everything but their touring experiences. They would never remember the color of his eyes, the way Vessel likes his tea or coffee, they would never remember that III adores creating paintings and crafts in his spare time.
They would never remember the fact that they were once whole. The final missing piece to their little collective.
But they were cursed to remember, they would always remember 4’s preference for mint chocolate, or Fore’s tendency to rip up the pads of his fingers when he couldn’t get a certain part right, they had to remember all of their Fourth’s traits, what made them who they are and how, despite being entirely different people, they all magically fit in with them.
It was a cruel fate thrust upon them by the manor.
Once he had asked Sleep, on the day of Fore’s arrival, just two weeks after 4’s departure, what they could do to keep him. The first Fourth’s departure had affected everyone deeply, blindsided by the man’s sudden and quite explosive manner of leaving the manor. He was desperate to not let something like that hurt them.
Sleep in all His wisdom had only answered,
“Chains.” He says with the voices of a thousand people, all blending together in a way that both soothes and unnerves “Locks.”
“Rip. Apart.”
II had never sought advice after that, and if he suddenly couldn’t play the drums because his fingers had turned stiff, then that was between him and Sleep.
The entrance of the manor has once again appeared on the periphery of II’s vision. This time, he enters, toeing off his shoes and letting the cool wooden floors of the manor soothe his aching feet.
He pads over to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the bits and pieces of fallen leaves and animal gore that may have fallen on him without his notice. As the pinkish water goes down the drain, II once again contemplates their Fourth.
Perhaps the reason for his anger was because their Fourths have never chosen them, they had never chosen to stay for them. And that was what crushed him, that he or any of the other vessels were not worth staying for.
Sleep curls atop II’s head as though he were a particularly mischievous cat. II’s head droops down from the weight, but Sleep still manages to stay atop. II could feel a constant rumbling, and now he truly cannot get rid of the idea that cats and Sleep were being too similar to each other.
Though the purring had become something pointed, resembling tinnitus causing gooseflesh to run up his arms and neck. It was then that II jumped out of the shower, his skin pruney and rough. He sighs, wondering how long he had actually been in there before drying himself off and changing into clean clothes.
Their shared room was illuminated by soft moonlight, highlighting the massive lump of Vessel right at the center of it, sleeping peacefully. It was rare to see the man this serene after another Fourth leaving, perhaps it was Sleep induced.
II’s heart jumps at the sight, and he wishes that III were here right now, he contemplates going to the man’s room right now and trying to convince him to at least lay in bed with him and Vessel. But the sudden wave of exhaustion causes that thought to flutter away as he hurriedly makes his way towards Vessel.
II fell asleep curled against Vessel's too long body, and the void in his right ventricle had subsided for the night.
What a dumbass.
III had once again fallen in love with a Fourth.
III had once again lost a Fourth.
III wonders when he will wise up and lock away his heart? He doesn’t know but he feels like he should start learning soon. But for III, his heart was simply too full, too large to not possibly fall for their Fourths, they fit too perfectly into their dynamic, and he’d always felt that maybe this Fourth would stay, and he could finally call them IV.
But time and time again, III falls into the same trap.
III, when losing a Fourth, reverts back to the person he was before Sleep. Someone who had barely lived, only moving if his body had begged him to. III doubts that he was even alive before he stumbled into the manor, powered by an insatiable need to move.
It was difficult for III to eat or drink anything when he was like this, though thanks to his now supernatural constitution, he didn’t exactly need as much food as he usually does. A cup of bitter tea is enough to sustain him for a week and a half.
And so that is what III does, he lies down for a week and a half, barely breathing, barely blinking, barely thinking. Rotting away until he becomes one with the threads of his own sheets.
Though he does listen, he listens to the creaking of the house, the steps that echo around the forest. He listens to the animal calls of rotting but very much alive animals. He listens to Vessel's songs of regret and sadness, of rage and resentment, III empathizes with the very same chord progression of Vessel’s emotions. His body twitches with a mild desire to come to the basement and comfort Vessel, but III just allows the titanium sentiment to weigh down on his heart, in the hopes that maybe it stops beating.
Perhaps then he’d be able to lock away his gentle but oh so full heart. To save him from the inevitable pain that comes with the cycle of Fourths.
