Time Warp: Day One (Monroe) [TRIGGER WARNING]

[Dante Russo]

Dante age 14

He was fed. Washed. And had a safe place to sleep. This was a vast improvement on his situation earlier today. Before he was brought to Hammel, he'd been sleeping on the street for two weeks.

This was supposed to be a good night. This was supposed to be restful.

Dante moaned in his sleep. Face scrunched. Breathing shallow. He'd run away from home, but there was still no escaping her.

His mother stood in the doorway. Towering. Glowering down at him. Her strawberry blond hair seemed wiled, like a fire that would burn him up; devour him whole. Everything else was black.

"Didn't you think I would find you? Did you really think you could just abandon me? You said we'd be okay! You said you still loved me!"

Dante shrank back from her. He couldn't speak. His mind was blank, fear and panic chased away any words he might have said. Why was she here? How did she find him? Shit, he was fucked. Fucked!

She stepped toward him, and he backed into a wall. "D-don't! Rebecca-- I'm sorry, I just-- You broke my arm! What did you expect me to do!?"

"Well I DIDN'T expect you to ABANDON ME! I need you, Dante! I can't even make rent without you!" She filled his vision, leaning forward, pressing her face in close to his. She was crying now. Howling. "I need you! I need you! I need you!" She pressed her lips against his, and Dante squirmed against the wall at his back.

Tears streaked down his face and he tried desperately to push her away. Dante turned his head, gasping for breath. "No!" He shouted, but she didn't stop. She just pressed her lips to his neck--

Dante sat up, gasping loudly, eyes wide open in the darkness. He breathed fast and hard, shaking as he climbed out of bed and ran to the light switch. He held his breath when he flipped the light on and looked wildly around the room. His heart was beating so hard that his chest hurt.

After a moment he pulled on his bluejeans and crept out of his room. His cloths were way too big for him. Hand-me-downs from Jo Jo. He was practically swimming in his T-shirt (the sleeve of which was long enough on him to cover the top of the cast on his left forearm) and his jeans bunched around his hips where they were synched with an old belt.

He checked his pocket suddenly, feeling for the comforting shape of his switchblade. It was there, and he glanced around cautiously before tiptoeing to the bathroom. He searched around for a moment, then cursed under his breath when his shanking hands didn't find what he needed. He wouldn't cut himself unless he had something to bandage himself up with-- because that was just stupid.

Dante went back to the common area of his dorm, trying hard not to feel nauseous. Coffee. He needed coffee. There was no way he was going back to sleep tonight. It was four in the morning, and the thought of drifting off was terrifying. Maybe knowing that he couldn't would do something to ease the anxiety. Fortunately, one of his roommates appeared to have a coffee maker, and he helped himself to their supply.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

Monroe age 16--A year or so after manifestation and the appearance of a new roommate with grueling nightmares

That night was like every other. He had a roommate, finally, but it wasn't as if he could sleep before, so it really didn't matter. He was tossing and turning in his bed, eventually just staring at the ceiling. Intruding in on others' dreams was wrong and he'd felt that way since he'd first manifested, but depriving himself of sleep wasn't easy either. It was just something he'd made himself do. Sure, he could sleep and drift in and out of a million dreams a night, but even then, his sleep wasn't very restful and he still woke up tired. It was just a personal choice--he made less enemies that way, but every now and then he slipped up, especially since he was still learning from his trainer how to pull out of dreams when he did fall asleep and when he should use the energy to do so.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring at the ceiling, but he could have sworn he was still awake when he opened his eyes and the scene before him wasn't a pretty one. It was like watching a memory replay on the inside of his eyelids, except it wasn't his own. He knew it couldn't be his own. And therefore, he knew he'd fallen asleep.

He stayed hidden, out of sight, turning away from the sight. This was one of the hardest parts of his power--nightmares. Personal details from people's lives came out in their dreams and often they weren't the most pleasant. What was worse is that it was like it was actually happening and Monroe was powerless to stop it.

Then all at once there was a blinding light--and it wasn't in the dream. He sat up quickly, light flooding his dorm room and rubbed his eyes at the fleeting figure that hurried out the door. Monroe didn't know Dante that well yet. It was their first night as roommates, but now he felt as if he knew too much. Breathing heavily, he climbed out of bed, his limbs feeling tired as he was slow to move. He never felt fully rested.

He pulled on a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans from the floor, moving quickly towards the door only to put a hand on the doorknob and stop. Is that really what Dante would want? For Monroe to go after him and attempt to awkwardly comfort him or something? He didn't even know that he was a dream walker! It wasn't exactly in Monroe's introduction. The two of them really just awkwardly exchanged hellos anyway.

