The Weight of the World (locked to abidingstoic)

[windlancer]

He didn't know if he could handle this. Any of it. Dilan had regained his heart, and with it his memories. All of them. Xaldin. The Beast. The woman, Belle. Dying. He remembered dying. He dreamed it, being dragged down into oblivion and unraveled like so much loose thread. It was a regular enough dream that lately that was all he had been dreaming. Every night for the last three nights. The dark circles under his eyes were indication enough that he'd been losing sleep. Most of the time his days were spent in a haze of melancholy, going about looking for something, anything to do to keep himself occupied, to take his mind off the monster that was Xaldin. If one of the others didn't chase him back to his room, he would work until his shoulders were sore and his legs could barely support him.

But tonight was different. Worse.

Dilan had managed to throw the blankets off himself in the middle of the night. He groaned in his sleep, turning over from his back onto his side. The same nightmare. The Nobody that wore his face bearing down on him, no matter how fast he ran, no matter how hard he tried to escape, the lancer was gaining on him. A whimper escaped him in his sleep...blissfully he was unaware of how much like a terrified child he sounded.

He heard the whistle of a spear in his dream. Two of them landed in his back.

Dilan awakened with a jolt, a horrified scream tearing out of his throat.

Comments

[abidingstoic]

Mercifully, Aeleus did not often dream unless it was his choice.

He had trained himself out of it years ago, to deny his subconscious purchase when he knew nothing good would come of it. He knew how to work tirelessly, aggressively pushing his limits until his exhaustion would hold everything except the Darkness of slumber (a tiny Oblivion, wasn't that right?) at bay. He knew how to read, and write, and work on his puzzles until other things consumed his mind before he slept, or anchor his thoughts with others, rather than himself, throwing himself into meeting their every need. He knew just what it was to train until he could go no further, but would still be fit for missions the next morning, so long as he got in his proper rest. It was a spell he only very, very seldom used..... but he did know how to cast Sleep, if he truly needed it.

That wasn't to say he never dreamed, or never suffered nightmares, no..... of course not! But they were different than the ones that so haunted Dilan, tormenting him whenever he tried to rest. Gentler, maybe, less violent, more easily handled. His dreams tasted more of Darkness and despair and Oblivion than hatred and rage and violence, or the overpowering malice of being hunted by who and what you had once been. Even as a Nobody, Lexaeus had ever been the most sentimental of their group, the most grounded and concerned with morals and humanity, the one who had clung to himself--to Aeleus, the man he'd once been--and what he once might have thought and felt and done in some damned and futile effort of obeying those old principles. It hadn't always (or even very often) worked very well, but in the end, it had made for far less separation than there could have been between the three lives he's led so far.

Aeleus knew exactly who and what he was. Aeleus knew that he must handle everything, everything he had done, as Aeleus and Lexaeus and Aeleus again--because nobody else could do so for him. Because there was no separating himself from any of his lifetimes. Because there was no forgiveness for him, from him or anyone else, nearly that easily. Because if he couldn't handle himself, then he couldn't handle any of the others--and they needed his help to pick up their own broken pieces, before the weight of previous lifetimes crushed and shattered them until there was simply nothing to put back together again. Aeleus confronted his nightmares because he lived them daily, staring their accusations in the eye and offering the world his penance with every beat of his newly reborn heart, and every step he took to restore his castle and kingdom.

Sleep held no power over him, not when what would find refuge in the subconscious was forced into the conscious mind, flushed out into the open to be assaulted with the harsh, unforgiving Light. Aeleus may have been a kind and gentle man, forgiving and nonjudgmental, but never was he crueler and more uncompromising than when it came to himself.

He could have sworn that he wasn't gone that long, really--only a few minutes, to fetch Dilan a glass of water before he went to sleep. That the man could fall asleep so quickly and easily these days would have shocked him, if he had the time or presence of mind to think about it; that he would be assaulted by nightmares the moment he slipped into the Realm of Dreams, on the other hand, wouldn't have surprised him at all. Aeleus nearly jumped at the sound of a scream from Dilan's room, almost dropping the glass in alarm; he didn't quite run, but it was still a hasty retreat back to his friend's aid, hardly even noticing his half-soaked glove from the initial spill. What had happened? Was he hurt? Had someone come in without them knowing? Braig even, perhaps? Surely if they were under attack, the others would be waking up, they would never just attack one of them alone and wait for the group to rally--

It was an effort to catch his thoughts before they careened too far off into alarm and paranoia; odds were, it really was just a nightmare. He couldn't recall the last time Dilan had screamed outright from one, but it was probably the more likely--and far, far preferable--scenario. He'd defend him if necessary, but..... but no need to cross that bridge until they came to it. No need to draw any more attention and possibly embarrass Dilan unless it was a genuine emergency. Even so, Aeleus dispensed with his usual insistence on knocking to offer some warning, didn't even hesitate to open the door and stride in to come to his friend's side. "Dilan? What's the matter?"

[windlancer]

Dilan was shaking, his forehead slicked with sweat. Aeleus's sudden intrusion made him startle all over again, but thankfully it was far more short-lived than the terror that still pounded throughout his head, made his shoulders feel stiff and heavy. Just Aeleus. With a half-spilled glass of water. There were still a few droplets clinging to the glass. He sucked in a deep breath as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He blinked, eyes burning when a bead of sweat rolled into the right, forcing him to squint...he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the burn of salt away.

"Nothing," he muttered to himself. He wasn't certain whether he was trying to convince himself or Aeleus. "It's nothing. A nightmare."

He pulled one of his long locks away from his face, pawing at the nightstand in an effort to find the bit of elastic to keep them tied back and out of his face. "Sorry to have raised an alarm..."

[abidingstoic]

There were certain things that Aeleus knew better than to ask Dilan. Are you okay? No, Dilan was most decidedly not okay, and he might not be for a long while yet, but he would deny that fact for as long as humanly possible.

Do you want to talk about it? No, Dilan most decidedly did not want to talk about it. He might actually prefer being stabbed with his own lances than acknowledging any of this more than he absolutely has to.

Would you like to stay with me for the night? No, Dilan most decidedly did not need to crawl into someone's bed after having a nightmare like some kind of child. He's far too strong a person for that kind of rubbish.

Still, there were a few questions left to Aeleus, even in as awkward a situation as this one. He set the water down on Dilan's nightstand, nudging the man's hair tie over until his fingers brushed it; better to allow Dilan what dignity he can, at least, rather than handing him everything. He reached out to put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder instead. "You have nothing to apologize for; if any of the others were woken up, we'd have heard them coming to join us by now. Would you like some company?" If Dilan actually wanted him to stay, then he would stay as long as he was wanted, whether that was a just few minutes or the rest of the night.

[windlancer]

The tie was a temporary measure; he was far too tired to secure his hair properly. He threaded the locks through the loose elastic and let his arms fall to his sides. Dilan still felt exhausted by the dream and the intense terror that came with it. One falls out and hangs down on his chest, and he doesn't have the motivation needed to put it back.

The weight on his shoulder is uncomfortable. For a pain that hadn't been real, it was lingering like a healing knife wound. He says nothing to this, though. Aeleus is being Aeleus, and for the first time in ten years, he genuinely appreciates it. Besides, the larger man's hand is well away from the epicenter at his shoulder blades. "I would. Thank you." He sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hands to clear it of the last of the sweat. "The same nightmare, now. Ever since I woke up here. Every night. At first I thought it was normal, now...I'm not so certain."

