Nightmares weren't surprising, really. He'd had them regularly for a while, close to a year ago, and they resurfaced every so often. They scared Fletcher, but they were just dreams. Nothing to pay any real mind to.
That's what he usually told himself, but when it was early in the morning and he'd just woken up, it was difficult to remember.
Russel was here with him, that was the first thing Fletcher noticed when he realized he was awake. He was curled up on his side, lying next to Russel just like he had every night since they'd popped. Lying on a bed made of living flesh, wearing not pajamas but a suit made from living plants, on a ship hurtling through space, as far away from home as it was possible to get.
One could hardly blame Fletcher for reaching for his brother, burying his face in his chest, and shaking like a leaf. And all this from only an ordinary, everyday nightmare.
no subject
That's what he usually told himself, but when it was early in the morning and he'd just woken up, it was difficult to remember.
Russel was here with him, that was the first thing Fletcher noticed when he realized he was awake. He was curled up on his side, lying next to Russel just like he had every night since they'd popped. Lying on a bed made of living flesh, wearing not pajamas but a suit made from living plants, on a ship hurtling through space, as far away from home as it was possible to get.
One could hardly blame Fletcher for reaching for his brother, burying his face in his chest, and shaking like a leaf. And all this from only an ordinary, everyday nightmare.