dare to dream | a.hotchner

-chapter 11-

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."
-John Lennon.

Cascade Moreau's pov

I can detect voices, faint, but they're there. Some I can barely recognise, and some seem awfully familiar but I can't quite seem to place my finger on it. After a while, they became sharper, still somewhat hard to fully understand, but much, much clearer. One's voice seemed like Aaron's, but I can't be certain. Another seems like Aaron's voice again, only years younger, possibly Jack. Jack and I got along magnificently, we were inseparable. I loved him as though he was my own son.

Each day the discomfort grew far more intense. An endless amount of uncertainty and uncomfortableness. I hate it, more than anything on this earth. I wish I could see their faces once again, I wish I could hug them with all of my might. I wish... I had a second chance at life.

Instead, all I got was greater pain. A reminder that death was nearing, that death was the end. Obviously, death is everyone's end, it's a painful truth that so many people avoid, but death was a reality which happened much sooner for me. Truth be told, I'm certain the doctors know it too, considering as I have heard many 'keep fighting' speeches. I guess it makes them feel less of the guilt, knowing they did everything they could, and yet, somehow, you never forgive yourself. I could relate to that.

Fighting seemed so incredibly challenging at this very moment. The darkness seemed so alluring, drawing me in with every passing second. I had always envisioned death as peaceful, as an effortless escape route of sorts. It had this effect, one that made me desperately want to walk and let myself drift off into the night. They always say there's light at the end of the tunnel, but what if there isn't? What if, the only thing at the end of the tunnel was darkness inviting you into their home.

As I finally realised that time was a gift, visions of the people I was unable to save came flooding back. Their dead bodies lay cold on the ground, their eyes wide open with a need for safety lurking in their irises. The children who I was unable to protect from the cruelty of this world, the sickening men and woman who targeted children, who stole the freedom and innocence from babies who were barely able to maintain steady handwriting. It was horrible, having to imagine them all over again.

Time seemed to pass by slowly, although I knew in the outside world that it was progressing rather swiftly. As I lay, unable to move, completely paralysed, I try and imagine what it would look like outside. I had no idea what time of year it was, or whether it was warm or cold, all I could do was imagine my favourite time of year.

Winter.

The feeling of the chilly weather grazing my skin as the wind blew it in the opposite direction I was standing. My hair flowing back and forth in complete pleasure. Snow falling from the heavens, glorifying the floor of the forest. What was a dark, scary place, was now a white Christmas. A scarf tied around my neck, ensuring the warmth of my skin lingering near my body, producing some more warmth while being surrounded by nothing but cold. Each step I take, my feet fall deeper into the ground, causing my feet to almost frost as the cold water detected my socks.

It seemed peaceful. It felt like home. Although her home would never be a what, but a who. Or 'who's' in this case. The team, that was my family. Even when we were arguing, or disagreeing over a case, even when we drank too much and ended up blaming it on each other. Those were my people, my family, my home. I understand I might never be theirs but that's okay, they're mine, and that's all I truly care about.

A small creaking sound filled my ears and mind, being followed with heavy, and light footsteps, as though more than one person is walking. Voices became clear after a while, ones I recognised to be my old unit. The Joint Terrorism Task Force. God, how I had missed these guys.

Time seemed to pass rapidly as the JTTF filled me in on some of their craziest cases. Ones with unbelievable plot-twits and turns. A mother had set off a bomb in her own home, trying to kill her husband and son because of the abuse she endured. Obviously, I couldn't agree with her methods more, but nobody would know that. The case held many unexpected facts and details, which only intrigued the young woman.

After a while, they all seemed to leave the room, except one. Ali's voice was soothing, calming the younger woman. "Hey, babe, I'm not exactly certain you can hear me, but I'm going to say this anyway. We need you. They need you. Everyone needs you. Cascade Fleur Moreau, you are our sunshine, our only source of pure happiness. You bring us so much joy Cas, I need you to continue to bring us that joy.

Even if we only talk to you over the phone, a simple digital call is more than enough to make our day. Please, Cas, please. I love you, they love you, everyone loves you." She paused to regain her composure, before continuing.

"I visited the BAU the other day, god how it seemed so depressing, the only explanation? You weren't there. They're barely surviving, Cas. If it weren't for boy genius, they wouldn't be solving cases. Please, wake up, wake up Cascade."

I was internally crying, not out of sadness but out of love and happiness. As much as Ali's speech was a plead for help, for a sign of brain function, I couldn't help but feel tender. I felt complete having my best friend beside me, holding my hand, asking me for a sense of determination, or a sign of life. I gained a burst of determination; a requirement to awake.

In so, I squeezed the hand I held in mine as tightly as I could.