A Totally Fantastic Guide To Vigilantism {Sanscest Story}

Rule #8

Rule #8: Here's your friendly reminder that no matter how much you try to suppress the bad memories, they always find a way to haunt you again.

"How good are you at hand to hand combat?"

Cross' eyes found their way to Dream, who had posed the question to him. He stayed silent for a moment, contemplating on how he would answer. He knew Dream was only asking to gauge how much they needed to train today, so he supposed his answer should follow his motivation level.

Cross ended up shrugging, "Uh...fine at it, I guess?"

They were in a training room. It was simply a big open space with padded walls and numerous sets of equipment to assist those who wished to use them. Cross had been spending a lot of his time here these past couple of weeks, training to finally be worthy enough to be put on the patrol list.

He didn't really care about all that, though. The only good thing that had come from this was the fact Dream was his trainer. If Cross was going to successfully carry out his mission, he would need as much time around Dream as possible. Luckily, their close proximity in recent times helped a ton, especially because Dream's house arrest wouldn't let him do anything else. Dream took this up as an opportunity to waste his time, and Cross couldn't be more thankful.

The two had just entered the room, since it was still rather early on in the day and Cross had only arrived at work about thirty minutes ago. They were the first ones in here, per usual, so Dream immediately busied himself with setting the room up for a nice excruciating training session. Cross still hadn't quite figured out the ropes yet, and found he was more comfortable watching from the sideline.

Dream had placed himself in front of a rack that looked to contain a plethora of padded gear. He had posed his initial question from there, and sorted through some of the items as he waited for Cross' response. After Cross had replied, he gathered some of the protective clothing and found his way back to him.

Cross stared at Dream's armful of gear with worry, suddenly feeling he wasn't as thrilled about this training as he usually was. Dream returned his look with a comforting glance, and let the padded garments fall from his arms into a heap on the floor. He then, upon noticing that Cross' worry had not ceased to eat away at him, offered some reassurance, "This is for only if we need them, can't be too safe right? I seriously doubt it will get that rough."

Cross' eyes met Dream's golden ones. Dream smiled at him for a moment, before turning back around to walk to the equipment again. Cross frowned—he was so incredibly hard to read, at this rate he'd never get any answers.

Dream cleared his throat as he approached a rack that contained some weapons. He looked back to Cross who was staring at him intently, "Have you ever had any formal training before, with weapons?"

Cross knows he froze—he could tell by the way Dream shot him a fearful glance, and by the way Dream subconsciously engulfed him in that damned spirited aura of his. No artificial feeling would stop him from being completely sucked back to a time in his life he'd rather not think about, though. He could still practically smell the musty air from training from hours on end, and the taste of blood from one too many failed attempts at beating those who were so much stronger than him. He could vividly remember that stupid wry smile that haunted his every waking moment, and the whispers of false encouragement from a voice that never failed to fill him with hatred.

Dream's soft, almost worried, voice would break him out of his trance, "Cross? Are you okay?"

Cross stiffened. His soul was pounding so hard it was about the only thing he could hear. When had the room become so hot? He hadn't even realized he'd been sweating this much. What had gotten into him?