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Sammy usually doesn’t awaken from his dreams peacefully. For several years now, he’d awaken with a scream shredding hoarsely out of his throat, his trembling skin covered in a glistening sheen of cold sweat and the sheets twisted around him. Constricting his shaking limbs and making him feel he was being pressed forcefully into whatever mattress he was sleeping on.
Every dream ended in a waking nightmare, and the only thought that Sammy had in the moments before a restless sleep was one wondering if he would awaken screaming about his lost lover and oily shadow people.
It had become a normalcy for him to start his day in such a way, and it wasn’t a welcome one.
Every morning, as he snapped sharply out of an equally-terrible nightmare of the aforementioned shadows coiling their smoky black limbs around the writhing, struggling body of Jack Wright, Sammy debated on whether today would be the day he succumbed to the reality that he would never get to see Jack again and bite the bullet.
Literally and figuratively.
This morning was no different.
Sammy’s apartment was a small lonely one on the outskirts of King Falls, and it was shrouded in darkness. The bedroom that Sammy snapped awake in was dingy and miserable. It was colourless and grey, full of darkness that was akin to the same infinite blackness that invaded his dreams and turned them into agonizing, painful nightmares. Except this darkness wasn’t physical; it couldn’t touch him with its cold, wispy fingers, and tangle its non-corporeal hands in his long messy hair.
It was something Sammy had grown accustomed to; every room he’d called his bedroom had been desolate and empty ever since Jack had been taken.
“Had he really been taken though?”
That was a thought that Sammy couldn’t form enough mental blockades to keep out. No matter how many times he willed it away into the depths of his subconscious, it kept on digging its way back up, crawling up out of his mind and rooting itself in the forefront of his waking moments.
Had Jack really been taken, or had he willingly left on his own accord?
There had been packed bags, more than enough for an overnight stay.
There had been the running car, with its doors wide open and the keys in the ignition.
There had been the lack of any kind of farewell between the two of them.
There had been the lack of any promises of Jack ever coming ba-
Sammy forced the thought out of his mind. He really didn’t need this right now. He didn’t need this ever. Of course Jack hadn’t willingly left him. Jack wouldn’t have done that. Jack loved him, and Sammy loved Jack. More than anything. More than anyone.
And yet...there was still a seed of doubt set deep in his core, gnawing at him, making him second-guess all the signs that had led him to the realization that Jack was gone.
“Why am I-”
“Sammy?”
The voice. It came from beside Sammy, in the bed that he’d slept in alone for several months now, ever since he’d came to King Falls in a vain attempt to recover anything that would help him to the rediscovery of his fiance. From the bed that was much too small for two people to sleep comfortably in, much less two fully-grown men in their early thirties.
And yet the voice was there all the same, from within the crumpled duvets that were soaked with Sammy’s cold sweat.
The voice. It was unmistakably his. It was soft, and edged with a curiosity that accompanied a drowsy lover that was broken out of slumber by their stirring significant other in the bed beside him.
Sammy’s gaze traveled across the dark bedroom to his right, feeling a bead of sweat running down his temple and following the hard lines that had been set into his face following the disappearance of his lover.
The lover that had reappeared in his bed, the bed that had somehow stretched to a size it hadn’t been before, the bed that was now dappled in golden sunlight that filtered in through the previously-curtained windows.
Jack was here with him, in a bedroom that was no longer the tiny, cramped apartment that Sammy had a lease on in a podunk town in the middle of nowhere. It was the bedroom of the apartment down in California that Jack and Sammy shared for several months before that fateful night.
Jack was here.
Jack was here with him, right now, looking up at him from underneath the tangled duvet (which was the same one he and Sammy had back in California, with the baby blue stripes). He was looking up at Sammy, big brown eyes underneath his dainty eyelashes. His face was exactly the same as it had been all that time ago, back when everything in Sammy’s life had been perfect and wonderful.
His lips, plush and marked with a bite from teeth that were much too big to be his own, were curved up in one of Jack’s smiles that could melt Sammy’s stone-cold heart and make him forgive Jack for committing genocide on an interplanetary scale.
The beginnings of sideburns along the sides of Jack’s face, bringing definition to his firm jaw.
He looked exactly the same, and it scared the everlasting shit out of Sammy. He was so scared, but so overjoyed at the same time.
Had he woke up, or was he still dreaming?
“Geez dude, are ya not gonna say anythin’ back?” Jack chuckled, expectantly quirking his eyebrow (his left one, the one with the slit in it).
Sammy could smell the alcohol on Jack’s breath, and see the thin layer of perspiration sparkling like morning dew on his dark skin. The stark contrast between the shimmering orange of the sunbeams that spiked into the room and Jack’s rich, mahogany complexion was one that Sammy had once drank in.
