Wai
Owen's heart dropped into his stomach when he saw Uriel's face twist like it did. He knew what to do with the four strings on his instrument, but his nerves were far too many threads to make sense of at once. He stopped pacing, his legs somehow making their way to his bed where Uriel was poised so tensely. 

".."
The small sound escaped before he forgot the ability. A warm, solid hand tentatively rested itself on Uriel's shoulder, before sliding across and crushing them to Owen's chest. It would be noticed by the both of them that the boy's heart beat much harder than the average person's- not faster, but it pounded against his chest with a fervour that sometimes shook his frame, practically leaping out at the world from its cage of bones. Now, it seemed intent on ramming everything it couldn't say directly into Uriel. A deep sigh, rattled by the softest of tremors.

"This has been gnawing at you, hasn't it," He breathed, pressing his cheek into their hair one more time before remembering himself and gingerly unhanding them. "I don't know what I could say to ease it, save for that I would very much like to," He continued, looking down at his hands, which felt like they could burn a hole through his sheets. "For what it's worth, it sounds like you have genuinely noble intentions- you and your mother. You've said it a hundred times, that you're trying to help, that you're not out to hurt anyone-" His breath faltered. 

"Everyone fucks up, and they do it over and over and over again, but it doesn't make them bad people. You're trying to help, and your head ran away with you. I do that thrice a week and you don't seem to think any less of me."

"Just, what I'm getting at is, you're kind to me; try to extend that kindness to yourself. I assure you, there's room."
Mary
Uriel forgets about the breath lodged in their throat, opting to instead take a tenacious step forward. Owen was warm— both in temperature, and in spirit. Not the all-consuming, scorching fire of an incinerator, but the calm, steady warmth of the hearth. 

*Of course* Owen was the hearth. Everything about Owen brought the sensation of being at home; from his earnest, boyish energy, to the way concern bloomed across his face towards *Uriel*, of all people. It made the following action easy. It felt almost natural, grabbing the underside of Owen's wrist and pulling the boy in closer, aiming to wrapping their arms around him. 

"You didn't have to stop so quickly." They mutter softly, leaning against Owen for a good couple of seconds. They'd never done something so brash in their life, but the confirmation of *Owen caring about them* Despite their potential risks made Uriel feel something, something nice and warm. 

*Is this what it's like... To have a friend care for you?* They brush strands of Owen's hair aside and smile up at them. *I wish I knew sooner.*

"You're right, and— I should listen to you more, shouldn't I?" Uriel pauses, letting out a small laugh. "Only if you promise to listen to me when you're feeling down, alright?" 

A pause. They take a deep breath, exhaling in tune with the thumping of Owen's heart. A contented sigh escapes their lips. Uriel's never felt so warm, leaning against Owen like this. 

"Could you... Watch over me, while I'm looking for intel in the staff's dreams? I'm a bit worried, in case something goes wrong, or..." They trail off, not wanting to sour the mood. "Not tonight, I mean— another night. But, when the time comes... I think I can depend on you to protect me."
Wai
When he was pulled back in, the last of Owen's resolve melted away along with his bones. It all felt surreal, being held again like this. His arms lifted and fit themselves around Uriel's torso once again, his cheek resting in the soft down at the base of their neck. They're a different kind of warm than him; hands resting in pockets on misty mornings, a soft blanket draped over one's shoulders by caring hands. For how light and airy they often felt, they were a solid, real presence here. 

"Oh, you won't have much to listen to, that was all my allotted eloquent speech for the next few months," He murmured, his chest spasming with a chuckle that never quite made it out of his mouth. "Come back in six to eight business weeks for another round of sage, uh, talking.. At you." Hah, proved his own point. A sigh, like the kind old dogs make when they rest their head in one's lap and close their eyes. "..Yeah. Yes, I'll listen to you. There's probably some sense that needs to be knocked into me as well."

Lacing his fingers together across their back, he listened some more. "I, sure I could," He blurted. "Not sure what I could do in Dreamland, but if I can... If I can help, of course I will." No one's asked him to protect them before- at the mention, a river of heat rushed across his back and down his arms, gone in an instant but seemingly showing its approval of the idea. "What would I be looking for, signs of distress? A signal of some kind? Your power fascinates me but hell if I know how it works," He rambled, thoughts bouncing around his skull at warp speed. His foot tapped out a jumpy, slightly disorganized rhythm- it was doubtful that he noticed it.
Mary
Uriel thinks to themselves at Owen's question. They'd never actually *Seen* What they do in the middle of dream-weaving. They fall asleep, yes, but is that all there is to it? 

