Flood Me Like Atlantic

Wash away the blood on my hands

A bit of wholesome II/IV content between the angst <3
Content warnings: vivid nightmares, mentions of gore, mentions of child death, mentions of death, emotional distress, implied PTSD
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Silence was typically eerie in places like this, places he knew so well, places that shouldn't be so quiet... yet tonight he embraced that silence. It was appreciated far more than loathed, if anything IV didn't feel like he could go a second without it. Why was that..?

It felt so deafeningly silent here, the dust particles and his own heartbeat the loudest things in the room. That's why it was strange to feel something drip down on his head, something warm..? Several more drops fell until it began to properly rain, the liquid flooding his eyes before he could discern what was happening. Rain wasn't typically warm, though perhaps that was possible too in the dream world. It was his mind, after all.

IV stood from where he sat, the grass around him slick as he used the ground to push himself up. He shook the feeling off of his hands enough to wipe his eyes clear, using his hands to shield them. Oh how he wished he didn't. His own hands were stained a deep shade of red, the ground around him the exact same.

Something pulled at him, tugged him backward a few steps and nearly led him to trip. The mansion was behind him, but that wasn't.. IV glanced around himself again to find himself in the midst of the woods, the leaves and light dotted floor- it wasn't stained red. He rushed inside, calling names that seemed to echo and bounce back to him as he threw off his jacket- names he knew, names he loved. The taste of iron was in his mouth, his clothes soaked and stained that same color. The whole of it made him feel sick, made his skin crawl from the sick sensation it left on him. His fingers latched onto his sleeves without his conscious notice, calling for Vessel desperately, calling for any of them and hearing nothing but his own voice bouncing back. Why was he alone? What had IV done to-

A hand clamped around his shoulder, causing him to swiftly flinch away and turn to see his own eyes staring back.

"You did this." His reflection spoke to him, a reflection not in glass but physical matter. An impossible reflection.

"You aren't real." IV cringed at his own voice, how small he sounded in his head saying it. He immediately wished to take the words back into himself and not utter another thing again.

"You don't actually believe that." His reflection responded, tilting his head slightly. IV glanced down to see the blade in his hand, stained crimson- fresh.

"Do you remember their faces?" The opposing IV spoke again, taking IV's hand in his own.

"W-whose faces?" The words were stumbled over, the mind that spoke them going a mile a minute.

"Your sister, her friend... You know, the little one that you slit the throat of." Oh. Oh. That's what this is about.

"You aren't real." IV said it again, staring into his own eyes, eyes that seemed to smirk at him and pick apart every doubt in his mind until it was left open and gutted.

"She begged you, pleaded. She was terrified of the man with blood splattered over his clothes. I bet she could feel their deaths lingering on you still." The reflection taunted him further, each word feeling like a stab to the gut. Salt burned his eyes and threatened to spill over at such a fresh reminder, despite so much time having passed since.

"You do, I can see the recognition in your eyes." He smirked before continuing.

"Her mother cried as you carved her up, taking the organs one by one as she bled out for your precious god. Your little sister walked in on it and screamed, her friend soon to follow. What did she call you again..?"