He looked at Aeleus, trying to decide if he should reveal any more than he already had. "...Do you dream of Lexaeus as a being different from yourself, Aeleus?"

[abidingstoic]

Dilan looked..... haggard. That was really the only word he could think of for how wretchedly exhausted and miserable he looked. He'd been overworking while taking too little care of himself, and not getting enough sleep to boot; small wonder he looked like one of his own simple breezes could knock him over! The shoulder beneath his hand felt clammy with sweat even through the nightshirt, shaking and faintly..... warm?

Warmer than normal, anyway, as though he had a touch of fever about him. To be honest, Aeleus wouldn't have been surprised at all. Something felt slightly off, though it was hard to tell what exactly it could be by the look or feel--his best guess was that something might be swollen. Perhaps he'd pulled a muscle or two..... That wouldn't have surprised him at all, either. Honestly, Dilan, did Aeleus have to sit on you and give you a back massage until you fell asleep? Was that what it would take to start unknotting all these issues?

The weight of his hand slid from Dilan's shoulder, as Aeleus pulled the desk chair over to the bedside; if he was going to spend some time here, then he might as well get comfortable. Especially if Dilan was willing to actually talk; he hadn't expected a sudden effort at reaching out like this at all. Aeleus frowned thoughtfully, studying Dilan's face in return; he was taking the question as seriously as he took..... well, everything, and that meant searching his memory for incidents, and what little he knew about dreams. Fortunately, at least, the former wasn't especially forgettable. "Recurring nightmares are an established phenomenon, I believe..... But yes, occasionally I do."

He didn't say that occasionally he had dreamed of Lexaeus as being a separate person from him, even when they were still in the Organization, or that he had dreamed of Aeleus as a separate person from him then, as well. Sometimes, he still did. Occasionally, then and even now, he woke up disoriented and confused, still half-dreaming and unsure of exactly who or what he was supposed to be, and what life he was living now. He didn't say that occasionally, he dreamed he was three people--maybe at once, and maybe just one at a time, never entirely certain which he was meant to be at any given moment. He didn't say anything about the way the two(?) of them talked sometimes, or simply walked in silence together, one after another or side by side or sometimes even hand in hand.

He didn't say anything about anything they did in dreams, the good and bad alike, or prompt Dilan to continue or elaborate on his own nightmares. Aeleus simply waited, just as quietly patient as always; Dilan would continue on his own time, and in his own way, with as much as he was comfortable saying. He just needed the space to do so, and the time to figure out how.

[windlancer]

Dilan nodded. If Aeleus had the same nightmares he had, he would have looked much like Dilan felt. Aeleus didn't need to say much to reveal what he was thinking. He'd known the man since he first joined the guard. It was Aeleus who helped him discover his affinity for the lance. They had roomed together. Ate meals together. They trained, pushed each other, and were welcomed into Ansem the Wise's personal guard. And for what? A ruined castle, and a populace that would probably execute them for treason if word got out that they were residing in their old center of power.

In short, he trusted Aeleus more than any other man alive.

He looked Aeleus full in the face. "Do you dream of being stalked? Of him...coming after you, in the dark, hunting you like an animal?" Dilan pressed his hand against the spot on his shoulder that Aeleus had touched. The feeling of discomfort had worsened. ...something felt very wrong. But that was the funny thing about him and Aeleus. They had so much in common. "Tonight was different. He attacked me."

[abidingstoic]

Between the two of them, Dilan had always been the eloquent one, the cunning and charismatic one, the silver-tongued natural orator who could put people exactly where he wanted; he could whisper poison just as easily as honey into people's ears. When he really wanted to, he could almost rival Ienzo for sheer cleverness and talent for working people over. He spoke, and so Aeleus had rarely ever needed to. Aeleus had simply listened instead, and acted in his wake, been a companion as quiet and constant as Dilan's shadow. In a way, it had helped them both learn to read each other, learning and growing together, and each helping to provide what the other lacked. They had settled into a comfortable, close, trusting balance, lifetimes ago when they were both young.

(Some small part of him had died long ago, even beyond the loss of his heart, when he had truly realized that Xaldin of all people had forsaken even him. It had helped to shape him into the man he'd become, the way natural forces couldn't help but erode stone, and taught him hard-earned lessons about life and bonds and battles alike. Lexaeus had given up on Xaldin, as he had given up on nearly everyone and everything, because to do anything else would be utterly futile--you couldn't capture the wind, after all. And even if it could be bound, why would he ever want to, when he'd still be left with nothing in the end? Better to just accept the reality of what had happened, even if it wasn't quite so literal as all that--his friend had quite simply vanished into thin air.)

He didn't need to say much to reveal what Dilan really wanted to know. He wasn't as haggard as Dilan had been, nor as haunted-looking; if he had nightmares, then they weren't nearly as profoundly disturbing to him. He looked to Dilan's shoulder when the man touched it, and his gaze lingered for a long moment, searching, before returning to Dilan's face; if something hadn't struck him as off enough to note the gesture as significant, then he hardly would have bothered. His grave expression didn't falter at the idea of being stalked and hunted; obviously, he hadn't had such a viscerally horrifying near-death experience, whatever Lexaeus might do to him in his dreams. Even so, that he wouldn't deny it, that he actually had to consider the matter, suggested that they weren't unflinchingly positive dreams or simple memories, either.

".....No. He's followed me often enough, or hidden in my shadow--but he's never lifted a hand against me that I recall."

His lips pressed into a thin line; a shoulder wound wasn't generally fatal, barring extreme circumstances. It was an incapacitating blow, a strike that (if efficiently wielded) potentially crippled a limb and rendered someone partially helpless, unable to fight back. Struck with a lance, as Dilan and Xaldin both used, it could also be used to capture someone, to run them through and very literally pin them down to something soft and sturdy enough to accept the blade. He could already picture the scene: Dilan sprinting through a darkened wood like a terrified hare, and Xaldin hot on his heels, pursuing in effortless gliding leaps and bounds that were less running than flying. Finally boxing in his prey by herding him into a path too impassible to flee through, or flushing him out into an unprotected glade with nowhere to hide, his lances would whirl around him in a deadly maelstrom of moonlit steel, taking aim to rain down a torrent of blades--or maybe simply sending just one arcing down with all the cruel force and accuracy of a lightning strike, just to show that he could--

"How badly?"

[windlancer]

Dilan had never put much stock into his gift for talking others into exactly where he needed them. Sweet-talking his way into a recommendation here, talking down a drunk man threatening his own mother there. He was the negotiator. The one who could dispel a dangerous situation before it got out of hand. And as Xaldin...

As Xaldin he shut everything down so he wouldn't have to feel the pain that had followed him.

"I'm glad. I mean that honestly... Of course, I wouldn't expect things to be so antagonistic. You weren't so different, even without your heart."

The question isn't a surprise, either. Aeleus has known how to read him since he was trying to convince their instructor that his pulled muscle wasn't pulled at all, that he could run the requirement. He'd been furious with Aeleus for speaking up for weeks. But it had prevented a pulled muscle from turning into a torn kneecap, and for that he was grateful.

It felt like something stiff had gotten stuck under his skin, directly over his shoulder blades. The pain was deep, a bone and muscle ache. Not too terrible, but even so... Dilan shook his head, reaching for the light and turning it on. He shifted forward on the bed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I felt nothing before I went to sleep."

[abidingstoic]

"Perhaps not? I do appreciate the sentiment." It's a noncommittal response, as much question as agreement. He wasn't so different as a Nobody--that was what all three of the others seemed to think, anyway. Rock-solid, unshakable Aeleus, faithful and dependable through and through, as unchanging and impossible to move as a mighty mountain, anchored as deeply and stably as impenetrable bedrock, miles underfoot.

