A parking lot, rain just beginning to slash down, and I'm walking through the endless rows of cars; it's just another night's patrol that I'll end early rather than spend another miserable wet hour following a cooling trail up and down a deserted car park at midnight. Reach the end of a row, turn to head up the next and then with a growl it hits me, knocking me to the pavement so hard brilliant white stars burst at the back of my eyes and before I can do anything other than fling my hands up over my face—
It's melted back into the shadows hanging between rows of mini vans and pickup trucks. And I pick myself up to follow, moving from a slow trot to a sprint until I arrive at the chain link fence bordering the lot. In a few quick movements I've vaulted over it, landing on the other side with a wheeze of outward breath.
And there they are.
It's Sharon and Pops, lying there in the dirt and the weeds of this abandoned storage lot with the rain pooling around them. They're so peacefully still; they could be asleep or waiting for me, just lying there looking up at the sky together, even though the stars are washed over by rain clouds.
I walk towards them, a smile growing as I plan how I'm going to tackle Pops, waking him up like I did when I was five only there's something wrong, the closer I come, the more I see that he's not breathing; there's no gentle rise and fall of his back, no clouds of exhaled steam in the night air. He's not sleeping, I think, and as that thought blazes through my mind, a shout dies into my throat.
I stumble forwards, tripping and cursing and I'm too late, too late, there's blood, and it's everywhere and there's a gapping slash through my Pops' chest and there's the bones of his rib cage all white and wrong in the drowned fluorescent glow of the street lights and Sharon's neck is black with bruises, twisted away from her shoulders at an unnaturally sharp angle and I'm not looking, not looking—
A hand, fingers clamping deeply into my shoulder, and I shudder awake into arms that steal around me, holding me to the waking world within their warmth.
"The dream again, bro?"
I nod clumsily, the movement jerky against his chest. He croons wordless assurances into my ear and pulls me closer, setting his familiar body as shield against the nightmare.
He kisses me once on the forehead; sleep comes crashing down again as I lie there, cradled in his arms.
No one tells you about this part when you put the mask on the first time, when you become their hero. Heroes, the brave ones, courageous as they face the terrors we ourselves cannot stand against. They never bother to point out that you'll have nightmares where everyone you know and love is dead with no one to blame but yourself, or that those night fears will plague even your waking hours. But then, they never mention the feeling of waking with your best friend's face tucked into your shoulder and his arms, oh his arms, still holding the nightmares at bay.
Slumber, my darling, I'll wrap thee up warm,
And pray that the angels will shield thee from harm
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Unashamed angst!slashfluff written as a Christmas present for Rhia.
Static Shock and all associated characters don't belong to me; they are the property of their respective creators and owners please don't sue me I'm doing this for fun.
Ending from "Slumber My Darling" as preformed by Allison Krauss and Yo-Yo Ma.