Archive of Our Own

Life with the Syndicate has been… strange.

They’re kind. They didn’t experiment on Dream, they hardly even asked him how his power works. They let him stay with Aravis and hold her hand while they treated her; they let both of them stay, even when they finally told him there was nothing else they could do to help her.

And he still doesn’t feel safe, he still doesn’t entirely trust them, but…

But he is safe. Logically, he knows that he is.

It’s been two years.

They let him start going on patrols a couple weeks ago. Not alone- Phil takes him, because Phil is the only one Dream really trusts- but he’s allowed to help. He’s allowed to work, despite being just fifteen. Just a kid, in their eyes.

He’s not a kid.

Dream doesn’t think he’s been a kid in a long, long time.

“Just a routine patrol today,” Phil says, doing up the straps on his lightweight body armor. “We’ll go down through the city center, loop around the outskirts to the west, and come back. Sound good?”

Dream nods, tightening the straps on his own armor. He got to paint it last week- black, with lime accents. It looks kind of cool now.

“Nothing dangerous.” Phil smiles at him. “Just like we’ve been training for.”

Dream nods again, putting on his mask and zipping up his hoodie over his chest plate, pulling the hood over his head.

He doesn’t have any weapons to grab- unlike Phil, who straps knives to his belt and slips them into his boots, clips on a holster and checks the gun before putting it in.

Dream isn’t technically supposed to use weapons, but they can’t stop him from using his powers to make them. He waits, for now, because Phil gets kind of annoyed when he does that. He can make a sword or an axe in seconds, if he needs to defend himself.

It’s hard not to fall back into old habits from his training, but some of it is useful. He knows the right way to move to conserve energy; he’s always on guard, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice if he has to.

He follows Phil along the rooftops and alleyways. Their ‘patrols’ don’t have a ton of purpose, other than trying to prevent crimes. Especially against mutants. It’s a big city, and they can’t stop everything, but the Syndicate leaders say it’ll help improve the public’s perceptions of mutants in general if they try to help everyone.

Humans don’t deserve their help. Humans hate mutants, humans have only ever tried to destroy them.

Dream does what he’s told anyway. It’s not worth risking his place in the Syndicate over a grudge.

The patrol is going fairly normally- which is to say, it’s completely boring- until they’re stopped in a back alley by people in sickeningly familiar black armor and helmets, carrying guns.

Dream freezes, feet rooted to the ground. Phil draws his gun, wings snapping open as if to protect him.

The faceless government thugs don’t hesitate, and neither does Phil.

For a few seconds Dream just watches. He can’t move, he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. He can’t- he’s not-

These are the people who trained him. Who beat him and hurt him and they work for the ones who hurt Aravis- who took away everything that makes his sister herself-

A sword forms in his hand with hardly a thought, and he slashes at the nearest person with a raw, angry yell.

He and Phil are both strong fighters, and there aren’t too many of the government goons- they can handle this-

Until Dream can’t.

He doesn’t really know how it happens, but he feels a needle jab into his neck, and the next second he’s collapsing, screaming as pain fills his entire body.

Phil does something, yelling. Dream’s back arches as he spasms, it hurts it hurts it hurts, oh god he can’t- he can’t-

He’s lifted, hoisted into the air, and then everything goes black.

But even in unconsciousness, the pain carries on.

~~~

Phil hits the ground running.

Other Syndicate members are rushing out, yelling, calling for help. Phil doesn’t let anyone take the teen out of his arms, sprinting down the hall for the med bay as Dream keeps convulsing in his arms, black goop surrounding him, spiking and collapsing randomly.

“They injected him with something,” he gasps out in response to Clara’s questions. “He was screaming-”

Clara reaches for him, but Dream’s power surges again, a spike jabbing into Phil’s hand before he can pull away. He grits his teeth to keep from making a pained sound, yanking his hand back and wrapping the other around it to try to stop the bleeding.

Clara looks over her shoulder. “Get George,” she snaps.

It’s the wise choice. George’s mutation nullifies others, it’ll stop Dream’s powers long enough for them to treat him.

Thankfully it doesn’t work on physical changes due to mutations, so Phil doesn’t have to leave. Phil can stay, because Dream will probably be more comfortable with him here when he wakes up. Phil is one of the only people Dream seems to trust.

George is silent when he comes in, but he comes over and sits at the head of the gurney, placing his hands either side of Dream’s head. Instantly the teen’s powers stop spiking, though the convulsions don’t stop.

Clara springs into action, attaching monitors and taking readings. “Mady, get the lorazepam,” she says tersely, practically tearing off Dream’s hoodie to get to his arm and wipe it with an alcohol swab.

“What can I do?” Phil asks, shaking and nervous.

“Hold his arm still.” Clara takes the syringe from Mady, carefully injecting the drug into a vein while Phil holds him down.

The convulsions gradually slow, and stop. Clara keeps moving, setting up equipment.

“Is- is that it?” Phil asks, throat tight. “Is he okay?”

“Without my power, I can’t be sure,” Clara says. “George, dear, do you mind…”

He nods, lifting his hands and moving away. Immediately the black goop starts oozing around Dream again, more slowly this time but still spiking when someone gets too close. George sighs, coming back and placing his hands on Dream’s head again.

“Have someone look at your hand,” Clara says to Phil. “I’ll take care of him.”

Clara tells him that whatever they injected Dream with, it’s messing with his powers and there’s no antidote. They’ll have to wait for it to wear off.

And until it does, George is going to have to stay with him, because Dream could hurt himself or someone else.

“This isn’t your fault,” Kristin says softly, running her fingers through Phil’s feathers.

He shakes his head slightly, thinking about the way Dream had convulsed in his arms, his powers surging out of control. Thinking about the skinny, scared kid who showed up two years ago, begging for help but so scared to accept it.

“I was the adult in the situation,” he whispers. “I was supposed to protect him.”

“He’s going to be okay.” Kristin gestures slightly towards the glass wall of the isolation room. Dream’s still unconscious- George looks bored, sitting beside him and leaning against the bed, playing some game on his DS. “Look, Phil. He’s safe, he’s in good hands, and he’s going to recover.”

It can’t stop the guilt rolling through him.

“That kid has been let down by everyone in his life,” he whispers. “I was supposed to protect him.”

“You did,” Kristin murmurs. “You got him home safely as quickly as you could. It’s not your fault he was attacked.”

