For a while, Sasha sleeps undisturbed, unbothered. Completely relaxed in a way he hasn't been in decades. But even soothed by Leon's hand in his hair and his warmth bleeding into his own body, Sasha isn't safe from what has been haunting him from the moment he first stepped foot back into this city.
His body sleeps on, but his mind is dragged off to a place he doesn't recognize at first, but then he's overcome by a sudden and violent sense of deja vu.
The window is open. White curtains blow gently in the wind. He can feel the texture of the old couch under his fingers, the coarse carpet below his feet. He looks down at the coffee table. A catalogue of photos of various flower arrangements is laid out before him. His heart sinks. He remembers this day.
[Lilies of the valley.] Someone says and a sense of dread overcomes him as he turns his head and finds himself face to face with the woman he once promises his life to. She still looks the same as she did back then, young, beautiful, her eyes bright with joy.
She smiles and something inside him aches. [You remember, don't you?] She asks. Her hand reaches out for his. It's cold when she touches him. Sasha's brows pull together. [Your favorites.] He answers after a brief pause and she looks pleased. Her head turns, a long strand of hair comes loose from behind her ear.
[Do you think I can get away with a whole bouquet of them, or would that—]
He reaches for the strand of hair to push it back behind her ear and she turns to face him again, face soft. Her smile widens when he finishes his movement, only to drop entirely when he brushes her hair further back to reveal a telltale rash along the side and back of her neck. She wasn't infected back then. This isn't right.
[Who are you?] He asks, withdrawing his hand when she reaches up to cover the mark of infection.
[Stop.] He says, tone firm, eyes hard. [Don't disturb her memory like this.]
She falters, and for a moment she looks genuinely hurt, but then she sighs. All at once, the memory around them fades to darkness. The apartment is gone. Their life in ruins. But it's been that way long before September of 1998 and the woman in front of him is not Irina.
Sasha looks around. But there is nothing here. Only darkness and this... entity, that looks like his dead fiancee. [I'm dreaming.] He concludes, although he isn't sure how this being would be able to reach out to him. He thought they were out of the B.O.W.'s reach. But clearly he must have missed something. He scolds himself for being so careless. He's been subjected to hallucinations conjured up by bioweapons before, it doesn't take much imagination to believe that some might be able to invade his subconscious like this, either. It makes him more wary, tension lining his features. How does one protect oneself against invasions like this?
[I'll ask one more time.] He says. [Who are you?]
After a long bout of silence the woman speaks up again. [I'm an echo.] She says cryptically and for the first time since this dream began Sasha feels a hint of anger rise from deep within him, paired with the need to wake up, to withdraw from this sense of wrong, to return to reality, to Leon—
[I don't have time for this.] He growls. [You're the same entity that's been reaching out to me, aren't you? So, what do you want?]
[You've been trying to talk to me all day. So talk. ]
Her expression changes to one of anger, then disappointment. [I wanted you to leave. I wanted to protect you. But I'm not the only one here. The core, she—]
Sasha's brows raise [She?]
The echo shakes her head. Suddenly, the ground starts shaking. [There is no time.] She says. [I'm sorry.] She reaches for him, but Sasha pulls himself away as soon as her hand threatens to touch him again. [Please, it's easier if I show you.]
Sasha eyes her warily, then looks around in the darkness once more when another rumble shakes their surroundings. As if the dream is coming undone at the seams. [Why should I trust you?] He asks.
[Because I'm the only piece of her that's left.]
For a moment, something so painfully familiar flickers across her face that Sasha genuinely thinks she is telling the truth. She reaches for him again, and this time he lets her, albeit reluctantly. Her fingertips touch his cheek and a sharp pain shoots through his skull, immediately making him regret his decision. He feels the plaga stir and screech, no doubt fighting another B.O.W.'s influence on its host. Sasha sees a few images flash before his eyes. Stairs. Corridors. Doors. A clear path mapped out in his mind to where she wants him to go. Even deeper in the entrails of the city. More plants and foliage, more mutated growths and then a huge net of winding vines curled around a pulsing, mass of ... flesh? He stumbles backwards, eyes wide as he looks at her.
[Please, release us from this hell.]
And with that she is gone and Sasha wakes up.
