Angelo and Nathan, late Sunday night/early Monday morning

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Thanks to the telepathic connection Nathan briefly established during their practice session earlier that evening, it's Angelo's turn to visit Nathan's subconscious. But Nathan's not lucid-dreaming this time, and Angelo gets perhaps too good a look at his early life in Alaska and his parents.



It had been a poorly constructed sort of shed to begin with, and had deteriorated further over the years. The Alaskan wind howled through the cracks in the boards, snow slipping through into the small, crowded interior. The little boy curled up in the corner ignored it as best he could. Some shelter was better than none at all.

Angelo blinked as he found himself in the unfamiliar surroundings, aware that he'd been dreaming... and then, suddenly, had been here. He frowned, looking around, spotted the boy in the corner and approached him tentatively, unsure if he was real or just part of the dream.

No light through the cracks. Father wouldn't come for him until morning. But he wasn't sure when morning was, because it was winter and the sun wouldn't come back. "Come back, sun," he murmured feebly, his voice cracking.

Angelo frowned, realizing the boy was younger than he'd initially thought - not even five, by the look of him. What was he doing in here by himself? Moving closer, he bent down and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hey."

The litle boy looked up at him with wide, shocky gray eyes, as if he didn't really see him. "Can I come in now?" he asked in a lost, faint voice. "I know I was supposed to stay outside but it was cold."

Angelo nodded automatically, knowing the boy was talking to someone else, but not liking the sound of what he was saying. And it was only a dream, after all... "'Course you can."

"I promise I'll be good. Don't make me stay in the woods?"

Angelo came to a decision and picked the boy up easily, slightly shocked by how light he was. "You don't have to stay in the woods."

"But Father says." The little boy was almost a limp weight in Angelo's arms, not pulling away or holding on. "If you're weak you have to stay in the woods. Forever. I don't like the woods."

Angelo scowled. "I think I want a word with your father..." he muttered darkly, not really meaning for the boy to hear. "Is there any other shelter round here?" Getting no answer, he shifted the boy into a better position in his arms and walked outside, gasping as he was hit by what felt like a physical wall of cold. He spotted the house - a log cabin, really - almost immediately and headed in that direction, freeing one hand to knock on the door when he got there.

It was wrenched open before he could touch it. A tall, dark-haired man in a parka stalked out and Angelo jumped aside, barely avoiding a collison. "Nathan!" the man snarled, stopping and staring at the shed. "You get out here, boy!"

Angelo found himself holding nothing, suddenly. Instead, the door of the shed opened and the little boy he'd just carried out emerged, shoulders slumped and head drooping. The man cursed under his breath and stalked over, grabbing one thin arm and nearly wrenching the boy off his feet as he dragged him along. "What did I tell you?" he raved at the child, using his free hand to strike him sharply across the face. "How can you prove that you're strong if you cower in the toolshed? Weak little bastard - if I didn't know better I'd think you weren't mine!"

The child stumbled in the snow, his legs giving out, and the man growled in disgust, flinging him away to land in a pitiful crumpled heap. "Do you like the ground?" he bellowed, kicking at him. "You get up or I swear I'll bury you myself! I won't waste my time with a weakling who's not fit to survive!"

Angelo was already moving to intervene, on automatic pilot, stopping when he was standing protectively between the boy and his father. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?" he snapped at the man.

The man ignored him, brushed past him as if he wasn't even there. "Get up," he snarled at the child, dragging him back to his feet. "Now, you walk into that house on your own two feet or I'll beat you to within an inch of your life, boy." He gave the child a push and the little boy stumbled towards the open door, silent tears streaking his face, doubled-over a little as if it hurt to straighten up.

*Nathan*? Ahh. Angelo could only follow the pair into the house, hoping that his presence in the dream would alter it in some way - he hadn't forgotten what Nathan's presence had done for his and hoped to return the favour.

The inside of the cabin was spartan, utilitarian at best. A small, slender young woman was standing over the stove, meticulously stirring something in a pot. She looked to be eighteen, at most, and might have been pretty if not for the bruises on her face and the dull look of disinterest in her eyes.

