Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly and am just wishing to win a billion dollars which I would pour at Whedon's feet to do with as he will, with the caveat that it involves this, my favourite show ever.
A/N: Am not sure I pulled this off. It sounded better in my head. Sorry.
In the still of the night
River didn't like sleeping alone. In the dark of the night, with all the others sleeping around her, her bed became a raft drifting in a sea of endless black. There were no lights, no stars to guide the way, no map to help her steer. Just the void above her, the black beneath her and the things that swam in the black.
The things that reached out from beneath her, nibbling at her boat with invisible fingers, until she spilled into the black, fell into the void, pulled down by invisible tentacles, probing her bruised and battered soul, snatching bits of it away until her self was spread out in the black, diluted in the void and disappearing into the night.
It helped when someone was there with her to anchor her to the bed, stop the tentacles from nibbling at her boat with claws of steel. In the early days that had been her teddy. When the night drew in River clutched him to her chest secure in the knowledge that Theodore would protect her. Would fight off the buggy bears till morning when the sun came and chased away the shadows of the night.
Then mother came and the bear was gone. The girl was too old for a toy. Time to become a grown-up. No more childish toys. The times to cuddle up with teddy were over. That night the monsters came back. The girl shuddered in her bed, eyes wide as the void tugged at the edges of her consciousness. She daren't scream, for the servants would tell mother and mother would be angry. Mother would be very angry and there would be words. Words were bad, they tore at you and undermined the foundations you built your world on.
As the girl grew older the tentacles faded away leaving her alone in the drift. Peaceful and calm. The girl knew that adults have nothing to fear from the things, they only come for littles, those in touch with their the primal in them. And the girl wasn't little anymore. Her mother told her.
Until the men came. Taking her away from the bed, tossing her into the void, arming the tentacles until they shredded her soul, ripping into her soul and tearing it apart until the blackness ran red with her blood and the void was stained with the butterfly dust of her bones.
The men gave the tentacles voices. Voices that hissed in her ears, past the hands she clapped over them. But the things didn't need her ears, they only needed her brain. And they got it. The girl was lost in the things, blue tentacles tearing at her asking things, making her do things.
When Simon picked the girl up from that place and took her away, the tentacles followed. Inside that box the girl lay, curled around herself asleep, all but the most primitive, the part that huddles in caves, fearful of the dark and what that might bring. The deepest part of her that begged to run as it could not fight, but was denied by the box and the weakness of her own body. The brother could not help. He did not know how. There was no teddy here, to protect her.
Things got better. The brother had drugs to help her. Captain was there to protect her. Kaylee was sister. The things grew weaker, but never left, never left. The he came. Her bear.
The bear protected her. Tucked against his body, the tentacles could not get to the girl. They plucked at the man, tugged at him, but he was strong, the things could not get to him. He knew the things, was comfortable with them being there, knew they could not get him, not in waking, not in sleeping. Jayne would protect her from the things. Sighing deeply, the girl curled into her bear with arms of steel and slept.