Requested by @Fangirl7412

~~~~Lukas's POV~~~~

I snap my head back, drawing in a sharp breath. Trying to ignore the tip of my tongue, all the freshly burnt taste tubs, I set the mug on the table. That's what I get for being too eager for hot chocolate.

Sighing, I stand to pour a glass of milk. I look out the window, fat snowflakes softly falling in the darkness. It would be nice if I could convince myself that it's a normal time to be awake, like 7:00, but the silence proves it's much earlier. At that time, Olivia would be chatting up a storm about her redstone projects to Jesse since he's the only one willing to listen and act interested.

A faint smile grows at remembering the passionate spark in Olivia as she rattles off complex machinery as Jesse smiles brightly at her. Jesse is either a superb actor or has just learned to enjoy the talks, I wouldn't be surprised by either. Or maybe Jesse enjoys Olivia being excited and not her normal worrisome self. I'm just happy since I don't have to listen to those conversations. At least not all the time, since as Olivia's Secret Santa, I did eavesdrop the past few times so I can figure out what to get her.

Drowning the glass, the cool milk soothing my burnt taste buds, I put it in the sink, it'll be washed later. With a slow exhale, I take another sip of my hot chocolate. Relieved when the chocolatey drink is still pleasantly warm but I'm no longer in danger of burning my tongue anymore.

I take a long drink before my gaze drifts back to the window. The darkness taunting me and my inability to sleep. The snowflakes mocking at how instead of bringing a winter wonderland they brought only a winter headache. It's those stupid snowflakes for why people aren't as happy as they should be.

Huffing at how Petra that thought is, I take a big gulp of my drink. The town's been recovering nicely, although I have little hope for anyone's garden that won't take a lot of work to recultivate, we should've had a happier Christmas. It's our second one from being back from the Portal Hallway, the first ending up being stale and heavy since we've only been back for a couple weeks, and this time we're all determined to get this one right.

The door creaks open and a disgruntled Petra comes in, clad in pajamas and her red hair barely contained by a hastily put on bandanna. I have to take a slip to prevent her to see the grin crawling on my face at how unPetra she is right now.

"Good morning Petra."

"Whatever insomniac." I huff, but my smile grows as she groggily rummages through the fridge. "I'm going to eat some chicken then I'm going to sleep. It's too early for good morning."

"It is morning though."

"Cannit, 1 in the morning is not good morning." Petra slams the fridge door shut, angrily biting into a chicken leg before pointing it at me. "You shouldn't be up either."

I don't reply, instead I let my attention fall the handle of my mug and stroke it with my thumb. It sounds so simple when Petra says it like that, that I should just go back in bed and fall asleep, that I'm the choosing to keep myself up. But there's no cure for nightmares. Well, I know Olivia been practically forcing down some sort of sleeping potion down Jesse's throat after Ivor made a huge batch. Yet I don't particular like the effect it has on Jesse and if I were to drink some of it there would be less for him.

"I'm fine, I get enough sleep." I try to keep my tone curt. This particular conversation has been happening a lot lately, ever since Axel found me in the kitchen at bit after midnight to set up a prank.

Petra snorts, talking with her mouth full and clearly not caring. "Really? How many hours do you average?"

"Four, which is enough!"

"Yeah, sure." Another snort. "If you're looking for an early grave."

I roll my eyes, gulping down the rest of my drink. "At least I can go to sleep, Jesse can't even close his eyes if he doesn't drink his potion."

"That doesn't mean four is enough."

"It's better than Jesse's situation."

"Yeah, well," Petra swallows down the rest of the chicken, "Olivia's got him on a schedule, 10 o'clock every night. So hopefully when he doesn't have the potion he'll still nod off anyway."

A gloomy bitterness settles in me and I glare at my empty mug. "Until he stops waking up exactly eight hours later when the potion wears off, I'm not going to put much hope in that."

"Whatever buzzkill, I'm going back to bed. You should at least rest or something." With that, Petra tosses the chicken out and heads out of the kitchen, probably excited to be back in her warm bed again.

My bed. Just the thought causes such a strange mix of feelings. Of course I still like wrapping myself up in blankets, lazing around and reading instead of doing something productive. Yet the nightmares, the horrid relentless nightmares do not ever decide to cut me slack. I go to bed apprehensive, manage to get about four hours before bolting up drenched in sweat. Unless I physically or mentally drain myself during the day, I can't just have a peaceful night.

Sighing, I put the mug in the sink with my other glass. My mind wanders as my hands clean the two dishes, wondering what I should do. Usually I read or write, I'm almost done with the journey to the Farlands, but that's just not good enough. I feel an itch inside of me, for more. More of what, I can't say. But I don't want do what I normally do.

