#he sounds very.... stern in a bad way. instead of a haunted by trauma kind of stern.

[c-bookwyrm]

Really, she didn't know what to expect. She held the bottle in her hands, gently swishing the liquid back and forth in thought. When Walter had given it to her, he merely said Gilbert had wanted it prepared for her- yet when she blinked up in confusion, stating she hadn't felt ill lately, he had paused.

"Have the two of you not spoken about this yet?"

Yet.

Her face must have been enough for Walter, as he sighed and muttered some choice words about Gilbert before shaking his head.

And now she sat in his room, swishing the liquid, bouncing from thought to thought. She wasn't stupid, despite the initial reaction she had. There was a suspicion to what the liquid was, but quietly, privately, she was hoping it was something else entirely.

Her thinking was interrupted by the clack of his doorknob turning. Gilbert came into the room with a sigh, visibily perking up when seeing her waiting.

"Hehe, did you miss me? You could have visited me in the lab, instead of leaving me all alone."

She hummed, glancing down at the item in her hands. Was there a point to go over a preamble?

No. There wasn't. Not when she realized just how tense her shoulders were, her stomach twisting in anticipation.

"Gil..." She lifted it out of her lap for him to see, "Walter g-gave me this. What is...?"

His expression changed, just for a moment- a flash in his eye, vacant of emotion until he blinked again, smile lingering.

"I'd like you to start taking that."

Mm... The feeling in her gut churned once more.

"Why?"

He didn't respond, focusing on dressing down for the evening.

"I won't. Not until you explain." Her voice was firm, and she was quietly thankful her stutter didn't surface.

"Little rabbit, you know what it's for."

"No."

Sighing, he put his hands on the back of his desk chair, keeping his back to her, "this isn't a debate."

"No, it's a discussion. That I want."

"We can't have a child." A pause, as if waiting for her to speak, "that's non-negotionable. If the medicine makes you ill, I'll improve on it to combat the side effects-"

"Explain."

She could hear the creaking in the wood as he gripped his chair harder, but he relented. Gilbert turned around now, facing her with his cryptic smile.

"You know of my plans, what they were, or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't. Don't regard me so poorly."

"Then is it a surprise I don't want this bloodline to continue? To pass on the curse of this-" He cut himself off, pausing before speaking again, "I won't have a child."

"I... Don't want a child, either." She began, glancing up at him after she spoke. When he continued to look her way, expression... telling her nothing negative, she went on, "I don't... like my choice being decided. Without d-discussion."

"There is not disc-"

"Yes. Yes there is. I-It's talking to me, before ha-having someone else hand me the bottle. It's t-treating me more as an equal, instead of s-something you own." She furrowed her brows, frustration growing at her stutter spiking, "I respect your choice. But I want the r-respect of you telling me what you would like to d-do to prevent this, instead of e-expecting me to accept wordless treatment."

Quiet seeped back into the room, and she found her heart didn't stop pounding. Instead, her ears rang, chest tightening uncomfortably.

"O-one of the reasons I love you i-is for treating me as a person. I don't like being treated otherwise, I've already gone through that a multitude of times. And I deserve more than th-that."

She saw Gilbert pull himself away from the chair, before carefully joining her by her side. Wordlessly, he slid his arm around her middle, pressing a kiss against her temple.

The way his hand rested on her hip was gentle, as if pressing on her further would hurt her. It didn't resolve her anger, not completely. But it quelled the heavy unease, the general fear of speaking for herself.

"You're right."

It was a simple agreement. But it helped her shoulders ease, her breath come out sooner.

"Yes. I am."

The huff in her voice brought forth a chuckle from him, and her brows immediately furrowed. However, he was quick to quell her, planting another kiss against her forehead. And another, as her frown persisted, until she relented.

They'll have more moments like this, that she knew. Until he learned to further let his walls down, to accept that trust needed to be needled into every action that they took together. But she was willing to be patient with him, as he was with her.

[punksarahreese]

“You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it.” + reesker (any au)

Night Terror | Bloodletting

Occult!au; Sarah’s past continues to haunt her and Ava wishes she could take it all away

Prompt: “you had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”

Word count: 1768

CW: nightmares, crying, mention of Sarah’s trauma (gun tw, death tw, murder tw), Ava makes death threats 🤭

***

The breeze was warm as it ruffled through the trees, making the wind chimes hanging from the balcony jingle musically. Ava had left the glass doors open, letting the wind and warm air into the study they were occupying. Barely evening, the July sun was still warming the surrounding forest and its inhabitants. Even still, Ava was the only one awake, the human on the lounge beside her having fallen asleep over an hour before.

