#maybe Travis was somehow born with straight blonde hair

[secret-engima]

Worlds Unseen verse Drabble: Stand By You (Even in Dreams)

(here I am, writing something I have no idea what to do with. Enjoy the angst? This ends really abruptly but I didn’t know how to wrap it up. gfhgfd it was interesting to write at least. Also, potential spoilers for Horizon Zero Dawn).

...

     He showed up about two days in. A silent companion walking steadily at her side even though that —he— was impossible. She was determined to ignore him at first. She didn’t know if he was born of her increasing hunger and thirst, her loneliness, or if the air was turning toxic the more damage the swarm did to the world, but he wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. So she ignored him.

     Still, he walked beside her. Not speaking, not ranting or babbling or screaming, just-. Walking. Watching. He watched the world around them with sad eyes, very emotive eyes. Sometimes he almost seem to stumble over the rubble of the road. If it hadn’t been for the impossibility of it, of him, she might have believed he was real. Her imagination was too strong apparently.

     But he was impossible. Dressed like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie, furs and leathers mixed with machine piping and wires, his painted face exposed to the ruined world without dying even though she knew that people needed vacuum-sealed suits now just to survive. He was impossible.

     She would never admit that it felt good not to be alone. Even if her company was just a figment of her imagination.

     She made it through three days of silence before she broke, “You ever gonna talk, or are you a silent hallucination?”

     Blue-grey eyes, more like storm clouds than skies, shifted away from the landscape to look at her, “You didn’t seem in the mood for conversation,” he spoke, and she noted what almost sounded like a Japanese accent —odd choice brain, why not a southern accent like Travis or something?—, “so I left you alone.”

     She sighed, “Well, not much else to do out here but indulge my insanity.”

     “You think you’re dreaming me up.”

     “Aren’t I?”

     The hallucination shrugged, “I don’t know. I think that I’m dreaming you up, personally, and you believe you’ve dreamed me up. Maybe we’re both dreaming up each other. Or maybe we’re both just dreams. Does it matter?”

     She mulled over that for probably longer than it deserved, “I guess not.”

...

...

...

     “Where are we going?”

     She looked up tiredly at the words, jolted out of the daze that had been settling into her bones by the soft voice of the impossibility following her around, “I’m trying to get home. You can leave whenever you want.”

     A loose shrug, as if her words were merely a polite suggestion and not a jab at her insanity, “Are you sure you want to see it this way? It’s not going to be pretty.”

     They both paused to look around at the ruined landscape. Skyscrapers smoking in the distance, roads cracked and torn apart, the entire world either burned or eaten by unstoppable metal monsters, the sky turned unnatural colors as the atmosphere was ruined ever further. No, she mentally agreed. She probably did not want to see her home this way. But still … “I have nowhere else to go. I’m a dead woman anyway. I want to die at home.”

     He shrugged again, as if to say without words that it was her choice, and they kept walking.

     She wondered distantly when his footsteps had started to make sound, just like real ones did.

...

...

...

     “You got a name? It’s getting boring just calling you the Hallucination in my head.”

     An amused glance her way, “I thought you weren’t supposed to indulge hallucinations because it would only make them worse.”

     She scoffed, the sound laced with static through the speakers of her suit, “Worst case is that I die before I get home, talking to thin air. Best case is that I die at the ranch, still talking to thin air. Might as well risk it. So, do you have a name?”

     He tilted his head and considered her. There was something eerie in his gaze, something too keen and too alive. Something too old. It fit the strange military uniform he was wearing today, “Bast,” he finally said, “Bast Lucis Caelum.”

     “Pretentious,” she huffed, and his lips twitched like he agreed and found her opinion amusing. It was stupid to introduce herself to a hallucination of her own mind, because surely he knew everything about her already. But even so, boredom and manners made her tap her chest plate and say, “Elisabet. Elisabet Sobeck.” He stopped and stared at her with wide, startled eyes, the most open emotion she had yet seen from him. His mouth opened, then shut, then he shook his head and muttered something that sounded distinctly like “should have known” and she was intrigued despite herself, “You didn’t know who I was. Shouldn’t you know everything about me?”

     He scoffed, a dry, tired noise, “No. I didn’t. I knew your voice was familiar, but I can’t- I can’t see you under that suit. I wasn’t sure. And I don’t know much about you. Not really.” A pause, a thoughtful look at the ruined horizon and the swirling dust beneath their feet, “Tell me?”