He comes to in an odd twilight between sleep and wakefulness. Sasha's eyes open without really seeing anything, his senses only slowly come back to him. The fog of sleep lingers for far longer than he is used to, prolonged by the gentle rhythm of strong fingers in his hair and blunt nails scraping soothingly against his scalp. The images of the confusing dream he had linger as he scrunches his eyes shut again, burying closer against the warmth in front of him, blocking out the uncomfortable brightness of the clinical light above. Disoriented as he is he doesn't immediately remember his current circumstances, nor does he fully realize who is stroking his hair. There is very little that makes sense right now. But still, the sensation is familiar in a way nothing has been in far too long. It's the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm and he can't help but let out a content sigh regardless of the way his instincts tell him to pull himself away and steel himself against reality.
Eventually, he does turn his head to look up, blinking, gaze only slowly focusing. [I'm still dreaming...] He mumbles, in awe of the fact that it is Leon looking down at him, the faintest hint of a smile around his lips, but there is sadness there, too, uncertainty. It's a dream Sasha has had far too often, one that always leaves him aching and yearning for the man he should never have let go.
In light of this he abandons the thought of forcing himself into a state of higher alert and relinquishes control for just a little bit longer, the disjunct images of his previous dream are not enough to urge him to full wakefulness. Just a few more minutes. He thinks as he slips back under. He wants to hold on to this dream for just a little longer. "I miss you..." He whispers against the fabric of Leon's shirt, as he once again dips deeper into sleep without being able to do much about it.
It doesn't last however, it never does. But it's still different than the other times he found his subconscious dream Leon up as a way to torture him. This time he does wake in a way one would expect from being crammed onto a tiny cot after falling roughly four stories into an abyss, with pain in various places and a throbbing headache behind his eyes. Sasha groans, then shifts. Not quite in possession of all his motor skills just yet. He feels his muscles tremble as he begins to prop himself up, only to feel a hand against his shoulder, gently guiding him up.
This at last has him consider where he is and what happened to him. Memories come flooding back, but it's nothing compared to the surprise that shakes him when he comes face to face with Leon once again. He quickly schools his expression, though, once he remembers what happened just before his body collapsed with exhaustion. Sasha withdraws far enough he won't do something stupid like lean in and kiss Leon like he did before. Maybe he should apologize, or ask what this means for them going forward, if anything at all. But instead, he rubs a hand over his face, chasing remnants of sleep away and takes stock of how he is feeling, a sense of foreboding in the back of his mind as well as the unsettling feeling of being watched.
"How long was I out?" He asks, voice rough, aware that the answer wouldn't really change anything. Any minute spent in this hell hole is one too many. However, he does feel a lot more composed than he did before passing out, a lot less frazzled and weak, too. A shiver overcomes him regardless, causing him to look down at his tattered clothes. He frowns. Another thought is prompted by the sight of the blood soaked pieces of cut fabric and he promptly shrugs off his combat vest to investigate further. He gets up from the cot, and begins inspecting his now healed skin. Still, something isn't right.
As he rolls his shoulders his back muscles give a sharp twinge just below his right shoulder blade and his frown deepens. He reaches around himself and his fingers find another hole in the back of his ruined shirt shirt. His fingertip brushes against something and he hisses. Suspicion rises within him and he immediately moves to pull the remainder of his shirt over his head to be able to further inspect the offending object. As it turns out there is a sizeable thorn lodged between his shoulder and spine, thin and sharp. They likely missed it in the chaos earlier and it clearly didn't make much of an impression while his body strained to heal itself in various other places.
He breathes out long and low, then grabs a hold of the thorn and pulls it out. It stings for a moment longer, but he can feel his body work to close the wound immediately. Sasha pulls his hand back and looks at the thorn. It is as long as his thumb, green at the bottom, fading to an angry purple at the top, covered in a thin sheen of blood. He looks down at Leon still sitting on the cot, holding up the thorn for a moment to show it to him before dropping it to the ground.
"We should make sure you don't get into contact with these." He says and absentmindedly brushes his fingers over the quickly closing wound on his back, thinking about the dream and the way Irina's lookalike had shown him the way, there is a non zero chance this thorn is what allowed her to enter his mind. "I have a feeling the plaga offset whatever poison they may hold, but there is something else about them, too..."
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