Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Digimon franchise or any song lyrics quoted in my chapters.

Trigger warning: Please be aware that this story will contain bloodshed, swearing, violence, suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, and explicit self-harm in future chapters. I do not encourage self-harm in any way, but I do want those who have a history of self-harm to know that this can be triggering. This chapter, in particular, contains light bloodshed, although it isn't all that worrying. Continue with caution. This story is also set in an alternative universe than Tri since I started writing this story before Tri was even announced. The only (intentional) similarity is all of their ages. Enjoy.

"This is a wasteland, my only retreat. With Heaven above you, there's Hell over me." — Hell Above, Pierce the Veil

Ch 01 || I'm Fine

Takeru knew from past experiences that not all forces of darkness that lurked within the world were associated with forces of evil.

It was true that no world was entirely cleansed of the element—and that piece of knowledge used to anger him. As a child, Takeru believed darkness only existed to cause pain and suffering for others. It was dangerous, manipulative, and could easily tear someone apart from the inside out if it were to fall into the wrong hands. It hurt and took away those whom he cherished, and left scars that a smile sometimes couldn't hide.

It drove him crazy, knowing that something so vile existed in the world he called his home—as well as the one he'd adopted as his second home—and that it only continued to grow stronger.

But Takeru soon learned that, yes, darkness was indeed powerful—but powerful did not mean that it was malevolent. It was a double-edged sword: darkness could be as beautiful and pure as light could be, but if it spun out of control, it became the side of darkness that Takeru loathed so much—the corrupted side.

The horrible vastness that surrounded him now, it was… it was far from corrupted.

This darkness was filthy.

He wasn't sure what coaxed him to open his eyes first: the unsettling, sick feeling that something was crawling on him; or the sound of his name drifting in the cold breeze, over and over again. But even with his eyes open, he could see nothing but blackness. It stretched endlessly; covered everything in a thick, dark veil. Consuming. Overwhelming.

Shuddering, he tried to dispel the sudden sense of anxiety that flooded through him. The air was tense and humid and oddly familiar, and he couldn't locate whatever, or whoever it was that was whispering his name.

Takeru, come closer. Takeru, look deeper. Takeru, don't you see us?

He blinked hard and tried to adjust to the darkness. Tried to look, to see, to find the voices. He shivered again when something quivered ecstatically around his limbs. A glance down showed him small specks of bright red.

Automatic instinct was to cry out, to scream. Those specks were beady red eyes looking back up at him, piercing right through flesh and into bone. And he hadn't imagined things—there really were tendrils slithering around him. Through him. Wrapped him in an embrace he did not want to return.

He wanted to move, but the tendrils wouldn't release him. Instead, the resistance became stronger. They seemed to bite into his skin as they pulled him deeper and deeper into this infinite darkness, and as much as he wanted to cry out, to escape from their grasp, he couldn't.

Then he hit the ground. Hard.

His breath left him quickly and violently as their grip slackened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His collision with the ground hurt more than he thought it should have.

Laughter. It echoed mockingly. Surrounded him. Each round of taunting chuckles sent an agonizing pulse through his temples.

I knew it would be easy to pull you through.

His fingers fisted into what felt like sand. Slowly, he forced himself to focus on something other than the pain, tried to pick himself. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where he was, but the overwhelming sense of darkness that smothered him told him that it couldn't be good.

Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes again. Before him stretched miles of grey, black, and white. He coughed dryly and wiped at his face, whole body quaking on the sand.

Where... where am I?

Light-headed and breathing heavily, Takeru tried to get his thundering heartbeat under control. Part of him was aware that this place was familiar, but the other part of him didn't want to accept it. It was the same part that wondered how he was supposed to escape.

Get up, he told himself, because even though that had been what he was trying to do, his body wouldn't obey him. He forced himself to his knees, made himself stand after several attempts. His legs shook underneath the strain of his weight, and he wondered how his energy had been so easily drained.

He tried to wrap his mind around this place. Tried to make sense of things. A glance down to his feet showed him that they were bare, toes curling into the sand. He didn't look physically harmed, so why did it feel as though every part of him was on fire? Why did his brain feel too big for his skull?

Almost ready to collapse onto the ground again, he searched his confused mind for answers, brushing away cobwebs that had somehow gathered in his head. Sand. Dull colors. There was a breeze that stemmed seemingly from nowhere, and it smelled faintly like the sea.