One that reminded him of how beautiful and perfect Jack was, from his messy, uncombed curls to his toned physique, to the small smattering of freckles across his face and the slightly raised scar tissue just underneath his chest.
“You can breathe anytime soon, beanpole.”
It took a few seconds for Sammy to realize that he was holding his breath, and when he released it, it came out as a rattling wheeze that was accompanied by the salty sting of hot tears in his eyes. He heaved over in the bed, and when he looked down at himself, he was shocked to find his hands looked years younger. No wrinkles, no faded scars, not so much as a bruise or a blemish. Said hands flew to his face, and was stunned by the absence of any deep lines or facial hair. Even his hair was much shorter than he remembered it being when he woke up that morning.
“J...Jack?” Sammy rasped. Unlike everything else, his voice remained the same; as hoarse and as dry as it had been before after his latest scream. “What- How? What’s going on?”
Jack furrowed his brow. He eased himself up on his elbow, and reached out a hand to tenderly touch Sammy’s forehead, presumably checking for a temperature. But Sammy instinctively leaned back, even if all he wanted to do was be embraced by the man he’d dedicated the past few years of his life to.
“Sammy, are you...feeling okay?” Jack inquired, sounding genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. Then he started laughing. “Bro, you must be havin’ your hangover!” He chortled. “I warned you about drinking so much last night. But yet again, you didn’t listen to me!”
“...Drinking?”
“Yeah - last night. At Lily’s. It was her birthday party? You must be totally shitfaced if you can’t remember!” Jack reached down behind him and hoisted up an empty vodka bottle, shaking it slightly to emphasise just how dry it was. “Seriously, man - you don’t remember?”
Sammy was still reeling in shock from having woken up to find Jack Wright in his bed once more. He blinked furiously, trying to get rid of the tears that were hazing up his vision. When that didn’t work, he screwed his fists into his eyes and rubbed at them desperately. When he cracked them open, everything was still the same.
Jack was still looking at him, a half-smile on his face, backlit by the burning orange sunlight that made him look all the more perfect in the late afternoon gloom of their Californian apartment.
“How are you here?” Sammy croaked, still in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“Babe, this is our apartment,” Jack insisted coolly. “Y’know - the one that we both live in? The one that we fuck and sometimes sleep in?” He added the last part with a knowing smirk, and Sammy hadn’t even taken into account that the two of them were both stark naked. But he was too shaken up to be concerned about modesty. He was still staring at Jack like he’d grown a second head; which, in all honesty, would have been much easier to explain than how Jack was here with him.
“I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming,” Sammy insisted. “Jack isn’t here. Jack isn’t with me. Jack is-”
“Right here,” Jack finished the thought audibly, with a tone of finality. It made the hairs on the back of Sammy’s neck stand on end, and he felt a twist of anxiety in his gut.
“But so what if it’s just a dream? Who’s to say that you can’t enjoy it for what it is?” Jack - or, rather, Dream Jack - had attained some kind of omnipresence, and Sammy didn’t know if he liked that very much. Figment of his imagination or not, he didn’t much fancy the idea of his lost fiance having the capability of understanding his thoughts.
Dream Jack leaned over on the bed, creeping up towards Sammy and resting a hand against Sammy’s face. Sammy flinched at the contact. It felt familiar, from the callouses in Jack’s fingers from working so hard to the tender ghosting of his finger along the line of Sammy’s jaw. But it was cold, colder than ice, and caused the taller man to grit his teeth to bear the sharp pain.
Dream Jack’s eyes were soft, and gentle, and his smile was a loving one. But there wasn’t something right about him.
Even if this was just a dream, one that Sammy was torn apart over, there was something undeniably wrong about the Jack in front of him.
“No…” Sammy mumbled, but he didn’t know what he was objecting. Was he was objecting against the temptation of giving in to his dream and allowing himself to be lulled into a false sense of security, or was he objecting against the idea that this was all a dream? Either one was making him feel nauseous.
“You’re not-”
“Shhhhhhh,” Dream Jack hushed, quiet, seductive, a hissing purr that stretched on for a beat too long. The hand that was cradling Sammy’s face in that oh-so-familiar way moved to Sammy’s lips. A cold thumb ghosted his lower lip, prying them apart slightly. It was such a simple movement, but it filled Sammy with a burning ache. Not for intimacy, but for Jack.
A feeling that he had grown painstakingly used to.
“Just let yourself enjoy this,” Jack whispered, leaning in close. His lips brushed over Sammy’s at first, as cold and as numbing as the rest of him, then pressed down hard. Sammy was taken aback by the sudden impulse, and braced himself on the mattress with his hands to stop himself from tumbling over the side of the bed.