He had acted much the same, hadn't he? Loyal to a fault, hard-working and responsible even when Xigbar had shirked his duties and Vexen had sneered at fieldwork, shouldering as heavy a burden as Xemnas and Saïx saw fit to lay on him without complaint. He'd trained and fought tirelessly, and protected his comrades with strength and courage and resolve that, if anything, had only grown after losing his heart. Becoming a Nobody, more than anything else, had only seemed to magnify what was already there, rather than changing it--taken Aeleus and made him even more intensely who he already was.

It really was quite remarkable the way deliberate rationality, diligent conscientiousness, and focused discipline could be so powerful when emotion couldn't interrupt them, wasn't it?

The others believed he had remained unchanged, but Aeleus himself wasn't so sure. He had felt so different as to be unrecognizable, sometimes..... The heart was a tremendous thing, after all, and looking at himself after losing it was like trying to look at your reflection in a shattered mirror. But he always had been a creature of habit, and one inclined to act, rather than react..... He had seen no reason to change behavior and a persona that had, up until that point, worked fairly well for him. What had been broken about him, so to speak, could be fixed with simple, practical changes--nothing nearly so dramatic as the way so many of them had ended up transforming themselves--, and he could simply hold onto the rest of himself, as whole and intact as it was possible for a Nobody to be. It was easier that way, on him and on the others. They had been--and still were even now, honestly--counting on him to be as he always had been..... and so he had obliged, no matter what else happened to be at play. Those days especially, his identity had been just as much a carefully crafted and maintained tool as it had been genuine.

(He had never turned his back on or betrayed a soul. He had always been there, and been what they needed--it was everyone else who changed, in the end, if not abandoned or betrayed him outright. And yet, even then, he had remained until the end--beaten dogs always did come back to their masters no matter how they abused them, didn't they? To this day, he still couldn't fully settle on whether that had been laudable, or the rankest sort of stupidity, especially knowing now what he did about Xehanort.)

What was it, exactly, that defined who you were? Was it what you felt, in your heart or otherwise? The chains of memories that helped to give your heart its shape, and bind you to your own life and sense of self? Your bonds with others? Your words? Your deeds? Some inscrutable element of the soul that even Even hadn't managed to study, in all his explorations of human metaphysics? The choices you made? Your intentions? The consequences of your actions? He didn't know. Maybe he never would.

Whatever the case may be, Lexaeus was rarely antagonistic towards Aeleus, or Aeleus towards Lexaeus, when they did come together in his (their?) dreams--and even if he was, it was never so direct and brutal as Dilan had described. He murmured thoughtfully, closing his eyes to adjust to the light as it was turned on; it seemed wiser, or perhaps just kinder, to ask such a personal and unpleasant question while Dilan was turned away. "What do you feel now, then? Or in the dream?"

With the lights on and Dilan's back turned, it was ample opportunity to look him over, carefully scrutinizing the man's back and shoulders for anything different or out of place in the waking world. Translucent and clingy with sweat as the night shirt had grown, it was easy to see the outline of Dilan's muscles..... And in that, at least, he could find no faults. Everything seemed to be as it should, if perhaps held far more tight and stiff than was healthy--but then again, wouldn't anyone be tense and on guard, after being nearly literally stabbed in the back? If there was actually anything to see, he probably wouldn't be able to pick it out without Dilan stripping down a bit.

[windlancer]

On some level, Dilan knew. He knew that he had become what he had always fought against. A monster so consumed by anger and bitterness and heartache that he shut his entire self down and acted. Only acted. It hurt. In the beginning, when it first happened, it hurt so badly that he rejected all that he could. Shut himself down, rejected everything that was Dilan and threw himself into being Xaldin. It was better to be this new entity, this new person, than it ever had being Dilan. It was liberating. Intoxicating. He was his own man, delighting in what he did, even the hurt he caused. Cast away all love and compassion. Crush it. Destroy it. Cut it down like it...she...had cut him down.

It still ate at him. He had to keep Xaldin at bay now, keep him from flooding his newly reformed heart with guilt and despair. Consciously? He held Xaldin back not because of guilt, but because he had convinced himself that "Xaldin" was someone who had nothing to do with himself. The schism hurt his heart just as his sore back hurt. He couldn't face what he had done, or why he had done it. He couldn't.

"In the dream? Fear. Panic. It was...survival. Him or me. And I felt helpless. I knew I couldn't win against him. So I ran." He sighed. "Now? Still shaken. How do you expect to win a fight against something like that...? It was a dream. But Aeleus...damn him, I wish he would let me sleep."

Dilan took a deep breath. He knew his own body. This was going to hurt. He forced his arms up, grimacing as the pain flared from his movements. He grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled it up, over his shoulders, hanging it over his neck before he let his arms drop, letting out a relieved breath as the pain faded.

If he knew what his shoulders looked like, he wouldn't be so calm. His shoulder blades were heavily bruised, deep purple and indigo, the surrounding skin red and irritated. Odd swelling stretched from the base of his neck to nearly his sides. In the very center of each shoulder blade, something was pressing against his skin from the inside...something that looked like the leftover end of a spear that had been broken off, irritated and overly warm from his sleeping position.

Something being wrong was definitely an understatement.

[abidingstoic]

Not a physical account, no..... But he'd take it. Willingness to mention almost any negative, potentially shameful emotions or weakness like this was a good sign of progress, in Aeleus' books. Dilan wasn't the sort who liked showing vulnerability or baring his heart to anyone, even a trusted friend. He could always ask for clarification, too, if the looks of Dilan's or his reactions didn't give him all the information he needed. Odds were, there was nothing to see at all, and he'd simply ask a few more questions--it had been a dream, after all. But just in case.....

"I wish he would, too..... It is something of a step down, in power and resilience, isn't it? Nobody could have expected you to stand your ground, or win if you did. Do you have any idea why he was hunting you?" In one way, at least. Their magical strength had undoubtedly been at its peak as Nobodies, and their physical toughness and ability to recover from injuries and endure harsh conditions had been leagues better, even if their physical strength hadn't improved. And yet..... and yet! The power they had wielded had been unlocked by the loss of their hearts, as a desperate attempt to fill the void. Their powers had been but a pale and feeble shadow of the true strength of the human heart, and the miraculous feats it was capable of. Cold comfort, perhaps, to one running for his life from a ruthless and implacable foe who held nearly every advantage over him, and might have even been hunting him merely for the sport of it.....

But even so, the fact remained. Their sentimentality and emotions, their irrationality and intuition, their weakness and vulnerability, their flaws, their consciences, their bonds with others..... That was what made them truly strong, even if they also held them back and made them suffer. Their limits and liabilities, their trials and anguish--all of those gave them the seeds of potential strength necessary to transcend them, and become better people in the process.

To his credit, Aeleus didn't gasp or cry out, let alone panic at the sight that was revealed when Dilan lifted his shirt. He didn't make a single sound at all, in fact; for a long beat of silence, Dilan would barely even be able to hear him breathing, as he considered the situation. Now that there was nothing obscuring the shape of his back, it was far easier to see the way the entire upper half of it was swollen, and the colors of raw, irritated skin and enormous bruises were dark and vivid against Dilan's tanned complexion. It really did look like he had been..... well, perhaps not stabbed, or the sheer amount of blood would have revealed itself immediately. But he looked like he might have been severely beaten, perhaps, maybe while curled into a ball or kneeling huddled in the dirt and protecting his head and vital regions, taking the full force of such abuse straight to his back instead. It looks almost like there might be some sort of broken bones pressing unnaturally against his skin, or something surgically implanted under his skin without a trace of stitching or scarring from incisions, or.....