     Elisabet didn’t feel much like talking about herself to, essentially, herself, but she was used to answering vague, childish questions after so long working with Gaia, and somehow she found herself talking as she hiked through the empty landscape. About herself, about her past, about her dreams. Bast listened without judgement, just occasionally made a questioning noise that let her know he was listening.

     It was a relief to not feel alone in this place. Even if she knew logically she was more alone than she had ever been before in her life.

...

...

...

     “If you had a daughter,” Elisabet jerked awake from her daze at the sound, blinked and tried to shake off the effects of dehydration —the suit had run out of water stims to inject into her bloodstream yesterday and she was already feeling the effects—, “what would you say to her?”

     “I don’t have any children,” she retorted and tried not to sound bitter about it, “for the best, really, considering … this.” She waved a hand at the fallen buildings and smoking spires. Ruins without bodies, everything already picked clean of organic material by the swarm as it had passed by. That was probably the only reason she was still alive. This area had already been deemed empty by the swarm and it had moved on before she had … left.

     “Humor me.”

     She looked at her imaginary companion. He was dressed in post-apocalypse leathers and cables again, his blond hair half shaved, the other half left to flop to the side like some kind of sad not-mohawk. His weapons hadn’t changed. They were just as anime as ever. A katana at one hip, a bow on his back and a quiver of arrows on his other hip, knives peaking out from seemingly every pocket. He was watching her with something very focused and serious in his gaze. Like he could see through her suit and into her eyes. She licked dry lips beneath her visor, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anyone.”

     He stopped walking, she stopped instinctively so as to not leave him behind. He reached out as if to grab her shoulder, paused before he could touch her and lowered his hand. Grey eyes looked dark with intent, with desperation, “If you had a daughter,” he started to repeat.

     “Well I don’t!” She snapped, temper breaking free of its leash, “I’m childless! I have no daughter, I have no future! I’m talking to a hallucination! You’re a figment of my mind, why won’t you just change the subject?”

     “Because this is important!” He snarled back with more ferocity than she expected. He stormed forward until they were almost touching, his nose inches from her faceplate, “This is important, Elisabet. I don’t know what’s going on, if I’m dead or dreaming or what, but I have a chance to ask this and I’m taking it!”

     A fractured pause between them, tense and disbelieving on both sides. Then Bast ran a hand through his hair and stepped back, “Now please. If you had a daughter, what would you tell her?”

     A pointless question. A pointless question that was painful to even think about, especially here. Especially now. She turned away and resumed walking, listened to the crunch of footsteps that couldn’t really be there as they followed her and thought about changing the subject.

     And yet…

     “If I had a daughter … I would tell her that I loved her. So much. I would tell her … to be brave. And curious. And kind. That- that the world has enough people out there hurting it, and that it takes a special kind of person to heal it instead. If only a little bit. I would tell her that I support her, no matter what she decided to do with her life, and that wherever she went … whatever she did, I would believe in her. Anything she wanted to be, or achieve, she could do it. I know she could.” Elisabet looked up at the sky, taking in the starscape just beginning to be visible, “I would tell her to reach for the stars, because if she wanted to, she could touch them. And no matter what happened next … I would be … so proud. I would love her, and I would… I …”

     “I would tell her that I would always be proud of my baby girl.”

     Bast let her fall silent after that. Politely looked away as her shoulders shook and her breath hitched inside the suit. Then, after minutes upon minutes of aching silence, he whispered, “I’ll remember that.”

     And Elisabet wondered why it felt like such a relief to hear those words. Even though logically she knew that she had no child, and even if she had, they would never hear what Elisabet had to say.

...

...

...

     It was getting hard to see straight. Hard to think. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the suit ran out of nutrient stims. Just that it had, and she had kept walking. She had avoided the swarm, somehow, and now … now she was so tired. So very tired.

     “Keep walking,” Bast said, and she wondered when she had stopped caring that he was a figment of her mind and instead clung to the comfort of his presence. To the steadiness of his voice even in a world eaten alive. “That’s it, isn’t it? Up ahead.”

     She looked up. Cried when she saw the weathered letters of the Sobeck Ranch looking back, “Yeah. That’s it. That’s home.” She had made it. She had made it home. Crazy and dying and alone at the end of the world but … she was home. She staggered past the wrecked gate, tried not to look at the devastation. The swarm had been through here, she could tell. All the trees were gone, all the grass ripped out of the ground by the roots. The walls caved in to get to the ivy that had been growing on them. Her home was in as much ruins as the rest of the world.

     But it was still here.

     She sank shakily onto the old stone bench that faced the house and sighed.

     This would be a good place to die.