Against his better judgment, he threw open the door and walked out, into the common room where he spotted the dark haired guy in front of his coffee maker. It was necessary for Monroe to have one so handy and close. And he didn't mind that the guy used it, especially after a nightmare like that?

"You can't sleep either?" he asked, as if he hadn't just witnessed his nightmare and him running out of the room. He felt like he was cheating by not telling him or something, but he wasn't sure how to approach it.

[Dante Russo]

Dante about jumped out of his skin when Monroe spoke. He turned on him, drew his switchblade and brandished it at him, feet falling into a solid stance. He looked at Monroe, taking a moment to register who it was.

"Jesus fucking christ! Don't do that!" He shouted, pocketing his blade and leaning against the counter to steady himself. He'd stopped shaking for two seconds while the blade was in his hand, but now he was trembling again.

He wasn't used to there being someone awake after his nightmares. Rebecca could sleep through anything, and he usually dealt with it by himself. Probably, it was a good thing she could sleep through anything, because his nightmares were mostly about her. But Monroe being up threw a wrench into his method.

Not that there was a strict plan right now or anything. He couldn't cut, so he had basically accepted the fact that he was just going to freak out for a while and wait for it to pass-- but he really didn't want to freak out with his roommate watching.

Not that it was an option, in the end. He was shaking so bad, he was sure Monroe could see it. It was making that nauseous feeling much worse.

"Sorry," Dante said after he caught his breath again. He motioned to the coffee maker and looked at the floor while he spoke. "I know it's yours, I just... figured I might as well be awake now."

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"Sorry," Monroe mumbled with a shrug of his shoulders. He had a tendency to sneak up on people, and not on purpose. He was just a quiet person and he wasn't wearing his combat boots, in which the heavy steps usually gave him away. In his haste, he hadn't even slipped the boots on when making his way out of the dorm room.

It was obvious that Dante was shaken. Monroe was shaken. Dreams were highly subjective for him and they felt unbelievably real, as if Monroe was actually there. That's how it was for a dream-walker. "Guess I should announce myself so next time I don't get stabbed." It was mostly a joke, but he had flinched a little at the appearance of the knife. Why did Dante have that on him anyway? Did he feel the need to protect himself because of his past?

Monroe already wanted to kick himself. His power made him feel so snooty, as if he was constantly in other's business when he wasn't trying to be. He usually tried to stay out of people's way and not be too intrusive. That wasn't his personality. But his power threw him into people's lives without his approval.

"Help yourself," he said to Dante, about the coffee maker. "If I hadn't wanted anybody else to use it, I would have hidden it in my room somewhere." Everyone needed a pick me up once in a while and coffee was the perfect solution. "But I would appreciate a cup myself."

Did he bring up the nightmare, or not? He didn't want to look like an intrusive asshole who wanted to know everything and he didn't want to scare off his roommate or making him angry either.

[Dante Russo]

"Yeah, okay," Dante responded, glancing up at Monroe when he requested his own cup of coffee. I guess he's not going back to bed. Dante was a bit perturbed by this, but he was really to busy handling his own shit to let it show.

Right now he was mostly concerned about how he was even going to drink coffee when he felt so sick. Dante closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. Breathing. He felt hot and cold at the same time. His own heartbeat was making him uncomfortable. He opened his eyes again when the flashing images started.

Dante's dreams were extremely real to him as well. When he started having flashbacks, his nightmares were sometimes thrown into the mix as if they'd really happened. It made his sense of what actually happened sort of fuzzy-- but he was sure about the important parts.

He wanted to cry. Scream. Flail. Curl up in a ball in the corner and just sob, but he couldn't. He couldn't let himself fall apart while Monroe was here. Boys don't cry, she loved to tell him that, and even if he couldn't keep himself from crying all together, he could at least try not to do it in front of people.

Swallowing this much emotion was really not helping the nausea. That coupled with the flashing memories, and Dante was beginning to feel disoriented. He looked like he might fall over at any moment.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"Sounds like a deal," Monroe told his roommate with a weak smile. It felt weird talking to someone as if everything was completely normal and you were both just randomly up during the middle of the night for no reason when he'd intruded on his roommate's nightmare that was too personal for Monroe to handle.

He kept an eye on Dante as he stood at the coffee maker. He looked wobbly and sick and Monroe didn't really know what to do. He was having an internal battle with himself about how to go about this. Dream-walking was still entirely new to him and he really didn't know anything much yet. "You okay?" he asked, breaking the silence. "I..." Just tell him your power.