.....Or, perhaps, broken off lance heads buried into his shoulders, where skin and muscle had healed over the stab wounds entirely, without repairing the rest of the damage. It might look like that, if someone had hastily stabilized him with a Cure spell to keep him from bleeding out. But lance shafts were commonly made of tough, tempered wood or metal, designed not to break unless they were subjected to extraordinary amounts of force..... The very thought of what Xaldin would have had to do to Dilan to break off pieces of his lances into him turned Aeleus' stomach. He hadn't even believed that sort of thing was possible--as far as he'd known, their weapons had been all but indestructible. Logically speaking, if he had done so, Dilan's state would be far, far more dire, but.....

But it was best to be sure, for Dilan's sake. If there actually somehow were shattered lance pieces in there, then the best course of action would have to be surgically removing them. That was something Lexaeus didn't care to consider attempting without Vexen at his side, to be honest. Aeleus finally let out a heavy sigh, stepping right up to the edge of the bed. ".....I'm sorry. Please bear with me a moment."

The apology, at least, gave Dilan a moment's warning to potentially brace himself for further pain to come; he might even have been able to see a soft blue-green light flare to life out of the corner of his eye, or feel the tingle of magic in the air as Aeleus cast Cure. It was a slow-burn spell, as Aeleus carefully started probing Dilan's shoulder blades to feel out the shape of anything that might be buried inside them, a gentle warmth radiating through him in slow, steadily controlled waves like slipping into a steaming hot bath. He's always had a natural gift for healing magic--perhaps not to the extent of his ease with earth magic, but it's easily enough to allow him to put a few twists on the standard spells to suit his own needs like this. With any luck, it should help ease the pain of being checked over like this, make some start at repairing whatever damage had been inflicted..... and maybe, if he's lucky, even give him some vague sense of what was wrong, just from feeling the way his magic played out.

[windlancer]

The physicality of the dream was something else entirely. Something Dilan wasn't ready for. Not when he still felt like it had been partially real. Dilan smiled bitterly. "Why was he hunting me? Who knows. Perhaps he is still angry about being back in his cage..." Yes. Call it a cage. He had to hold that angry darkness inside of him back. Xaldin was dangerous...

Aeleus was quiet for too long. Dilan frowned, not risking more pain by turning to look at his friend. "...Aeleus...?"

Bear with me? The frown quickly turned to a scowl. Dilan straightened his head, some of his locks falling against his back from where he had pulled them across his shoulder. "What are you..."

Pain.

Dilan's eyes widened, barely having time to keep down a sharp yelp at the feel of the Cure spell on him. Part of it was warm, soothing, easing some of the pain in his muscles. But by the Light it hurt. Deep, bone-deep, making him grit his teeth and bear it as well as he could without crying out. His violet eyes scrunched tight against it. Aeleus's fingers might as well have been knives as they probed sensitive flesh and bone. But he was a soldier. He could tolerate worst pain than this. Far worse. But every pulse of Cure was digging deep, and it shouldn't hurt. At all.

Aeleus's thumb pressed against something hard in his right shoulder. At first he grumbled at the discomfort it caused, irritated by the fresh bloom of pain. But then another pulse came. The pain...changed. Half pain, half deep, throbbing pressure. His eyes widened at the sensation, his stomach twisting in on itself and threatening to empty its contents.

Something is growing.

Fresh fear gripped him, and he tensed his whole shoulder, holding it back. The spike of pain was brutal enough to make him cry out this time. He jerked away from Aeleus, hand to his shoulder, fingers desperate to pull at the thing inside his back. "Stop! Don't touch me!"

[abidingstoic]

Cage..... yes, that was an apt way to describe it, wasn't it? From the sound of it, anyway. Dilan may not be Xaldin, but his Darkness, Darkness any fool with some sensitivity to such matters could detect, had hardly vanished. Of course it hadn't. Where in the worlds could it possibly have gone? Dilan evidently didn't have anywhere to put it, except bottle it up and banish it to the deepest recesses of his heart. Nobody and nothing likes being caged--especially not a Nobody full of potent Darkness, primal and chillingly intelligent. If some lingering part of him, the part Dilan's mind interpreted as Xaldin, was seeking freedom.....

Well, it made sense. If you wanted to escape, you attacked your keeper, and your cage. You attacked them strategically, relentlessly, until one or the other was incapable of holding you any longer--and once they reached the breaking point, you seized your opportunity. In this case, it seemed to be both--if not getting each to attack the other, as well. Clever..... He'd expect nothing less from Xaldin.

Turning then against each other seemed to be doubly so, now. Aeleus couldn't feel anything that resembled the edges of a bladed lance head, or the sort of ragged end a broken shaft might have. No, what he felt, honestly, felt..... smooth. Almost natural, aside from the obvious injuries--like he was checking Dilan's arm after a fall to make sure nothing was broken. He could swear he felt something like a joint..... and something very distinctly moving under his hands, growing. Something in there was alive. Bone after all, then? What in the world had happened to Dilan while he slept.....?!

The Cure fizzled out immediately, and Aeleus jerked back as alarm as Dilan cried out and recoiled himself, eyes wide; he'd honestly never been in a situation before where a Cure spell made an injury worse. For a moment, he just stared in sheer bewilderment--but soon, he was reaching for Dilan far more purposefully, aiming to seize his wrist and pull it away from his shoulder before the man could do any more damage to himself in his sudden surge of pain and panic. "Dilan, you can't--no. Not with your bare hands. You're going to make it worse."

[windlancer]

He was bent over his knees, fingers scrambling to shove whatever was sticking out of his back inside him again. The agony of it was beyond anything he had felt in his life, raw nerves and bone still being knitted together, and it wouldn't stop...

Dilan struggled as his wrist was grabbed. Realized it was Aeleus. The pain was fading, slowly, the pressure dying down to its insufferable deep throb. It was worse. Bigger. The one on the left was picking up the pace now, and he panicked again, trying to twist out of Aeleus's grip. "Aeleus, so help me--! Get it off!" He was already trying to reach with the other hand, but his arm was spasming from the shoulder because of the pain. He had rolled around, still struggling, still trying to move Aeleus off balance with his legs alone. Eyes wild. Panicked. Pupils dilated from the adrenaline, teeth grit in an attempt to keep himself from screaming.

[abidingstoic]

Dilan was outright doubled over in sheer agony, thrashing and struggling against even efforts to help, yet even now he still wouldn't stop clawing at himself like some kind of senseless madman, like a rabid animal.....

It was an easy mental transition to make--almost too easy. Almost alarmingly so, if Aeleus weren't on such good terms with his own inner demons. In the back of his mind, something stirred, slid against his thoughts as smooth as tempered steel gliding beneath his fingertips, sunk in like the grounding reassurance of Skysplitter's massive weight settled solidly in his hands. It wasn't a voice to be heard, not really--if anything, it was the rush of adrenaline that blew away the mental fog of shock like an icy gale, and the stillness and clarity that it left in its wake. Was he in need?

Yes. Yes, he was in need. They both were.

Aeleus gave himself over between one heartbeat and the next, reorienting himself in the span of a single breath. Out with the useless, let go everything except that which he needed within this moment. In with the vital, take in what he had to and use it. Emotion and the chaos it was causing bled out of him, and his eyes turned steely and cold, expression a flat, unreadable mask; even his whole bearing changed, as he straightened to his full height and stood properly grounded and braced, intimately aware of his body and ready. All in all, it was a look Dilan might have been very much familiar with.

