Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Andrew dreaded having to sleep. It was almost comical, a grown 22 year old man afraid of sleeping in his own bed after a long day’s work. He wished he found it funny. The nightmares themselves weren’t the problem, he had dealt with them plenty of times before. Rather, it was what was in the nightmares that disturbed him so. He shuddered for a moment, remembering what he had seen. 

But the allure of sleep was too overpowering for his exhausted mind to fight any further. He had to sleep eventually. Putting it off would only delay the inevitable. He stumbled his way through his apartment toward the bedroom, shutting the curtains on the way there. The sun still shone, if barely, and he’d rather not sleep with its light basking the room.

Crashing into his bed after hastily changing his clothes, he began to relax, the coolness of the sheets and the peaceful quiet eased the tension in his ached muscles and tired mind. Maybe there wouldn’t be a nightmare this time, he mused to himself. Sleep followed soon after.

Andrew awoke suddenly from his slumber and though his vision was still blurry, he could make out that he was no longer in his bedroom. As his vision fully returned realized just where he was. His childhood shared bedroom. Realization set in as the all too familiar scene presented itself. The nightmares always began the same.

And yet, this time, he was lucid, aware. “Maybe I can wake myself up,” he thought out loud. Before he could make any attempts at doing so, he felt a presence settle upon him. A force that felt as though it were burning through him layer by layer. And then the force spoke.

“Wishful thinking Andy,” a familiar voice said to him from above. Andrew slowly turned to look up, and something looked down.

It was a face, stretched beyond limits and angles, all encompassing and all consuming. There was no ceiling to the room anymore, only an opening to the face that spread across the entirety of the sky and beyond. It smiled with teeth filed like fangs, and eyes glowing with an unnatural, painful hue. Its hair was slick and writhing tendrils that slowly spread across the horizon and its voice, now far more thunderous, seared itself into his mind as the thing spoke.

“You can’t shake me off that easily,” Ashley said calmly, assuredly, seductively. “I’ll always be with you Andy, forever and ever.” It was at this moment that Andrew was struck by a crippling pain in his mind, forced to bear witness to memories not his own.

Andrew witnessed it all—the murders, the cannibalism, the sacrifices, everything. Each crime played across his mind as he witnessed what he and Ashley—no, Leyley—had done together. All the lives they ruined, souls taken, and for what? Chasing Leyley's childish ambitions and his own desire for her.

And this twisted version of him? He didn’t regret it. Not at all. He reveled in it. He'd gladly do it all again if it meant being together with Ashley, with Leyley. Just the thought of her made his pulse quicken. The scent of her hair, the subtle curves of her body, the raw beauty that only Ashley possessed. 

Andrew tried to fight away these feelings. Ashley was his sister. What he was seeing, it was all wrong. They weren’t his memories and they weren’t real.

He blinked and the world around him changed. Looking back towards the sky, Ashley was no longer there, as was the room. As the world rematerialized around him, he found himself standing before a vast banquet table. Rows upon rows of plates, utensils, and glasses lined the table, all filled with gore and flesh. Andrew suppressed the urge to vomit at the sight. His breathing was fast and shallow now as he desperately whispered to him. “It’s just a nightmare. Just a dream. Not real.”

“That’s what you think, Andy. But I think we both know just how much you want this to be real. How much you want me to be real.” Ashley had appeared out of nowhere and glided gracefully around him as she moved towards the table. “And you’re just in time for the main course,” she said with a wicked smile. A box waited at the table’s head, like a coffin, wooden and heavy.

An invisible force pushed Andrew forward and onto his knees as Ashley lifted the lid. “It all started with her, so I think it’s only fitting that she’s the first course tonight.”

The same invisible force gripped Andrew and slowly brought his head to peer inside the box. He didn’t understand what he was seeing at first, but as the dawning realization set in, his breathing stopped altogether as his mind began to unravel at the sight in front of him.

He saw the girl’s face. Eyes wide in terror. Mouth open in a final, silent scream. Skin pale and fingers bleeding and nailless from scratching at the lid of the box.

“No—!”