~~~

Everything hurts. So, so fucking bad.

Dream whimpers, curling up. He’s not- he can’t do this again. No more experiments, please-

“Hey. How are you doing?”

He… doesn’t know that voice.

No one talks to him except to give him orders, though…

“Ms. Astra said you’d probably be feeling pretty bad. I can get her, if you want?”

Dream blinks. He’s not… not in his cell. He’s in a room with dark walls that look kind of see-through. Laying on a bed that’s actually kind of comfortable.

There’s someone sitting beside him.

Dream blinks some more. “Uh…”

“Yeah, okay.” The other boy leans away.

After a second, a woman comes in who Dream actually recognizes- Clara, the one who mostly took care of Aravis for a while. She comes over, touching the boy’s shoulder lightly. “George, would you mind…”

The boy- George, apparently- gets up and walks just outside of the room. As soon as the door closes, Dream’s powers surge under his skin. He whimpers, trying to rein in the goo, but he can’t- he can’t control it. He can’t make it stop-

George comes back in, and it stops.

Clara sighs, gently squeezing Dream’s hand. “Do you remember what happened?” she asks quietly.

“I… was patrolling,” he says. “With Phil. And we… got into a fight?”

Clara nods. “You were drugged,” she says. “We don’t have an antidote, so all we can do is wait for your body to filter it out naturally. We don’t know what all the side effects are, but one of them is that your power seems to be flaring uncontrollably. George, here-”

He sketches a wave with one hand, gaze fixed on his game.

“-his mutation nullifies non-physical mutations. So, if Phil were here, he’d still have his wings, but he wouldn’t have his emotional manipulation.” Clara checks something, briefly adjusting one of the monitors hooked up to him. “He’s going to stay with you until you’re better, to keep your power from hurting you or anyone else.”

Dream tries to sit up, but apparently other side effects of the drug include dizziness and uncontrollable projectile vomiting when he moves.

So, he doesn’t move.

He lies completely still while Clara puts a tube down his nose and throat, into his stomach, and starts the tube feed. Lies there, staring at the wall, blinking hard to keep back tears.

He’s not going to cry about this, he’s not. He can’t.

George finally looks at him as Clara leaves. “So,” he says, not quite so flat and quiet, “they let you go on patrols, huh?”

Dream blinks at him, slightly confused. “…huh?”

“Patrols. Ms. Astra said that’s how you got hurt.”

“Oh… yeah.” Dream picks at the edge of the blanket lying over him. “They didn’t want to let me, but I… was kind of pushy about it.”

“Nice.” George huffs, pushing up his thick glasses. “I can’t.”

“Oh… sorry.”

George shrugs. “It’s kind of fine. I get to pretty much do whatever I want, as long as I keep my grades up.”

“Oh.” Dream glances down, fidgeting with the blanket some more. “I… I kind of like patrols.”

“Good for you,” George murmurs, gaze fixed on his game again.

Dream watches him for a bit, but it’s hard to see what’s on the tiny screen. “What are you playing?” he asks at last.

“Chrono Trigger. It’s a game about… time travel, I guess.” George shifts, letting him see the screen better. “If you’re going to have to be in for a while, I can have somebody bring some games for you to try. You seem like you’d like Pokemon.”

He knows that name, from… from before. “I’ve played Pokemon,” he says, his voice sounding kind of strange in his own ears. “I had a, uh- a Game Boy, I think.”

George flashes a smile, the kind that looks like he doesn’t often. “That’s cool,” he says. “What was your favorite?”

“Uhh.” It’s been so long that he’s not… he doesn’t remember the name. “That one rock one? The snake?”

“Onix?”

He almost nods, but thinks better of it. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” George shifts, leaning back against the bed so Dream can see the screen better. “We can probably find one. What did you name it?”

“I don’t remember,” Dream admits quietly.

“Oh.” He goes quiet, pressing buttons on his game. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine.” Dream blinks at the ceiling. “I forgot a lot of things.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, but it… it’s fine.”

“Sure.” George pauses the game, offering him the device. “You want a turn?”

“No. No, thanks.” Dream fidgets with the blanket. “I- I really appreciate this. You staying here, I mean. Not just for the powers thing.”

He doesn’t want to be alone. He can’t be alone, in a small room, with medical equipment stuck to him. Not again. Never again.

“It’s whatever.” George shrugs, going back to his game. “You’re part of the Syndicate, you know. We all are, here.”