#seriously those venator alarms are NIGHTMARE fuel

[breakfastteatime]

Today's request is 'Nightmare' for @blueflowertea

Someone trips the derelict Venator’s alarms, and Cal’s no longer on a half-scrapped ship on Bracca. He’s on the Brave, running for his life. The clones are coming. They’re coming, faster, faster, and Master Tapal is there, he’s fighting, but he can’t hold them back and –

“Whoa there, where d’you think you’re going?”

Prauf’s voice is so out of place, Cal can’t begin to answer. He’s on the Brave –

He’s on Bracca –

He’s… he’s…

The clones. The clones are coming and Prauf is here, so it’s Prauf who’s going to die, shot to death trying to defend a useless –

“Cal!”

He is bodily shaken, head whipping back and forth. Cal snaps upright, looking at Prauf who stares back with blatant concern. Cal blinks hard, sweat stinging his eyes. He’s not where he just was, he’s not… but he is on a ship… the alarm… the clones…

“We have to go,” Cal says. “We have to get out!”

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s just…” Prauf tuts and looks over his shoulder. “Someone turn that damn siren off!”

Seconds later the siren chokes off. The sound of work resumes, but Cal’s still looking for the exit, body poised to fight, to run, to –

“Hey.”

Prauf’s voice is low and gentle. Cal looks at him, trying not to lose himself in Prauf’s concern. “I’m okay,” he says. He clears his throat to crush the tears, takes a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Those alarms are the worst, huh?” Prauf says with an awkward chuckle.

“Yeah,” Cal says with an equally awkward laugh. “The worst.”

The rest of the twelve-hour shift passes harmlessly enough, although Cal can’t get warm despite not being in the rain for once. When his day ends, he lugs himself off the ship and plods the lengthy journey back to the station. He nods along as Prauf chats, his friend’s words a woolly nonsense of noise. Cal’s eyes dart across the crowd. He won’t be safe until he’s home with the door locked.  

At the station, they step aboard the train. It’s a quieter carriage, and the faces Cal sees are all familiar ones from his crew. He drops into a seat, slumping. The panic is finally fading. He’s safe. He just needs to get home. Get some sleep. Settle himself as best he can.

How he wishes he could meditate and not –

“Wanna stop off at the Broken Spanner?” Prauf asks. “It’s Taco Taungsday.”

Normally Cal would go. Tacos are about the only thing that have any taste on Bracca. But he can’t. Not today. It’ll be too busy. He won’t be able to keep watch. “Not today. Next week.”

“Yeah, okay, sure thing.”

Cal slumps. The motion of the train, the familiar hum of chatter and propaganda flickering from the busted screens lulls him. He is so tired. So –

The door at the far end of the carriage opens. The clones storm in, weapons firing, riggers flailing and falling and –

“There he is.” A trooper stops ahead of Cal. He knows that armor, knows that voice, sees the end of the blaster and knows his end is coming. “Thought you could get away, huh?” The barrel of the blaster presses against Cal’s forehead. “Traitor.”

Cal jolts back, head cracking against the train wall. He’s gasping for breath. Everyone’s alive. There are no clones. Dream. Just a –

“Nightmare?” Prauf asks.

Cal sits straighter, sharply awake. He runs a hand over his hair and lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The train pulls into their stop before Prauf can say anything, and Cal’s up, calling a quick goodbye over his shoulder before throwing himself into the crowds heading home. He moves through the district, hood pulled over his head to protect him from the driving rain. He reaches his building, risks the ‘lift to his floor, and slides into his apartment, more grateful than he’s ever been to close the door and lock it. He takes off his poncho and hangs it up to dry, grabs his towel and dries off his hair. He kicks off his boots and leaves them out to dry by the small air vent. He switches out of his sodden work clothes into a dry set. The wet set he drapes over his tiny table.

He knows he should get something to eat, and his stomach growls at the thought of tacos, but he’s so tired, down to the very bones of himself, that all he wants is his bed. He doesn’t have the energy to cook, to –

There’s a knock at the door. “Hey, Cal, it’s me.”

Confused, Cal opens the door and finds Prauf on the other side.

Prauf holds up a takeout bag. “You looked like someone in need of tacos.”

“Prauf, you didn’t have to.” Somehow, Cal smiles instead of breaking down into sobs. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, kid.” He slides in, ducking down to fit. “Grab the plates and let’s eat.” Closing the door, Cal does as he’s told, and for the first time since the alarm went off, he finally feels secure.