Andrew jolted awake, gasping for breath as he looked around, wild-eyed. His heart pounded in his chest, his skin was sweating and cold, his mouth was dry and his mind was in panic. His eyes struggled to adjust. Familiar walls. A bedside lamp. The hum of the AC. Soft sheets tangled around his legs, the smell of lavender detergent on the pillow. And—

“Andrew?” A soft voice, barely above a whisper, stirred beside him. It was Nina. Her voice, sleepy but concerned, grounded him more than anything else. She pushed herself up slightly on one elbow, her hair messy and eyes half-lidded, but they sparkled with warmth and tenderness. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching to touch his arm. He flinched slightly at the contact before reminding himself it was her, and not the phantom touch of some unseen force. Her fingers were warm. Real.

In an instant the nausea and fatigue had nearly vanished, he now felt the cool air on his skin and Nina’s warmth as he steadied himself with deep breaths. The nightmare was gone. The box, Ashley, the banquet—gone. 

"Nothing," he said a little too quickly, still trying to calm his racing heart. "Just… a bad dream." 

Nina frowned. “You've been getting a lot of those lately.” She shifted closer and rested her hand against his chest, just over his heart. “Feels like you ran a marathon.” 

Andrew gave a weak, breathless chuckle. “Felt like it.”

She didn’t press him immediately. She just waited, her thumb drawing slow circles on his chest. He turned to look at her face directly now. Really look at her. Whatever lingering feelings he had about his nightmare evaporated as he stared into her eyes. She was not Leyley. She was Nina, alive, warm, and real. Nina stared back just as passionately before turning to look away.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, “but I’m here if you want to.” Seeing the worry in her eyes, the tenderness in her voice, eased something deep inside him.

For a few moments he said nothing, before letting out a sigh. “It’s been the same nightmares the past while. Like… I’m seeing someone else’s memories”

“Whose memories?”

“Mine. Or another version of me. The other me did things, things I’d never do. And he enjoyed it, loved it. But the worst part was—” He stopped. Should he tell exactly what he saw? With Ashley? With herself in the box? With the past nightmares of him using, exploiting, abusing, Julia? No.

“Huh. Seems like I forgot the worst of it. Lucky me,” he said, giving a slight, weak chuckle. Nina nodded, she obviously didn’t believe that lie but she seemed like she wasn’t going to press it further. Then, almost sheepishly, Nina spoke. “I… get one too, sometimes. A recurring dream.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “I’m at our high school. Busy and crowded. I walk through the halls and every room I open has someone I love, but they don’t recognize me. Not one. They look through me like I’m a stranger. Or worse—they see me, but they hate me. I try to talk, but nothing comes out.”

Andrew’s expression softened. “That’s… awful.”

“Yeah.” She gave a small, tired smile. “But when I wake up, and you’re still here, it helps a lot. That you’ve always stuck with me.” He let out a laugh and gave a soft kiss on the cheek.

“They were bound to return at some point," he said after a moment of silence. "Not these nightmares but nightmares in general. Remember how I used to get them all the time back when we were in high school?” He leaned in close to Nina, his face centimeters from hers. “But I’m glad you'll always be here to chase them away," he teased, smiling as he pulled her in for a hug. She giggled softly and melted into his arms, her body fitting with his like a puzzle piece. Her laughter, even half-asleep at three in the morning, warmed him more than anything else could. He smiled and held her closer.

"I love you, Nina," he said with warmth and softness he rarely showed. He could feel her smile against his chest.

"I love you too, Andrew," she murmured, her voice quiet, content, and happy. He held her just a little closer, pressing another kiss into her soft fragrant hair. She cooed softly as she nestled herself deeper into him. Within moments her breathing had slowed and her eyes drifted off to sleep.

As he watched her chest rise and fall, Andrew felt the last of the nightmare’s poison bleed out of him. She was here. She chose him. And he would choose her again, a thousand times. He wasn't that other man. He never was. He was Andrew Graves. And the monster from his nightmares, the accursed world that it lived, it would never become his reality. This, here with Nina, was his reality. Wasn't it?

Chapter Text

The nightmares weren’t always so terrible. Sometimes they would be little more than hazy visions of some far away calamity. Other times they forced him to live through the sins and vices of that twisted version of himself, in a world where everything went wrong.

