Chapter Text
Declan Lynch was alive, suddenly.
Both of his eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. Nothing in his body hurt, even slightly. Energy thrummed through him, hot and vivid. He bounced to his feet.
Golden wheat stretched all around him in every direction. On the north horizon, trees were picked out against the sky in deep lush green. A low teal lake stretched out to the south, so clean and crystal clear he could see all the way to the rocky bottom. The air was pleasantly warm and smelled of earth and life.
He padded down the small incline. He was barefoot, but there were no rocks or insects, only soft earth the texture of a firm mattress. Even the stems of the golden wheat were soft as animal fur on the soles of his feet.
Declan Lynch jumped down the last part of the hill and landed running.
Life burned through him. He felt so dazzlingly fresh and new, his heart thundered. He felt like a racehorse, or a greyhound, some beast of speed which ran so beautifully it glided over the earth. His body never failed or faltered. He could run forever.
Turquoise water splashed around his ankles when he jumped into the lake. It was a cool embrace, refreshingly sharp. He laughed and kicked the soft riverbank. No mud clung to his cuffs, no sand between his toes. Only the brightness of the clear water, the cleanness of it all.
Diving beneath the surface, Declan felt the chill streamed over his body and tug at his hair. Water pulled at his arms and soaked through his clothes. Relief flowed through him. Every kick of his legs was met with water resistance, like he was swimming through thick cream.
He kicked up a branch.
Declan picked it up, dislodging a small cloud of mud which was quickly cleared away by the clean water. He broke the surface and peered at it, feet catching the bank as he walked back. It was the shape of a femur bone, and smooth as stone. It was the only stick he saw anywhere.
A dog barked behind him.
Declan turned and smiled at it. It was an Irish Setter, with a coat as perfect and shining as a polished bronze coin. Declan’s favourite dog breed. Its form was ideal, nose pointed like an arrow towards Declan, tail slightly raised. Whoever had trained it had done a perfect job.
Declan threw the stick.
The setter bounced onto its hind legs as the stick flew over its head. It turned on a dime, bolting after it, long fur gleaming in the sun.
After a moment of watching, Declan leaped out of the lake and charged after it. The dog dropped the stick and ran alongside him, their feet pounding the earth. The dog’s silk side brushed Declan’s bare legs. Golden earth flashed underneath them.
Declan was warm and filled with light. He felt so young. He jumped as he ran, and his momentum carried him forward. The setter wagged its short tail.
The Irish setter dived into the treeline and Declan bounded after it. The cool, wet smell of the forest filled his mouth and nose. His body was dry again, and sun warmed, so the cool was refreshing. The dog bounded alongside him, leaping over logs and bursting through foliage. Declan felt like howling so he did, his strong voice carrying through their thundering path. The dog barked and howled with him, tail wagging so much that its rear end shook.
Declan burst into a sunny clearing and stumbled to a stop. Sun dazed him and he blinked, scraping his hair back from his forehead. The Irish settle bounded to a stop and leaned so heavily on him that he slipped slightly on the damp grass. Warmth fell like a blanket over his shoulders.
He panted lightly. His throat was slightly raw. He felt electric. He felt powerful. He watched the woman in the clearing, her beautiful glowing golden hair, her long Gingham-print dress, all of the food laid before her like a feast for a young bride on white cloth.
Aurora Lynch beckoned for him to sit down. So Declan sat, and the Irish setter immediately flopped down in his lap. Declan scratched the dog’s long, floppy ears. In the sun, the animal looked blood red.
Declan leaned across the feast and picked up a cold, roasted turkey leg. In his lap, the dog’s tail wagged so hard it tore the grass from the earth and Declan gave it the turkey leg. The dog nearly kicked him the crotch in excitement. He laughed.
“No comments?” Aurora smiled at him. She looked so fresh and new, as if she was very slightly glowing. Her hair was just like Matthew’s, a long pile of crisp gold curls.
“What’s to say?” Declan smiled at her, “Besides, I don’t want to ruin my good morning.”
