Title: Nightmares

Author: Allronix

Characters/Pairing: the "main 5," no shipping

Summary: Nightmares are companions for them, and have been since they were companions to one another. The nightmares have only changed form, warping and altering to include the gold and emerald of old friends with the silver and sapphire of new.

Warning: Rating for violence and XF-style creepiness

Disclaimer: Baum created the universe. Van Sickle and Long cooked up this variant. The only thing I can add is a fangirl's twisted imagination

Nightmares are companions for them, and have been since they were companions to one another. The nightmares have only changed form, warping and altering to include the gold and emerald of old friends with the silver and sapphire of new.

Green...

"You were the one drawn to dark!" Her sister's shriek.

"You simpering little bitch. You cost me my mind!" A stare that she knows as sweet and good-natured is now anything but.

"Looks like we'll just have to take it outta her piece by piece." His drawl is thicker with rage.

The only answer she gets from the fourth is a feral growl.

She could apologize forever, but it won't take away the fact she's caused it all. That's why she'll force herself to stay still as they close in and they start ripping her flesh with their bare hands…

Blue…

It's always dark and stuffy, confining and cold. His entire world's narrowed to a foggy window, a metal coffin full of frigid water.

They didn't stop at his family.

The Longcoats are torturing a man now, not a boy. The Viewer's dead, choked on his own blood, and the only thing recognizable of the corpse nearest to him is the zipper on the skull. The Royal family has been gutted like pigs...

Save one - the dark haired girl next to Adora. And Zero is smirking as he approaches them, undoing his belt buckle…

No…

He can't survive this again.

Yellow...

Ninety-nine…ninety-eight…

Confusion isn't new but he's not on the table. There's a gray haired woman, her skull open and her head empty. Her eyes are the color of amethyst. Next to her is a blond man, a bit scruffy and just as dead. Two young women lie on cots with bloodied sheets covering their faces.

Should all of them be familiar?

"Thanks for the help, Ambrose," The alchemist says to him, smiling warmly. "You'll make the perfect straw man on the throne…"

That's not right. He looks around the room, and his half-empty head will give him no answer.

Four…three…two…one

Purple...

She'll tell herself it was a witch and not her, but that wasn't the entire truth. She'll always know that part of her wanted to do that, the part training and filial love managed to silence.

What older sibling hasn't had a tiny moment of resentment for the younger? What child hasn't been angry with her parents? The witch amplified them. But it does not mean the seeds weren't there.

She was the one who was supposed to know better, and she knows that cave called to her just as much.

Looking in the mirror again, the Witch stares back.

Red...

The Viewer sits in his chambers and tries to clear his heart, but he is only half-trained, exiled from his tribe for the sin of falling to cowardice. He has confronted his fears, for the most part, but his lack of knowledge means he can only feel what is around him. He knows nothing of how to heal such wounds if they can be healed at all.

Green and blue and violet and gold…He can see the lines that connect them, bind them. He knows little of the Human heart, or how to heal it, but he knows of pain.

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