InsaneJournal

Sleep wasn't always something that happened very easily. It was something that Falke had had to re-learn after he'd escaped, too used to simply being put back into cryofreeze before it became an issue, and for a while he'd mostly relied on just keeping on going until he dropped. That was a lot less common these days, but he still slept too much or not enough or too lightly. Rarely too deeply. Very rarely.

It felt like he'd been hovering on the verge of waking up for most of the night, leaving him groggy and his headaching. He lay still for a moment evaluating the pain, trying to assess whether it was something that would affect his functioning. Most likely not, he decided, though drinking water would be a good idea. Maybe it would even help clear out the leftovers of his dreams. There'd been less blood in them this time, but that didn't make them any less disturbing. In some ways he hated that drawn out stuff even more than the gore and violence, that sense that everyone was chasing him and all he could do was keep on retreating to safe ground even as it got smaller and smaller. Seeing videos of himself on the internet, knowing that the whole world had seen them, only added to the nightmare of it all, enough that he had to activate the stealth chip installed near his spine even though there was no one and nothing else in the apartment except for Absol.

The dog(? cat? hyena? he always thought of him as a dog, but he really wasn't sure) had been restless the night before, too, bumping into him repeatedly and muttering "absol absol" in a low growly voice. Were you warning me? he asked, then realised that he'd kept the question locked in his head - one of those long habits he'd yet to fully break. Speaking didn't seem like it should be as hard as it was sometimes, especially after a night like the one he'd had.

He didn't bother trying to ask the question again, just pushed himself up against the heaviness in his body to force himself to the kitchen. Absol padded after him and he let one hand rest on his shoulder, fingers tangling in his fur. When all those dream people crumbled into ash, did the animals go too? Or were there herds of goats and sheep out there now with no one to look after them, farm dogs chained to their kennels doomed to starve to death? There were already so many strays in the towns and cities he'd passed through in Africa. Dreams didn't have to make sense though. Not even nightmares. Scheiße, his real life didn't even make sense; things just happened, usually some variety of terrible, and he never much knew why unless someone bothered to actually sit down and explain the whole thing. By the time it had occurred to him that this was something anyone might actually do it had already become clear that no one he knew was going to. (Granted, at that point the list of 'people he knew' had exactly two names on it.) It wasn't really worth getting too upset over.

The water was cool from the tap and he drank directly from it, getting his face wet and splashes of water in his hair. It did help a little; so did shaking his head like he was a dog (the comparison was an unpleasant one, but the first thing that came to mind) to get the water off. When he looked down again he realised that his hands were trembling. Emotional stress, probably, he didn't notice any other signs that his body temperature was too low. Fuck, that was annoying (that was okay, it was safe to be frustrated at himself), he was supposed to be getting better at noticing that sort of thing, but it was like any time his emotions got too strong the rest of him shoved them away where he couldn't feel them anymore. What was the point of recognising this stuff if it only worked when it didn't matter?

He didn't even notice he was raising his hand until he realised his hair was too short to pull on. For a moment he scratched at his scalp instead before forcing his hand back down and gripping the side of the bench. The apartment was too small, not enough room to move unless he just wanted to walk back and forth. Which, admittedly, he had done plenty of before, especially when his wing was injured.

Looking down at Pup, he took a moment to breathe while reminding himself how to physically speak, out loud and everything. "Let's go out." Immediately Pup trotted over to where a Pokeball was lying on the floor, and Falke dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand. He still hated that thing, but it was a lot easier than trying to carry a massive dog while he was flying.

Once he was up in the air though he almost felt like it would have been better to have something to cling to. He felt raw still, stripped away by the nightmare until he was so diminished that a puff of wind would send him toppling, turning over and over with no way to control himself until he just crashed into something, building or tree or the ground. No. This was no good. He considered going to the Pokemon park but even as quickly as he could travel he suddenly couldn't stand to be on the move for so long. T'Challa's house was closer. He picked the roof out from among all the others that surrounded it and tilted into a dive that ended with a neat touch down, no heavier than it had to be. Like a bird landing. He hunkered down right there, belatedly remembering to let Pup out so he could lean against his side. His hands were still shaking, but at least he was a little more solid here.