Twana
Every night, Fennel is free. One night, they're an adventuring knight, seeking a treasure in a faraway vault. The next, they're a spacefaring captain, deciphering an alien language. They haven't lucid dreamed in a long time — their dreams take them where they will.

But tonight, Fennel is just Fennel. They're dreaming, but the dream feels different than normal, somehow — they're not in any of the fantastical settings they're used to, but rather in the back of a minivan. There are soft, warm blankets and pillows strewn around them, and paper and colored pencils in front of them. Someone's drawn some squiggles, but they don't think it was them. The car is driving, but they don't know where. The roads outside all look the same, fields as far as the eye can see.

They remember it. Faintly. It's their parents' van — their birth parents, that is. They're somewhere in central Europe.

They can't have seen this in... More than a decade. But it feels like safety, and a little bit like home too, so they don't question it too much.

They figure, if nothing else is gonna happen anyway, they might as well start doodling.
Phillip
"I like your drawing." A voice says, the words floating in the thick, syrupy dream air. Next to Fennel sits a figure— pale, tall, with white hair flowing around the silhouette's torso and down their shoulders. 

It takes a seat. It is Uriel, but only vaguely so; it misses the distinct humanoid details that decorate their body in the waking world. There are no pores that dot their cheeks here, nor are there tiny follicles of hair on their face.

Here, they are simply a collection of fragmented ideas— face and hair the color of milk, a voice that every object in the room echoes. 

"Fennel," They say, head tilting to face the other. "How is it you remember this?"
Twana
"*Nais tuke!*", Fennel says happily, and for a moment, they're a little girl again, with the long curly hair and the pretty, yet hardy floral-pattern dress they used to love so much.

But it's only a moment. They quite quickly regain their bearings, and slip out of the memory. It goes on around them, but they cease to be part of it. They look at Uriel a little inquisitively.

"I don't know." They don't feel like going into any more detail. "What's your name again? It's been so long, I forgot. Was it Michael...? No, that can't be right, you're not a Mike." They look out of the window, mostly just to avoid looking at the uncanny-valley almost-person in front of them as they think. "It was definitely an angel."
Phillip
Uriel's eyes wander towards the memory— it floats barely above Fennel's head, spilling out of their ears and leaking from their brain. 

"I am Uriel. You've met me before, Fennel." They smile. "You have a good memory, though. I'm impressed." 

The creature in front of Fennel briefly closes their eyes (eyes? Does it have eyes? Or just empty holes people gloss over and assume are doe-like dark eyes?). The colors of the dream feel more vivid, now. Smells and sights and sounds are turned up a bit more, the edges of the memory turning solid. 

"This is a nice dream." They let out a low hum. It seems like both the only noise, and yet it barely exists.
Twana
They laugh. "You're right. I have a very good memory for an amnesiac." They shuffle around to lean on one of the walls of the car. It's just a dream, they don't have to worry about wearing their seatbelt. Still, they feel the gentle, disorienting pull of the car's motion as they shift. Maybe they should worry a little.

"It is. It's pleasant." If it's not the car crash. Sometimes, the car crashes again, like when Fennel lost their father. But Fennel was only three. The memory is vague at best, the dream a reconstruction of what they imagine the crash was like. "At least so far."

They look at Uriel, who looks strikingly out of place among the warm, earthy colors of the caravan. They think for a moment. "Why are you in it?"
Phillip
"It?" Uriel asks. They look around the car, eyes wide in interest. "It, as in this car? Or do you mean in this dream?" 

They put a hand to their chin, musing idly. "Well. That's the same question, is it not? Perhaps I can answer them both." 

Uriel feels the structure of the dream hum alongside the car's motor. They can see the load bearing strings holding the memory together— they could almost touch them, if they wanted to disturb this idyllic peace. 

"If you know my name, you must know I enter dreams." Uriel state plainly, looking at Fennel. "For I am a dream-weaver, and that monicker is almost like my second name." 

It was the core of Uriel's being. A dream weaver first, a person second.
Twana
"You say that like you're a force of nature," Fennel remarked. "Rain falls, volcanoes erupt, and you enter dreams." There's an implicit refutation of that statement there, nestled in Fennel's tone — *But you're a person.* They don't say it out loud, but they know Uriel will pick up on it. Fennel is dreaming, and Uriel is a dream-weaver.

Uriel looks different than Fennel remembers. Fennel remembers them as slightly more... Living. Vivid. The Uriel in this dream is almost like a sort of doll, a hollow facsimile rather than the real thing.

Fennel wonders why. Maybe something's changed about Uriel. Maybe something's changed about Fennel.

"You didn't answer my question, Uriel. There are many dreams to enter. Why mine?"
Phillip
They hum at Fennel's silent comment, choosing not to respond. After all—they've been reminded of their fleshiness as of late, and they've grown to accept that they weren't so different from the people whose minds they entered. 

