This Has To Be A Dream

The last thing Eric remembered was laying down on the couch. He opened his phone to text Alina something - now, he couldn't remember what - and nodded off while trying to think of what to say. He'd been feeling sad about something, so maybe he pissed her off. Maybe he messed something up. He felt like she'd been gone for a while, and blamed himself for her distance.

At any rate, now he was awake, and most certainly not on the couch. Lying on his side in the grass, phone still open next to his head, he blinked at it as he tried to process his surroundings. How did he get here? What the hell happened? Did he shift and run off against his will again, or...?

That wouldn't make any sense, though. His phone was with him. The Wolf didn't care about his human possessions. So, Eric stared at his phone for a while. Something was wrong with it. It wasn't long before the brain fog cleared and he realized: this wasn't his phone. It was a wooden sculpture of his phone. The crack in the screen was even the same. He had no thoughts on this. Only confusion.

At long last his brain cells organized and decided he should reach out and grab it in case he was going insane and it was, in fact, his phone - so he did. Eric yelped when he saw that he had a paw instead of a hand.

He scrambled very clumsily to a sitting position, hyperventilating.

Where am I? Why is my phone wood? Wha-

He was alone.

Truly alone.

Eric hadn't been alone in his head for nearly a decade. The Wolf was gone. Or...he was...he was The Wolf? And his phone was wood.

That made no sense.

I'm dreaming. I have to be.

Okay. That made sense.

He relaxed. Tried to stand. And fell face first into his phone, which was significantly more solid than it once was and therefore more painful. Eric huffed and tried to get his feet under him, anxiety creeping in. This was too realistic to be a dream, and now he'd just smooshed his phone, and why the hell didn't his legs work?

A contorted mess of lanky limbs lay crumpled on the moss, whining softly. He flopped his tail awkwardly as he carefully tried to stand. One foot. Two feet. Three. There you go, buddy. Standing hunched over like a newborn horse, a thought occurred that greatly unsettled Eric. The Wolf had always been in control when he shifted. Eric rarely, if ever, could reign the damn thing in. So he'd never learned to walk with four legs. And everything here was so vivid; the scents, the sights, the sounds. The wind in his fur. He'd never felt these sensations so intensely; he was just a passenger in The Wolf's joy ride. Now, he was mysteriously solo, and nobody taught him how to drive.

Alina could fix this. She was a King. She could make The Wolf come back, make him change back, end this nightmare. But she hadn't been home in some time, and she sure as hell wasn't here, wherever here was. Could wolves cry? Eric wanted to. He tried to remember how it felt when The Wolf ran amok. Which leg did it move first? Eric decided he couldn't do anything about his situation until he learned how to walk again. And so, he cautiously tested out different combinations of legs. Right front, left back, left fro-

Thump.

Maybe back leg first?

He teetered in circles, testing and testing, intensely concentrating on his many feet as he conducted his own Ministry of Silly Walks routine in some back country forest.

 

 

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Of all the things the perpetually angry woman thought she'd find today, it certainly wouldn't be this. She'd struck out from the Nightwalkers territory late last night, aggravated and annoyed that she was still here, still stuck, still trapped in this place. There was a level of fury that couldn't quite be quelled when she felt so powerless.

And with powerless came loneliness. She missed her Wolf. Her true Wolf. It had been nearly two decades since she'd been alone in her head, having developed some odd sort of Dissociative Identity Disorder by being a Werewolf. She'd grown so used to having the Wolf in her head that now, the silence and emptiness of not having her was...

“What in the actual fuck”

What was she looking at?

Her paws had stopped in their aimless tracks, watching as the large wolf... tried? to walk? Is that what he was doing? It looked like he was having a fucking moment. Carmine eyes watched in some sort of fascinated bewilderment as he... well...

.... struggled.

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Eric whined in frustration and stood still. He straightened up to his full height and heaved a sigh. This was absolutely stupid. Maybe it was something he shouldn't think about; maybe it was something that would come naturally as needed, like riding a bike.

You still need to learn to ride a bike first, dipshit.

His expression soured, ears pressing back against his skull. Eric closed his eyes and tried to focus on nothing at all, but he was a title champion overthinker, so that was not happening. All kinds of theories and thoughts raced through his mind. He tried to convince himself he was definitely dreaming, but. Deep down, he could feel it. He was awake. This was his life now. The one thing he never wanted and tried to hold back was now his permanent body and he wanted to scream. Could he scream? Eric opened his mouth and a series of odd wolf-ish noises rattled out.

"Hrraaauuuhll-" His voice. That was his voice. What. "Mmmm-ass. Waffles. Holy shit. Why can I talk. What the fuck."

He opened his eyes, chin tucked to his neck as he stared into space with an extremely confused expression.

His phone was wood. And he can talk.

What in the actual fuck?

That was not his voice. Eric perked his ears and scanned the area. And then he saw her.

His heart fell out of his ass.

He'd never mistake her for anyone else.

"H. Alina. ALINA." Eric breathed her name more than he talked, shouting it eventually, and moved to run to her.

All was going well until it wasn't, and then he was on his back, gazing over at her pitifully. "What the fuck is happening?!"

 

 

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"H. Alina. ALINA. What the fuck is happening?!"

Her name. That was her name. That was her name out of someone else's mouth. Someone she didn't recognize at first glance. This alone made her key up, her fur practically standing on end as she stared — no, glared at the other wolf, even as he tumbled beneath her. Her paw lifted from the ground, leaning away from the male with her teeth bared, carmine eyes narrowed with something deeper than irritation.

It was a defensiveness, a fury that rose to shield her in case this was some foolish fucking demon come to dick around with her.

“Who the fuck're you?” She demanded, a growl lacing her words, tinging her voice so that there was absolutely no question about her intentions should he decide to cross the line from foolish to threatening.

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What little self-worth he'd built up in the time he knew her came crashing down.

She didn't disappear, did she? She just left. And because he was just some pitiful creature, of course she forgot about him. Of course. Why would he think she would remember him? Caught up in the spiral, Eric didn't counter-think for a moment, a flurry of hurt, confusion, and despair washing over his face.

"We- you're -" he stammered, shakily righting himself. One paw. Two paws. There you go buddy. Three. Four. He backpedaled a few steps - why the hell was that easier? - and swayed as he got used to his new limbs.

Why would she leave to an alternate dimension. And why would he follow on accident? No. They're both in fucking Narnia, somehow, without wanting to be. Maybe the memories got scrambled when you go down the rabbit hole. God knows his were being awful shaky.

"It's Eric!", he breathed, ears pinned back. "You took me in." Come on, Eric. Remember something. What if she forgot your name? "You threw me through a window once." he choked out a weird laugh.

Why could he talk? He lifted his massive paw, staring at it, and lost his balance. Staggering to the left, Eric whined. "Why can't I feel my wolf?"

He never thought he'd miss it. But he did. The only thing worse than being alone was being alone with your thoughts. God damnit, Eric missed it.

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