[Dante Russo]

The obvious answer was no. Dante was most certainly not okay. His mind was flashing. He was terrified, sick, and about to freak the hell out. Really, he didn't know how to handle himself in this situation. Things were extra bad tonight.

He'd just runaway from home. Everything was different. He was scared to death that Rebecca would find him somehow. Sure, it was great to have an actual bed. It was great that he didn't need to worry about having enough food. And it was a great relief that he wouldn't have to pick pockets and hock stolen goods just to help pay the rent. All of that was awesome, but it hardly mattered. Dante had run away, but he didn't feel free. The guilt and trauma followed him. She still managed to abuse him when she wasn't around.

He couldn't stand feeling guilty for leaving. He shouldn't feel guilty, but she tugged at his heart in a way nobody else could. It disgusted him. Everything about his relationship with her was wrong-- and it was her fault! Not his! She could say it was him all she wanted, that didn't make it true! Not my fault. Not my fault.

"I'm fine!" Dante snapped at Monroe, looking up from the floor to glare at him. His head spun when his vision shifted, and he looked quickly back at the floor. Breathe slow. Slow. Slow.. His eyes fell closed again, and for a moment that helped. Seconds later, though, his eyes popped open and he pushed himself away from the counter. Oh god.

He ran pretty fast for someone who looked like they might pass out. He didn't close the bathroom door behind him, he just pointed his face at the toilet and hit his knees. Dante shut his eyes, cursing between heaves, unable to stop the tears at this point. He felt so toxic. Like his veins were filled with poison, and he couldn't get it out. Like his skin was crawling with insects, and he couldn't wash them off.

Dante rested his forehead against the seat of the toilet. Jaw clenched. Holding back sobs. With a trembling hand he reached up and groped around for the handle, flushing and letting his hand fall to the floor. Don't cry. Don't cry! Stop crying!

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

Monroe could feel the tension rising in the room. He didn't know what it was, but it made him very uncomfortable. Maybe it's because there were things that weren't being said and Dante looked visually sick. It was quiet for a long moment before Dante snapped.

"I'm fine!" And seconds later, he'd ran off. Monroe knew better than to run after him, especially when he heard unpleasant sounds that could only mean he was throwing up.

He approached slowly, hearing it go silent. He couldn't help but feel that maybe he should just go back to his bed--even though he wouldn't be able to sleep. "Dante?" It came out in more of a whisper. He stood outside the bathroom, leaning up against the wall. "Look, I'd leave you alone, but your my roommate and I feel partially responsible and my power isn't letting me..."

[Dante Russo]

"Why the hell do you feel responsible?" Dante lifted his head and looked at Monroe out the corner of his eye. He wasn't yelling, but his tone was harsh nonetheless. There was a sharpness to his words, and his expression was mean in spite of the tears still streaming down is face.

Dante was pretty well versed in pushing people away. So versed, in fact, that he did it regardless of whether he was trying to or not. He was of two minds right now. Half of him just wanted to be left the hell alone. Half of him really, desperately wanted help -- except that depending on other people was almost never a good idea. People would screw you over when it suited their needs.

Dante would screw somebody over if it suited his needs.

That was the way the world worked. Every man for himself and all that. He really didn't understand his roommate in this moment. Why the fuck would he feel responsible? None of this had anything to do with him.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

Monroe knew that question was coming. He stayed up against the wall outside of the bathroom, where he felt comfortable. He wasn't face to face with Dante, even if his words were still harsh. "Because I know why you're freaking out," he said. "Mostly anyway." It was an invasion of privacy and he knew that. He should just bite his tongue and go back to bed. But when he knew something about someone, it usually made him want to help them rather than not let them know that he knew. It usually didn't work out too well. It probably wouldn't this time either. Dante wouldn't want Monroe knowing this about him, but then again, Monroe hadn't exactly had a choice.

"I'm a dream-walker," he added, lamely.

[Dante Russo]

"Because I know why you're freaking out."

Dante stopped breathing. He just froze. Cold panic slipped into his stomach, and every part of him simply stopped. He knew? Monroe knew!? That was-- how did-- he couldn't just--

"Mostly anyway."

What the hell was that supposed to mean!? This was a situation Dante was completely unprepared for. Nobody was supposed to know, and frankly the only clues were his broken arm (which could have happened any number of ways), and his current state (which could easily be the result of some kind of stomach bug). He was wracking his brain to figure out if he'd let something slip.

And no. He was pretty sure he hadn't.

"I'm a dream-walker."

Slowly, very slowly, Dante turned his head. He stared at Monroe. Dream-walker was an unfamiliar phrase, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what it meant. The implication was sinking in gradually. Monroe had seen his dream.