“My,” Aurora beamed at him, “I had always pegged you for the curious type. And it’s been so long, sweetheart. I want to talk to you.”
“I’ve missed you,” Declan said, sadly.
Aurora nodded, “I’ve missed you all too. Terribly.”
Declan pulled the cooked bone away from the hungry dog. Cooked bird bones were bad for animals to eat, he remembered, so instead he let the dog lap at his fingers with a broad, rough tongue. The dog put a hard foot on the family jewels and Declan grunted, pushing it off. The dog didn’t seem to mind, tail whumping the air enough to stir up a breeze.
“Well, the way I see it,” Declan said, “is that you’re either a figment of my imagination, or I’m…” Declan closed his mouth.
“Well?” Aurora prompted, when he didn’t continue.
Declan flushed, “Or you’re not.”
Aurora took a sip of her tea. It was a fragrant blend, which smelled of peaches and lemons. Declan swallowed.
“Do you want some?” Aurora gestured at the glass teapot.
Declan shook his head, “What if it traps me here?”
“Is that what you think this is?” Aurora laughed, “Am I a witch?”
“It would be a fae,” Declan said, “The fae are the ones who trap you in illusions when you eat their food.”
“You have been listening to your brother’s friends too much,” Aurora smiled.
“Now I know you’re a figment of my imagination,” Declan said, scratching the dog’s ears, “Because you never met Gansey.”
Aurora moved slightly, and her lovely golden hair flowed like silk over her shoulders. She tilted her head, her beautiful blue eyes fixed on Declan, “You don’t think I’d watch over my boys?”
*
Ronan cracked the pills between his teeth.
The benefit of having so much insomnia for so long was that Monmouth Manufacturing had a fair stock of sleeping pills. The downside of this was that all of them had been proven not to work for him. Still, he was willing to try.
Part of him wanted to try whatever would work. That part was overwhelmed by the utter horror of the idea of leaving not one, but two brothers for Matthew to bury. So he just pulled out a melatonin capsule and swallowed it.
His fists hit the punching bag in an irregular patter. Frantic energy blazed through him. He wanted to jump around, but he needed to work properly so that his body would be tired enough to sleep, but not too tired to skip Dreaming. He had never tried to deliberately Dream before. He had no idea if it would work.
Ronan was in entirely the wrong mindset to sleep, far too feverish and panicked, but somehow, he would do it. He slammed his fists into the punching bag and watched it swing slowly back and forth, the chain creaking above his head.
Later, he would sleep. Later, he would dream. He would crawl on his belly in the dreamscape and beg and beg and beg for his brother’s life. He would crawl for a hundred miles, through the wilderness, atoning.
*
“You weren’t surprised to see me,” Aurora peeled back the cream-coloured wrapping on a small slice of Victoria sponge with strawberry jam filling. Icing sugar dusted her long fingers as she lifted it.
“Well, at the moment I have both my eyes,” Declan explained. The dog rolled over onto its back on his legs and he scratched the narrow rib cage while its tail thumped, “and my hand’s alright. And I think they took both my feet while I was asleep, and probably some of my ribs.”
“Dear me,” Aurora took a bite of her cake and her eyes closed. There was a long pause as she chewed and swallowed; Aurora would sooner die than speak with a mouth full. Then again, here she was. She opened her eyes again, “Life has not been kind to my baby, has it?”
Declan gave a non-committal gesture. The dog pressed a wet nose into his elbow.
“I am sorry for what happened to you under my care,” Aurora said, her musical voice reading a lower key, “I wish it could have been different.”
“I know,” Declan shook his head, “Dad made you that way, didn’t he?”
“Alas,” Aurora sighed liltingly, “Yes, I could not disobey him. That was the rule. I could no more save you from him than I could pull the moon down for you, as much as I wanted to. But that was my only rule. You must know that I loved you whole heartedly, and without instruction.”
Declan smiled at her, “I know that too. I always knew you loved me.”
Aurora beamed at him.