Sarah had rested her head in Ava’s lap, patting down the silky fabric of her dress so it cradled her head better. Ava never complained, though she did tease Sarah about her mortal need for sleep. Sarah argued that she deserved a nap, especially after chasing Estia through the woods all afternoon, listening for the immortal child’s excited giggles from the trees to give away her position. Really, Ava quite enjoyed when the woman would cuddle up to her like this, no hint of fear or caution when Sarah settled down and sighed happily when Ava ran a gentle hand through her hair.

So that’s why Ava remained unmoving for so many hours, just soaking up the now familiar comfort of her presence and letting her mind wander. It was easy for her, staying so still and finding peace in the stillness. Over a century of life later, the vampire learned to welcome any peace and quiet, since it seemed to be hard to come by in any era. Plus, she happened to be in great company; which certainly helped the situation.

Alas, the peace and quiet never lasted. It’s end was rather abrupt though, not expected by any party, and it had the hair on the back of Ava’s neck rising. As quickly as she had been sound asleep, comfortable and silent, Sarah started to cry. It wasn’t even soft whimpers or a single tear, no it was the whole waterworks. Her thin body started to shake, disturbing the tight curls that had been spread out on Ava’s lap like a fan. Her pleading words were barely intelligible, or at least they would be on a human scale, yet the other woman heard her fine.

“No,” her voice broke and shook even in sleep, “L-leave her… alone! Mom!”

Had it still had a rhythm, Ava’s heart may have skipped at the pain in her human’s tone. She hated the sound, the way fear twisted her favourite sound into such a heartbreaking one. Unconsciousness had always been the one escape from the perils of mortal trauma, in Ava’s experience, yet it seemed that Sarah couldn’t even escape it in rest.

The scream that followed was piercing and had Ava shaking her awake, unable to bear the thought of her being scared any longer. She leaned closer to try to wake her, repeating her name and brushing large tears off her cheeks. Sarah’s eyes opened, big and fearful, yet she could see that they didn’t quite reach Ava’s gaze. She was still paralyzed by whatever had plagued her unconscious, making the other woman frown. Even when Ava pulled her up into a sitting position, hoping it would wake her more, all Sarah could do was cry.

“Sarah, you’re safe,” she spoke as one would to an injured animal; calm and cautious. She waited a moment, the only sound Sarah’s half choked sobs. A gentle and cold hand on her cheek caught her attention a bit and Ava could almost see the mental battle that was raging in an attempt to distinguish reality from memory.

“Darling, it’s Ava,” she prompted patiently, “I’ve got you, okay?”

It was those words that had Sarah slumping forward, tears falling a bit harder as she sobbed in relief. The blonde caught her before she fell completely, strong arms drawing her close immediately. Neither spoke for a while, since Ava didn’t wish to startle her any further. Instead they stayed like that, rocking lightly as Ava tried to soothe her similar to how she used to calm Estia during bad memories of her turning. It was a comfort she vaguely remembered her mother doing with her and Anikka as well, a gentle swaying to coax them back to reality if dreams felt too real.

It took quite some time but eventually Sarah started to relax, first her shoulders slumping and the sobs ebbed away to sniffles and the occasional whimper. Ava kept holding her, whispering a reassurance with any sound the human made. This kind of comfort had been scarce for the both of them for a very long time, so it felt incredibly sacred in that moment. Despite differences and the span of life, the two had found each other in exactly the way they both needed and Ava was happy to hold Sarah like this for as long as she needed. She was her human, her darling, and she silently vowed to keep her safe and happy with all her might.

When she felt Sarah soften a little in her hold, her face now hidden in the cool skin of Ava’s neck, she spoke again. It took a little prompting to get Sarah to look at her, maybe a lot of coaxing is a better descriptor, but eventually she pulled back just enough to meet her blood red eyes.

“What happened?”

