#srrp

Tony, his name was Tony. It was an odd feeling he tried to shrug off. He hated when the dreams changed his goddamn name. Anthony was such a strikingly different person to Tony. It might not seem that way to others, nor would he point it out to those around him, but Tony could feel the difference. There was a level of freedom that came with the person he got to be in Swynlake Dreams, a weight lifted from his shoulders that was dropped firmly in place as soon as he returned to his body.

You see, Anthony was a free mundus, not forgotten, not left behind in a secondary school. He had a life, he grew up surrounded by people. Sure, his parents were usually dead in these town dreams — they couldn’t spare him from it all — but he had his own versions of his lives. This time it had given him Belle, Mitte, Peri, Hot Brad, and Flynn. Tony had barely known Mitte or Flynn — or really Hot Brad but did anyone know Hot Brad well? — but now there were fond memories of a sort of childhood where he had been cared for by them, nurtured and coached in the way that would never be close to the truth.

Town Dreams were bullshit.

Tony threw his coat on a few days after the dream had begun to be just another piece of the Swynlake background, everyone moving on. His friends were a mix of either seasoned dream veterans, able to mostly shake their reactions or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, entirely new to the concept. He’d been surprised to hear that Ian had been spared from the dreams thus far. He tried not to feel jealous of that fact or the fact Ian had been getting married because why would that drive bitter resentment into the pit of his stomach and try to offer some sympathy, some advice.

It had been somewhat hollow despite his best efforts not to be, Tony could only muster up so much sympathetic energy. Ian hadn’t died. He hadn’t drowned like on the Titanic or been brutally murdered like in the Hunger Games. He hadn’t been stabbed to death as a pirate or any of the other brutalities Swynlake often inflicted upon its residents.

Maybe Tony just wasn’t a good friend.

Other people probably would have feigned the kindness better, hid their own issues under a comforting look and empathetic tone, but Tony hadn’t managed that. Instead, he’d tired both of them out over the subject and tried to change it quickly. He hadn’t been a good friend, no. Tony wondered how long it would take Ian to figure that out about him.

Would it be before they moved in to their new apartment where Ian was determined to not only escape the dorm life and avoid moving back with his mother but also keep an eye on Tony so that Tony couldn’t spiral down the path of self-destruction so easily? Tony hoped for both outcomes. He hoped Ian would see through him, see that he was not a good person or good friend and bail before he got himself trapped. He also hoped Ian would stay with the plan.

Tony didn’t want to be alone.

He attached Frito’s leash to her collar, giving the pooch a quick scratch behind the ears and padding off into the night air. She had at least learned to stick close to Tony’s side during walks while in town, for which he was grateful. He didn’t think he could deal with Frito running off at a time like this.

At school Tony was able to put on a brave face, joke around with Pip and Mei K and the others at the lunch table. Make jokes about being a little pickpocket, about Phineas breaking his nose again. There were no hard feelings there, among those in-the-know of the dreams. The Spill had had their fun poking at everyone’s drama — it was nice not to be the center of it for once — and Tony got to duck his head enough to pass by without digging into it.

Where was he going?

He paused, Frito taking an extra second to realize her boy hadn’t kept up beside her. He blinked, glancing around to see where he even was. Tiana’s Place was to his right and it was then that he realized just how far he’d gone. He scratched the back of his neck, the motion turning into him tugging distractedly at the curls on top of his head. Zapatos Rivera was just past the restaurant, a place he still hadn’t approached since the fog incident.

Think, Tony. Where are we going?

He turned sharply to the left to cross Main Street and head toward Main Street Park. Perhaps he’d go to the lake. It was still frozen, yes, but at least he doubted anyone would give him odd looks for wandering around aimlessly with his dog there. He could just think there, just think about anything other than the dream and the weird way all the dreams twisted his head and heart.

They’re just stupid dreams, he reminded himself. There’s nothing more there, nothing but town magic cursing you for a night and leaving you with the memories just to continue to fuck with you for just a little longer. Swynlake thinks she’s funny, thinks that this is the way to cause drama within her limits. Stop putting stock in it.

Easier said than done.

Finding a bench, Tony unhooked Frito’s leash so she could run a bit in the snow in front of him, making sure to keep an eye on the, well, was she a pup anymore? She was certainly young but she was so much bigger than when Tony had gotten her from Greg in November. He allowed his eyes to follow her movements as his brain did its own somersaults.

He wished the memories would fade. That was one of the lesser talked about parts of his curse, one he tried not to point out to Ian. Other people were able, like with all things, to allow the memories to fade from their mind until they were simply anecdotes to be brought up perhaps at parties or as a warning to newcomers of what to expect. Memories faded, maybe not entirely went away, but certainly fell to the wayside and lost the sharp clarity that they had had while actively participating within them.

Tony didn’t get that luxury.

As with all of the people Tony had met over his many years in Swynlake, Tony didn’t lose any of those memories. He harbored the mental images of all his former classmates, former teachers, former neighbors as clear as day in his mind’s eye. He remembered the way they laughed, the way they cried, the little mannerisms they had displayed around him as if the moment were replaying right there in front of him, exactly as clear as when he’d seen it the first time.

Everyone forgot Tony but Tony remembered everyone.

He knew Anthony wasn’t real, he knew Flynn Rider had never picked him out of the gutter and raised him as his own but that didn’t stop those memories from remaining in the back of his mind, bubbling to the surface at a moment’s notice if he didn’t forcibly hold them down.

He remembered every life that he had never lived.

Tony pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket — a leftover from the last time Mei K had stopped by his flat — and his lighter. He watched the flame for half a second longer than necessary before lighting the end and taking a long drag, letting that unpleasant feeling of smoke fill his lungs until he couldn’t stand it any longer and letting his lungs deflate.

He supposed he did something like this every time he went through this phenomenon, took a quiet moment alone to decompress and say both a farewell and a greeting to the person he never was and would continue to be.