Work Text:
Bernard sat on the cliff edge, swinging his legs in the wind. The wind whipped through his hair, the cold settled into his bones. One moment, he was staring up at the sky; the next, the clouds had cleared, and he was sprinting through the forest, artificial wind ripping through his fur.
He came to a stop at the edge of a clearing. Bernard and Edgar, sweet Edgar, had met there all those years ago, at the place where the forest pauses a moment to let the light in. He stood there, Edgar, hair a vivid blue in the moonlight. He turned, ready to greet Bernard, then shrunk back, a look of terror finding itself on Edgar’s face. Bernard approached, a question on his lips, but all that came out was a growl. Edgar recoiled, glancing around the clearing, seemingly for an escape. Bernard stepped forward and-
-And Bernard was sitting on the cliff again, crouched on the short grass, wet dirt sinking into his trousers. He blinked, standing up. His knees buckled, and he knelt on the floor. Why couldn’t he stand? Why couldn’t he breathe? Bernard ran his fingers through his hair, clumping it together with- with the stuff on his hands. He looked up at the moon, then down at his hands. His hands were covered in a sticky, red liquid. He brought his hands to his nose, inhaling the musky scent of iron. He froze, it finally dawning on him what he was covered in.
It took Bernard what felt like a century to get off of the ground, digging his nails into his palms in a failed attempt to distract himself. He staggered down the hillside, bare feet stumbling over rocks and tall grasses- wasn’t he wearing shoes earlier? He reaches the edge of the forest, trees looming above him like sentinels of the pre-dawn night; casting dark shadows across him as he enters. Bernard stopped more than he’d like, losing breath for nothing; all he’d done was sit on a cliff… that he remembered. He was still covered in blood, leaving dark stains on bark as he lumbered through, skin too tight and eyes too unfocused.
As Bernard approached the clearing, early dawn light filling the forest with a dark orange, he felt a sense of something wrong hit the air. A scent, dark and musky. He wanted to pull back, but his legs carried him forward regardless. The clearing was mostly cast in shadow, the metallic scent of blood filling the air, making nausea claw at his throat. He stepped forward slowly, hands shaking, breath coming fast. He tripped on something, crashing to the floor. He reached out, searching for what he fell on, and his hand clasped around a… boot. His boot. Ripped almost to shreds. He pulls it to his chest, the leather scraps scuffed and caked in dirt. Bernard forced himself to open his eyes- when had he closed them? -and look around the clearing. His other boot was lying abandoned in the centre, somehow standing upright on its sole, bits of his pale pink collar strewn around the clearing.
Bernard’s mind dragged itself to consciousness, the sun high in the sky before he felt he could move again. His muscles were weak, he had to use more effort than usual to push himself to his feet. He stretched, yawning, before his gaze caught on a scrap of fabric at the corner of the clearing. Edgar’s jacket. The night before came back to him suddenly, and he scrambled over. The edge of his stone-grey coat was barely visible, shoved under a bush and mostly stained a dark brown. Bernard pulled at the coat, limp weight dragging from under the bush. He dragged Edgar out from the bush, gently setting him down about halfway in. His hands were shaking. Bernard reached out, feeling Edgar’s nose, cold, clammy, waxy, and putting a hand on his cheek, the familiar angle of his cheekbones. His hands were covered in blood. Bernard brushed his hands through Edgar’s azure hair, removing sticks and leaves.