[Another vignette. I have ideas for some others, if you'd like to read them. ]
Otto was trying, with limited success, to get some sleep. He had wrapped the coat as tightly around himself as he could, and though he hadn't asked them to, two of the tentacles had wrapped themselves around him, forming an acceptable barrier against the chill. The other two were keeping a lookout, servos faintly whining as they stood faithful guard.
To say Otto's dreams were fitful would be an understatement; not only was his damaged mind concocting some rather frightful scenarios, the occasional image from the guard-tentacles would invade and disrupt them. One second he would see his wife's face, then – a rat scurrying across the planks. These interruptions would make him stir but not awaken, as his mind simply went to the next scene.
The tentacles, for their part, could have seen what he was dreaming but chose not to. Oh, they tried, but the disjointed images of human dreaming perplexed them so much they decided there was no point. But they knew their father needed sleep, so they patiently waited while he recharged.
One of the dreams, however, affected them all so much they had to intervene.
back in the hospital -- the tentacles attacking, killing, tearing apart the surgeons ... but ... but they're not the surgeons -- they're all Rosie, and she's being killed over and over, screaming his name, she's being ripped apart and crying for help and he can't stop them --
Otto began to shiver uncontrollably, as did the tentacles as the terror in his mind began to affect them.
Screams of "Otto!!!" echoed in their systems, and they were terribly frightened; for it was not their father's voice they were hearing.
Father! Father, wake up!
The voice continued to scream. Otto cried out in his sleep.
Father please, you're scaring us!!
But he was not waking up, and the tentacles had never had to wake someone up before. Assuming that physical pressure would do the trick but knowing humans were fragile, one of the tentacles gently touched him on the shoulder with one pincer. When that didn't work, it ever so gingerly closed around his shoulder and shook it.
Otto opened his eyes, and for a few moments was close to the person he had been the day before – a genius with a loving wife, and his work, and a bright future…. But soon the chatter began, and he again left that person behind.
Father, are you all right?
We were worried.
Tell us what to do.
How can we help you?
Otto sighed. Oh, why did you wake me up?
You were having a very bad dream, Father.
Hmph. This isn't much better.
Don't talk like that!
…
Now, have you had enough rest? We should get back to work.
Otto didn't respond, disoriented from sleep and rubbing his still-sore eyes.
The tentacles were growing impatient. They decided to test a theory.
Would Rosie not want you to continue working?
He snapped to attention at that. Yes, of course…we have to succeed, for her. Her death must mean something! It must work!
Their theory having proved correct, the tentacles buzzed with energy. And it will work, Father! We will make it work, for you!
Otto smiled as the tentacles lifted him to his feet.
It felt so good to not be alone.