Lexaeus considered the situation at hand. An incapacitated colleague, mentally and physically--some manner of internal growth was the cause, origins unknown, end results unknown. Currently, the symptoms were intense pain and physical injury, a connection to injuries sustained in nightmares, and an accelerated rate of growth in response to Cure spells. Dilan would be useless at best, and a liability at worst, crippled in mind, body, and heart by his injuries. Left to his own devices, Dilan would further injure himself, on top of an impending unknown level of injuries that could range from mild to potentially Fatal. Given the limited information, circumstances and resources at hand, and presumably relatively low risk..... what was the best course of action for controlling and correcting Dilan's condition?

The main injuries and pain at the moment, putting aside the nightmare, were being caused by subdermal skeletal growth. His body was changing so quickly on the inside that the outside was being compromised because of it. Presumably, given freedom to grow, there would be substantially less issue--incisions needed to be maded in Dilan's shoulders to give the growths access to open space, and possibly surgically remove them. If they could be removed, they probably should be removed--but if these growths were outcroppings from his own skeletal system, then chances were they might be already integrated into his nervous system as well, and too fundamentally a part of him already to remove without extensive risk and the potential for serious, possibly permanent damage.

If that was the case, then they should be left intact, accommodated however needed, and the damage created by their rapid, unprecedented growth healed--and their growth hastened as much as possible to ensure that the recovery time was as brief as they could make it. Judging by the latest reaction, controlled and monitored applications of Cure could probably be used for the latter two. Whether the growths could be removed or not, minimizing the damage they caused and trying to determine their cause would be most effectively done by Even, or the two of them together; Even had more experience in these matters than he ever would. That meant getting Dilan to..... probably the infirmary, rather than the labs, and getting Even to help along the way.

Difficult, with Dilan in such a state, but not impossible. Hardly impossible. In terms of raw strength, he had always come out on top, and Dilan was hardly in his right mind at the moment. If one last attempt to talk him down with reason didn't work, then he would simply have to forcibly subdue the man to carry him. Heavy and unwieldy as he was, as long as Dilan wasn't full-force thrashing in his arms, then it could be done. He'd need to be carried back outwards, to account for jarring his wounds and damaging the new growths the least.....

And if Dilan didn't understand? Well, he could apologize and explain later. This was about what his colleague needed, not what he wanted. So Lexaeus pressed in close to render Dilan's struggling as ineffective as possible, only grunting quietly at the impact of feet and knees and closing his hand around Dilan's wrist in an iron grip; he would not be moved. He would not be stopped. When Lexaeus had his mind set on a goal and turned the full strength of his will towards achieving it, no force on Heaven or Earth, in Darkness or Light could ever hope to stand in his way--the willpower a Nobody could bring to bear was capable of challenging the natural laws of life and death themselves, and even now, his will remained undiminished.

With his free hand, Lexaeus reached out to push one of Dilan's flailing legs aside to step in between them, close enough to slide right into and past Dilan's guard, if he could manage. "You need to hold still. We're getting Even and going to the infirmary to help you. Do you understand, Dilan?"

[windlancer]

He could contain himself. He could do this. He had to. Dilan tried to even his own breathing, take control of his body, but the pain was incredible. Remembering his training, his conditioning, forcing himself to concentrate on anything other than the pain, than the sensation of...whatever hideous things were growing from his back. There was a need to shut down, to block out everything. To perhaps just...let go. The thought comes to him like a quiet breeze, encircling his mind. It's almost comforting.

Until he realizes who...what...it is.

Dilan recoils again, his hands finally coming away from his back to press at his temples, frozen in his struggling in favor of fighting Xaldin back down to his dark corner, the spikes of sharp pain in his head distracting him from the sharp pain in his back. It's what Aeleus needs to move in, and it actively startles him, enough to make him scoot back further, staring at his friend in surprise.

...Surprise that quickly turned to a deep, instinctual fear.

Dilan tightened his hand into a fist. He found himself wishing that he hadn't left his lance in the corner. Despite the pain, he knew. "You aren't going anywhere near Even. Or Ienzo. ....Where did you put him." His voice is low, tinged with the agony in his back, but the promise is there in the face of something he knows for an absolute fact isn't actually human.

[the_earths_salt]

Lexaeus let Dilan go. He let the man's wrist go to allow him to clutch his head and curl in on himself, to wrestle with whatever demons were shadowing his heart and fogging his mind. It wasn't progress, not really, not in the sense of his condition..... but it was undeniably progress in getting him suitably docile to carry. At this point, that was really the most urgent thing, wasn't it? Not necessarily important, but urgant--one step at a time, and they could take care of the larger problem of Dilan's wounds, once he wasn't sabotaging himself.

Further back, now, twisted to the side to face him more directly, lucid and controlled enough to address him, even if it was defensive and defiant..... Definitely a more suitable position to pick him up from, than crumpled nearly facedown on the bed. A little more coherent, even if he was too reactive to be properly reasoned with. Unfortunate, but that couldn't be helped--you had to take the bad with the good. It didn't really change anything, anyway, however willing the man was to go with him--just how much effort it would take to penetrate his suspicion and paranoia and do what needed to be done.

"That's good, Dilan. Keep it up." That his voice could be so calm and steady in the middle of such a crisis, so quietly authoritative and gently demanding obedience as though it were naturally his due..... Lexaeus sounded as though he were addressing some far junior Organization member like Roxas, or perhaps a Dusk. What more proof did Dilan need that this thing--not a person, not a who, but a what--wasn't his friend? How could he possibly be any further from humble, accommodating Aeleus, who always tried to be so carefully respectful of others' status, who always strove to fulfill their needs before even considering his own?

He leaned over the bed and reached for Dilan, looming over the man as he moved to slide his arms under his knees and ribs and gather him up. It wasn't violent or even rough by any means, but bluntly matter of fact; he clearly intended to bring Dilan to Even whether Dilan wanted to or not, and keeping the man talking and focused was a sideline or afterthought at best. "I'm right here, Dilan. I'm not going anywhere without you."

[windlancer]

The difference, right in front of him, was jarring. He'd been wrong. Very wrong about Lexaeus. Hard to believe that Aeleus harbored such a commanding presence inside of him. He couldn't believe that any of them could do this... Just have their Nobodies take over again, their hearts dormant. Every human instinct was screaming, demanding that he either force Aeleus to come back or get as far away from Lexaeus as he could. Or at least drop the condescending attitude, as if he were speaking to a child.

...It made him not want to think of Xaldin. Even though the anger, the frustration was there, just beneath the surface, like a windstorm howling from outside a window.

He grunted in surprise when Lexaeus picked him up, and his first instinct is to get away or fight back. But at the first squirming movement he yelps. The pain flares again, this time sharp and brutal. Like the edge of a knife pressing tight against his skin. Dilan's entire body tenses. It doesn't feel right. None of it does. Whatever is growing from him, it's growing too fast. Lexaeus's arm is pressing against the bottom edge of...whatever they are. And now they're tearing at his skin, trying to come loose. He bites down on his lip. Hard. Enough to draw blood.

"Whatever you're doing, do it quickly..."