     Bast settled next to her, crouching on his haunches near the bench rather than risk touching her —he never touched her, and she wasn’t sure if that was out of respect for her boundaries or because they both knew it would break the illusion that he was ever there—. He was quiet. He had been getting a lot quieter, the longer the journey went on. The more Elisabet faded. He only spoke now to wake her up, to tell her to keep moving. But she was home now, so there was no more reason to stay awake, or to walk. This was it. This was where she was going to stay until the end.

     She wondered, a little dazedly, if it would be scary for Bast. If he would fade with her consciousness, acting alive until the end, or if her brain would just get too tired to keep him around and he would wink into nothing between one heartbeat and the next. That thought scared her more than it should.

     “Hey, Bast?”

     “Yeah?”

     She licked dry lips and shifted to be marginally more comfortable on the bench. Tilted her head back to the sky and idly rolled her little globe charm in her fingers as she whispered, “If I had a daughter … what would her name be? What … would she be like?”

     The silence that followed was deep and long. So long she closed her eyes with a shaking sigh, sure that her brain had finally gotten bored with making him and left her well and truly alone. Then.

     “Aloy. Her name would be Aloy. She would … look just like you. Red hair, bright green eyes that try to pick apart everything in the world around her. She would be … curious. Brave. Unstoppable. The smartest person in the room wherever she went but not … arrogant about it. Always looking for knowledge, always looking to learn. She would be … afraid of a lot of things, but she would never let it stop her. She would be very kind. Always willing to help other people in need, even when it’s risky, or when she would rather do something else. She would … look at a boy about her age that … no one wanted anything to do with because he was weird and she would hold out a hand in friendship. She would learn a foreign language just so she could talk to her new friend better, and ask questions no else thinks to ask. She would do … so many amazing things.”

     Elisabet tried to picture it. Indulged in the fantasy of it, just for a little while, “What things?”

     “Well,” Bast mused slowly, a note of gentle, nostalgic fondness in his voice, “there was this one time when we were eleven, and Aloy decided she wanted to surprise Rost, our … caretaker, so…”

     Elisabet listened. Eyes closed, breath slowing, basking in stories of the impossible. Of children and curiosity, of teenagers and bravery. Of a daughter who was unstoppable, and curious, and kind enough to fix the world, just a little bit. She listened to Bast’s voice rise and fall in stories of hope and heartbreak and danger and kindness. Her hand slowly relaxed around her little globe charm. It would be alright to doze off just for a little while, right? To dream of these fanciful stories her own mind was telling her.

     Just for a little while. Maybe … maybe she would get to see them? In her dreams if nothing else.

     Just for a little bit.

     Thank you, she tried to tell Bast past lips too tired to move. Thank you for staying with me, even if you aren’t really here.

     Thank you for not letting me die alone.

...

...

...

     Bast finished his story, one of many he had been telling, through the day and night and into the dawn again. He looked up from the pebbles he had been fiddling with, only half feeling them, as if he was touching them in a dream.

     He couldn’t hear Elisabet breathing anymore.

     He closed his eyes. Opened them and looked around the ruined world one more time. He could feel it, the tug in his soul that had been trying to make him wake up for a while now. He could have left days ago, followed the tug and gone back to the world of the living. But even if this was all just a dream —which it might be, or it might not, could he really judge after all the things he’d seen?—, he hadn’t wanted to leave yet. He hadn’t wanted to disappear and leave her alone.

     It was the least he could do, for Aloy’s mother.

     He stood up, letting the tugging sensation unravel through his soul as he stared at the unmoving figure slumped over on the stone bench, “I’ll come find you,” he whispered, “when I wake up. When this is all over. I’ll take Aloy here to meet you. Just wait for me until then, okay?”

     There was no answer. He didn’t expect any.

     The tugging feeling grew stronger and yanked him away, and Bast had just enough time to whisper goodbye before he opened his eyes in the real world, aching all over and with a relieved Aloy crying at his head.

     “-you thinking? You almost died!”

     “Sor’y, Aloy.”

     “I’ll show you sorry, all those lectures on being reckless and there you go and do something stupid like that-!”

     “Your Mom says hi.”

     “I’m going to- what?”

     Bast shook his head with a sigh. She didn’t know yet. She still had hope.

     He would tell her later. When he took her to meet Elisabet, “Neverm’nd. Tell you later.” He reached up and tugged one of her braids gently, “Missed you.”

     He squinted past the tears dripping onto his face as she pulled him into her lap, “I missed you too you big idiot. Don’t scare me like that again.”

     “Okay.”