The boy stopped, swaying a little as he looked at her. She didn't so much as nod to acknowledge him, and the man swore as he strode back in. "Food on the table," he growled at the young woman, then pushed the boy in that direction. "Don't know why I should feed you. You haven't earned it."

Angelo glanced at the woman by the stove, noting the bruises on her face and feeling his anger towards the man bubble up even more. Knowing there probably wasn't much he could do at this point, he moved silently to one side, watching.

"Should make you feed yourself," the man said, pulling off his parka and sitting down heavily in the one comfortable-looking chair. "Send you out into the woods for a week. That'll teach you some self-sufficiency." He smiled nastily at the boy. "Sink or swim, Nathan. What do you think of that?"

The boy clambered up into one of the battered-looking chairs, breathing heavily, one thin arm clasped to his ribs. He muttered something too weak to hear, and the man slammed a hand down onto the table. "I said, what do you think of that, boy? Speak up!"

Angelo winced, and suddenly thought of something he could do, however small. He moved forward to stand behind Nathan's chair, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, hoping it would help at least a bit. The boy had known he was there before, after all, even though his parents were apparently nothing more than dream-figures.

"I don't want to go in the woods," the boy murmured, almost pleadingly.

The rage that sparked in the man's gray eyes then was terrifying, but his voice was as cold as ice as he spoke. "You don't want to go in the woods? Have I ever asked you what you wanted, Nathan Dayspring? Do you think you're strong enough to make those decisions for yourself?"

The boy flinched visibly, drawing in on himself. "No, Father."

"Then why would you talk back to me? Why would you even think of questioning me?"

Angelo leaned down to speak quietly in the boy's ear. "Listen. You're Nathan Dayspring. You're... actually, I don't know how old you are, because you won't tell me. You're a teacher at Xavier's school. You're not four anymore, an' you left this place behind a long time ago. That's why you should talk back to him. He's not real."

"Stop it," a voice said very quietly from behind him, and Angelo turned to see Nathan as he knew him standing there, his eyes full of dull exhaustion and a strange hopelessness. "You think you can change this?" Nathan asked, staring down at him with no apparent recognition. "Leave him alone. You're just making it worse."

"I don't want to go into the woods!" the boy cried out suddenly, his eyes blazing with terrified defiance. "You can't make me, you ca--"

And his father moved in a blur, knocking him out of the chair and to the floor with one ruthless blow. "Get up," he said just as coldly as the child lay huddled on the floor, coughing on blood. By the stove, the young woman had dropped her spoon and stood frozen, her only movement her hands fluttering like frightened birds. "If you're old enough to stand up to me, then stand up."

"I told you," Nathan murmured in that dead voice.

Angelo turned to look at him. "He got out. You got out. I can't change what happened, I know, but maybe I can change what's happenin' here, in this dream. You taught me that. Remember the doves?" Deliberately turning away from the older Nathan, he walked over to the child, slipping gentle hands under his arms. "Stand up. Come on, you can do it. Show him."

"Stop it," the older Nathan said, something close to anger rippling under the cold surface of his voice as Angelo helped the child up. "You don't know what you're doing - STOP IT!" The snarled command shattered the cabin around them, and Angelo found himself alone in the woods, standing in the snow.

He shook himself with a shiver, glancing around. "Nathan? I know you're out here somewhere."

"What do you want?" The person that came towards him was recognizably Nathan, but young, maybe Angelo's own age. He was wearing a black uniform of some sort, what looked like body armor. He carried a gun in a shoulder holster and a knife on his belt, and the look in his eyes was far older than it should have been.

Angelo turned to face him. "To talk. Do you know who I am?"

The teenaged Nathan gave him a measuring look. "Not one of our people," he said after a moment. "I don't think you belong here. I think you should leave."

Angelo raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Nathan. You're a psi, for God's sake. If you can get me lucid dreamin' just by bein' there, you can do it for yourself, can't you?"

The teenaged Nathan shook his head. "I don't think so," he said and turned away.