[the_earths_salt]

Dilan was just as heavy and unwieldy as Lexaeus had thought. Nothing he couldn't handle, not when he'd spent over a decade comfortably swinging around a weapon as heavy as Skysplitter as though it were nothing more cumbersome than a mere hatchet..... But a considerable burden nonetheless. At least Dilan was mercifully still in his arms, once his first efforts at struggling had been swiftly and brutally punished by the renewed pain of his own body's unnatural changes.....Lexaeus hadn't even needed to raise a hand, or his voice, for Dilan to become far more manageable.

.....That certainly was handy, wasn't it? Even this dark little stormcloud proved to have some kind of silver lining, after all.

"Of course." Lexaeus bowed his head in a silent gesture of acceptance as he shouldered the door open, stepping out into the hall. That, at least, might have seemed more like the Lexaeus he had known--or at least, the Lexaeus he had thought he had known. A quick, concise agreement, ready acceptance of orders, obedience and even deference to authority figures pulling their rank even in small ways..... This was the Lexaeus that had seemed not so different from Aeleus once upon a time, not that self-assured stranger who stood poised and confident to lead, and expected to be obeyed himself, who stated his intentions as though they were already concrete facts of reality. Even carrying Dilan away by force against his will, for the moment at least, Lexaeus was actually listening to him.

Sadly, it wouldn't be so easy as to simply demand Aeleus being returned to him, not when (as always) Lexaeus seemed intent on carrying through Dilan's demand (and his own intentions) as fully as possible. Rather than waste time with a slow, uncomfortable walk that would surely jar Dilan's new growths horribly..... Lexaeus simply chose not to walk at all. They rose only a few inches off the floor, maybe a foot at most--but the decisive speed with which Lexaeus could move while levitating was a likely startling contrast to his usual pace. The ride to Even's bedroom door was quick enough; Lexaeus half-turned away as they landed, to rap on the door sharply with the heel of his boot. Under circumstances like these, who would blame him for dispensing with Aeleus' typical courtesies? "Even?"

The insistent summons was met with a distinct groan of protest, and the reluctant shuffle of footsteps; Even soon answered the door in a white robe that reached nearly to the floor, hair just beginning to escape from a loose, messy bun. Ever-ready glare of irritation aside, he didn't look much like himself at this hour, either--but that, at least, was far more understandable. "You'd better have a very good reason for making such a racket at this Light-forsaken hour, Aeleus. What--what.....?"

For a long moment after the door opened, Even simply stood and stared, faltering at the sight of Dilan being carried while his shoulders and back seemed to writhe with motion just beneath the surface. To his credit, though, Even's stunned incomprehension was fleeting at best. He narrowed his eyes at them both--though whether he was just making his displeasure at the whole situation known, or was just trying to figure out what in the world had happened and what he should do about it, the world may never know. Even let his door swing shut behind him and beckoned impatiently at the pair as he strode past, brusque and imperious as always. If anything, perhaps it was really Even who had changed the least, upon becoming a Nobody..... "You can tell me on the way. Quickly, now!"

Even didn't ask where they were going, and Lexaeus didn't tell him; he simply fell into 'step' a respectful distance behind Even as the man led the way, levitating this time at a more reasonable speed to keep pace. Aeleus and Dilan weren't the only ones who could read each other and work well together, it seemed; Lexaeus and Even--Vexen? What was even the difference between those two, really?--knew what to expect of each other without bothering to ask, and acted on that knowledge like a well-oiled machine, saving their words for what was actually immediately important. "It seems to be some sort of skeletal growth--I'm not sure of the extent of any potential connection or integration, or what other tissue may be involved. The rate of growth is unnaturally quick--that seems to have been caused by a Cure spell."

"And the primary cause?"

"I don't know. It seems to have a very strong connection to a violent nightmare--as though it's making real injuries that were only imagined."

Even only made a displeased, noncommittal noise at that; he didn't offer any niceties, and he clearly didn't need to, either; for the moment, Lexaeus seemed like a dog well at heel, and Even like a master who couldn't even fathom the concept of not being obeyed. Even as they stepped into the infirmary, Lexaeus was turning back to Even for guidance and advice. "We're going to need to make some incisions before he tears himself open, I think."

"I can tell. Get him out of those clothes, onto the table, and ready for me--I don't want any obstructions. If we still have any prepared anesthetic doses stocked, administer one. I need to bring in some supplies." Even flapped a hand at the pair, aggressively shooing them even as he spun on his heel to retrace his steps. Lexaeus simply bowed his head again in wordless acknowledgment to the orders being snapped at him; while Even left the way they came, Lexaeus simply kept going, passing rows of recovery beds and privacy curtains on their way into the surgery room.

[windlancer]

He had run down the entire list of plants in the original gardens, his oath of duty, and was beginning a mental lap through the Beast's Castle by the time they reached the infirmary. His entire back was mostly numb now. He smirked at the two men commenting back and forth between each other. What an odd duo. Lexaeus and Even.... Was there a time they were ever seen apart, at Castle Oblivion? "How considerate of you both... I'm not unconscious, you know. Not yet."

There was a fresh stab of pain when Even rushed out for...whatever it was he was getting, but even that was mostly muted. Lexaeus would feel the first drops of blood oozing down Dilan's back soon after. It should have been distressing. It wasn't.

Xaldin hadn't been restrained, when they struggled in the bedroom. He was already here. He should have realized when the fear no longer held sway over him, had bled from him as he distracted himself from the pain. He should be alarmed. Feel something, anything at the fact that his heart was dormant. There was nothing. Nothing but calm, free from fear, and a new, far more logical way of dealing with this pain: relax as much as possible and let it do what it wished with him.

"I should have done this much sooner." He let out a breath, forcing his shoulders to relax at another pulse of pressure, violet eyes considering Lexaeus's face. "Should I be concerned, then? At how easy it is to render one's heart dormant? Although in all honesty, perhaps we should have expected as much."

[the_earths_salt]

There had certainly been times they were parted, in Castle Oblivion--and by and large, those times had bred disaster. Lexaeus wasn't naive enough to believe he could have protected Vexen from Sora and Axel both, or maybe even Sora alone--as a hero of the Keyblade, he made for a foe every bit as formidable as Riku, even at such a young age. But Axel alone? .....Perhaps. Perhaps he could have held him off, or better, and prevented such a gruesome and treacherous end. It may have still ended with another member fading out of existence by another's hand..... but wasn't it better, even if only in principle, that such a betrayal be born of self-defense?

Vexen had needed him. Even needed him. Zexion and Ienzo were much the same. They made for an odd team, perhaps, the three of them or either pair alone..... but a strong one, as well, forged through countless years of teamwork, trust, and closer camaraderie than Lexaeus ever would have dared to share with any of the other members by the end of the Organization--yes, even with Xaldin. Even Xaldin, once his brother in arms, had proved to be an unreliable deserter in the end, ultimately too distant and unreachable to be trustworthy.

Dilan needed him too, now--and just because Lexaeus didn't trust, that hardly meant he wasn't willing to serve. Even when intimacy and friendship had slowly given way to wariness and mere acquaintance, that never diminished his duty to protect his fellow former Apprentices.

Lexaeus didn't bother to parry Dilan's wry jab, save with a pointedly raised eyebrow and expectant silence; the answer was there, after all, even if it was unvoiced--and even if it was a distinctly un-Aeleus like one, at that. Yes, he was quite aware that Dilan was still conscious, and that he could hear every word they said. Both of them were. What was his point, then? What difference did he really think it should make, talking about and around their patient without addressing or including him? Was that supposed to matter to him, when Dilan would very quickly be unconscious and in surgery? He'd already proven that he didn't know what was best for himself, after all..... At that point, he really hadn't earned having a say in his own treatment for the time being.