Sarah shook her head almost immediately, clearly not in the mood for sharing. Ava knew she wouldn’t give it up that easily, yet she also knew that she wanted to talk. This was something that plagued Sarah way more than she let on and she imagined she needed another soul to speak to. One who could answer, anyway, since Ava was sure Autumn had heard the stories endless times. As human as that cat seemed to be sometimes, she couldn’t talk these things out with her owner, so her therapeutic role could only go so far.

“My cherished one,” Ava’s tone held a little warning because she knew she could be stubborn, “You had a nightmare, now tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”

“Ava…”

“I have all of eternity to wait and listen,” Ava replied before she could protest, “But it would be more convenient if you told me now.”

That had Sarah pouting, knowing she would feel better if someone else knew about it. Ava was always happy to share the burden of her thoughts, especially the bad memories that popped up at the worst times. They always snuck up on Sarah, coming back just when she thought she was recovering again.

“I-,” she sighed heavily, “My mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Sarah didn’t fight the hand that came up to smooth down her hair, nor did she fight when Ava pulled her a bit closer. She only shimmied a bit closer, evading her eyes again as she felt overwhelmed at the thought of reliving the dream. Ava knew this and kept her hold on her waist, one hand cradling her head gently since she knew it made Sarah feel safer.

“The same one again?”

“Kinda… a little different.”

“Do you wish to talk about it, love?”

“It was just mom’s death again but this time I tried to get between them. When dad… he choked me and threw me to the ground…”

“That didn’t happen,” Ava promised, “And he'll never get a chance to do such a thing.”

“It still feels like his hand is there,” Sarah choked out, her own hand coming up to her throat. Ava could see some shallow scratches that must have happened during Sarah’s unconscious thrashing, they were superficial but still an angry red against her skin.

She was quick to replace Sarah’s hand with her own, running delicate fingers over the marks in a gentle pattern. Ava was casual about it, as casual as one could be in such a situation anyway, but Sarah knew what she was doing. The soothing touch, careful and loving, was meant to erase any lingering thoughts of her dream.

“He’s still out there, Ava.”

“I know,” she murmured idly, thumb brushing over her jawline, “But that man will never lay a hand on you again.”

“You can’t be so sure…”

“Sarah Reese,” the vampire’s tone was stern as she looked at her almost incredulously, “I can promise you that I will kill your father the second I see him, if ever. Though I would love for him to rot in jail as the disgusting creature he is, I don’t trust human law one bit. So I would much prefer to take matters into my own hands.”

“You… you would do that?”

“Of course,” she nodded firmly, “Anything to keep you safe, darling.”

“But you don’t-” Sarah took her hand off her neck to instead hold onto it tightly, “You are not violent; you told me you wouldn’t kill again if you could help it.”

“That is true. I never enjoy taking a life,” she agreed, “But I do not feel remorse for your father.”

“No?”

“Not after what he did to you, that is unforgivable in my book. It would only be fair, really. A man who has no regard for another life does not deserve to live a free one of his own.”

“But.. what if he hurts you?”

Ava almost wanted to laugh at that, the worry knitting Sarah’s brows together was endearing. 130 years of vampirism and countless lives lived, yet here was this little human so worried about a mortal man harming her. Her care for Ava was adorable and it warmed her from the inside out, it was the closest feeling to being unwaveringly loved that she had felt in quite some time.

“Sarah, my sweet Sarah,” she chuckled darkly and squeezed her hand, “He wouldn’t be the first disgusting excuse for a man I’ve killed. He won’t even see it coming; though he will certainly feel it.”

[breanime]

Heartworm (Part Two)

So, first of all, I want to say thank you to everyone for all the love for Part One. So here’s the next part for you lovely folks. So Part Two is from Billy’s POV.

*gif not mine*

Every moment was agony for Billy. His face hurt when he was awake, his heart hurt when he slept; it was never-ending. The pain he could power through—even though it was the most intense and lingering pain he’d ever felt in his life—it was the confusion and isolation that really bothered him. He only ever saw hospital staff and security, and only two people ever spoke to him: Dr. Dumont and the cop.

Billy had decided to pretend to be asleep whenever the cop came to see him. It wasn’t hard to lay still while she spat venom at him and cursed his name—they always strapped him down in this cocoon thing when non-staff came to see him. She really hated him, but he had no idea who she was. He asked the doctor about her before, but she just said what she always said: “you have to remember for yourself.”

