send me ‘ it was just a dream ! ’ to wake my muse from a nightmare
the painfully familiar figure stares back at him, her eyes glazed & empty. her mouth hangs slightly agape; blood spills from the corner. body remains stiff with her arms at her side, as everything else around her moves. her cape flutters in the wind, her hair sways with the breeze. she was alive & so was he… but something was wrong — “ master ? ” she remains perfectly still; her eyes set on a far off place. he steps closer to her, a trembling hand reaching forward. swallows the growing lump in his throat, bites back the fear crawling against his skin like she taught him to — touches her arm gently, but immediately pulls his hand back. holds it close to his chest; his heart pounding mercilessly.
her body was so cold. too cold.
her eyes shift down & lock onto his horrified blue ones. a smile tugs at her lips, & a bolt of fear rips through him. why was this happening ? what was wrong ? her smile, once so pure & uplifting, now evoked an instant feeling of panic. this was Nana. what was he so afraid of ?
the name is a soft breath of fresh air. he looks back at her, remembers why he loved her so, & reaches out again. touches her arm gently,
‘ why didn’t you save me ? ’
his heart drops into his stomach & he reels away, dizzy, limbs trembling violently / looks down at his hands & sees blood. ‘ toshinori. ’ / “ stop it ! ” desperate to drown everything out, he grips the sides of his head; gore spills at his feet. the ground around him shakes & cracks. strong, cold hands were suddenly gripping his shoulders. ‘ i know you can do it, you’re so strong & so smart, you can do it. i believe in you, ’ she’s closer to him now, embracing him. but every fiber in his body wants nothing to do with her. her body is so cold it sends his into a fit of shivers. her words are so hollow, so unbefitting. this was not Nana. it couldn’t be. because Nana was —
“ i… can’t do it. it’s too much. help me, ” those words, so desperately held in for grueling decades, pour out in a bare whisper; there’s something warm bubbling against his chest & spilling onto the ground. he hears the panic & fear in her voice. he feels his stomach twist harshly. feels his heart pounding with grief & guilt, ‘ toshinori, ’ she pulls away from him, their eyes locking at last. there’s blood splattered against her face, spilling from her mouth & chest, pooling around her beaten body. she shakes his shoulders violently & mimics back, screams through her tears, ‘ do something, help me, please ! ’
“ i… i’m so sorry, master…” he panics, his mind emptying. his knees shake violently. he feels useless, guilty, empty, makes to move, but as always, he’s too late.
“ all might, ” that voice; fear & anger, a seething vengeance, rear their heads. all for one is suddenly behind her. he hears the scream tumble from her lips. feels the blood on his cheek. watches the man grin, a conniving & terrifying thing. he feels her touch his face before she falls into her own blood. all for one turns to him, eyes sharp & focused. reaches a hand toward him, she screams again.
“ stop it ! ” he wants to move. he wants to run. he wants to do something. he wants to help. he wants to, needs to save her ! he needs to stop him ! but he’d tried that already. he thought his punch had saved the world. he failed that, too. he’s failed nana in so many ways.
“ toshinori… ” he looks down; her face caked in blood & her eyes hollow.
toshinori snaps awake; air rushes into his lungs, & he sits up in a panic, tear stricken eyes desperately searching for Nana, every muscle in his body tense & ready to fight. the blood pooling low in his throat chokes him out as soon as he makes to move; he keels over, side burning like a thousand suns. there’s pressure on his shoulder, suddenly, & he swings — just barely catching himself before it connects with jeanist’s jaw. it takes him a few bleary seconds to realize what he’s doing, & he snaps his hand back violently, cradles it to his chest. a few more seconds & it dawns upon him that nana is nowhere to be found, then jeanist’s words, & oh. it was a dream. & this was not that dream. this was reality, where nana was dead but her love was everlasting.
he looks looks down at his trembling palms & swallows the growing clot of blood in his throat. sets a hand against his sweat-coated-forehead. takes several, deep breaths. it doesn’t lessen the shakiness, & when he feels the hand back on his shoulder, gentler this time, he leans into it. immediately he feels immensely guilty & tries to flinch back, but finds that he can’t, & isn’t that pathetic ? he’s supposed to be their pillar & yet here he was, leaning on someone else all because of a bad dream.
“ i’m sorry, ” a bare whisper & a somber, hollow sound follows it, but the tears don’t fall, as if they know better, “ sorry, sorry, ” he’s not sure if he means jeanist, or nana.