Wait. Sea? Piece by piece, he put the puzzle together. But there wasn't a body of water anywhere in sight. No vast black ocean that would confirm his suspicions. Just a colorless chasm of grey sand.

He was relieved, for a few precious moments. But if he wasn't in—

Do you see us now, Takeru?

Takeru startled, his eyes snapping open. When had he closed them? Was it because of the nausea that wracked him? And that... that voice. Where had it come from?

Up here, silly.

His gaze tilted upward. At first, there was nothing there. Then.

Then there was this bright flash of light that seemed so violently cold that Takeru had a hard time believing it was light—especially since this world that seemed so much like the one into which he'd followed Hikari three and a half years ago lacked the presence of it entirely. And... and light wasn't cold, anyway.

It was supposed to be warm. It was supposed to embrace gently, not squeeze and suffocate. He blinked his eyes open once more and gasped in horror at the sight before him.

There was the ocean. The ocean and its loud, threatening waves that crashed against the shore with such force that it didn't seem natural. The ocean and its uninviting, sinister atmosphere that caused Takeru's whole body to shake uncontrollably. The ocean that he believed he'd never see again after his and Hikari's encounter with it three and a half years ago.

Do you think he knows where he's at, brother?

I think so, sister.

Something flickered. Takeru looked around wildly before his wide eyes settled on the shimmering image not too far away from him. He ventured toward it, and the image shifted in response, drifting closer. It wavered, as though buried in water.

He must have blinked or something, because one moment he was trying to decipher what exactly the image was, and the next, he was staring down at two children—one boy and the other a girl—maybe nine or so years old. They beamed up at him as though they knew him, their eyes glistening with mischief and delight.

What... what the heck? he thought.

"Do you want to play?" the girl asked excitedly, grinning. In her hands was a small red ball, and she didn't wait for an answer before she launched it into the air. Out of instinct Takeru's arms flew up to catch it, and when he looked back at her in exhaustion and confusion, she giggled.

It was odd. Terrifyingly so. Of course he didn't want to play. He couldn't stop thinking about how he got here in the first place, how to get his racing heart to slow; and they wanted to play? And why the hell were they laughing? In a place like this?

He opened his mouth to ask who they were and why they were here—and more importantly if they knew why he was here—but before the question could leave his lips, he felt the ground quake beneath him.

"Go," the girl cried gleefully. Takeru struggled to keep himself upright; to keep his eyes on the kids in front of him. The red ball in his hands slipped from his grip as he lost his balance, almost falling onto the sand again. It took a while for him to steady himself.

The ball rolled back to the little girl's feet. She was unimpressed.

"Did you not hear her?" the little boy asked after a moment. "She said go. As in run."

From what? flitted immediately through his weary mind. Seconds later, he heard them laughing, but this time, it wasn't filled with glee or innocence. It was tainted. Horrifying. Wicked.

Familiar. Just like the darkness surrounding him. Just like the sea that stretched before him. He didn't know what he was running from, but it wasn't good. He had to get moving.

So he did, one foot propelling in front of the other in frantic, clumsy pattern as he practically threw himself across the sand, drawing in breath after breath but unable to find the correct amount of air to fill his lungs. Where was he going? Was there even a place to go? There wasn't time to find out.

He kept going, ignoring the voice that told him to stop and breathe—to make sense of things—in favor of the one that screamed at him to get the hell out. He ran, unable to pause even as his legs pleaded for him to stop, telling him he couldn't run anymore. Even as his head pounded in perfect sync with his heartbeat. Running. Running, running, running.

Screaming.

It was a painful sound, more intense than the jackhammer echoing in his ears, growing louder, louder, unbearable, a nightmare. It stemmed from every direction, blocking out all other sounds. His legs kept moving without his consent.

Crying.

It accompanied the screaming in a horrifying way, bouncing around him as if off walls. Pain lurked in the air like invisible smoke, suffocating him. The back of his mind recognized those cries, but he still kept running.

Burning.

His whole body ached to rest. Each step was painful. Each breath felt like his last. His surroundings blurred. From what? Tears, pain, exhaustion? A mix of all three? He didn't know.

Tremoring.

Fear attacked him. Consumed him in waves until he shook once more with anxiety. It was the gasoline that kept his legs from stopping. Question after question flitted through his panicking brain, and the lack of answers only made it worse. Then.

Bleeding.

Everything ceased. The screaming, the crying, the burning. But there was no sense of relief. His body folded on itself as he stared in shock at the red mess in front of him, mouth agape in horror.

