What happene... where am I. ... Hello..?

(He looked around the basement from his vantage point on the table, curious. He'd never really come down here before.) They've got a surprising amount of stuff here. Looks like a lot of old decor.

(He darts back and forth on top of a small bookshelf, frazzled.) HELLO?! JESSE! ANGIE?!! DES?! HERSH!! ANYONE!!! ( @marshall-pinheiro.bsky.social )

(Despite the incoming raid, all he has is time to think.) *Should I even worry about Father's Day...* *My father certainly wasn't fond of the person I became... and he certainly never acted like he had time to spare with me and Angie.*

(More fitful sleep. The light leaving their eyes. Repeating endlessly. His mind didn't care that the two were alive and well, and likely not even far from him. It was petrifying.)

I’ve got to 🚬 it up.

(He sneezes.) Whoa, what was that from?

Oh this is sweet! I... suppose its not a secret anymore, haha!

Yijun! When did you get here?

(He tosses and turns in his makeshift bed, panting and clearly distressed. Images filter through his head of every way he could go, every way he could lose someone. Bran and Targent at the center of it all. He whines pitifully in his sleep.)

(More sleep, more nightmares. Indescribable, forgotten the moment he exits them. Startling all the same. He drops his head into his hands, exhausted.) *I feel like I've barely slept since that day... I'm sure I look the part too...*

(He sits quietly on the kitchen counter, thinking like always. Not much else to do, hobbies don't usually have tiny versions.) *Man, I wanna be big again... have a sandwich and help with the cleaning and...* *And keep everyone safe...*

... Should I be worried that Dalston's dog is very... invested in Des, Hershel, and I? They've already climbed the walls to keep away, but... he just keeps looking at me.

I can feel my ears burning again. Actually, they've been burning for a while. Who is talking about me this much??

Oh! I almost forgot! Des, Hershel! I have good news! ( @authorityonazran.bsky.social )

(He sleeps much sounder now that he can just use a pillow for a bed, but that doesn't sort out the nightmares...)

I'm so used to being taller than everyone that being this little is... jarring, at best. Plus, I am a little too easy to just... scoop up... mmm...

Oh, dear...

(He sits in the waiting room again, staring quietly at the drawings from his dream.) *I'm sorry, Hershel... I hope it's real, for both our sakes...* *I want to live that life with you... I want to live...*

*It is Mother's Day, isn't it... I wonder if Mum and Dad are even still around.* *They shouldn't be particularly old, but you never know.*

*It's been really nice actually, having this little guy hang out with me. Comforting.* *...* *Do I... need a therapy animal..? When I go home?*

*Hospitals need better couches...* (He picks at the food—he's gotten rather tired of it being less than stellar.) *And better food...*

(Once Angela is asleep, he quietly refills her water cup before making his way to the cafeteria. The pickings are meager, but he's starving.) *The agents aside from Bran don't seem eager to kill anyone...* *...* *One of them was named Felix... Is he... like me..?*

(Despite the swaths of information his mind needs to sort through, his sleep is mercifully dreamless. It refuses to replay that moment, where everything nearly shattered to pieces. It gives him a sensation of quiet comfort in a rolling sea.)

(They all manage to reach the house unscathed, but Simon spots someone in the garden and passes Charolette to Angela.) Des?! What are you doing??

(He sits restlessly in the living room, leg shaking as he stares down at the sketch of Callum Bran from his dream.)

(Eventually, he gives up his pacing, tucking himself against Desmonds bed and staring at the sketch of his older self until he finally falls asleep, completely exhausted. He leaves the notebook on the bedside table, open to the sketch from his dream.)

(As soon as the coast is clear of Bronev and Bran, he rushes back to the manor with Charolette. He locks the doors and windows tight, closing the curtains as well, and sets Charolette in her room before taking to pacing the living room.) *I need to warn her, but is she even awake? Fuck, fuck..!*

Who on earth is this??

<The sleepy buzz of just waking up fills his body. He rolls onto his side, nuzzling into a bed of thick russet curls. The soft smell of berries paired with the owner's sleepy movements wakes him further. He places a soft kiss into the hair, and the owner chuckles softly.>

Whuh???

<Something is different this time. The dream is similar but very, very different simultaneously. The confrontation. The march to the cave. Those disgusting words thrown at his face again. But there's no gun. Just dig tools and sticks from the ground.>

The chesterfield is actually quite comfortable. This shouldn't be a problem at all.

(After speaking with the hospital staff, they decided it would be best to let Desmond rest and move them in the morning. It takes a few hours to get them moved from the hospital to the manor, but isn't too much of a hassle. Simon leans on the doorway, observing the handiwork.)

(It may be late, but he's outside on a bench, sketching lightly in a small notebook.)

(He'll hurry into Desmond's hospital room and draw the curtains closed as he speaks.) This may sound insane, but there's some group here called Targent that claims they know where Desmond Sycamore is. I don't know if they mean you or another Desmond. ( @authorityonazran.bsky.social )

(Something nags at the back of his mind, some details from his dream the other night. He knew who the people he was taking the trip with were. Why hadn't he written them down before? Though their faces were fuzzy, and their names weren't coming to the surface as easily as he wished they would.)

(The universe appears to be merciful. It gives him a sweet dream, unearthing an old memory.)

(He looks tired when he leaves the bathroom, opting to sit in the living space rather than hide in his room. He sits on the couch and leans his head against the back.) *There's a chance... there's a chance... there's a chance...*

<"You're a ____, aren't you, Simon." It's not a question. He freezes, observing the shadow stretching before him. His heart begins to pound. "No trying to deny it. We found your filth." His letters to Elijah flutter down around him. His blood runs cold.>

Well... now I've got nothing better to do... *... I should check on Des, I didn't get to tell him I was going to be out all day yesterday.* *...* *I hope he's not mad at me.*

(He lies in his bed in the manor, staring at the ceiling.) *Shouldn't have said anything, Simon, they seemed fine before you opened your big mouth.*

(After one final night of strange dreams, Simon woke on the couch in Desmonds hospital room. Despite the obvious discomforts—his back popped as he sat up—he felt leagues better. His fever had finally broken, and most of the clouds in his head have dissipated.)

ya mama style or something. they let me in the clerb papa

Waiting for them to play time machine style

(As they travel to the hospital, he asks Desmond question after question to keep him awake. His birthday, Theo's, his favorite color, anything and everything.)

(He changes into the soft pyjamas, cool against his clammy skin, and buries himself under the thick covers. Despite his own fever and the layers of blankets covering him, he begins to shiver. His discomfort makes it hard to sleep, but eventually his body gives in, and he drifts away.)

(Hebwalks back to Ledore manor unsteady, the ground swaying beneath his feet. Or was he swaying? He would never get used to the heat of Monte d'Or, that's for sure. He's sweltering, even in the early morning. It's even made him nauseous.)

(He sits up and stares at the ceiling, tears carving frigid tracks down his face.) Please, God... leave him home... I can't bear the thought... (He takes a shuddering breath.) Let it leave their real bodies and minds unharmed... please...

(He heads for the inn at a brisk pace, a bit frantic as the adrenaline starts to kick in.)