Disclaimer: I don't own Steven Universe!
Title: Thistle and Weeds
Summary: Connie and Steven share dreams.
...
Connie's dreams are rarely linear. There is no before or explanation to them. One second, she's dozing comfortably in bed- the next, she's slashing at vines with her sword. "I can get us out of this," she's saying, though she's not sure what 'this' is.
"You can't," says someone behind her. Connie turns and spots Steven, his face that same sickly gray it had been in White Diamond's chambers. His fingers clutch almost desperately at his gemstone, while vines cling to his stomach and fingers and shoulders and toes, and it makes sense that this would be a Steven dream, wouldn't it? "No one can."
The reminder of that horrible, horrible day makes Connie want to throw up. How unfair, she thought, that two teenagers could recall something like this, but the Gems, beings thousands of years old and more capable of handling and understanding it, didn't. (And how could they break that? How could they shatter the glass of the trauma of being possessed with even more trauma? It was a blessing that Connie had no intentions of spoiling.)
She kneeled down. "Let me help you with that."
The flicker of a smile. Steven must know that this was the real her by now. He probably felt guilty about it, as if he had any control over the massive reaches of power Rose Quartz had left in her son. When it came to sleep, Steven's body and soul had no real choice but to roll with the punches.
Vines give way easily under the knight's touch, letting her coil and bundle them like cable. They're surprisingly pliable, soft and smelling of lavender. Someone new might think, oh, wow, this isn't so bad. This is a little sad, is all, but it's nothing too drastic. Connie had fallen into the same trap, a million lifetimes ago. She didn't now.
"Oh, Connie, no," Steven whispers, watching them spring forth and dig into her skin. "Now they've got you too."
"That's okay," Connie says, trying to make herself believe it. She tucks her hands into her pockets- if she can't see them, then he can't see them, and if neither of them can see the tendrils then they don't exist, right? They can play pretend- and curls against his side. His skin is clammy to the touch.
"It's not." He sounds miserable as he wipes the sweat from his brow. "I keep pulling people into my messes. My mistakes. That's exactly what Rose did."
"Steven, you've never lied to me. Not intentionally."
He shrugged. "What if... what if we're just reliving the same thing? What if we do all this, and it just ends up the same way it was before? I'll be a Diamond, Homeworld will never change, and the Earth will be gone. And then we'll find something else. Somewhere else. And it starts all over again."
"We'll just have to fight twice as hard, then, won't we?"
Steven's shoulders hunched. "It's really hard to not get tired of fighting."
It is.
Connie can feel the thorns digging in deeper. "I love you, Steven."
"I love you too." Together, they look up at the shattered remains of what had once been the statue of the illusion of a Gem. "I hope that's enough."
Author's Note: Yet another stream-of-consciousness thingy! They're a great way to keep my brain occupied at work, even if I can't write them down until I get home.
I've always had this idea for Steven's reoccurring nightmares drawing in all the other kids of Beach City- like, a tidal wave of support and love from the cool kids, Sadie and Lars, Connie, etc. I'd love to write it some day, but it's a really complicated concept, between dreams being full of symbolism to juggling so many characters, so for now here's a snippet of a possibility.
(You bet your bottom dollar this was named after the Mumford and Sons song)
-Mandaree1