Chestnut Fest Day 4
Prompt: Scars
We're going full angst for today's prompt, which was scars. Honestly, kinda hard not to do.
We're also going slightly non-traditional with this one again in terms of format, so I do hope you still enjoy it.
18 and Krillin both had their share of scars.
More than once they'd noticed the marks on the other, tentatively asked about the source. A few times they'd refused to talk about it, not feeling ready to share that information, but eventually, the topic would come back up, the story told. 18 bore most of her scars in strategic places, the cuts of a skilled surgeon, some of them no longer even visible due to artificial skin, replacements meant to be more durable. They were hidden from everyone; well, everyone but her. She could still see them, trace them, even show him where to look for the faintest of marks until they were seen.
Krillin had typically been more open with most of his own scars. A scuff mark here, a cut eyebrow there, many with some semi-fond memories attached. He'd even told her, hesitantly, about the time he'd been impaled, how he had many scars that, even if not visible, were still fresh wounds in his memory. The scars he mostly kept quiet about, however, were his most prominent. 18 had asked him about the burn marks on his forehead, what they meant to him, what they symbolized; more often than not, he would go quiet and seem to lock up before changing the subject. When he'd finally told 18 his story, about his time in Orin and the memories he had of the place, he'd had to almost physically restrain her to keep her from wrecking the place. It was scary, he'd noted, but a bit touching.
Those, however, were just the scars that showed.
It was not uncommon for 18 to wake up in the middle of the night, flailing in a cold sweat, fighting off the monster who had once claimed her. Each time, Krillin found his way to her side, gently calming her and coaxing her back into reality, despite some harsh words (and more than one stray fist or kick) falling on him.
18 too would sometimes hear the small man sobbing at night, curled into a ball, asking whatever monster haunting his dreams to please stop, to leave him alone. She would gently shake him awake and whisper comfort to him, remind him he was not alone, that she was there and would keep him safe until he could finally drift off back to sleep again.
They knew they would be there for one another, could understand one another. Because despite being so different on the surface, deep down they knew...
They shared the same scars.
A little bit more somber than the rest of these, but I hope you still found some enjoyment in it. Tomorrow's should be a bit more upbeat.