Declan realised he had forgotten to keep petting the dog when he felt a wet tongue swipe at the underside of his chin, leaving a stripe of slobber. He used both hands to scratch at the dog’s satiny cheeks and the dog opened its mouth in a wide, sloppy grin, pink tongue flopping out.
“I wish I could have stayed with you,” Aurora said, “I wish I could have protected you three from the world, after Niall had died. What I wouldn’t give to shield you three from all that…”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Declan said, “There are so many people I love still alive, and there are is so much I enjoy doing. I think, despite everything, I really loved being alive.”
*
The first thing Ronan heard when he woke up was glass clinking together. He pushed himself into sitting position, eyes still gritty and head groggy with sleep. Dozens of tiny vials bounced across each other when he disturbed them.
It looked like his entire room had grown scales. Gleaming glass bottles covered every surface. Ronan blinked blearily, dazzled by the sheer number of reflective surfaces. Then he realised what he was looking at and leaped out of bed.
“Matthew!” He shouted, kicking his door open, “Matthew, I did it!”
Matthew burst into the room, accidentally kicking a tide of bottles which clinked together. He immediately dived forward and filled his coat pockets with the little vials. They were a pale yellow as opposed to the translucent doses Niall had produced. Ronan filled his jeans pockets with them.
The two Lynch brothers had so many glass bottles in their pockets they chimed like bells when they sprinted across Monmouth Manufacturing and pounded down the steps.
“Don’t forget the syringe,” Ronan threw open the door of the BMW.
Matthew clambered into the passenger seat, “I already had it in my pocket.”
Ronan drove off before either of them had buckled in. It was early morning, but it would be past 8 AM, when visiting hours began, by the time they reached the hospital. Fear and excitement made Ronan giddy and strange. He took corners too fast and forced himself to slow down.
When they parked in the hospital, they bounded out of the car without paying the meter, locking the vehicle or even closing the car doors. The two brothers just sprinted across the parking lot like wild dogs.
“You go first!” Ronan yelled at Matthew, “The nurse likes you!”
Matthew beamed and sped up.
When they broke through the hospital doors, they reined themselves in to a speedy walk, their legs as stiff as soldier toys. They clinked gently.
“Good morning,” Matthew greeted the wary nurse, “Ronan promises to behave. Is Declan alright?”
“He’s stable,” The nurse said, still regarding Ronan, who was bouncing on the spot, “The operation was a success and went off without a hitch. But you can’t bother him for more than an hour.”
“We’ll be quick,” Ronan promised, and gave the nurse what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but from the look on the nurse’s face was actually quite frightening. The nurse stepped aside, and the boys bounced into the ward and made a beeline for Declan Lynch’s bed.
Declan looked like a body in the morgue. His missing feet were noticeable as flat ends to the bumps of his legs. It was a sobering sight, all that waxy grey skin, his single eye lined and red and closed. His body was utterly still.
Ronan felt a sharp twinge of fear and all the giddiness drained out of him.
“Okay,” Matthew watched the nurse until she walked out of sigh, “If I stand here, the camera can’t see me.”
Ronan watched him as Matthew dabbed antiseptic onto the elbow hinge of Declan’s long arm. He smacked the skin lightly until a vein rose. He clicked a needle onto the end of a small syringe and pulled out a dose from one of his many vials.
“Wait,” Ronan said, “Wait, what if I dreamed it wrong? Or what if it works in the dream but it doesn’t work in real life?”
Matthew looked at him, big blue eyes firm. The syringe was held between his finger and thumb, his other hand held Declan’s still arm. He waited for Ronan to continue, and when he didn’t, he asked, “Do you think it’ll hurt him?”
Ronan tried to speak, but only air came out. He bit his lip, “I don’t know, Matty. I tried. But I don’t know. I really don’t want to hurt him.”
Matthew glanced around at the heart rate monitor behind him. He didn’t know what the numbers underneath the tracing monitor meant. There were tumours under his fingers, like several small marbles under the skin. Matthew watched Declan’s still face.
“Fuck it,” Matthew said, and plunged the syringe needle into Declan’s elbow and emptied it.