But he couldn’t. Every day he regained a memory, or some fragment of one, but nothing recent. He knew he had been scarred horribly—seen his face, the deep scars, the exposed muscle, every morning before he put on his mask—and he knew he’d been shot and stabbed, but he didn’t remember how. Or by who. He knew he had probably killed people to earn those scars—why else would he be restrained and on lockdown? But he couldn’t remember who he killed or why… He remembered who he was. He knew his own name and stats and his past, but he didn’t know who he had become to end up where he was now. He was able to piece some things together: he got on the wrong side of Homeland Security and the NYPD, he’d been in a coma for 6 months due to the trauma he sustained during “the fight” (that’s what the doctor called it), Anvil had been taken from him—and had apparently become a very lucrative business since he first founded it, but he was still plagued with questions. How did he get here? What did he do? How long would he have to stay here? But there were only two questions that he really wanted the answers to: who did this to him and where were you?

Billy was consumed by those questions. He dreamt only of those two things. He saw a bloody skull coming at him in his dreams, an image he scribbled in his journal over and over again, trying to force some kind of revelation out of himself. He also saw you, standing in the rain in front of a flower cart. Your eyes were always so sad, so full of hurt, in his dreams. He hated it. He hated seeing you like that, and he hated knowing that it was probably him that did that to you, that made you sad. He didn’t draw that. He didn’t need to, he saw your sad eyes in his dreams and when he was awake. He tried to remember the last time he had seen you, been with you, but the memories were all scattered and disjointed. It made his head hurt. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think straight when he got like that. He wanted to see you, but he was scared to ask for you. What if something had happened to you? He couldn’t bear that. He could endure anything—his face, his scars, his fucked-up mind—if he knew you were safe. And happy. He had to hold onto that delusion, that you were somewhere safe without him, in order to maintain. He had to maintain… He had to get the hell out of here. He had to get to you. He had to kill the skull.

The doctor was talking to him again. She talked a lot, but she hardly said anything of worth. Billy had mixed feelings about his court-ordered therapy sessions with Dr. Dumont. On one hand: he got to talk with another human being, and sometimes—rarely—she even said something helpful. But on the other hand, Billy was pretty sure she was a quack. She spoke to him like she knew all his secrets but wouldn’t tell him. She was fixated on his face and obsessed with trying to get him to talk about the way he decorated his mask—he wanted answers from her, but all she gave him were platitudes and hypotheticals. Today she was focusing on his ‘anger issues’. She was going on and on about how his mask symbolized his anger and the turbulence in his mind and how he needed to come to terms with it to be at peace. It was a load of bullshit. Billy Russo had never been at peace…except when he was with you.

“Tell me, Billy,” the doctor was giving him that close-lipped smile again. God, he hated that smile. “Tell me, have the dreams gotten any better?”

Billy rolled his neck, trying to get the tension out. He hated talking about the dreams. It just made him agitated and nervous and made his face hurt. “You know they haven’t,” he growled through his mask.

“Have you been sleeping at all?”

“You have access to my charts,” he drawled, “you tell me.”

Her lips stretched as her smile got bigger. Billy thought, not for the first time, that he might have been attracted to her in another lifetime. Maybe. “But I want to hear if from you, Billy,” she said sweetly, “Charts are just words on paper, I can get so much more from hearing you speak on your experiences.”

“I haven’t been sleeping,” he said, more to get her to stop talking than anything else, “I can’t sleep.”

“Do you see the skull?”

Billy grit his teeth. “You know I do.” He answered.

“What happens when you see it?”

“Pain,” Billy dipped his head and ran a hand through his short hair. They cut his hair when he was sleeping. You used to love his hair. “Pain. It—it hurts,” he put both hands on his head now. His head was pounding. His face was burning. “I keep seeing that skull, it haunts me, it, it won’t stop,” he dug his nails into his scalp and squeezed his eyes shut. His mask was suffocating him. “It won’t stop, and I—I can’t remember, I can’t see who it is, I can’t remember what happened…” He looked up at the doctor. Her eyes were wide, and she wasn’t smiling anymore. “How did this happen to me?”

“You were hurt in a fight, remember?” She said, putting her clipboard flat on her lap. “You sustained multiple lacerations and partial amnesia—”

“I know that!” Billy was on his feet in seconds. The doctor stood up as well, clipboard falling to the floor. “I know that already, I want to know how this happened to me! Who was I fighting? Who did this to me?”