As I meander back to my room, I end up deciding on going out into the town. The main streets are mostly clear of snow, or at least good enough to walk through, and it'll probably help to see what structures are going to need the most repairs, and what supplies we'll need, once spring comes. The streetlamps are out, most private buildings are out of power unless a redstone engineer lives there- thank you Olivia- so I'll have to bring a torch.

Once I bundle up in warmer clothes, I grab a torch and a dagger. Realistically, nothing's going to happen. Yet I can't step outside of the Order Hall without some weapon, not when every night I'm reminded of all the times a sharp pointy object is the only reason I'm still alive.

A bitter huff escapes me as I walk past Axel's room, which I can barely hear over his snoring. Roughly three and half years ago I only ever wielded a sword maybe once every year and I only heard a zombie's groan if a late night walk ended up to close to the city's wall. Now I practice archery at least an hour everyday and join in on Petra's and Jesse's sparring every other day. Now when I hear a zombie's groan and get excited, trying to kill it first. 

The cold air is crisp and refreshing on my exposed face. While I have gotten used to the limited amount of sleep, I can't deny that it takes a long time for me to get that energetic and liveliness to start pumping through my body. If it comes at all. 

I take out the torch, lighting it, which casts a glow around me. From that moment on the only sounds I hear are the soft press of snow beneath my feet and the snap of the flames. The snowflakes, very fat but at least not coming down heavy, glimmer as the swirl down around me.

It's quite serene, walking like this through the silent streets, the sort of thing that just can't be captured by an artist no matter what. At least not by an artist at my skill level.

Thoughts begin to fill the silence. The big question thoughts that can't quite be answered. The one that pops up and sticks with me this early morning has me wondering if I would change anything if I woke up three and half years ago knowing exactly what's going to happen next. Would I stop Ivor before he unleashed the Wither Storm? Would I stop Petra from making that deal? And how would I reveal the Old Order for what they are then? Surely there has to be a better plan than what Ivor came up with.

One's thing for certain, it would be nigh impossible for me to even stand the sight of Aiden. I was almost ready to snap at Jesse simply because he told Aiden to try to redeem himself, when Aiden really deserved to rot for his actions. I only kept myself back because if Jesse could say that, after being Aiden's target for years, then I could at hold it in. Yet after what that twerp did that to me, betrayed me despite how much I helped him and the others through the confusion of the aftermath of the Wither Storm, I felt, and still do a little bit, so justified in my response.

So that would suck about time travelling back to that time. The others would still hate me, rightly so, and Petra would be half friend half business associate. If I did let the Wither Storm be born, causing untold amounts of damage, what could I do differently? If I decided not to have a temper tantrum at Soren's HappyLand, then would Petra collapse way sooner from denying help? Would Jesse become less of a leader if I was so sure and optimistic of what to do next? Would I be able to save Magnus or Rueben?

Eventually, I shoo all the questions away with a deep sigh and let myself be thankful that it's impossible to travel back in time like that so I won't ever have to worry about it. I'm quite happy to leave the past set in stone, for better or worse. If only my dreams would-

The faint but hurried crunch of snow catches my attention. It can't be much past 2 o'clock and other people are smart enough to sleep or at least stay inside. Yet wherever they're going it's in a rush.

The gates. The revelation slaps me in the face. They're running to the gates.

Thief.

I immediately give chase, not caring about how the torch gives me away or the sudden increase of the thief's pace. I might be low on sleep but already a steely determination blazes through my body. I've ran after and from things far worse than this lowlife. I'm not letting them ruin someone's Christmas.

I quickly gain on them as we weave through the streets, mainly due to my superior knowledge of the layout of this town and the fact I can see, I can tell this thief is quite the runner themselves.

But it's not enough.

We're in some back street when I throw the torch at them, quickly pulling out my dagger when it hits them. They frantically try to pat down their shoulder that just caught fire, stumbling and slowing down enough to give me the opportunity to tackle them. My source of light fading in snow, but enough for me to press the dagger into the thief's neck and pin them. Still trying to squirm but locked underneath me.

Which is when I see the blood.

Hard to notice at first with their black clothes, but I can see some of the blood rub off onto the snow. Glaring red on white.

Someone's Christmas has most definitely been ruined. But another's has been ended permanently.

The torch continues to go out, but not before I miss the slight glean from the dagger a few feet away. The glean barely there with how much blood covers the blade. This murderer will be enjoying the rest of his life in prison, in a special obsidian cell.

A blind rush of hate overpowers me, and before I can think better of it, I headbutt the guy. Using the bit of sight and light I have, I release my pinning hand and elbow him right in between the eyes. One, two, three, four times before my head's impact starts to catch up on me.

