Night Terrors
Writer's Note: This one got kind of angsty, but some of these ficlets will be like that. Some fluff should be coming next post!
The night terrors started a couple months after the car accident. Tamora had bolted from her bed, tearing down the hallway with a pistol clutched in her hand, ready to destroy whatever intruder scaring her adopted daughter. But when she burst into Vanellope's bedroom, there was no intruder.
The 7-year old girl was thrashing arms and legs, the covers kicked nearly off the end of the bed. Tamora rushed to Vanellope's bedside, shushing the little girl. It was obvious she was not awake, but caught up in a night terror. All Tamora could do was scoop the girl against her and hold her still until she calmed.
Vanellope never remembered the terrors or the violent thrashing that accompanied them, but every now and then she'd tell Tamora of the dream she had. The dreams were always similar: her father died no matter if it was from the car accident that took his life or another horrible fate.
This went on for nearly a year. Then the terrors began to subside until Vanellope was finally having a peaceful night's sleep every night.
Two years passed since the accident and Tamora thought the terrors were over for good. She was wrong. She jolted awake around 2 a.m. to Vanellope's horrifying cries. Rushing to the girl's bedroom, she automatically switched to protector mode and snatched Vanellope's flailing limps, smothering the girl against her chest and rocking the terror away.
She was bigger now at 9-years old, having had a growth spurt recently, but Vanellope was still small to Tamora and she easily held the girl until the cries ceased.
Tamora laid her back down, and not wanting to leave her side, curled up above the covers beside her daughter. She was gone before Vanellope woke up that morning. As Vanellope sleepily trekked into the kitchen and plopped down at the kitchen bar, Tamora didn't say a word about her latest episode.
"I dreamed about dad last night," Vanellope told her as Tamora wordlessly placed a tall glass of chocolate milk in front of her. Vanellope eyed her mom suspiciously. She was being far too quiet. "I had one, didn't I?"
Tamora sighed loudly. "You did."
Vanellope frowned. "I thought the terrors were gone."
"I don't think the dreams will ever really go away," Tamora replied, because really, her nightmares and flashbacks of him hadn't gone away either, but be damned if she was going to burden their daughter with that.
Vanellope twisted the glass with her fingertips, focusing all her attention onto it. "I don't think I'll ever stop missing dad."
She could say that "time heals all wounds" or some bull like that, but it still didn't seem possible to her. So Tamora said the only comforting thing that she was ever taught, "All we can do is soldier through it, cadet."