“Matt!” Ronan hissed through his teeth, making a motion like he was about to jump over Declan’s limp body. Matthew drew the empty needle out and dropped it into the sharps bin.
Both brothers watched Declan closely. They watched for even a flicker of movement. Matthew glanced around at the monitor behind them which traced a steady rhythm. A moment passed. Another. No motion, no change.
Matthew knelt at the bedside, his face in his hands. All tension left him. Ronan pulled the visitor’s chair up and sat down, heavily. Declan didn’t move. Ronan wanted shake him, wanted to smack his elder brother or pull him close. He wanted to cry. Declan’s skin was as cool as ever, his muscles still and his expression placid. Ronan pressed his face into Declan’s chest, comforted a little by its steady rise and fall.
*
“Love,” Aurora corrected, raising a long, elegant hand.
“What?”
“Present tense,” Aurora said, “You love being alive. For there is work yet to be done, my son.”
*
Declan’s eye opened. He widened his eye and screwed it shut, “Oh.”
“Declan,” Ronan jumped out of his seat like he’d been electrocuted. Matthew looked at Declan like he was a gargoyle come to life, pushing sheets out of the way.
“Hello,” Declan croaked. His voice was so rough and weak it was scarcely above a whisper. He touched what remained of his face. He glanced down at his legs and looked green, “Wow, that’s rough. At least I... have both hands, still.”
“Oh my god,” Matthew stood up, running a hand through his curls, “You’re actually alive.”
“Did I die?” Declan said, his speech slurred. He tried to frown but found he couldn’t. He touched his face. One eyebrow. The other half of his face was missing or heavily anesthetised.
Matthew shifted nervously, “Kind of?”
Ronan engulfed him. He wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed him as tightly as he could. His eyes were wet, and he felt such a pure, consuming joy at how warm Declan was, how much his brother shifted around when Ronan hugged him.
“Hello,” Declan patted Ronan’s head.
“I’m so sorry,” Ronan croaked into Declan’s chest. He was shaking slightly, his eyes streaming with tears, “Declan, I’m so—I’m so, so sorry for everything. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Declan smiled tiredly and stroked the back of Ronan’s scalp. It was bristly and soft, like the short hair of a Jack Russel.
“I already forgave you,” Declan rasped, a small smile on his face, “Did you forget?”
Matthew pushed Declan gently to one side so he could perch on the bed and wrap both arms around Declan’s shoulders, mindful of the damaged side of his face. Matthew pressed his nose into Declan’s long neck.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Matthew sobbed, “I really thought I was just going to have Ronan to look after me for all eternity.”
Declan laughed hoarsely and lifted a hand to touch his youngest brother. The muscles were so weak his arm shook and Matthew held his hand and pressed it onto his arm, smiling so widely it looked like his cheeks might split. His face was hot and pink and wet with tears, a warm star next to Declan’s jaw.
“I had the strangest dream…” Declan closed his remaining eye. He was silent for a long moment before, “I think… I think I want a dog.”
“You can get a dog,” Ronan promised, “Any kind of dog.”
“You should get a dog too, Ronan,” Matthew said, “We can all get a dog and they can all be friends.”
“Brothers,” Ronan corrected, proudly, “Brothers and friends.”
Declan wheezed a laugh. He batted Ronan’s face away.
“We can get a fucking fleet of dogs!” Ronan straightened up, looking the happiest Declan had seen him in years, “Sixteen-hundred of your fucking fugly-ass Irish settlers or whatever, sixteen-hundred of them pouring through every room in Aglionby like a plague of locusts!”
Declan choked a little, “Don’t make me laugh, Ro. I’m not well.”
“Excuse me, Mr Lynch!” The nurse parted the curtains around Declan’s bed, “but that kind of language—”
The nurse stared at Declan Lynch. All colour drained out of her face.
“Hey,” Declan said, his flirty smile a little lopsided due to the heavy anaesthetic, “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of… making your acquaintance. I’m Declan Lynch.”
The nurse dropped her clipboard.