"I don't know what happens when I do it— I've never had someone watch while I do my work," They begin, a bit embarrassed admitting Owen would be their first. 

"I've seen my mom work, however. When things are going poorly, either by dueling another oneiromancer in dream-weaving, or by having issues locating the dream needed, she tends to mutter and sweat in her sleep. It seems from the outside she's just having a nightmare, so nothing too out of the ordinary should happen." They pause, letting out a quiet laugh. "Try not to disturb me, though— awakening suddenly might only make my situation worse." 

Uriel grew a bit bashful at hearing how their power fascinated Owen. Not scared, not wary, but *Fascinated*. It was... A small thing to hold close, yes, but Uriel still sealed away those words deep inside their heart. 

"What should I try and gather information about? Where the angel girl is being held captive, perhaps? Or about what happens to the... Less co-operative powered children? Of course, if I'm forgetting anything of interest, please do tell me so." 

They already planned out the exact strings they'd need to pull— *Work, guilt, fear* — in order to hopefully spur memories of whatever dark underbelly this facility was hiding. The quiet itch to use their abilities again, to trapeze around the world of the unconscious, almost made their hands twitch with energy. 

*Is this how my... Other side of the family felt?* A sober thought rang through their head, and their hastily-gained excitement died.
Wai
The air in the room around Uriel kept shifting strangely, and Owen tried to make proper sense of it. Things tended to sink into his head slower than he would like, and even *Planning* To do something as risky as this made him feel out of his depth. Running his hands up his neck and allowing the back of his head some cooler air, he tried to carefully process one thing at a time. 

"I feel like... I honestly don't know," He admitted, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "The angels haven't been back, and from how Raizel was talking it sounds like their sister, though hidden, is safe.. What we know a great deal less about is this place." He thought aloud in an unsure murmur, watching the stars dance behind his eyelids from the steady pressure. 

"This still feels so- *Hmmmm*." A chord rumbled from his chest. "I trust you with what you're planning, I do, but we can't go rushing in too fast." He dragged his palms down his cheeks, spreading the pressure downward. "Don't go too deep," He concluded the thought, deceptively sleepy doe eyes flickering with concern. 

Placing his hands firmly on their shoulders, he examined their face carefully. "This is important, but. You've got some serious conflicts about it. It's not worth the, the.." He gnawed on his cheek, unsure of his wording. "It's not worth the hurt it'll cause you. For your own bloody self, Uriel, pull yourself out at the foggiest warning from your gut." His accent drawled the vowels of their name in a musical sort of way, loading it with feeling. His newly invigorated instinct to *Protect* Was trying to stick its crimson, crystalline hands where it could not follow its subject, an adamantine will pushing against the frustratingly dense shell of the mortal it served.
Mary
Owen's hands were hard as he gripped their shoulders, the jagged crystalline edges pushing softly into Uriel's poncho. It wasn't exactly hard to see the promises in their gaze— *Anger for anything that comes to harm you, fear of you getting hurt*— all these emotions felt on Uriel's behalf, pouring out in every syllable sounded out, every tense exhale.

They take off their right glove, and slip their bare hand on top of Owen's. They weren't warm. No, they were *Hot*, the crystallized hands teetering on the edge of uncomfortable. Still, Uriel applied pressure, hoping the tiny gesture of '"I'm alright" Meant something.

"I promise. I want to do this, in case it ends up helping in some way." Uriel pauses, brushing their thumb across the top of the boy's hardened skin. 

"I don't think I could live with myself if I simply did nothing. Even if... Even if the worst ends up happening, I don't want to— I *Need* To do this." 

Uriel felt a small pang of guilt at seeing the worry in Owen's eyes, but quickly dismissed the feeling. *He's worried because he wants to be,* Their inner monologue — which sounded suspiciously like their mom— chided. *Not because he has to.* 

A small squeeze of the hand. "I'll be fine." They say, their usual sing-songy tone of voice replaced with something firmer, more self assured. "I'll promise, if that will aid your troubled mind."