“Billy,” she put a hand up, “you have to calm down. Take a deep breath.”

Billy felt his chest rising and falling as he hyperventilated. “My face hurts,” he complained, pacing back and forth with his hands in his hair, “It hurts so bad and they won’t give me any medicine, they won’t help me! I can’t sleep,” his chest was heaving, “I can’t think, I—I don’t know how this happened to me—”

“Billy,” Dr. Dumont’s voice was stern, “Count five blue things.”

His dark eyes moved around the room. Five blue things. “The wallpaper,” he said, voice shaky.

“Good. That’s one.”

“And—and---the bowl, and the—the drapes, over there,” he pointed.

“That’s three. Go on, five blue things.”

“Your shirt,” his breathing was becoming less labored now, “that—that pen is blue.” He pulled the collar on his shirt. “This is blue.”

She smiled. “Good. That’s even more than I asked for. Yes, good job, Billy,” she sat down, “Do you want a break?”

He took a breath. A break meant he went back to being alone, if he was lucky, he’d get some journal time, but more likely he’d be cocooned again for a few hours until their next session. “No,” he huffed out, “I… I want to talk.”

“Would you like to sit down?”

“Yes.” He took a seat and put his elbows on his knees, holding his aching head.

“I know it must be hard, Billy,” the doctor’s voice was making his headache worse, “but you’ve made some incredible process so far. All those questions you have, the confusion in your brain, you have the answers. We just have to sift through the pieces to get to them.”

“I. Can’t. Remember.” He said through clenched teeth.

“Let’s go back,” she suggested brightly, “talk to me about what you do remember. Last time we talked, you said you remembered your office, at Anvil? What was it like?”

Billy smiled underneath the mask.

“This is your office?” Your eyes had been wide and bright. “Shit, Billy, it’s huge!”

“Sounds like our first time all over again,” he joked, coming to stand beside you. He put an arm around your waist and pulled you to his side. You had been the first and only person he wanted to show Anvil to. The money from Rawlins had helped him secure a nice building to start his company. “You like it?” Yours was the only opinion that mattered to him.

“I love it,” you gushed, “Billy, it’s—it’s amazing!” You put a hand on his chest. “But…How can we afford it?”

He’d been prepared for that question. “Military back-pay finally kicked in,” he said easily, “It’s all covered.”

Your smile had been brilliant. “I’m so proud of you.” Billy had kissed you then. You were still smiling when he pulled away. “Frank would have been proud of you, too.” You said softly.

Billy had put both arms around you and pulled you in for another kiss then. Your lips had been so soft, so perfect. It was like you had been made for him, and vice versa. “You know,” he had been looking straight into your pretty eyes as he spoke, “none of this would mean anything if I didn’t have you.”

“Well,” you put your arms around his shoulders, “it’s a good thing you have me, then.” You brought your lips to his. “And you always will.”

Billy sat up, blinking as he looked across the room. He wanted—hoped—to see the empty, promising space of his office. He wanted to see you in his arms, grinning proudly up at him, ready to take on the world with him. Instead he saw the sterile, blue walls of the hospital and a smiling Dr. Dumont. He felt his blood boil. “I’m sick of this bullshit,” he said, voice low. Dr. Dumont frowned. “I’m sick of just talking and—and asking questions and gettin’ no answers,” his foot was tapping rapidly now, “I know you know what happened to me, who did this,” he gestured angrily at his mask, “to me.”

“I don’t—”

“—Is it in there?” He indicated the file underneath her notes on the clipboard.

She hugged the clipboard to her chest and shook her head. “These are just notes from our sessions.”

“Let me see.” He held his hand out.

“Let’s talk about your day. The guards tell me you exercise daily?” She said, trying to deflect.

Billy stood up again, slowly, eyes never leaving the doctor’s paling face. “Gimme the file.”

“Billy, you won’t find the answers in here,” she said back, standing her ground.

“You don’t know that!” He yelled, head pounding anew. “Nobody will tell me anything, and my face hurts, and I just want to know what happened to me! Who did this to me?”

“Billy—”

“How did this happen to me?!” He screamed. He heard footsteps approaching but didn’t curb his temper. What little patience he had was long gone now. “W—where’s Y/N?”

“Y/N? Billy, who is that?”