For a heartbeat, it felt like he was kissing Jack again. It was tender, loving and sweet, full of passion and genuine affection. Sammy very nearly considered giving in and allowing this Dream Jack to fill him with pleasure. To feel the kind of love he hadn’t felt in years, that only Jack could give him. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the blistering cold of the Dream Jack’s kiss filled his mouth, filled his throat, causing jagged icicles to rapidly form within his windpipe. Razor-sharp and spiky, they tore at the inside of his throat, and Sammy howled with pain.
Just a dream.
Just a dream.
Just a dream.
But that didn’t rationalize the pain.
Sammy pressed his hands against Dream Jack’s broad shoulders, sacrificing his balance in the process and falling onto the mattress. He pushed as hard as he could, but the smaller, slimmer man above him was inhumanely strong. He resisted the pushing and shoving that increased in urgency, and instead continued kissing Sammy, filling his throat with the cutting blizzard.
“Get off me!” Sammy mentally howled. He was too afraid to actually punch the figure above him; he didn’t want to hurt Jack. Even if this was a dream, he couldn’t stand the thought of actually harming something that took on the form of his fiance. It was just as bad as hitting the real person.
“I’m not Jack,” the Dream...Thing responded, mentally. It was still using Jack’s voice, still using Jack’s form, and its icy hands were beginning to roam, peppering Sammy’s sweaty skin with its frigid touches and swipes of its numbing fingertips. The moment one of its hands trailed down Sammy’s stomach, Sammy fought harder than he ever had before. He valiantly shoved and slapped at the figure, and ended up knocking it off of him with a pained yell.
The Dream Thing slumped sideways onto the bed, and Sammy leapt to his feet. At least, he tried to. The sheets tangled themselves around his ankles in a way that seemed almost sentient, and Sammy was sent tumbling messily over the side of the bed, hitting the bedroom floor. At least, that’s what he should have hit.
Instead, the floor gave way to inky black depths. Sammy plunged beneath the surface, and felt countless hands grabbing him from all directions. They reached up out of the infinite darkness that had engulfed the Californian apartment, blotting out the rays of golden sunshine, and coiled their snaking, icy fingers around him wherever they could reach.
Sammy fought as best as he could, but the shadows were proving too much for him. There were dozens of them, all of them unrelenting in their ferocity and apparent hunger. They clawed ferociously at him like crazed animals, tearing into his sweat-slick flesh and leaving behind shallow cuts that leaked dark rivulets of blood. Sammy howled with pain at each searing scratch and claw that penetrated his flesh, but he couldn’t fight against them.
“This is just a dream, Sammy,” Jack’s voice echoed all around him. It came from the darkness, from the hollow mouths of the shadows that engulfed Sammy, from within Sammy’s mind.
“That’s not Jack,” Sammy tried to tell himself, but it was hard to do when he could see his fiance hovering in the darkness above him. He was the only visible thing in the infinite darkness, in The Void. He was just standing there, looking down at Sammy with a cruel, uncharacteristic grin on his face. The smile was all different levels of wrong; it was too big for his face, it didn’t belong on Jack’s face at all, it wasn’t friendly or reassuring in the least.
It was evil.
“This isss juuuuusssttt aaaaaaaaaaa drrrrreeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmm....”
Jack spoke again, but as he did, his voice deepened, slowed, became less of a voice and more of a demonic rumble that made the marrow in Sammy’s bones vibrate. Jack’s mouth slurred the words in a disturbing, contortionist manner that defied human biology. As he spoke, the Jack dissolved into something that retained Jack’s silhouette, but was otherwise totally unrecognisable. It was just as black as the rest of The Void, silhouetted by a vague purple hue, but was made from a cluster of staring, unblinking eyes that glowed with an unholy light that made Sammy feel absolutely horrified as they stared down at him.
The Void quivered and shook with immeasurable violence. The whole thing seemed to be collapsing around them, and Sammy was being dragged down by the shadows, further away from Jack’s floating naked figure.
Sammy wanted to scream for help, to claw his way back up to the surface, but it was too late; the shadows swallowed him whole.
Then Sammy woke up again.
He prayed that this time, he really had.
The scream that ruptured his throat was one harsh enough to leave the metallic tang of blood in Sammy’s mouth, and he frantically peered around the room he was in. He was in the shitty King Falls apartment he knew, all on his own in the dingy darkness, with no sign of Jack or sentient shadows anywhere around him.
As the tears gushed freely from his burning eyes, Sammy pressed a hand to his mouth; his lips were icy cold, and he could feel a bite mark on his lower lip.
A bite mark formed from teeth much smaller than his own.