Behind him, Angelo heard a familiar voice chuckle. "Stubborn, isn't he?" Domino asked. "He must have been a terror at that age. Or I suppose he would have been, if he'd been free to be."

Angelo blinked, turning around. "Domino? Are you really here, or just part of the dream? But then, if you're talkin' to me, I guess you must be really here..."

She spread her hands wide, giving him a helpless smile. "Sorry, kiddo. The fact that I'm talking to you doesn't really mean much." She paused, tilting her head to one side in a gesture that Angelo realized suddenly she shared with Nathan. "I think I'm a representation, something like. I definitely know that you're here, and this is a dream... but he's not really with us."

Angelo nodded. "Any ideas how I can get through to him?"

"He's still back in the cabin." Domino studied him for a moment. "It did happen, you know. He was right - you didn't really change anything." Her violet eyes were sad. "Sorry you had to get sucked into this. He's really distraught over it, on the level that he's aware of it."

Angelo looked determined. "He got caught up in one of my dreams, once. A bad one. An' he changed it. I owe him to try an' return the favour." He started to walk back towards the cabin, not turning to see if she followed, just calling over his shoulder, "You comin'?"

"I've seen it before, Angelo," Domino called out after him. "Not really interested in seeing it again."

He was back in the main room of the cabin before he'd taken another step. Nathan-as-a-boy and his father were nowhere to be seen, and Nathan's mother was back standing by the stove, apparently washing up after dinner.

There was the sound of a thud from beyond the closed door to Angelo's level. "Get up," he heard Nathan's father instruct coldly. "Stop sniveling. You back up those words, boy. What does the Book say about words that don't have anything behind them?"

Then he heard what sounded like a sob. "E-Empty. Empty words."

Another sound, distinctly a blow this time, followed by a crash. "If you know that," Nathan's father bellowed, "why would you open your fool mouth? I swear, there's not a brain in that empty little head of yours!" A pitiful cry, followed by a thunderous curse. "On your feet!"

Angelo made for the door, only held back a little by what he might be going to see, and opened it. "Get up, Nathan. Come on", he muttered, not sure if the real Nathan could hear him, but projecting comfort and willpower, just in case.

Inside the room - a bedroom, Angelo saw - the child was on the floor, curled up in a shaking ball, his face covered in blood. The room was in disarray, furniture askew. Nathan's father stood over him, breathing heavily, his face flushed. "What are empty words?" he growled.

"D-Dust," the child choked out. "Dust in the wind."

His father kicked him, his boot connecting solidly with the child's ribs. "Words are weapons, or they're worth nothing," he said, very clearly reciting something. "But I don't seem to be the one bleeding here, Nathan."

Angelo stood very still, trying to work out if the child in front of him was who he should be talking to, or if the older Nathan was still around somewhere. "Nathan? Are you here? Domino said you were..."

Nathan's father turned towards him, but then the face shifted and it wasn't the other man, but Nathan himself. He frowned down at Angelo, looking troubled. "Angelo? Dom... Dom's in Mongolia..." He trailed off, looking around in confusion. "What..." The sudden look of horror on his face wasn't like anything Angelo had seen from him before. "Oh, shit," he said almost despairingly.

Angelo nodded. "Yeah, she said she wasn't really Dom. A representation, or somethin', out in the woods. I'm really here, though. Like you were in mine." He eyed Nathan with some concern, aware that this possibly wasn't something Nathan would have wanted him to know about.

Out of here - he had to get Angelo out of here. Before he saw anything else. "Wake up," Nathan muttered to himself desperately. "Wake up, wake up..."

And it actually worked. He came awake suddenly, shaking and sweating, and stared up blankly at the bedroom ceiling. The dream fluttered away from him, fading with startling swiftness, and he was left with a strange mixture of shame and self-loathing that he didn't understand.

Angelo woke up in turn, confused by the abruptness of it, but remembering much more of the dream than Nathan did. He lay awake in the dark, listening to Jono doing whatever the hell he was doing on the computer at 2am - the joys of having a roommate who didn't sleep much - and trying to make sense of it all.