Mal wasn’t lucid anymore, or conscious as far as Clayton could tell, and bits of him kept fading in and out of reality. If Clayton wasn’t so scared, he’d be fascinated.
As far as he knew, nightmares couldn’t hold corporeal forms for long. They required a host to continue existing outside of the ‘Scape. Only when they became a demon could they create and sustain a body long-term, but Mal wasn’t a demon. He didn’t have the bowel-loosening fear aura that was characteristic of demons.
So how was Mal able to hold himself together the way he did? He’d have to be unimaginably powerful. Somehow, he held the power of a demon without the characteristics of one.
What fear was Mal spawned from? A nightmare could only feed off the fear that created it, so if Mal was suffering from extreme magic drain, only feeding him that specific fear energy would help him.
What did Clayton know of Mal? He was arrogant, irreverent, and selfish. But also oddly good with children, kind enough to eat Grampy’s food without complaining, and excellent at getting Clayton off.
Nightmares’ skills usually reflected the fear they embodied, but Mal probably wasn’t born from the fear of dying from too much amazing sex. Though Clayton was certain Mal would be able to glut himself for life if he had been.
As far as Clayton could tell, Mal was good at anything he wanted to be, and that didn’t tell Clayton a godsdamned thing. Reality itself bent to his will. It was like Mal was a dreamwalker, but only in reverse.
What kind of nightmare was exactly like a dreamwalker? Dreamwalkers were something nightmares all instinctively feared. In fact, they were likely the only thing they feared.
No.
No fucking way.
It couldn’t be that simple, could it?
As far as Clayton could tell, Mal was nothing like his kind. Most nightmares were mindless eating machines. Hopping into a host, draining it dry, and then moving on to the next, like they were juice boxes.
It was why the Real wasn’t overrun by demons. Most nightmares were so obvious that they were found and unmade by a dreamwalker within days of their entry to the Real, so only a tiny fraction of them got a chance to become a demon.
So what if Mal wasn’t going after humans at all? What if Mal was going after the monsters because he fed off pure fear itself? What if Mal was what the nightmares were afraid of?
It boggled the mind. If that were the case, Mal could become unimaginably powerful with only a small bit of effort. If he’d wanted, he could have kicked in the front door of the demon realm and feasted enough to become their king in a matter of hours.
So why hadn’t he?
Clayton gazed thoughtfully at the unconscious monster before him. Unthinking, he brushed a strand of hair away from Mal’s face, only realizing what he’d done when he made contact.
Mal wasn’t gone yet. If he still had enough essence to hold his body together, it meant he might be conscious; however, he was using all his energy to cling to his form.
Maybe he could hear Clayton.
A crazy idea popped into Clayton’s mind. One that he’d have to be unimaginably lucky to pull off. He’d have to have been right about all of his conjecture, Mal would have to be able to hear him, and Marshall would have to not murder them while Clayton saved Mal.
Clayton had never been one to rely on luck. It had always been far safer to rely on things going as badly as possible and plan from there.
“Gods, I hope this works,” Clayton whispered.
:Trust yourself, my traveller. I promise you the rest will work itself out.:
“Easy for you to say,” Clayton grumbled and then yelped when he felt something akin to a ghostly smack on the side of his head. “Fine! I’m trusting, I’m trusting! I’m the best thing ever. Is there any chance you can distract Marshall while I do this? He’s not going to like it if he knows what I’m doing.”
:I think I can come up with something. You focus on your mate.:
Mate. Clayton was going to have to unpack that later.
At the moment, Clayton had something far worse to face.
“Mal, I think I know what you are and what your origin is, and if I’m right, I can save you. If I’m wrong, then things are about to get incredibly cringey, but either way, I need you to bear with me.” Clayton waited for any sign that Mal was listening, but saw no change, so he took a deep breath and continued. “You feed off of pure fear, don’t you? Any kind of fear. I imagine you thought you were going to starve around me because I don’t scare easily. I’ve… been through a lot, so I’ve had to learn how to control my emotions, but I’ll try to give you as much as I can. If you can hear me, I want you to focus on me. I’ll try to let you in so you can feed, so be ready.”
Clayton swallowed hard and focused inward. He’d closed off so much of himself that he felt very little other than irritation or vague fondness.
It wasn’t surprising that his kinks were intense. Trauma had to come out somehow, after all.
