i'm sorry.

He can’t help the sharp gasp that slips out as Russell’s hand drops from his neck. There are a million questions rushing through his head–what happened, who did this to you, are you all right, are you safe–but louder than all of those, a mantra that grows louder and louder with every step closer to the boy, a single thought.

Oh, Russell. I should have protected you.

Russell is crying, and Dogma swallows down the urge to do the same, refusing to let those pricking tears fall. It will do neither of them any good to have them both break down, out here in the snow–they’ll catch cold–no, it’s better for him to stay composed, as much as he wants to bundle the boy into his arms and sob out everything he never managed to say in the dream.

I should have protected you…

Instead, Dogma cups the boy’s face in his hands, careful to keep the edges of his palms away from the livid scarring. The priest’s thumbs brush over Russell’s cheeks, sweeping away a fresh round of tears. It must be strange, to see him like this–Dogma was barely companionable in the dream, let alone this affectionate–but he’s been waiting weeks, now, and he’d wished for this. It was all he’d wished for. Forgive a poor dead priest the gratitude he’s finally letting himself feel.

“Russell… I wish you had arrived in better weather,” he says, breathless, and the fact that it had snowed overnight matters the least out of anything but he can’t help but worry for the boy in his thin shirt. “I prayed to God every night, and He saw fit to bring you here in the depths of winter… No, I shouldn’t question Him. I’m just thankful you’re here at all.”

It feels like everything is in slow motion, Russell doesn’t know how to react and everything seems to freeze up as Dogma brushes away his tears. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to do--

It repeats over and over in his head as the priest speaks, a strained sob escaping the boy against his will. Dogma had wished he was here, prayed, that he would arrive here. Why was he waiting for him after everything he...he obviously knew the truth, even if Russell’s memory said nothing of ever telling him.

There’s still no reason for him to be this affectionate with him.

Why, why why why.

There’s so much he wants to say to Dogma, so much he wants to apologize for, but he can’t. He can’t and it frustrates him to no end now. Part of him wanted to push his hands away, deny his affections. He’d even started in the movements, hands shakily gripping at the elder’s wrists before releasing them again. He couldn't, he couldn’t find the will to do it. Feeling as if his feet had frozen to the snowy ground below. So, he does the only thing his shell shocked mind can manage to direct him to do.

He cries more.

It’s the opposite of what Dogma had wanted, for sure, but it’s all he could do. Strained, odd noises being pulled from his throat as he stands there and sobs. Maybe he just needed to let it out, for better or for worse. Hiccuping and sniffling, he hadn’t even been aware of how cold he was until the older had mentioned the weather, hadn’t realized he was shivering - perhaps from a mix of nerves and the temperature.

Dogma...Dogma I’m sorry…

@guiltdream

Cody was sure she would forever be able to recognize the figure standing a few yards away, back turned to her. Even a passing glance over the surroundings was enough to shift to a focused gaze, her body freezing in place at the sight. 

Russell was here. There was no one else that could be, and she had been hoping he wouldn’t be there enough that there was no chance she could be imagining it. 

The flood of emotions that filled her being as she looked to the boy was what she had hoped to avoid for the rest of her somehow lengthened life. 

There was relief amongst them. She had thought for sure that Russell, the useful boy she almost saw as a younger brother, was destined to perish. She did care about him. Despite everything, she truly did.

But that care didn’t erase the anger that boiled within her, rage that was heated by the flames Russell himself set ablaze. 

Anger pushed her towards him, hands in fists at her side, her voice harsh as she spoke up.

“You… Haven’t you done enough, already? I thought you were done now, Russell.”

‘You.’ They were all coming back to haunt him now, weren’t they? He’d recognize that voice anywhere, even if it was just the dream that had brought it to him before.

Cody...

‘Haven’t you done enough, already?’

Those words were enough to send a chill down his spine as he turned around, swallowing roughly. He...he hadn’t told her he’d told….he’d told--

There’s no other reason for her to approach him like that if she hadn’t known. But...how...how had she. There wasn’t another Happy Dream was there, other versions of these people he knew? That wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be possible.

A hand trailed to his neck once more, to the scars that marred it. A habit now.

Her anger made some sort of emotion he couldn’t place tug at his chest he...he was almost pleased she was berating him already. He couldn’t even speak to defend himself - not like he would, she had every right to be angry with him like she was right now.

All Russell could do was stand there, radio silence between the two of them, opening his mouth to say something then closing it again.

“.....”

Another day, another batch of new residents, and once more not a single sign of Cody. Despite the disappointment, Dogma is trying to keep his spirits up, fishing for things to be thankful for in this winter wonderland. He has Gardenia, and the Informant, and even Kantera; he has this nice Christmas sweater that the locals have been giving him some very genuine compliments on; he still has his faith, and he knows God is still looking out for him.

When he sees the familiar blonde hair, glimpsed through the crowd, he’s distracted enough that he assumes it’s the Informant off to wreak some havoc somewhere, and raises an idle hand in greeting. And then he stops, his hand frozen mid-gesture, and then he’s on his feet, lurching off the bench in an unsteady movement, and then he’s stumbling through the snow, tears beading in the corners of his eyes–

(Can a wish really come true so easily?)