Xaldin, on the other hand, had no such strikes against him at the moment. He deserved a fair hearing, at least, even as Lexaeus felt the first drops of blood start soaking into his uniform. Lexaeus hummed thoughtfully as he moved to lay Xaldin face-down on the operating table and get him properly situated, finally shaking his head and reaching for the man's pants. Who knew how extensive these changes might become, after all? Even had meant for him to be nude, so nude he would be. If he worked quickly enough, maybe they could get those incisions made before the damage grew worse than just a bit of mild bleeding from what basically amounted to needle pricks; blunt force like this was likely to make even sharp-tipped bones rip gaping wounds wherever the pressure caused flesh to tear, far larger and more serious than they needed to be, rather than cut cleanly and only make enough room to free themselves.

"I don't think there's much need for concern, honestly; you know as well as any of us how easy it can be to persuade a heart to abandon itself to Darkness. How much simpler must it be, then, to merely coax it to Sleep for a while?" After all, wasn't Xaldin their silver-tongued orator, the charismatic and charming serpent whose words dripped with poisoned honey when he cared to make them do so, a man so eloquent and persuasive he could break a heart just by talking to them, or push it over the brink and force it to become a Heartless of its own accord? For a man as cunning as him, putting Dilan down for a time must have been simple, however much actual effort it took.

Of course, someone so gifted with words would be held to a higher standard than most, though; Lexaeus' tone turned slightly chiding. "As long as such things are handled with care, there doesn't seem to be any harm in such temporary measures. If you had anything to do with causing this predicament, though--" Here, he nodded towards the growths struggling within Xaldin's back. "--then I wish you had chosen a more direct method to start with, as well." It was an opening, if nothing else--if Xaldin knew anything they didn't about this sudden emergency, then he'd better start talking, before they gave him the anesthetic and he lost the opportunity to interact directly with them entirely.

[windlancer]

Whatever they were, they were becoming far too big to remain under his skin. The skin was becoming too distended to be able to withstand much of this for longer. The cuts were widening, the glint of white just beginning to peek out of damaged skin. Xaldin did his best to maneuver his body properly onto the table. The weight on his back was so substantial it had thrown off his sense of balance. He winced as he adjusted his arms, trying to allow for more room. The growths were cramped, already attempting to stretch. He set his jaw, worked brand new nerves in an effort to pull them tighter against his flesh.

"Not when that heart is already consumed by fear." Xaldin winced at the cold of the operating table on his skin, but he shifted to allow Lexaeus to remove the pants. All in all rather unpleasant for an evening that was supposed to be restful. "And guilt. And any number of other negative emotions. You saw how he fought me."

At his companion's accusation he turned, scowling. "Do you really think I would do this to a shared body, Lexaeus? I feel this pain just as keenly as he does. There's nothing happening that he hasn't...done to himself..." He stopped suddenly. This had gone on enough for him to recognize the pulses, the surges of growth. There was a trembling in the nerves, a twitching in newly formed muscle. It was building again. Slow. But not for long. His eyes flicked to Lexaeus. "You need to hurry. It's going to rip us open."

[the_earths_salt]

"I did. But even such Darkness can be guided, with a light enough touch." Lexaeus agreed. The pants and undergarments were whisked off quickly enough, set aside to deal with later. Even as they talked, Lexaeus turned away to give his hands a quick dousing in alcohol, snapping on a pair of disposable gloves and opening a drawer to fetch a syringe of anesthetic. It only took a moment more to find a scalpel--anything else they needed, Even would be returning with shortly. He could hear the echo of returning footsteps even now, growing closer by the moment. Zexion had always been best at deftly manipulating such Darkness and negative emotions, spinning webs of deception and illusion and cunning charisma until he had maneuvered people exactly where he wanted them to go.....

Then again, his illusions only very rarely had direct consequences that were quite so viscerally real in and of themselves, which was why he was pushing to begin with. Lexaeus turned back to the table, sliding the syringe into Xaldin's neck and giving him a flat look as he injected the anesthetic. No time to bother with wiping the injection site down, with the situation this urgent--the needle was sterilized, that would probably be good enough. It might dull the pain somewhat, as it started to kick in, but it wouldn't be doing its job until Xaldin was truly unconscious and they could work freely. "I think you could have, if you didn't realize it was truly a shared body, or if you didn't know that your actions would have consequences like these. Anything you can tell us would help, Xaldin, no matter what it is or who caused it. We can only do so much to help you if we're going in blind."

Lexaeus set the syringe down next to Xaldin's pants--inexcusably careless behavior in a surgical setting, in most circumstances, but this was an unusual case. So long as there were no sudden, significant movements, it wouldn't take long to perform the basic cuts to free these things; with one hand working the scalpel, and the other free to hold Xaldin down or move him as needed, he could probably take care of this initial stage himself. He offered a simple warning before he started making the incisions, more to give Xaldin a moment to brace himself than anything else. "Hold still; I don't want to cut any deeper than I absolutely have to."

[windlancer]

There was a subtle twitch of Xaldin's lips as he slid the needle in, the anesthetic already taking effect. His body began to relax, earning a quiet sigh of relief from the pain. The fog was beginning to settle into his mind--a Nobody was significantly more resistant to its mental effects, giving him some time even as he could no longer lift his head enough to see Lexaeus. "...I did nothing," he repeated, his words beginning to slur at the edges of consonants. It was still taking effect relatively quickly, forcing him to struggle to form the words. "Guilt...denial... they dip into the darkness... the more one tries to hide it..." He made some other sound, an attempt at continuing, but the anesthetic had claimed him fully. His cheek was pressed awkwardly against the metal, eyes barely open, mouth slack.

The first incision would be no more than a mildly annoying feeling of pressure. The skin was mostly dead and bloodless now. It peeled back easily, revealing the limb that had been trapped underneath it. And no wonder there had been so much pain. It was folded awkwardly, and still covered in Dilan's blood, but the claw at the "wrist" was unmistakable. Taking it out and stretching it out would only confirm that it was definitely a Dragoon's wing, adapted to a living, human body. Muscle and tendons had grown up around it, the skin stretched between bony "fingers" threaded with veins and arteries. All signs of growth had stalled; likely due to the anesthetic.

The more one tries to hide it, the more it makes itself known.

It was Ienzo who opened the door for Even to bring his supplies in. He was still half asleep, scrubbing at his eyes to get the sand out of them. He hadn't even had time to take his coat, or tuck in his shirt. His gaze fixed on Dilan's motionless body, staring at...was that...? He shook his head. He wasn't nearly awake enough to deal with this.

"...I'll...wash up. And see if there's any compatible blood."

[the_earths_salt]

The more strongly you resist, the more powerful the backlash when your strength finally gives way. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Lexaeus only smiled in grim understanding as the anesthetic did its work, and Xaldin faded into unconsciousness. He believed him. He'd seen enough effects of how the Darkness could change people to understand that Xaldin didn't need to have a hand in things for something this drastic to happen..... But still, he's never seen results this drastic before, not without the transformation being absolute. Most people, if the Darkness had corroded them this much, would have lost their hearts entirely--they would have torn asunder, and Xaldin and his Heartless presumably would have been reborn. Who could say? Nobody had ever tried to reunite a Nobody and their heart, then tear it out of them again; as far as he's concerned, nobody probably would ever try to do so, and that was probably for the best.

Still, a half-Heartless..... what a sobering thought. Or should that be a half-Nobody?

