Post by Derek Morgan on Jul 30, 2009 20:32:34 GMT -5
A finger traced the edge of the still full mug of coffee, around and around as he lost track of time, of himself. He hardly realized that he was the sole person in the coffee shop, besides the waitres who looked as if she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. The man in question's head hung, his shoulders were slouched. This was not his normal posture, it was the stance of a man who hadn't truly slept in days, his eyes, though they held a wealth of exhaution, were the eyes of somebody who'd seen too much. His current horror was reflected there - it danced and leaped, taunting.
He'd known these types of nights twice before, once when he'd just joined the bureau, and once when he was ten, when it had been the horror of his father's death that had haunted him. These were the nights that were very nearly sleepless, and whenever it did it ended with a scream.
No longer were his nightmares of a dead girl's eyes or of his father's castket and the sound of bagpipes, endless.
His nightmares were now of orange flames, worse in dream than they had been in reality. The flames that could only have originated from Hell reached out for his house with blazen fingers, gripping and climbing his walls, engulfing all he knew. They grabbed Clooney first, always Clooney, and the night would turn to terrorized howls.
Crackling with the success of their hunt, the orange flames would reach next for his family - his two sisters first, he wouldn't forget the way their haunted eyes reflected dancing flames. His mother came next, her hand reaching out in forgotten pleading.
The last of his family was always his father, and he didn't move to escape, just let the flames engulf him, the flames that seemed to laugh as they took away for the second time Derek's father.
And the last to be taken from him in the fire he hadn't been able to prevent always changed. The way they watched him as the flames took them was always the same: asking without saying anything to save them. But he could never move. They always died.
Once it had been Reid; the only brother that Morgan had known.
Another time it had been JJ, Will, and their son - the only family in the BAU to still be intact.
The next time it had been Prentiss; the monster had in turn taken each member of his team, including Krys, who in the past few months Morgan had come to see as part of his extended family, grown protected of, a younger sister.
The last time he'd had the dream, the last person had been the worst.
The last one had been Garcia.
He swallowed, staring into the coffee as if it held the answers; he didn't even hear the door open and close, and the person who'd entered slide in before him.
[/font]He'd known these types of nights twice before, once when he'd just joined the bureau, and once when he was ten, when it had been the horror of his father's death that had haunted him. These were the nights that were very nearly sleepless, and whenever it did it ended with a scream.
No longer were his nightmares of a dead girl's eyes or of his father's castket and the sound of bagpipes, endless.
His nightmares were now of orange flames, worse in dream than they had been in reality. The flames that could only have originated from Hell reached out for his house with blazen fingers, gripping and climbing his walls, engulfing all he knew. They grabbed Clooney first, always Clooney, and the night would turn to terrorized howls.
Crackling with the success of their hunt, the orange flames would reach next for his family - his two sisters first, he wouldn't forget the way their haunted eyes reflected dancing flames. His mother came next, her hand reaching out in forgotten pleading.
The last of his family was always his father, and he didn't move to escape, just let the flames engulf him, the flames that seemed to laugh as they took away for the second time Derek's father.
And the last to be taken from him in the fire he hadn't been able to prevent always changed. The way they watched him as the flames took them was always the same: asking without saying anything to save them. But he could never move. They always died.
Once it had been Reid; the only brother that Morgan had known.
Another time it had been JJ, Will, and their son - the only family in the BAU to still be intact.
The next time it had been Prentiss; the monster had in turn taken each member of his team, including Krys, who in the past few months Morgan had come to see as part of his extended family, grown protected of, a younger sister.
The last time he'd had the dream, the last person had been the worst.
The last one had been Garcia.
He swallowed, staring into the coffee as if it held the answers; he didn't even hear the door open and close, and the person who'd entered slide in before him.