Last night had been one of those. He was lucid, if only barely, not enough to stop himself bearing witness to a particularly gruesome spectacle but aware enough to remember it all. He gagged slightly as he was reminded of what he saw, what he did.

The sound of dripping brought him back to the present. Andrew was standing at the kitchen counter, eyes focused now as the slow drip of coffee filled the pot. He usually ignored its rhythmic ticking but today, it grated at his mind.

The dreams still clung to him like mud—impressions of blood, of enjoyment that felt wrong, of Ashley’s face twisted into something almost inhuman. Oftentimes they were of Nina. Nina—locked away somewhere dark, calling for him. Begging. The thought of it chilled him.

That hadn’t been the case the past few nights though. He wouldn’t say that he was glad that he was being forced to watch someone other than Nina suffer, but it was a relief that his soon-to-be wife was no longer the subject of his gruesome imagination. That relief was short-lived as Julia took the center stage of his nightmares.

He exhaled hard through his nose. They weren’t real. Just dreams. They came and went, always with the same rhythm, horror, guilt, and relief. Eventually he’d get used to them, but that thought did little to help ease him in the present.

The coffee finally finished with a mechanical click. He poured a cup, gripping it tighter than he meant to, letting the heat settle into his palms. There was a residual tension in his chest, like something still hadn’t passed.

The sound of footsteps padded softly into the kitchen. “Good morning,” Nina said, voice drowsy and warm. She wore her signature blue gray sweater with the sleeves cuffed at her wrists. Her hair was a mess. She looked perfect.

He offered a small smile. “Morning.”

She leaned in to kiss his temple, wrapping her arms loosely around his middle. “You were twitching a lot last night.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Worse than usual.”

She rested her chin on his shoulder, glancing down into his cup. “Same kind?”

“Mm-hmm.”

She didn’t press. She never did. Just leaned into him a little more, her quiet presence calming him like it always did. “Nothing there but nonsense. I wouldn’t worry about whatever you see, Andrew.”

“I know.” He stared down into the dark swirl of coffee. “Just wish they didn’t feel so vivid.”

“You probably read something weird before bed again.”

“Probably.” But it wasn’t just vivid. It was specific . Detailed. Names, places, even tastes . He could remember the weight of a cleaver in his hands. The feeling of Ashley’s breath on his skin. The look on Julia’s face when— 

He snapped out of his spiral, swallowing hard. As if summoned by thought, Nina spoke. “By the way, you’re still good to meet up with Julia soon, right?” Andrew hesitated. That’s what it was. No wonder everything felt so tense, why the dreams felt so much worse than normal.

“Yeah,” he said after a second. “Still good.”

She turned to grab some coffee of her own. “She’s excited. She said it’s been forever.”

“It really has,” he said dryly.

It really wasn’t. They only hadn’t seen Julia for barely 2 weeks now. Not since she went on a family vacation. She and Nina called often, had their little inside jokes, and their shared moments. But for Andrew, he had been keeping distant, only joining to chat with Julia every once in a while. Not so distant that either woman would know something was amiss but simply talking to Julia stirred up something uneasy in him, much less the upcoming prospect of meeting with her again in person.

It didn’t make any sense. Julia had always liked him. Teased him. Welcomed him. Treated him like family. But every time she came up in his mind lately, a part of him recoiled. Probably because of the damn nightmares. In there, Julia was not his close friend, she was just a tool, a means to serve his interests. Leyley’s interests. And the worst part was that his dreamself was utterly indifferent to it. It didn't matter who they had to beat, burn, and kill, so long as Andy and Leyley were happy. He’d wake up disgusted every time but his dreamself always reveled in their gratuitous acts of unparalleled debauchery.

Andrew sipped his coffee, pushing those uncomfortable thoughts away. “She’s gonna be cooking dinner tonight, right?” he asked, voice lighter now.

Nina grinned. “ We’re gonna be helping her cook.” He chuckled and as she leaned into him again, brushing her fingers along his arm. “We’ll just hang out and catch up. It'll be nice.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Nice.” But even as he said it, a weight pressed into the back of his mind, unshakable. A memory that didn’t belong to him. A version of Julia he’d never met. Crying. Screaming. Grieving. Dead. He shook his head. Dreams. Just dreams. Twisted figments of his own overactive imagination. Nothing more.