There was his brother, sprawled out on the sand, eyes closed, as though he was sleeping.

Bathed in blood. His clothes. His hair. His skin. It covered him in a crimson wet blanket—it was the only color in this world of black and white. Takeru felt a sob rise in his back of his throat, and it got stuck there. After his brother was Hikari. Taichi. Sora. Mimi. Jou. Koushiro. Daisuke. Ken. Iori. Miyako. Lined up in a row of red, faces grey, bodies stiff as coal.

"You're too late, Hope. They're dead."

Everything went mute. Even his screams.

Takeru awoke gasping for breath, dizzy and shaking. He'd bolted up so fast that the room spun, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it to stop. Couldn't figure out how to breathe. Couldn't get the horrific images in his head to stop flashing, one after another, like some sort of twisted, sick movie.

Blood. God, there was so much fucking blood... it was... it was everywhere...

He was moving. Thrashing. And he wasn't aware of it until a hand rested on his arm, forcing him to stop. "Takeru. Takeru, hey..."

Wide, watery eyes searched for the speaker. As his horrified gaze met sapphire orbs that were incredibly similar to his own, his mother's voice said softly, "I'm here, hun. I'm here. It's ok, Takeru."

For some reason, he started talking. Words rose in his throat and escaped his lips in a voice that was too frantic and scared to call his own: "Mom, he was... Nii-san and everyone, they were—and I couldn't do anything to stop it—"

"Shh... it's ok, son," she whispered quietly, soothingly, brushing stray hairs out of his tear-glossed eyes. "It was a dream, honey. You're ok."

A dream. That was all it was. There was no ocean. No blood. No children. Just his mother, his partner, and himself.

It was hard to convince himself that none of that had really happened, despite being so incredibly real. Quaking fingers reached out to touch his mother's hand, feeling her warmth. Savoring it. Then he looked around, recognizing everything that made up his room: his desk, his lamp (which was on), his bookshelf that was only partially filled, Yamato's old guitar, his dresser, a few picture frames, and some other things that were too small for his frightened mind to tell what they were.

He was home. In his apartment. Safe.

His mother smiled at him gently, kissing his forehead. "I'll be right back."

Takeru nodded numbly, blinking back more tears that threatened to break loose. When she left his room, he felt something land on his lap and started.

"Are you gonna be ok, Takeru?" Patamon asked, eyes burning with concern.

He drew in a deep breath, and another, and another. But the air was too repressive to ease the tight knot in his throat, and he wasn't sure how to get his lungs to work properly, or how to quiet his racing heart. He nodded again anyway, stroking Patamon's fur softly in an attempt to reassure him.

Patamon curled into his stomach and closed his eyes. "You scared me."

"Why?"

"You were screaming in your sleep," Patamon explained. "Hearing you scream like that and knowing I can't help you is so scary."

"It was a dream, Pata," he murmured, and he wasn't sure if he said it to reassure himself or his partner.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Takeru started to shake his head, but then stopped, uncertain. "I don't know."

After a few heartbeats of silence, his mother returned. He blinked when she set a glass of water on his nightstand. "Do you want something to help you go back to sleep?"

"No," he whispered, not trusting himself to speak any louder. "I'm fine. Sorry I woke you up."

"Don't worry about it," she replied softly, although Takeru saw the fatigue glistening in her eyes, and couldn't help but feel guilty. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew she had to work in the morning, and she wasn't going to function very well if she stayed up with him.

"Go back to bed, Mom," he told her, and when she started to protest, he added, "Really, I'm ok. It was... it was just a dream. I'm ok now."

She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he murmured, cracking a tiny bit of a smile. She returned it, leaning forward to kiss him affectionately on his head.

"I'm just across the hall, hun."

"I know." He drew in a shuddering breath when she slipped out of his room again, let it out through his nose. He didn't move until he heard her door click shut, didn't make a sound until he knew she had returned to her bed. Patamon took to the air as Takeru shifted, standing up to shut his door. Then he leaned against it, closing his eyes. The world was still tilting and swaying and he tried to get it to stand still for a moment, tried to figure out how to stop the anxiety that coursed through him like a river.

"Takeru?" Patamon whispered softly.

He opened his eyes again, slowly. Pushed himself up off the wall. He could still hear his heart pulsing in his ears, could still feel it punching at his chest. As he trekked across his room, he picked up his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The screen read 2:53 a.m.

