Grazing The Sky

Lance shook his head. He needed to think of something else. Taking a small step back, he thought of his family again.

"You said you don't know where anyone else is?"

"No," Zidane answered again. "But I'd be happy to take you to wherever you need to go."

"Right, 'cause of the teleportation thing."

His words were answered with a nod. "Just think of where you'd like to be."

As soon as a blip of an idea came into Lance's head, a soft light appeared in front of him, swirling out and expanding. Oval-shaped and about his height; it nearly looked like a glowing full-body mirror. Except instead of his reflection, Lance was seeing the kitchen-area of his home. He wasn't, however, seeing the person he had thought of, and this set a huge feeling of discomfort inside his stomach. As if the apparition of the portal wasn't offsetting enough.

"You can go ahead and step through," Zidane was saying. "It won't hurt you."

'This is just a dream,' Lance reminded himself, nodding a little unconsciously. His foot stepped forward, and a light airy energy began to draw him in. 'Just a dream.'

He stepped into the portal, the light grey image he had seen before becoming his surroundings and fading into the normal spectrum of colors. Lance looked around, seeing nothing out of place in his kitchen. In fact, everything seemed incredibly organized and clean.

He turned around completely, looking across the room to where the cabinets were. Lisa stood there, taking a tall glass out of the shelf. Lance had never felt so relieved to see her.

"Mom..."

She jumped, fear overtaking her face as the cup fell from her grasp. It bounced onto the counter, and Lance watched it hit the floor, glass pieces exploding across the tile. A few even skidded far enough to reach him, their tinkling sound soon fading into the silence between them.

"G-Get out of my house!" Lisa yelled.

Lance looked to her, shocked. "What?"

"You heard me!" She quickly looked around, and then in a burst of speed, grabbed a large kitchen knife from the holder nearby. She directed the blade at him, light catching off of it from the window. "Get out or I'm calling the police!"

Thoughts left Lance. He could only stare, watch as his mother stayed standing across the room with the knife in her hand. That expression of pure anger in her face—and then he noticed the emotion in her eyes. A deep fear. She was scared. Of him.

Lance tried to speak, finding his voice after a moment. "I..." A smile hooked his mouth. "You gotta be joking, right? Like, I know we've had our differences but—"

"I don't know you!" The blade jabbed towards him again. "I don't know how you just got into my house, but get out!" Lance flinched at her scream. "Get out or I am calling the cops!"

He tried to breathe. He swallowed back the fear, putting his hands up in front of him. Lance started to inch away, stepping to the side where the back door was. "O-Okay. I'm leaving. I'm going."

'What's going on?' The thought came into his mind once again, and it felt like the question was on repeat. 'What in the f.u.c.k is happening?'

But nothing changed. He was hoping, praying even, that somehow asking that would trigger something. Wake him up from this whacked-out dream, he supposed. But his mother just followed his movements with the knife, that expression of fear never wavering.

'Help.'

'Somebody just get things back to normal.'

Movement caught his eye. He turned, watching Zidane step through the wall leading to their garage, hands in his pockets and blue-eyed stare on Lisa.

"What's going on?" the crossbreed asked quietly.

Lance tried to breathe normally, following his gaze and staring at his mother again. "She... She doesn't..." He shook his head, trying to capture the thoughts his mind was quickly letting go of. "I dunno; it's like she doesn't know who I am. Like she doesn't even remember me anymore."

A sound of confirmation hummed from Zidane as he strode forward, reaching the other side of the kitchen in a matter of moments. Lisa only glanced around the room, not appearing to see him at all.

"Who're you talking to?" she asked. "Is there someone else here?"

Lance brought his stare back to Zidane, who stood beside his mother.

"She can't see me," Zidane said. "Or hear me. I figure most people really wouldn't want to."

There was a hint of humor in his voice; a bit of a smile, too. Lisa turned, about to step towards the staircase when a quick breath shot from Zidane's mouth. Her movements suddenly froze, knife still in her hand.

"Pretty big weapon of choice." Zidane took the blade in between two fingers, easily prying it from her grasp. "Your mom doesn't have a history of mental illness, does she?"

Lance just stared, unable to respond. He was able to freeze her body like that?

Zidane shook his head, dismissing his own joke. "Sorry. Forgot I was still censoring myself."

He set the knife down on the counter, turning his attention to Lisa. With careful hands, he directed her face towards his, seeming to be studying her eyes.

"W-What are you doing?" Lance asked.

"I'm looking for any traces of memory alteration," Zidane answered, his voice a little distant. "Normally, there's a side effect of grey eyes, depending on how big the change is. But I'm not seeing anything out of the ordinary..."

"So what's that mean?"

Zidane pulled away, one hand coming to his pocket. "I'm not really sure." He raised a hand, expanding his fingers in front of Lisa's face as another breath shot out of him. Nothing happened. "Huh."

"Huh?" Lance repeated, frustrated. "I'm completely forgotten by my own mom and all you can say is 'huh'?"

Zidane put a hand up. "Relax; please. I'm sure there's something we can do."

Lance allowed himself to calm down a little bit, watching Zidane tap a finger against his mother's forehead. His hand drew outwards, a thin wisp floating out of her skin.

The screaming question of what that was died in Lance's throat. He couldn't speak; he only watched as the strand tapered off to a point, swinging down and hanging off of the pad of Zidane's finger.