Billy slapped his chair, and it clattered against the wall with a loud bang. “Y/N Y/L/N!” He shouted. He heard guards at the door. “I want to see her, I want to see Curtis!”

“Billy, Billy, count five blue th—”

“—No more counting! No more fucking finger painting, no more journals! My head is killing me, and I don’t know why,” Billy could feel his eyes watering up, “Why won’t you help me?!”

The guards burst through the door, and Billy felt a wave of relief hit him. Finally, he could relieve some stress. A few months ago, Billy would have been too weak to react. They kept him heavily sedated for a while—whether that was to treat his injuries or to keep him compliant, he wasn’t sure. They still wouldn’t let him do much as far as exercise, but he did sit-ups and some light cardio in his room when he could. Plus, he had his training—that shit was second nature to him now. Billy grinned behind his mask as the first guard came at him.

When it was all said and done, and Billy was surrounded by a bunch of unconscious guards, he really was starting to feel a hell of a lot better. He took the doctor and made her lead him out of the hospital. It felt good to ditch her, the air on his skin felt good, the sound of life, of cars beeping, of people chattering, felt so good in his ears. Billy took the doctor’s wallet before he left and used some of her money to grab a bus ticket. He was in the process of planning his next move—he had to see you, but he didn’t want you to see him like this: dressed in his hospital clothes with no shoes—when some asshole started harassing him.

Billy didn’t react as the man taunted him, didn’t even blink when he pushed his head. He did, however, notice the guy had a similar build as he himself had…

…and shoes.

***********************************************************************************

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[rhythmguitars]

136 skwisgaar x toki or nathan x toki

Drabble Challenge: 136. “You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”Topic: Nathan / Toki / Skwisgaar (post-Doomstar)Word Count: 1,308Rating: PG13 (language)

Maybe he’d tried to get Toki back into the swing of things, withrecording and practicing, a little too early. He still wouldn’t tell anyoneabout anything he was thinking or feeling. Even Twinkletits couldn’t get auseful word out of him. He claimed he was happy to be back, happy to see them allagain. But, the kid still looked exhausted, still wouldn’t eat too much, andstill didn’t want to be left alone in a room at any point in time. For the pastmonth or so, he’s either camped out in someone else’s bedroom or pulled anall-nighter on the couch in front of the TV with whichever band mate waswilling to stay up with him. A move marathon with Murderface one night, a boardgame with Pickles the next ——————– and he’d still thank everyone. He’dstill tell everyone that he was happy with them. He’d still tell everyone thathe was fine. And, especially that last remark, was a damn lie.

Nathan tried to talk to Toki about what was going on in his head,and when he claimed once more that he was fine, Nathan pressed further. He wasn’ttaking that as an answer this time; because if something was truly wrong, hecan’t help if Toki isn’t willing to provide anything. Large hands rested on theyounger man’s shoulders gently, maintaining direct eye-contact with him. Thatsilent eye contact was only kept for a matter of seconds before Nathan feltlike he made a heart-wrenching breakthrough, as the nordman’s pale blue eyesbegan to water, and he practically broke down under the vocalist’s grip,dragging his own tired body to the ground and crumpling into a sobbing pile ofanxiety and trauma. Knelt on the ground before him, Nathan’s at a loss of whatto even say to him. He wanted to help him, but he’s not exactly sympathetic material.

“I can’ts sleeps wit’s his voice in my heads.”

The door left open, Skwisgaar had passed by the room,immediately turning back on his heels upon hearing the broken sounds of asobbing Norwegian. A stern look on his structured expression, he wastes no timeletting himself into Nathan’s room, that stern look melting into something moreshocked as widened, crystal blue eyes behold the crumpled man on the ground,and a lead singer who seemed conflicted of what to even do.

“Whats happens?” the blond asks, eyes darting from Nathan toToki and back again.

“I got him to talk to me. Kinda…..”

The swede kneels on the ground as well, placing a hand on Toki’shead, emitting the reaction for the younger man to look up at the addition tothe room. Swisgaar smiles, probably the first time Toki had seen such a softsmile on the fellow guitarist’s features in God only knows how long. “Gets upoffs de floors, you looks like crybabies.” His words were just as teasing as healways was, but his expression was genuinely soft; not teasing or sadistic inany way.