The morning seemed to pass by so quickly as the two of them got ready for the day. Well, more like as Nina got ready for her day. Andrew was fortunate enough when scheduling his college classes to have gotten Monday's off. No classes. No work. All day to himself. After he bid Nina a farewell, he'd usually go to relax and enjoy his moment of solitude.

Unfortunately for him, Julia would be arriving sometime late in the morning, and with no one but himself to keep her company until Nina returned.

He dreaded having to meet with her as much as he hated himself for dreading it. She was his friend, as old a friend as Nina and just as loyal. What was there even to be afraid of? That he'd do something to her? It was ridiculous.

Still, when the doorbell rang later that morning, Andrew’s heart skipped. He stood still in the living room, staring at the door. He took a few seconds to steady himself, deep breathes and all.

When he opened the door, Julia stepped inside, eyes bright and arms full of bags, she looked exactly the same. Happy. Bubbly. Alive. Andrew managed to compose himself enough.

“Hi Andrew!” She laughed as gave him a friendly hug and stepped back. “Good to see you! It's been so long.”

“Hey, Julia.” She didn’t know. Of course she didn’t. There was nothing to know. But even as he listened to her, recounting something stupid from her vacation, a part of him stared, still haunted by a dream where she was crying at a grave that never existed. And in that dream, he’d been the reason.

“Andrew?” Julia nudged his arm, her eyebrows raised slightly. “Are you feeling alright? You keep zoning out.”

“I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping. Usual stuff you know?” Though Julia wasn’t as intimately aware of his nightmares as Nina, though Nina didn’t even know that much to begin with, she was vaguely aware that he had them.

“Ah,” she sounded. “You—” She paused, looking as though she was uncertain about what she wanted to say. “What are they about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Uh—” Andrew couldn’t even finish his thought before Julia blurted out an apology.

“S-sorry if I’m pushing. I just—wanna help,” she said with a slight fidget and hint of nervousness. Andrew smiled reflexively. He’d always noticed how she stuttered when nervous, how her eyes darted about when unsure. It was so— He stopped himself from following that line of thought any further. It was wrong. Julia was his friend. The silence stretched a little too long as Julia fidgeted with the sleeve of her arm warmers, her anxious glance flicking up to meet his. He needed to say something.

“No, no, it’s fine.” He scratched the back of his neck as his eyes drifted about the room. “They’re just a little… out of place. They always have been. The past few weeks they’ve just been worse than usual.

“Like stress dreams?”

“Sort of. More like I’m watching myself do some pretty heinous things and then wake up feeling like I actually did them. Vividly too, everything feels real. And they stick around even after I wake up.” She nodded slowly as he explained, unsure of what to say but wanting to ease his discomfort regardless.

“Well, they’re just dreams, right? Your brain’s probably just being dramatic.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Julia nudged his arm. “If anyone’s brain was gonna be a little weird and dramatic, it’d be the writer’s.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” He offered a faint smile, the tension in his chest eased slightly. Julia didn’t need to know the details. She was here afterall, alive and well.

“Anyway,” she said, grabbing one of her bags, “if these dreams are bothering you that much, you definitely need something sugary. We’re making that citrus tart later—doctor’s orders.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Even as he followed her into the kitchen and helped prep ingredients, Andrew found his eyes lingering on her whenever her back was turned. She was as tall as he was though by virtue of her own nature, far weaker than him. It would be so easy to overpower her. He could probably do it now—quietly, cleanly—while she was unaware, her back to him.

“Careful cutting the lemons,” Julia said over her shoulder. “Getting juice in a cut really hurts.”

Andrew swallowed hard. The knife in his hand shook slightly. She hadn’t even looked at him. He blinked, adjusted his grip, and turned his attention back to the cutting board. The weight of the blade felt familiar. One slice. Then another. Focus on the weight of the blade. The crisp break of rind under pressure. The aroma of lemon rising in the air. His breathing slowed. He cleared his throat. 

“I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” Julia replied, still cheerfully oblivious. “That stuff stings.” Andrew didn’t respond. He just kept slicing.