For every sleeper

Who: Porter
Where: in dreams
When: night

This was his city. Blanketed in darkness, like an inverted sky with its' pinpricks of city lights beckoning up towards the heavens, it was nowhere near as peaceful as the stars it mimicked. For every sleeper within the walls of the buildings, there was danger. Trouble. Death. But for those who sowed such things? There was a reaper to give them their bounty. I am the Conduit, he mused from his vantage point on a rooftop, watching the low arc of taillights pulling away from him, slow and lazy.

Too slowly for this part of town, really. The pace of someone at the wheel searching for something, and at this time of night? It had to be something they shouldn't be looking for. Drugs, flesh, blood, any of them would do. He would follow until he was sure, and he would punish them for their intentions. The figure was garbed in black, nearly invisible in the darkness and surely unnoticed from his height above the street as he broke into a run, hurtling from his rooftop to a lower one in pursuit of his potential prey. He ran hard, exulting in the strength that flowed in his limbs; the lives of those who would do wrong no more, given to him for the fight no one would face.

The car had a lead on him, but as he ran and glanced past the edge of the roof he could see the tail lights stopped ahead, pulled towards the curb. The Conduit ran blissfully, his hood pulling back to unveil a black halfmask tugged up over his nose and mouth, hiding his expression. From the bunching of his cheeks? He might have been smiling.

He leapt without fear, plunging down as his hands ignited with glowing energy. The windshield cracked as he landed on the hood of the car, the whole frame bouncing, and he drank in the shock and terror of its' occupants as one hand lashed out to the side, blasting an arc of energy into the man in the alley to his side who'd managed to get his hand on a gun but not even draw it yet. "Shop's closed for the night," he growled at the people in the car, bringing a glowing hand to bear on the windshield. The glass exploded out at a touch, showering around him as the driver screamed in terror, stomping down on the gas.

The Conduit laughed richly, hopping up and off the car to let it speed away, then turning with a crunch of glass underfoot to look after the man he'd felled. He stalked into the alleyway, eyes fixed on the prone form laying on the pavement as his fingers twitched in anticipation. "You're a cancer," he growled as he advanced on the man, "I'm the scalpel. It won't hurt, I promise that much." He kicked the fallen gun away, leaning low to grab the man by the collar and yank him upright, when.... things changed.

Long dark hair cascaded out as he yanked the figure up, only it wasn't the man with a gun any more. It was a girl; thin, frail-looking, exquisitely beautiful, and already bruising from the fall. Medea. His mask was gone, he could tell from how clearly he could smell her hair. The Conduit vanished with the mask, leaving Porter standing there with the girl of his dreams (literally) in his grip, one hand raised to grab her by the throat and drain her dry. "You can touch me," she purred softly, her head tilting a bit to let her hair fall over one eye. "Anywhere you want. I trust you."

She reached for his raised hand as Porter watched her in stunned silence, fingers closing around his wrist to guide his hand in towards her neck. "Can you feel it?" Medea murmured as she dragged his fingers down her neck. "No." he whispered heatedly, lying to himself. He could; he could feel the pounding of invisible life force there, the most delicious sustenance anyone could truly know waiting for him to take it. "Can you feel it?" she asked again, trailing his caught hand lower, past her collarbone. She teased her own breast with his hand fleetingly, letting his touch settle over her heart. "Don't you want it?"

"Don't," Porter gasped, fingers spasming as he forced them into a fist, trying to keep from touching her no matter how much he wanted to. "Aw, poor baby," Medea cooed, leaning in to kiss lightly at the heel of his hand and uncurling his fingers one by one. "Don't you remember? You saved me, made me yours. It's okay... I want you to," she murmured again, glancing up at him through her hair and dragging Porter's hand lower, down past her hip. "Touch me, Porter... please. I want you to feel it."

"NO!" he snapped, shoving her backwards before he could even think about it. It was too much, too deep into a desire he didn't think he could control if he even let himself start. But the moment he shoved her, he was already reaching for Medea again, watching her stumble out of reach. She staggered back, one foot dropping on the gun that had lingered in their surroundings, and her feet left the ground. "Medea!" he screamed, still reaching for her as she hit the ground and exploded into clockwork, gears chiming as they hit the walls on either side or rolled away unheeded.