He was inclined to think the latter, as he peeled the mostly dead skin back and revealed the source of the problem. Lexaeus didn't dare touch them just yet, but he thought he recognized the shape; wings were delicate things, and if this one wasn't finished fully growing, then handling it improperly could cause further damage. The dilemma was short-lived, though; Lexaeus barely had time to study the wings before the door swung open, and Even bustled in with a cart. It was a relief to see Ienzo was with him as well, and looked normal and healthy enough, if still bleary-eyed--that meant they only needed to worry about one of their number. "Thank you."

"Check the back of the freezer--those are most likely to be viable." Even advised; after well over ten years out of the castle, odds were actually fairly high that they might not have any left still fit for transfusion.

He was quick to join Lexaeus at the operating table, pinning the flap of skin back and thoughtfully studying the awkwardly folded limbs that had been exposed. It really was a minor miracle he hadn't torn himself open with those, given the size of those things..... But then again, who knew how big they were supposed to be? Even held out a hand for the scalpel, and settled in to get to work. "We'll need to free them of all restraining tissue, and ensure they're fully functional. Get those Cure spells ready again--I want all growth completed by the time he's awake."

Lexaeus surrendered the scalpel readily enough, but still raised an eyebrow at the insistence, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a wry smile. "He tried to tear them out with his bare hands. I don't think he's going to be happy with this." Still..... he obviously wasn't protesting, or claiming that it was a bad idea.

"Is he daft? Amputating perfectly healthy limbs just isn't done. The potential complications alone aren't worth the risk, even as rare as they are."

Lexaeus only nodded his agreement at that; he couldn't help but think that he was going to have an awful lot of tailoring to do soon. How exactly would it be best to alter shirts and coats to allow for the addition of wings? Sleeves would be hard to thread them into, and probably would provide terrible freedom of movement.....

[windlancer]

"They may be healthy, by they're far from normal," Ienzo pointed out. "We can't blame Dilan for having a panic episode."

In the end, Ienzo had to take blood from himself, being one of the lucky few carriers of universal compatibility. The freezer needed to be emptied entirely, all samples destroyed, but there was no time for that now. He alternated his time between assisting Even with removing the dead skin and leaning against a counter with some crackers and juice. He occasionally gave Lexaeus a wary look. No wonder most humans gave them a wide berth when they were Nobodies. He would ask Aeleus later...if Aeleus were to come back. For now he kept most of his attention on poor Dilan.

The wings fully grown reached slightly past Dilan's backside, giving him much-needed modesty on the cold table. Ienzo had the sense to get a blanket for him after they were done. The consensus was that Dilan couldn't be trusted with the appendages, after his attempt at removing them. So after setting up an IV drip of mild sedative, Ienzo slink back to bed to rest and recuperate. They could clean the blood off the new limbs later. After some desperately needed sleep.

Dilan awakened in midmorning with his mind in a fog and what felt like a heavy blanket over his shoulders. His back still ached, and raw skin itched like he had been bitten by insects. He groaned, eyes half-lidded and sore around the sockets. His body felt suspended in water, muscles languid, hovering just above being able to move his arms, but it felt like he moved them through a thick syrup. Where....? The infirmary? When had he....

The last thing he remembered was....pain. Aeleus, or was it Lexaeus, carrying him down the stairs. Beyond that, nothing. Dilan fought the lethargy of the sedative, straining to pull his arms underneath him so he could get up.

[abidingstoic]

As much as Aeleus regretted leaving the clean-up until later, (dried blood was always more difficult to clean than fresh) all of them needed to rest and recover. It had been a long night for all four of them between the surgery, taking care of Dilan's new wings, and taking enough blood from Ienzo for a small transfusion. They had moved Dilan to a bed in the infirmary to recover, rather than keeping him in the operating room, and Aeleus had taken the time to get the man's pants and undergarments on for a modicum of privacy..... but otherwise, he had been left to sleep off the worst of the effects, hands loosely tethered to the railings of the bed to ensure that he wouldn't hurt himself--by pulling the IV out, or by trying to do something to his wings.

Ienzo was free to do as he liked, (donating blood would certainly earn a bit of sleeping in!) but Even and Aeleus were up soon enough that morning. Even, naturally, was running tests on the samples that had been drawn during the surgical procedures--the more they knew about what happened, after all, the better they could take care of it. Aeleus, though..... He was back in the infirmary with a fresh pair of gloves on and a basin of diluted alcohol mixture at hand for the lingering clean up job. Dilan was starting to wake up, right before be got started; Aeleus made a quiet, soothing noise, gently touching the back of the man's neck. "You're okay, Dilan. Don't try to get up just yet; there's still medicine in your system, and we need to get you cleaned up. How do you feel?"

[windlancer]

You're okay.

He eased at that, relaxing. The memories of fear and pain were becoming more concrete. Dilan still had to fight the fog brought on by sedation, but he remembered enough. He had a nightmare. Aeleus came in to check on him. Something wrong with his back.

If he was in a proper bed, that was good. That meant Even was able to stop whatever it was.

His voice was hoarse from screaming the night before. "Nauseous. Sore. Cold." He worked his jaw and managed to turn his head the other way to relieve his stiff neck.

His eyes opened a little more, and he could finally focus again. Enough to see Aeleus. ....Or was it Lexaeus? He frowned slightly. "What about you? Are you...you again?" The frown turned into a scowl when he saw the tether securing his wrist to the bedrail. No wonder he couldn't get up.

"What...?"

[abidingstoic]

"I'm me. No one else." Another gentle touch, this one pulling the loose dreadlocks out of Dilan's face once he settled again. It was a slightly ambiguous answer, true--but while Aeleus and Lexaeus were both him, in a sense, they were distinctly different entities nonetheless. For the moment, Aeleus was simply Aeleus, and echoing Dilan's concerns back at him, calm and reassuring.

That was good, though. Sore, nauseous, cold--well, maybe not good, but expected, appropriate reactions that were well within the parameters of post-operative discomfort. Relieving, to know that he wasn't actively in pain anymore, or reacting poorly to the sedatives or anesthetic. That meant they could just get him cleaned up, and make sure he was as calm as they could hope for before tapering off the sedatives. "I'm sorry. But you need to stay still for a little while longer, Dilan. I need to get you cleaned up, and you need to rest; you shouldn't strain your stitches by moving around too much just yet, and you're at risk of falling until the medicine is out of your system."

Aeleus sighed, offering Dilan an apologetic look--but still, he didn't sound like he was open to discussion or willing to change his mind about it, either. He dipped his cloth into the basin and began the clean up job, carefully holding the wing steady with his free hand to make sure it wouldn't get jostled--and that Dilan wouldn't jerk or flail it--too much.

[windlancer]

He still didn't know why he needed to be tied to the bed--after all, he could just stay here, warm and languid, floating in the haze of the sedatives while Aeleus wiped the blood from his arm...

Except he was looking at his arm. Aeleus wasn't anywhere near it. He was somewhere towards his back. ...And it felt wrong. So very, very wrong. With the warm water and gentle pressure, the blood came off relatively easy, revealing the pearly white scales that had hardened in the last few hours. It was trembling and twitching now, trying to pull away from Aeleus's touch. Dilan was struggling against the sedatives, trying desperately to make sense of what was wrong with his body. His nausea was becoming more intense. He grumbled in protest, trying to shift away from Aeleus.

Something was wrong.

Dilan finally shifted his body away. Of course the wing stayed outstretched in Aeleus's hands...and that one attempt to move was all he could manage under sedation. He swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. He couldn't even manage to be genuinely afraid, and that was all the more concerning. What had they put in that IV?

"...what happened to me?" he managed, throat dry and cracked. "What are you doing?"