Both men to each sideof Toki aid in bringing the sunken, heartbreaking shell of a man back to hisfeet, leading him to the edge of Nathan’s bed and sitting to either side ofhim. Toki goes silent for a moment, head down enough that his hair falls infront of his shoulders, shielding his face from his band mates. Placing a handsafely on the nordman’s knee, Nathan leans forward, attempting to make eyecontact. “Hey, uh….. You’re having nightmares, aren’t you? I, uh, didn’t…..didn’t even think you slept the past few weeks.” Still no answer.

Skwisgaar places a slightly more firm, reassuring hand onToki’s shoulder, chiming in. “Tells us abouts it.”

“Yeah, tell us so we can help.”

“…..”

Just when Nathan thought he could get some kind of clue outof this kid, he’s back in a silent state. But, instead of reassuring them hewas fine with that false, bittersweet smile of his, he hid behind a curtain ofbrunet hair wordlessly. The vocalist and the lead guitarist exchange glances, Nathanmouthing a silent ‘What do we do?’, and Skwisgaar responding with a shouldershrug. Another moment or two passes in silence.

“Little Tokis, looks, if you don’ts tells us not’ingks, wecan’ts helps. Right, Nat’ans?”

“Yeah. Look, uh….. he’s not gonna hurt you anymore. I won’t———- “ he pauses to glance at Skwisgaar again. “ ———- we won’tlet you get hurt again.” The blond nods to confirm. Finally, Toki picks hishead up, taking a glance to the right at Skwisgaar, then to the left at Nathan.

The rhythm guitarist gives in, starting to explain hisnightmares, starting from the very first one and going until the very recentone. His sights equally exchange from the blond on his one shoulder to the ravento his other as he highlights the parts of his terrors that have stuck with himthe most. The parts that have been haunting him, and the reason he’s been sooff lately. It’s….. heartbreaking, for lack of better word. How this entirefiasco ended so long ago, and yet it seems like Toki can’t just recoup from itas fast as everyone else would like him to. It sucked. It really did. But,having him talk about everything seemed to help.

Slowly, the conversation drove outward, going from theterrible nightmares Toki experienced, to talking about his audition, producingtheir first album. Going through the list of memories they’ve all had as aband. Lightening the room. Breaking down all the bad demons and bringing somekind of damn light to this kid’s face. Actual light; not that shitty, fakesmile he would give everyone. Some genuine happiness and calm thoughts. Godonly knows how long they’d been talking; long enough for everyone to switchfrom their positions sitting on the bed to more relaxed positions, loungingaround carelessly on Nathan’s bed as they just talked and talked. It must havebeen getting late, because eventually, the nordman starts to slowly doze off,fallen fast asleep with his head resting on Skwisgaar’s shoulder.

“Hm….. I guess he can stay here for a little while. At leasthe’s getting sleep.”

Skwisgaar shifts very slightly. Whatever they were talkingabout must have really been interesting, since it seemed like the blond hadn’teven noticed Toki’s weight resting against his shoulder until Nathan mentionedit. “Ja. I, uh, I’d leaves buts ams a bit stucks.” He’d definitely wake up thesleeping Norwegian if he even tried to get up.

“Yeah. I figured. Whatever.”

And, their conversations only continued. Without the aid ofhis guitar, Skwisgaar finds his fingers mindlessly in Toki’s hair instead, andNathan’s gaze kept returning to the sleeping man’s face, hoping their talking wouldn’twake him. They talked about stupid, random things. Good ideas for future songs,stupid YouTube videos they’ve recently watched, ways to mess with Murderface——————– and a lot more nothing.

“Hey, Skwisgaar, uh….. Thanks. You know, for, uh, helping. Idon’t think I’d  be able to get this kidto say anything if you weren’t around. He, uh….. I think he looks up to you orsome shit.”

“Ja. Can’t says I blames him.”

Nathan couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Nathan, yer not gonna believe this, I ——————– “

A confused Pickles is standing at the doorway much, muchlater. But, the sight of all three of them sleeping on Nathan’s bed stops himin his tracks. Toki in the middle of the bodies, his head resting againstSkwisgaar’s stomach; Skwisgaar, his head resting on top of Nathan’s and a handstill in Toki’s hair; and Nathan, an arm slung around Toki’s middle.

They look like they’re having a moment. With a smirk, hedecides he’ll come back later.