"What..." Lance tried to breathe, feeling his head grow light. "What in the..."

"Mental DNA," Zidane replied, picking up the other end of the strand and holding it in front of himself. He brought his left hand to the right side of the strand, pinching it and moving his fingers to the other side. Lance saw long pieces of the wisp float down, disintegrating into something like mist before disappearing completely.

"Mental DNA?" Lance repeated.

"Yeah." Zidane nodded, like it was a perfectly normal explanation. "In the same way normal DNA contains our genetic code—things that make up our physical selves—mental DNA makes up our mental selves. All of our thoughts, feelings, memories—all of it gets embedded into here."

"Into... That thing?" Lance looked back down to the wisp.

Zidane made a quiet, kind sound of confirmation. "The sample I have now is a little big; I'm stripping it down so she doesn't lose too much. It can take time for this to regenerate."

"This is insane..." Lance muttered. He looked out the sliding glass door, seeing a few birds fly across the backyard. "I have to be in some kind of hospital..."

He heard Zidane give a single, quick laugh. Lance turned back, seeing the crossbreed shake his head.

"I thought we already covered that," he said with a grin. "We found something you couldn't explain, remember?"

Lance didn't have a response. He stared down at the floor, trying to think of some explanation. He couldn't.

He looked up to see Zidane's right hand suddenly flap outwards, like he'd just touched something scalding.

"Starts burning after a while," he said. He clenched his hand into a fist, and Lance briefly saw steam rise out from between his fingers and palm. A coolness to counteract the burn, probably.

"Weird..." Lance shook his head, his voice barely a murmur. "All of this is weird..."

"Yeah, I can definitely understand that," Zidane replied quietly, looking back to the strand and holding it between his fingers again. He continued the same motions along the strand, something of a calm rhythm to them.

Lance stared, briefly wondering what happens next, where they'd go from here. Zidane replied, just as casual and calm as ever.

"So now,"—the strand disappeared with a close of his fingers and his hands returned to his pockets—"all we have to do is combine your memories of her with that sample."

"Great," Lance began. "And you know how to do that."

There was a hint of a question in his voice, but Zidane took a moment before grinning.

"Uh, no. I don't," he said, turning back to Lisa. She stared at him, completely still. "But I have a friend who does. Knows pretty much everything about everything; the guy's a genius."

He leaned towards the counter again, holding up the knife by the blade in question.

"Do you want me to put this back in her hand before I unfreeze her or...?"

Lance wasn't listening. He was thinking, hard; his mind speeding through everyone he had grown to be even remotely close with over the years. Someone who would remember him.

Cal flashed into his mind, dumb grin and all.

Lance looked up, meeting Zidane's gaze and seeing the crossbreed's flash of alarm. Before he could ask what was wrong, Lance spoke.

"I need you to teleport me somewhere else."

Zidane nodded, a little bit calmer. He gently tossed the knife a few inches in the air, swinging it by the blade and catching it at the hilt. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Where do you wanna go?"

"I need to find a friend of mine."

"Alright..." Zidane tossed the knife in the air again, and this time it disappeared. Lance looked over to see it was back in the holder Lisa had pulled it from. He listened as Zidane continued talking. "I'll need to use a teleportation that takes less energy... It's going to be a little bit weird..."

"You really think I care?" Lance asked, throwing his arms outwards. "I was just questioning my sanity a few minutes ago!"

Zidane stifled a sigh, the breath lowering his shoulders a little bit as he leaned his weight to one side. He raised a hand up, his fingers closed in a loose fist.

"Just hold your breath if you get nauseous."

The crossbreed's hand expanded, a quick breath firing from his mouth. Flames surrounded Lance, the heat rising to an extreme temperature that felt like his skin was cracking off. He didn't have time to even breathe before the fire died down.

He was in an alleyway, standing off to the entrance. Lance stumbled back, hitting the wall and tilting his head against it. Closing his eyes, fighting off a sudden onset of nausea.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, not thinking of how he was just teleported or the fact that it was even possible. Trying not to think of the fact that any of this was actually happening.

But reality caught up again, Cal's face accompanying it.

The nausea gone, Lance hurried out of the alley, spotting Cal close by. Flyers were in one arm, and Cal tilted his head up, giving a yawn that was way too loud to be natural.

Lance felt a grin come to him.

"Cal..."

The blonde turned his head in Lance's direction. He briefly surveyed Lance's clothing, his eyes fl.i.c.k.i.n.g in the direction of the alley he had just stepped out of.

"Uh, hey," Cal replied, giving him a weird stare as he turned back to the flyers.

His hand went behind the large stack, and Lance heard the sound of tape being ripped away from a dispenser. He watched Cal's arm shift, moving the flyers against himself and revealing the tape holder in his other hand. Lance followed his focused stare to the window they stood in front of. A music shop, one they visited frequently.

Cal stepped forward, holding a piece of paper flat against the window with a forearm. He began sticking tape onto the corner nearest to his hand, and Lance kept staring at the poster. He read the words that weren't blocked by Cal's arm, and the confirmation of what the poster was only grew as his friend moved and began to tape the opposite corner. Lance just kept staring at the poster, the light grey paper fully revealed.

That... Couldn't 't be right.

He had to be dreaming still.