He was frozen in place, gaping at the pile of mechanisms for what seemed like eternity as his mouth moved without sound. Oh my god. Oh my god. I... Porter turned and ran in that moment, mind reeling from the enormity of what he'd done. He whipped out of the alley and down the street, lost in a city with vague details, a city he knew on some level he'd created. It was empty, it was silent, he was alone. "Porter?" came the soft voice, her voice, from somewhere in the streets. He snapped around in a panic, looking every which way to try and catch sight of her and seeing nothing. "Medea!?" he yelled back, both hands pushing back through his hair in exasperation.

"Porter! This way!" she called, and even if he couldn't see her, Porter was running in the direction of her voice without a second thought. He bolted past empty store windows and perpetually flickering neon signs, unaware as the indistinct surroundings gradually began to fade and change, filtering in details of the town he lived in now. He was running down Washington Street, completely oblivious to the fact until he reached the short hill at one end, looking out at the bell tower set near the harbor and the lake beyond it, reflected with the stars overhead. "Medea!" he called again, looking back behind him warily, then back to the lake.

Slow clapping dawned on the edge of Porter's hearing, a taunting sound that largely muffled footsteps beneath it. Porter snapped around towards the sound, hands raised and suddenly burning with energy as he saw a form too large to be Medea step from the shadows, its' hands lazily rising and falling for that slow clap. "Not bad, little bro," it said in a smug voice that was definitely male, "Nothing like a piece of ass to keep you motivated, right?" Porter's hands wavered and fell slightly when he heard that, eyes narrowed as the figure moved closer, stepping from the shadows. "Thurston," he gasped.

Thurston. His brother. His dead brother, dead five long years now but unchanged from the last time Porter had seen him. He was taller, more clearly muscular, blessed with a squarejawed sort of charm and at present? Smiling dangerously at Porter. "I gotta say, bro, you did good. That girl? That's quality right there," his brother praised as he moved in. "Honestly, I'm not sure how you even managed it. But I guess it doesn't really matter, does it? That girl could have superhero tattoos on her tits and a label that says 'To Porter', you're still going to fuck it up."

Too stunned to argue back, Porter just gaped at his brother as he moved closer, settling a hand on Porter's shoulders. "But don't worry, baby bro. I'm here for you, you know? I'm gonna help, it's gonna be all good. I promise." Porter took a step back, clearing himself of his brother's touch as he swallowed nervously. "Help? Help... how? Jesus, Thurs, you're dead. I'm... I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Thurston smiled bitterly, nodding at the question. "That's why mom always said you were so smart, genius. And yeah, help. Can't leave my little brother all alone, can I? I mean, it's not like mom or that... that piece of shit she's fucking, it's not like they can help, is it?"

Porter looked hopeful for a moment there, nodding to his brother and fighting the urge to flinch as Thurston stepped back in, slipping an arm across Porter's shoulders to draw him in for a light noogie. "Don't worry, buddy. I'm here for you, and it'll be okay." Porter looked up at his brother, desperate for answers to all the fears that Thurston seemed to know about. "It will?" he asked in a small voice, smiling a little as Thurston nodded and leaned in to speak in his ear. "It will. It's my turn soon, Porter. That thing with the dog? Well, that bought you some time, didn't it? That's my gift to you. But soon, real soon little brother... I'm coming back." And then? The brotherly moment shattered, the dream became a nightmare. Thurston's hand was suddenly at Porter's throat, and he finally knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of his powers. He felt a cold rush welling up in his throat, bleeding out with no wound as Thurston choked him.

"You hear me, brother?" Thurs growled in a cold voice as he squeezed, "It's my turn. Show you how it's done, fix every fucking thing you're too weak to do yourself. Maybe you'll get a clue and just let me stay in control."

~*~

Porter sat up with a gasp, hands clutching the sheets as his heart raced in his chest. His head was throbbing, the room around him pitch-black with both the time of night and the strange filter of his vision, and as he stumbled from bed he crashed to the ground. It was slow going, feeling his way to the door in total darkness, but eventually he made it the the bathroom. The lights helped, and every splash of water against his face or mouthful of it he gulped down helped him shed one more bit of the night terror clinging to him like a cold sweat. Really, by the time he was done, Porter couldn't even remember what the dream had been about. Silly shit, he told his reflection with a sigh, You're getting too old for this. Time to start growing up.