III keeps listening for the week and a half that he lays in bed. He hears the dissonant chord that shakes the entire house, angry and full of regret. He hears the sound of the front door opening, with leaden steps thumping on the wooden floors as II makes his way through the manor. He hears the door of their shared bedroom open and III wonders if it is time to rise from his catatonic state, to push away the tungsten sentiment that crushes his heart.
But he finds himself unable to do so, perhaps he has finally become one with the threads of his sheets, unable to tangle himself from the linen. He wonders if he should just stay here, and hopefully the others would find him and put all their love and care into detangling him and dragging him to their shared bed.
Though that train of thought is broken thanks to a wheeze accompanying a fracture in his chest. His back arching at the sudden excruciating pain.
He knew that it was Sleep who broke his goddamn rib. The pain mixed with the mounting despair gave way to a wave of anger at his deity. III grits out some kind of curse at Sleep, knowing full well that he will face some form of punishment, but he cannot bring himself to care about that once the anger and rage reaches a boiling point.
Rather than waiting for his lovers to gently untangle him from the threads of his sheets, he forcefully rips his skin away from it, leaving behind his fingerprints and palm lines to give himself more support to rip away his body from the sheets that threaten to swallow him whole.
In the process, Sleep fractures another rib, sending another surge of pain through III’s body. III grits his teeth in response, and he is fairly certain that he can hear a crack somewhere in his mouth, but he doesn’t particularly care right now.
“Sleep you fucking— ”
The anger encourages him to rip his skin away even faster, uncaring of the blood and gore that stains his bed bright crimson. The skin on his back was like ribbons flying in the wind, and his exposed flesh stung at every miniscule movement. What he needs is to get up off this fucking bed and wrap his hands around Sleep’s—
“Calm.”
And the world stops. Somehow the ticking of the grandfather clock in their living room can be heard loud and clear.
“You. Insolent.”
III does not dare to move, the million eyes of his deity watching him. He must be still so the predator loses interest and goes away.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Perhaps this is when Sleep kills him for his insolence?
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Eventually, Sleep relents, allowing III to take in a breath that he didn't know he was holding, the relief almost making him dizzy. The regular sounds of the room coming back to him as he tries to regulate his own breathing. He then immediately falls to his knees, uncaring of the bruises that would no doubt be blooming on his knees come morning.
“I-I…” III tries to fumble out an apology, desperately trying to convey to Sleep that he would never dare harm Him, that it was just a product of his pain-riddled mind. Alas his trachea is still clamped shut, and he cannot defend himself in front of their god.
Sleep curls around III’s lap, like a dog with a healthy dose of eldritch divinity. Rather than a thousand voices solidifying his fate, or even a sudden squeeze of his heart. Sleep instead tugs at his mind to go into their shared bedroom, the ribs in his chest miraculously healed and the skin on his back and arms restored. III has to look back at the vaguely human-shaped bloodstains and vermillion splatters to remind himself that what had happened was real and not some kind of hallucination.
III gulps, does this mean that he is forgiven?
III croaks out a thank you as best he could with his shut trachea, he supposes that this is his punishment. He stands on trembling legs and stumbles his way into their shared bed, uncaring of the mess in his own room.
III is greeted with Vessel and II curled up against each other, II with his arms loosely wrapped around Vessel’s waist and Vessel with his too long body curled against II’s chest. They’re both breathing deeply and III’s heart twinges at the sight. Perhaps he could’ve been right there with them, curled into their warm, warm embrace rather than the threads of his sheets. He tries to stop himself from imagining another body occupying the bed. III dutifully climbs into the bed when Sleep once again tugs at his mind to go lay down, settling behind Vessel.
The man stirs a little, turning his body towards III with his eyes blinking sleepily. Soon enough clarity returns to Vessel and he smiles at the sight of III.
“Hello.” he croaks out, III smiles at the sound of his lazy greeting, “Are you finally back to us?” III nods, in lieu of answering. Vessel doesn’t seem to mind but III has a vague impression that the man is aware of the real reason why he doesn’t speak.
“Alright then, let’s get back to sleep.” Vessel says, patting III’s cheek.
They both close their eyes, placing their grief right next to the void in their right ventricle, preparing to face another day without a Fourth, certain that another will grace their lives and ruin it again just as it was prophesied.