Fighting down a wave of dizziness, I still thoroughly check to make sure he's out before scrambling over to the discarded torch. Coaxing it back to life before standing over the limp body, somewhat unsteady on my feet. Headbutt wasn't the smartest idea, but boy did it feel right in that moment.

Ripping the mask off, revealing a male face that is either giving me some slight déjà vu or I headbutted harder than I thought, I use the cloth to wrap up the dagger and pocket it. I grab a leg of the murderer and drag him through the snow back to the prisons. The snow will definitely leave a disturbing sight but it's easier to drag him along. I hope the bastard gets frostbite.

My anger at this man trumps the disorientation wallowing in my head. I can sleep all I want later, I want to see this pathetic excuse of a man tossed in a cell before I do that though. Unfortunately too, someone will need to go into the house and-

I swallow, thick and hard as if to push that thought deep down into a place where I forget about it. We aren't that great at it. Sure, as the Order of the Stone, we are really good at stopping a problem, even the really big world threatening ones. Yet the aftermath, the struggle to rebuild or the trauma it left on people, we don't know how to do that as well. After the Wither Storm we all helped, this is our world, but after so long in the other worlds where we just left immediately I can't remember how to approach someone in grief. Or how to stomach the disaster and try to fix it. I'm used to just pushing forward, moving on.

The lights in the prison are on, another thanks to Olivia, and I push the iron doors open. The heaviness of the door isn't appreciated, more so by my mind struggling harder to stay going. I might have gotten a minor concussion from knocking the murderer out, still totally worth it, but I'm glad I knew a shortcut to the prison.

When the doors open enough for me to lurch in, there's about a second of nothing before whoever's on duty jumps to action.

"Lukas! Who is this and have they committed a crime?" The guard quickly comes over as she does a once over the limp body.

"Don't know who, but-" I hand the bloody dagger wrapped in the mask to the guard- "this is his."

A hard expression comes over her face, her face going stoic except for the firm press of her lips together. She pockets the items and pats him down, removing the other items he has, before grabbing the other leg and jerking her head to the hallway behind her desk.

"Mind helping me tossing him in a cell?"

I nod and together we drag the vile man. Despite the fact I need to treat my head, there's a small piece of me that feels justice at quite literally tossing him in a cell. It's not nearly enough that will ever justify his actions, but it's a small thing. A slightly bigger thing when the bars slam shut and the keys lock it in place.

"I can't thank you enough for doing this. Staff is short since people are off to help to be with their families and crime has dropped with all the snow. I can't say how long this murderer would be loose until we caught him."

I wave my hand to dismiss her words, glaring at the body. "No need to thank me. I can't bare the thought of sensing something wrong and not helping. It's enough gratitude just to see him right where he belongs."

"Can't argue there." She sighs, face stern when she faces me. "I hate to ask another favor of you though, but can you watch him while I go put his stuff away and inform the coroners about the body? Only be a few minutes and I'll let you have the rest of your morning."

"No problem, I got an eye on him. And hey I first heard him around River Street, if that helps."

She gives me a curt nod and walking out. And once she's out, the full front of rage at his actions, to the people, sparking everywhere it absolutely can be. In my fists where my knuckles burn white and fingernails press against my palm. In my jaw where my teeth grind against each other. In my face where my muscles tense up and lock in a glare. In my heart where it burns in a hard constant thump against my breastbone.

Then he stirs.

Suddenly it got a lot hotter in the room.

He groans, limbs shifting to prop himself against the wall. I stay silent as he adjusts, the air so hot and heavy it presses down in my lungs and it takes considerable effort to keep my breathing even instead of gulping down as much as possible to fuel my raging heart. The discipline it requires relax my arms to keep them

This is why Petra, Axel, and me aren't allowed on jury duty. It astonishes me how Jesse can stand it at all, after all that's happened to him and the injustice he's had to crawl through.

The man tilts his head at me, slowly trying to use the wall to stand. "Lukas?"

I snarl at him, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. "You are allowed to stay silent."

"But why oh why would I want that? After all," He chuckles, "I'm going to be very alone for a very long time aren't I? Why would I not want to speak to the Lukas? Jesse's right hand man."

Think of Jesse, think of all the times Jesse had to keep his cool. He's been sleep deprived and angry before, but still kept it in control. Don't let your emotions boil over Lukas, no outbreaks here. Keep your head, keep your cool.

But the beast of rage claws forth from my heart, coming out growl-like. "Do you want to live in misery? Keep talking and that's exactly what you're going to get."

"HA! Misery has been dished out to me for a very long time. I can't stop that. I wouldn't want to. I can't wait for this new one. Maybe I can spook the guards huh? Get under their skin, break them."

"You sicko!" The growl now a brash shout. "You're diseased and you're a manic! I hope you meet your end real quick. You don't get to have any fun anymore, you're going to rot!" 

