#its gonna hurt like a bitch but im gonna give dawnbreaker the happy ending he deserves

[dawnbreakersgaze]

Lost in Your Echos -Prologue teaser

❥ ┊𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; Dawnbreaker!Zayne × Hunter!Reader

❥ ┊𝐀𝐔; This one is gonna get weird folks. Canon Divergent as fuck, but will use a lot of the canon lore.

❥ ┊𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; NSFW, reader is afab using she/her pronouns, reader's skin/hair/body will not be described (this will be Black reader friendly!!) violence, mentions of torture but no descriptions, beloved character deaths (I'm serious I'm gonna kill 'em), slow burn, obsessive behavior, Dawnbreaker is kind of a creep but he's trying he just doesn't know how, trauma, ptsd, nightmares/night terrors, poorly managed grief and depression, sexual situations (more specific tags for that when we get to those chapters later).

❥ ┊𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; In the far future, Dawnbreaker fights a lone man war against an ever growing hoard of human born wanderer abominations, spawned from an unchecked protocore sickness run rampant. 2 weeks after the death of Georgie, Zayne has an all too vivid dream of the Doctor that abruptly brings an end to his dreams of the Doctor and you.

Several months later, Detective Ivan reaches out to him again, informing him that a woman has come forward requesting help with information about the abominations. Knowing he can't help her, he sends Dawnbreaker her info and suggests Zayne meet up with her. What he finds shatters the delicate reality he has built for himself, but for the first time in his bleak life he can feel the warmth of the sun.

❥ ┊𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; Lost in Your Echos

"It's you.” Truly the last place he expected to see the haunted expression of his own warped visage was in his once quiet office at Akso hospital, but Zayne already knew this was no ordinary meeting. The mid-morning sun shone through the open windows, washing everything in a beautiful golden glow, but there was no warmth to be found here.

How long had it been since he'd sat behind this desk? 6, 7, 8 weeks? Even now there was a force in his mind that wanted to drift to the many patients he'd left in the care of Dr. Greyson, and their varied outcomes, but the man that stood before him like a specter was the only thing left to take care of now. He wore his face, but so discordant were the expression and mannerisms that they made every part of his being feel like he was staring down the executioner.

This was his grim reaper.

He'd experienced his presence a hundred times in his dreams, yet nothing in those half lucid moments compared to this. 

“You've come for me then, finally.” He watched the unchanging face of his twisted reflection for any sign of recognition or acceptance. Instead, the apparition finally spoke, his expression as frigid as his tone. 

“You called me here.” His voice was quieter than the Doctor's, with the slight rasp of disuse, but otherwise, he thinks they sound too similar for his liking. Zayne watches as the figure cut in black shifts, movements awkward like he takes up space in a room he is not part of. He is a person all too real in a dream or simulation, and it reminds Zayne that his own body is slipping from his grasp. 

“I didn't call anyone here. I'm not even sure where ‘here’ is. If you're not the grim reaper then who exactly are you, and where are we?” Zayne doesn't miss the slightest crinkle of the other's eyes at the use of his macabre ‘nickname’, but all the same he doesn't object.

With a small effort he stands, the unease in his gut growing and gnawing as he realizes now they are exactly the same height as well. It didn't bother him before how perfectly stacked all the logs were, or how healthy all the plants looked. How all the pillows on the couch were fully fluffed and every photo on his desk was fingerprint free. However, the longer he stood here in the eerie silence with his doppelganger, the more his surroundings began to feel suffocating and uncanny. He knows his heart should be racing with the discomfort he's experiencing yet it felt alarmingly calm. His fingers itched to call the familiar ice for his own protection only to find the terrifyingly numb sensation of nothingness. 

He really was dead. But what about-

“I was dreaming.” The other starts softly, temporarily snapping Zayne from his spiral. “I saw… us in an explosion and we called out for help. I …. reached out.” The caution and cadence in his voice made him sound confused, and Zayne follows his flickering gaze downward as they both look to his trembling hands that now tightly grip the photo that sat on his desk of the two of you in your finest evening wear at his last award ceremony dinner. Your smile, so radiant and warm, was forever seared into his memory. This seemed so long ago now. Had the last few months truly aged you both that much?

Wait, when did he even grab this?

No, that didn't matter. He didn't have time to waste now. If he could reach out to him then maybe-

“Can you reach out to her? Is she still alive?” Zayne no longer cared to police his tone or expression, and the reaction of his double was proof enough as he watched his eyes blow wide for just a second. He could feel the frantic tone cracking in his throat like a fading fire but pushed forward despite the strain, slamming his free hand on the desk between them, alarmed by the lack of pain or feedback from it. “Like you are right now with me? She was with me in the-”

“I saw her, yes.” There is a consuming reverence on his tongue when he speaks of you, and if Zayne had any other option, he'd have gladly taken it over him at this moment. The way his eyes soften and soothe at the mere mention of you is enough to trip more than one warning flag, but he lacks the time you desperately need. He knows he's not the first man to die for you, and while he doesn't understand what this body double even is, he's a wise enough man to know his own heart. His own devotion to you, left unchecked, could border on obsession. 

He has no choices left. There is no more time, and his only parting gift to you is hopefully giving you the time necessary to make your plan work. So many had put their faith in you, himself included, and he would be a fool to look this 11th hour gift in the eye and deny its aid. 

Xavier, Jeremiah, Caleb, Thomas, Yvonne… so many more names of the lost had faded from his memory and the thought made him sick, the ghost of the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. How many had he forgotten already? 

“Do it. Please.” Voice raw, he begged. For you, he begged the grim reaper.