It was stupid. Childish. Pathetic. Part of him wanted to punch in his brother's number, desperate to hear his voice. It was a dream—but he needed to know if Yamato was alright. Needed some reassurance.

He's asleep. No need to wake him up.

He drew several calming breaths as the thought flitted through his mind. It was true. Calling Yamato would only result in worrying or irritating him. His bed sagged a little bit as he sat down on it, leaning against the headboard and allowing Patamon to once again curl into his lap. Takeru's fingers trailed up the digimon's spine, seeking comfort in his partner's fur.

"How bad was it?"

Takeru didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to explain it. So he kept quiet, kept stroking his fur. "It doesn't matter now."

"I'm here for you," Patamon murmured sincerely, looking up at him with wide blue eyes. "Always."

"I know." Takeru paused. Mumbled, "Thank you."

Patamon's response was to shut his eyes, tucking his wings in close. "You need to go back to sleep."

Takeru sighed quietly, biting his lip. He wished it could be that easy, that he could just crawl back under the covers, close his eyes, and his psyche would be cleared so he could drift back into a peaceful slumber.

But his brain wouldn't shut off, wouldn't stop racing. Thoughts bulleted through his mind. Each one multiplied, building, building, until his skull became a tornado. The storm was too thick to reach the other side—the side where the idea of sleep was actually appealing.

It was a dream, he repeated to himself, his fingers digging into Patamon's fur. Carefully and without too much jostling, he slid Patamon out of his lap and onto the pillow beside him, swallowing hard. It wasn't smart to decline his mother's offer—she probably had something that would help him sift through these chaotic thoughts and lull him back to sleep.

This is ridiculous. Get over it, damn it. You're safe. You're ok. Calm down.

Time passed. He didn't know how many minutes ebbed by as he sat there, trying to regain his composure. Takeru inhaled and exhaled, but no matter how many times his lungs inflated and deflated, the panic didn't go away.

He slipped off the bed again, wiping the sweat off of his brow. His body wouldn't relax. The last time he'd had a nightmare that affected him this much had been three years ago when he and the younger group of Chosen had fought BlackWarGreymon.

Patamon lifted his head as his floor creaked. Takeru gave him a tiny smile. "I'll be right back."

He cracked his door open, using his phone for light, and padded to the kitchen, although he wasn't sure what for yet. There was a cabinet in there that had medicine in it, and he hoped desperately that there was something in there that would knock him out.

He made it to the counter, careful not to stumble into the two chairs lined up against it. Something about being exhausted and wide-awake at the same time made his movements clumsy, though, so he ended up bumping the stove.

"What are you looking for?"

Patamon's tired voice startled him, but he tried not to show it. Tried to breathe normally. "I told you I'd be back," he whispered breathlessly, as he opened the cabinet on the far right. Even though the light of his phone was dim, he could see that his hands were still trembling as he combed through different medicine bottles.

Patamon seemed to have noticed it, too. He pushed himself into the air and landed on his head, before looking down at him worriedly. "You're a little sweaty."

Takeru hummed, distracted. It was all over-the-counter stuff—not that he expected anything different. Frustration bubbled to the surface when he couldn't find anything that would shut his mind and body off. It was no use. He closed the cabinet carefully, not wanting to make any noises that would cause his mother to wake up a second time.

There was no use in worrying her again. He could figure out how to deal with this. Vigilantly, Takeru trekked back to his room. It was uncomfortably warm, so he didn't bother with his blanket when he climbed back onto his bed. He looked down at his phone again, noting that it was now past three-thirty.

He sipped some of the water that his mother had left for him, and grabbed his headphones off his nightstand. If anything would calm him down, it was music. It was a release he found through his brother, something that helped him escape.

Don't think about it. Don't think about anything. Just focus on the music.

Patamon sat down beside him silently, not questioning him, and Takeru didn't hesitate to pull him close. His partner's promise from earlier echoed in Takeru's head just as the first song on his playlist started, and he kept those words close to his heart. Tomorrow, he said inwardly. I'll tell you tomorrow.

He left the lamp on, let it illuminate every corner of his room that it could reach, and allowed the music to block out all the thoughts that plagued him.

a/n: Whoo! I have wanted to post this story for so long but I have been so worried about what others would think that I spent months wondering if it was really worth it or not... I'm still a bit paranoid because I feel the first scene is a bit rushed, but if I don't post this now, I may never get to finish it.

Anyway, thank you for reading! The details for the next update will be on my profile. Stay tuned and let me know what you think!