"Because I'm worried about you." Uriel's porcelain, doll-like skin barely contorts as they open their mouth to speak. "Because I want to help you remember." 

Their smooth, thin limbs kick to a silent beat. It rivals a metronome in its methodical nature. 

"And... Because I'm curious, too. What are the dreams of an amnesiac?" Their eyes drift towards the window, staring out into a scenery only they could see as props of a mind. 

"A conscious that forgets, and a subconscious that remembers..." Uriel thinks out loud. They don't finish the thought.
Twana
"That's kind of you." Fennel doesn't look at Uriel. Their eyes are trained on the landscape outside the car, the subtle, unnatural way in which it seems to shift. 

"Has it helped, then?" They ask quietly. "You want to help me, and you're curious. Did you learn what you wanted to know? Or only what you needed to?"

They pause. "I don't sleep well when I'm lucid dreaming. If there's something I can do for you, I'll help, but I'd like to get some rest too."
Phillip
"I don't know if I've helped." Uriel joins Fennel in looking out the window. "I don't usually end up helping people. I... Would like to be able to do that. I miss the Fennel who remembers the Cradle sorely." 

The scene outside the window shifts. The car stalls, coming to a halt with a noisy clank. They're in front of the Cradle.

"Do you miss remembering your friends?"
Twana
"Hard to miss it." Fennel muses quietly. "I don't remember it."

The door to the van opens. The person outside doesn't much look like a parent, and Uriel couldn't know them. Fennel seems to recognize the face, though they don't put a name to it for Uriel to pick up on. They smile, and Fennel smiles back and climbs over to the open door to get some fresh dream air.

"Amnesia is forgiving that way. You don't feel so bad when you don't know what you lost." They gesture to the driver, standing outside. "They're a friend from before Newton's Cradle. They cracked my egg, actually, and they hugged me after when I cried. It's a nice memory, but if I forget it... Well, it'll be like it was never there, won't it? And it's no use crying over things that didn't happen."

Talking to Uriel is nice. Uriel understands that sort of thing, and has the temperament to listen. *I should talk to Uriel more,* Fennel notes to themselves, quietly, and hides the thought in between the car seat cushions and behind the dashboard and wherever they think Uriel won't notice it.

"I remember the Cradle, you know. I've spent most of my time at the Cradle *After* Losing my memory, at this point. The Fennel you miss is the one who remembers everything before that." They pause, and their body slumps a little. They look sad. "I miss them too. You should come tell me what they were like. When we're both awake."
Phillip
"That's the big question, is it." Uriel asks. Their words float in the air like the seeds of a dandelion. 

"*Do* They still impact you, even after you've forgotten?" Uriel taps the walls of the dream. "They're no longer accessible in your conscious, yes— but those memories are still baked into the very foundation of who you are. They've silently formed or reaffirmed opinions and ideas you've had your entire life, without you even knowing it." 

They look over at Fennel. Uriel is knitting something— it's a collection of words and old times being woven into a scarf. 

"To leave the foundation of who you are undiscovered is... Terrifying, no? To know your innate responses to something, but not being aware of the memory that lead to such a thing... I worry, Fennel." 

Uriel's eyebrows furrow. They look more human like than before— perhaps it was because they felt more human now. 

"Seeing a tapestry, but being unable to locate the individual stitches... How many weak points would that create? How many holes in the fabric?"
Twana
"If I have to continue your thread metaphor," Fennel replies softly, "I guess I'm kind of hoping to weave something new. I don't want to be that guy."

They pause. The scenery quietly fades to black, but Fennel stays where they are, dangling their legs off an invisible ledge as they stare into the void.

"I appreciate your concern, but I think I'm okay. And if I end up breaking, you can just put me back together like that Kintsugi stuff, or cover the holes with cute patches, or something."

They bundle themselves up tighter in their cardigan, not for warmth but for comfort. It feels a little like a hug. They miss hugs. No one's hugged them in a long time.

"You can mess with my head if you think it needs fixing, Uriel. I trust you."
Phillip
Eek sorry for the wait

Had a test yesterday and was cramming
Twana
No worries! Just bumping because the thread went inactive
Phillip
They turn silent at Fennel's words. 

Humans were fragile, fragile beings. 

"What you are wishing for will not work. It will be only painful." They utter, and collapse upon Fennel. Uriel's wispy form settles around Fennel's back like a thick, woolen blanket, their curly white hair falling down their chest as they lean on Fennel's shoulder. 

They wrap their hands around Fennel's waist. "Breaking is painful," Their voice echoes. "Rest, instead."

It's comforting. It's thick. It feels like a soothing, calming mist.
Twana
Fennel is silent for a few moments, just long enough to soak up the warmth and comfort from Uriel's hug. They haven't really experienced familial love in a long time, but they imagine it's pretty close. 

"Thank you, Uriel."

They don't need to say anything more. They spend a few moments silent, frozen in time.

Then, Fennel wakes up, and once again remembers nothing.