“Russell?” he says, a hoarse whisper that loses itself in the snow; and then, louder, voice cracking, “Russell–!”

It was….it was him. Right here in front of Russell now and -- as much as Russell still wanted to turn tail as Dogma approached he found himself stepping forward to meet him in the middle. Swallowing roughly as his hand dropped away from his neck.

Of course, perhaps that wasn’t for the best considering what’d it reveal to Dogma but, Russell wasn’t really in a place to think critically right now.

A shaky exhale and Russell couldn’t help but feel the tightness building in his chest, Dogma was happy to see him, happy. It was almost hard to believe but with how the priest had rushed towards him, tears in his eyes it said enough.

Now Russell felt the tightness creep up into his throat and it was suddenly a bit hard to breathe, he wanted to say so many things but he couldn’t and it was so, so frustrating. All he could do was stand there and let tears run down his face. He wasn’t going to bother stopping them, even if he himself didn’t have any right to cry right now.

Perhaps it was a panic response but, it’s what was happening right now.

(I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.)

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve this type of reunion--

Russell stumbles back a bit, sniffling. It was a bit too much, he wanted to be yelled at something, anything to affirm the self loathing he’d built up for himself now but, that wasn’t the case here. Why would it be, for all Russell knew it wasn’t the truth but he still found himself wanting something.

His cocoa’s on the floor, the cup’s on the table, and green eyes meet blue.

It was inevitable, Russell being here that is. There were already other residents here alongside himself, so it only made sense that the creator of said dream would make his way here, right? Right. He knows this, yet…

Seeing the actual Russell— the one that everyone had wanted instead of him— floored the Informant. Enough so that his usual mask fell apart, making way for a surprised face.

“You’re…, here?” A tone of shock, almost as if he wasn’t believing his own eyes for the moment. However, he’s quick to snap himself out of it, “I was wondering when you’d be coming here.”

He’s met with silence from the other still. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that off putting— he knew the other like the back of his hand, obviously, so that part didn’t bring any surprise to him. It’s only when he finally takes a look at Russell, does his eyes widen by a fraction and his hand reaches for his own throat.

Could he even speak? The Informant thinks to himself, unaware of his own hand rubbing against his throat. Considering that nasty scar on his neck…, it’d be safe to assume that the other couldn’t speak. 

“…,” Letting out a sigh, he speaks up once more, “Anyways, the drink is fine, I can just order another cup. No need for apologies.”

Especially when it was his own fault he knocked it over anyways. 

Russell opens his mouth as if to say something - and then promptly closes it with a sigh, eyes trailing over the reminds of the spilled drink for a few more moments before eventually focusing back on Informant.  Well, yes, he was here now (when he shouldn’t, in his opinion), but he didn’t really know where here was. It was a bit frustrating he couldn’t even properly answer him, only nodding in response with a “mmhm”.

Well, he could at least manage some sounds it seemed like.

Though that’s when Russell noticed Informant’s movements, the way he rubbed at his throat doing enough to jolt a bit of panic into him as he reached forward, touching the others forearm. 

“Ah-”

Was he even aware he was doing that? It didn’t really seem like it but Russell’s  concerned expression - brief as it was - said enough at least, he really did not like that. Then again, Informant doing that was Russell’s fault, wasn’t it?

 He had knack for causing people to suffer even in death it seemed.

Well, he didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting but really the one he received wasn’t that surprising at all. 

Informant had been reaching for his drink when he saw Russell which promptly lead him to knocking it over and spilling it everywhere. Though really, his doppleganger being here in general didn’t help the ever growing and gnawing feeling in his stomach that he was being tested again.

Of course, once was never enough, was it?

He found himself with less anxiety approaching the other though, maybe it just had to do with Informant really being him, one way or the other. He did hesitate in picking the toppled cup back up and sitting it upright with a small, apologetic glance, grip tightening on some sort of object in his other hand.

He hadn’t expected to wake up again, he really hadn’t.  But now he found himself in the town square, the air suddenly feeling too cold, too sharp in his lungs when his eyes found their way to someone familiar - someone far too familiar. Russell’s hand finding it’s way to his neck without him really noticing, fingers tracing the scar for a moment - and he presses down against it, it’s brief thankfully but his hand remains where it was.

Dogma....that was Dogma, wasn’t it?

He....hadn’t noticed him yet had he? He could move away in time right...right? Despite all of this he wanted to go to him but, every other part of the boy was telling him to move away before it was too late.

Then their eyes met, and his heart pounding in his chest suddenly seemed much louder than the bustle of the crowd - time almost coming to a standstill, and all the boy could really do in response was meekly raise a hand in a weak, silent greeting from where he stood.

14 year old former murderboy

Was a part of some rehabilitation experiment (that didn’t end well.)

Only just recently got his emotions back

Supposed to be dead but here he is

He’s so tired

Has a soft spot for rabbits

Actually a good kid just did a lot of bad things due to his environment

Distrustful of most if all adults

Totally mute

Doesn’t know how to function around people very well

Will short circuit if you try to tell him he’s a good person/give him affection.

Deserves the world even though he doesn’t think so