A wide, a much too wide and toothy smile breaks his face. "I am not sick, oh no I'm not. I am free. Despite all the chains and all the rules I am free! Free!" 

"What?" The qualm his smile gave me fades beneath a fresh wave of hate. "You think you're free to go around murdering people? You think you're above the rest of us?" 

"People have murdered me yet they are not in cells. All murders we are, meant to break others down so one can be above the others."

"Oh yes, you look very murdered and lifeless to me. Sorry for not sympathizing." 

He laughed, a screeching thing that burned my ears. "I just didn't stay dead!"

His lack of guilt, it must be that. The way he shrugs off how important a life is, spewing out his own nonsense in return, makes me want to punch regret and guilt into him. Makes me want to strangle him so maybe he'd feel something other than his delirium. 

When I stay silent, in a despite attempt to control myself until the guard comes back, he just sets that crazy grin on me. "Why aren't you happy Lukas? You're a murderer too, you've murdered before. Don't you get it? That rush, that excitement, that power!"

I stay silent. Deciding that if I want to anger him then I shouldn't let him get underneath my skin. That's what he wants and I am not giving it to him. He can shout and scream but I won't give him anymore. Won't give him that sick satisfaction. He doesn't get to have control over me, I am not letting that happen. 

"No? A no then?" His eyes widen, showing off more white, as his face twists into an opened mouth snarl. "Good. Good! You took it away! You shouldn't be happy! Oh yes, good! The game taker should not be happy, not when he takes the new games I play too! No, no happiness for you. You do-" 

"Hey!" The guard barges in, sword drawn in one hand and handcuffs in the other. "Quiet!" 

The man snickers, ranting and mumbling and raving to himself. I try my hardest to ignore him, to ignore absolutely everything except for when the guard speaks to me. The professional guard who isn't enraged by the man's word and wisely keeps her eyes on him. 

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm definitely gagging him when we transfer him, but for now I'll endure until more staff comes later. You can go now, I really appreciate everything you've done." 

I nod, my neck tense and the action comes out awkward and stiff. I mumble a 'no problem' and wish her luck before heading straight for the door. The crisp air prickling at my uncovered skin, the cold sucking up ability to ignore it all. All of it coming up and storming my thoughts, making me stumble through the snow. 

My head is pulsing, blood swarming there trying to do something. Maybe in response to a concussion I've been ignoring or maybe trying to support all the thoughts that an insomniac brain can't handle. It hurts and I'm cold and why did this have to happen? 

That guy, he must be a competitor. How did he end up here? Why would he still want to be killing? He's free now, he doesn't have to endure the games anymore. He could have gone back home or stayed in the games if that's what he really wanted. Sure Otto changed the games to be less violent and painful, but why wouldn't he want that? 

We helped him. We saved him from Hadrian. We gave him freedom and this is how he uses it? Continuing to kill because he ended up enjoying it too much to stop? Well doesn't that just suck to be him, I sure feel pity for him after what he's done tonight. We all have to deal with stuff we don't want, he should have just dealt with it or become a monster slayer. 

The anger though, now that he's not in front of me raving, starts to dwindle. I'm so tired, the kind of weariness that's only being kept at bay because I'm standing. I know the moment I sit down I'll drop off, I just know it. 

Yet since I'm still on my feet and trudging through the snow to the Order Hall, doubts swirl in my loose lucidity. How many other people have we affected indirectly like this? People who we believed that were saved ended up screwed from trauma and go on to wreck havoc. Sure, their actions can't be excused and it was ultimately their choices, but it would be a lie to say we weren't involved. 

We can't be the ones held responsible for this. Hadrian took him to the games in the first place. When Otto released him maybe he should have noticed something off or a teammate of his warning others about him. It was not our responsibility to make sure very single person is alright. We can't be expected to do that too. 

I still decide not to tell Jesse about where this particular manic comes from. Not right away at least, he shouldn't be guilty before Christmas. He's already going to be upset so I can give him ignorance for just a bit. 

The warmth of the Treasure Hall has me sighing gratefully, my body swooning with the lure of sleep as I stumble forward. Instead of climbing the stairs up, I simply lower myself onto them. Just breathing and becoming aware of the fact I'm not getting up, not happening. 

I think I'm tired enough to just get a black dream. 

****

Well, this does side track from your request quite a bit, but nevertheless I hope you enjoyed it!

So, I guess that does it then. The final post. It feels kind of funny, seeing how much these posts have done for me, but 'tis the end. I hope everyone who's read them appreciated them or made them smile, since this was never suppose to be just for me. 

But I guess it's time to say goodbye. I wish everyone the best and tons of happiness. And so, farewell.

-Nix