Monroe had seen his dream!

"How much did you see?" He asked calmly at first, but after only half a second of silence he lost it. "HOW MUCH DID YOU FUCKING SEE!?" Dante was on his feet. Fists clenched. Jaw set. He stared Monroe down for a moment but soon dissolved into hysterics.

He pressed his hands to his head, and paced back and forth (which, in this small space, looked more like turning in circles). "Oh my god," he breathed, "oh my god oh my god oh my god-- Seriously! What did you see!" Dante picked something up from the sink and threw it at Monroe. He wasn't stable, so he missed by a wide margin.

This couldn't be happening. He didn't care as much if people knew his mother was a raging crazy person. He didn't care if they knew she hurt him on a regular basis. That last part though, the part that made him wake up.. that was private. Now he was glad for two reasons that he'd woken up when he did. The very last thing he wanted anyone to see was the continuation of that scene-- and he dreamed about it frequently.

Dante grabbed something else from the sink and pulled back, ready to throw.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

The second Monroe said it, he felt a pang of regret. He usually couldn't help but be honest though and really Dante would find out eventually and wouldn't he be angrier later that Monroe hadn't told him? As he weighed this out, he really couldn't decide, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted. By Dante, who was demanding to know what he saw.

He slumped off of the wall, blinking in surprise. And then he was pacing and freaking out and Monroe was lost for words. He finally felt the urge to say something when Dante grabbed at a random thing from the bathroom--a tissue box-- and whipped it at him. Because of his state, it missed, hitting the wall and falling to the ground. He put his hands up as if that was going to stop him and flinched when he picked up another item--this time it was a bottle of soap.

"I saw it all," he said, deadpan. What else was he supposed to say? "Can you please stop throwing stuff at me?"

[Dante Russo]

"Are you FUCKING SHITTING ME right now!?" Dante yelled, throwing the bottle of soap, this time only narrowly missing Monroe's head. "I haven't even been here for twenty-four hours and some bitch is already all up in my fuckin' head! Boudries, man!! Fuckin' get some!!"

Dante pressed his fingertips to his forehead and took a staggered step back. This couldn't be real. It couldn't. It was too much. He'd been guarding this secret so fiercely for so long. Jo Jo didn't even know, and he was the closest (only) friend Dante had.

He felt violated.

Everything was starting to spin again, but this time it wasn't because he felt sick. He couldn't catch his breath, and he was breathing way too fast. His chest hurt, and his brain was stuck on repeat; this isn't happening. This isn't happening. Is isn't happening...

Dante hit his knees again. If Monroe had said anything, he didn't hear it. He was too busy with his anxiety attack. He didn't know what any of this meant. He didn't know what would happen now. He'd never thought about the possibility of someone finding out. In his mind it just wasn't an option. Dante had intended to take this secret to his grave!

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

Monroe flinched at the volume and harshness of Dante's voice. He would have backed away more if he wasn't already nearly up against the wall. He was glad the soap went over his head and hit the wall, because he didn't have very good reaction time right now, or really ever since he was so sluggish. It would have hit him straight in the head. "Look, it's not my fault. I didn't just choose to go into your dream. If I had the choice, I would never use my power." He understood why Dante was panicking and acting out. It was natural, but it still didn't make Monroe feel any better about things being thrown at him.

He didn't know how many times he requested to have a single dorm. He couldn't keep going through this. It was really beginning to make people hate him and it wasn't as if he put any effort into making enemies or really even friends...

When Dante dropped to his knees, Monroe wasn't really sure what to do. "You don't need to panic. I mean, I know it's a natural response, but I don't exactly go around spewing what I see in dreams to people." What was he supposed to say?

[Dante Russo]

Dante was trying very hard to just breathe. He swayed forward and thrust his right hand out to catch himself. Monroe was talking. Dante held his breath to catch the tail end of what he was saying.

"...I don't exactly go around spewing what I see..."

Dante sucked in a deep breath and stood up, taking a step forward. "Nobody knows!" He barked, "That's ZERO people! Not my best friend! Not the neighbors! Not even that nosey shut-in across the hall! Nobody. Knows. Except you! And that's-- I don't even know you!"

Dante took a gasping breath. He could feel his lip quivering and he bit down on it. He didn't know what he wanted right now. He wished he could go back and stop this from happening! The shame he was feeling right now was overwhelming. He could only imagine what Monroe thought of him.

He knew what he thought of himself, and it wasn't anything good. He was disgusting. Dirty. Weak. Twisted. There were so many things wrong about what went on between him and his mother. Sick. That's what it was. The whole thing was just.. sick and wrong.