Charles' Nightmare

Happening again

Burning. Fire crackling into the sky, brilliant against the midnight blackness. Screams ringing out across the night. Terrible, agonised screams as burning wood seared against flesh. Above the ground, strapped and nailed, four wolves writhed and struggled against the bonds of the crucifix. Below, a single wolf screamed defiance and blasphemy, unable to reach for them. Forced to watch as his lifeblood burned before his eyes, forced to watch as his pack was slowly reduced to little more than charred corpses.

Charles screamed, straining against his own bonds, not caring for the burns they gave. His scars would be trivial against the pack's. The faceless humans stood merciless, overseeing the execution as if they were merely bored of it, as if the sound would never be echoing in their minds forever afterwards. They cared only that Charles bore witness to the entire thing, cracking a wooden bat across his face if he dared look elsewhere.

He could do little more than scream for them, scream for the end of their suffering, and scream to block out the screams he could hear. Inevitably, one scream would die out first, one wolf reaching the point of death before the others. Charles' scream broke a moment as Roel's scream died first.

Tears stung his fire dried eyes, streaming halfway down his face before they too dried up. His screams grew, vowing the deaths of all humans in attendance, vowing to bring them all the same pain. The humans paid him no mind, unphased by the wolf they chose not to execute.

As each scream died, so did Charles, the new silences driving stakes into his heart and soul until there was naught left but begging. Begging for the humans to end him, too. His mournful, desperate yowls falling on deaf ears, now, and forevermore.

Roel awoke with a start, launched into consciousness by soul crushing scream of his bedmate. He made the mistake of grabbing at Charles' shoulder, causing him to jump awake in a panic, scrambling off the bed and clawing Roel's shoulder and chest in the process. Roel couldn't help the pained yelp, but bleeding on the bed wasn't the concern at the moment.

The jolt of landing on the floor had shaken Charles only slightly, not enough to register that his bedmate, brother, and the room he was in was all real. The panicked fire burning in his eyes, growling and hissing as a bloodied Roel jumped to the floor in front of him, scooting forward until he was close enough to touch. Roel, unfortunately well practised in these situations, grabbed at both of Charles' hands, not caring that the main thing the other wolf wanted to do was tear him a new one.

Roel held fast until Charles' struggles died down a notch, taking the risk of letting go of one of his hands to drag a hand through his hair. The growling didn't stop, Charles still somewhat caught in the nightmare, but at least he stopped trying to claw through Roel's wrists. "Woawoawoaowoah... Easy now, yeah? No need to kill any of us." Roel smiled reassuringly, taking his other hand away from Charles' to fully focus on shushing and patting the other wolf back to reality. "I got ya, I got ya. Easy for me now, wolfy"

Charles' growls slowly died down, replaced by stuttered breathing as his mind followed his body in realising he was actually awake. Roel's quiet babbling gave him something to focus on other than the horrifying visions his mind had come up with, slowing his thought processes down enough that he could actually form some sort of coherency. The fire of panic in his eyes briefly turned to shame, before glazing over with relief, blinking away the few tears that were sure to be a floodgate if he wasn't careful.

Roel sighed, moving his hands from Charles' hair to gently cup his face. "Crosses again?" he asked tentatively. His already soft gaze softened further at Charles' weak nod, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Charles' barely audible gasping sob wrenched Roel's heart, out of all the nightmares that he had, the crosses was the worst one. He trilled, pulling the other werewolf against his chest, letting him bury his head in his shoulder. He winced at the contact with his fresh wounds, but it was trivial, incredibly unimportant at that moment.

"We gotta get you some help, buddy. Ok?"

"... Ok..."