who: Noah Czerny & Ronan Lynch when: Early morning, May 15 where: Monmouth, his room What: Dreamer nightmares warnings: Mentions of death, blood, lots of panicy things status: In progress.
Noah felt the panic of the nightmare the minute he saw Whelk's face. It was calm, serene, but somehow all the more terrifying for that. There were flashes of monstrous pieces mixed in with the reality that was Barrington Whelk's face. Noah hadn't had to sleep for years and this was the place his mind took him. It was safe when he was a ghost. He could not talk about it, not think too hard about it and he wouldn't relive it. As a boy who was very much alive and very much had Ronan's abilities, he was not safe. Not from Whelk, not from this.
He scrambled back and away because he knew what was coming. He could tell, could feel it. His heart felt like it was stuck in his throat, suffocating him, but he knew it wasn't. Not really. This was panic. This was a feeling he hadn't felt since he was dying, but even then, the panic was tinged with a small amount of hope around the edges at first: hope that he'd be saved, hope that it had been an accident and Whelk would come around and call for help. At the end, the hope left and all he felt, all he knew was pure panic. The last few minutes a panic as his life drained from him and he felt the knowledge of his death pressing down on him.
Still, Whelk gave him the neutral smile, something so charming, so without any hint of danger. He remembered that look because the charming smile was the last thing he saw before he saw the look of hunger in his eyes as he swung. Even now Noah felt the swing of it, felt the crack of the wheel into his cheekbone, the feeling of the skateboard now in his hands. All of it felt so real. This time there was no hope, only panic. He felt the blood on his face, felt it starting to pool as he laid there, heart racing.
He was going to die. He was going to die.
How many times did he have to die? How many times did he have to hear Whelk's voice? He had the nerve to thank him for his contribution as if he'd had any choice in it. He felt his body start to convulse, the feeling and the reality of dying happening all over again.
And then he woke up.
He couldn't move, couldn't even really feel anything, but that didn't stop his mind. Whelk was nowhere to be seen, but his face was covered in blood and there was blood slowly seeping into the bed beneath him. As time passed, he slowly started to gain the ability to feel and move back and he could feel the blood soaking into his clothes as well. Gansey's clothes, really. He'd borrowed a set of Gansey's pajamas that night. It took a while for him to realize that he was holding something in his hands, but he couldn't move, couldn't sit up.
Once again, he felt the panic crawling up, seizing him and coiling around him like a snake he couldn't shake off. "Gansey," he whispered. He'd meant it to be louder, but it was barely audible by the time it came out of his mouth and he sat still, just trying to get past the feeling that he couldn't breathe. "Please." Another barely audible whisper. He needed him, needed someone. Anything to save him from this because he wasn't sure he could save himself. He could feel his breathing picking up and his hands were white from holding onto the skateboard as tight as he was.