Elliot learned to dream again, with Jericho. He learned to want again. He learned to reach.

He also learned to sleep.

They both had complicated relationships with sleep. Jericho was habitually a light sleeper, a side effect of his accident, some subconscious fear that if he didn't sleep light- it was just too easy to get grabbed, to be attacked in his sleep, even out here, surrounded by no one. He only really slept heavy now when he was really upset about something.

Elliot frankly just didn't sleep. He was plagued with nightmares and worse- the visions. It was an unintentional power he'd gotten from his mother.

It was a curse.

Seeing suffering, seeing turmoil, and knowing with absolute conviction that nothing could be done to change it.

He slept easy with Jericho, though. He wasn't sure why, really. But he dreamed here, with him.

Everything in Jericho's room was close and cluttered and cozy, like him. There wasn't an ounce of space not filled by trinkets or canvas or sheet music. When people said the word 'home' now, all Elliot could really think of was here. Not even the cabin itself, just…

Just Jericho.

He didn't used to get a real sleep schedule like he did here. He basically either slept until he felt numb or slept whenever everything else was done, which was never. He's gone days without sleep, before. His record is twelve days, so far.

Jericho put a quick stop to it. Sleeping was nice, with him. It wasn't something he dreaded, anymore, or used as a coping tool to block it all out.

Jericho, if nothing else, was a creature of habit. He woke with the sun and slept with the moon. The minute the sun dipped over the horizon, he started stretching and yawning and slumping against Elliot. He woke at absolutely ungodly hours, despite Elliot's pleas to at least try to be quiet in the morning.

Elliot was staring up at the ceiling, now. It was the first time he hadn't slept in a while, now. The anniversary of Jericho's accident was coming up, and Elliot insisted on staying with him through the hurricane of emotions that would come. He'd been here almost two months, now.

Jericho was a nice heavy weight on his chest, rising and falling gently and squirming every so often to try and get closer, somehow. Sleeping with Jericho was really nice. He turned his entire body into a reassuring blanket due to his own subconscious need for physical touch. Their legs were all tangled by this point and Jericho's hair was a frumpled mess, something Elliot actually admired.

There were many faces to Jericho. There was Jericho, the superhero, the wonder-kid, the indestructible beacon of hope. There was Yosef, the village protector, the elders favorite patron of the markets in the village below. There was Joseph Wilson, the white sheep, the alienated martyr, the family disappointment.

Elliot's favorite face was when he'd just woken up. All groggy and bed-headed, he was just...Joey. He was authentic in his more core way possible, looking down and playfully poking at Elliot until he woke up, too.

Elliot had tried to squirm away, one time. They'd been arguing about something and Elliot didn't want to seem like he was just giving in because Jericho was nice to sleep curled up with. He'd turned his back to him, stubborn as usual. Jericho ended up just curling up behind him, tangling their legs together and wrapping his arms tight around Elliot's middle. The little puffs of air he let out against the base of Elliot's neck as he slept made him feel safer than he'd ever felt in his life. He cried that night. He hadn't let himself cry like that in a long, long time.

So much has changed since they'd met. Elliot frankly wasn't who he was, once. Jericho had taken that fragile shadow of a boy and broken him into pieces that he could meld back together by hand. It wasn't through a violent fist or manipulative strings like he'd always thought it would be. He wasn't dragged by a leash to a cold, miserable cell. He didn't end with a bang, so much as a whimper.

Jericho didn't make him better, he made Elliot want to make himself better, which was almost worse, somehow.

Elliot took care of himself, now.

He ate regularly and ate things that were healthy. He exercised and kept his mental health in check. He slept regularly. He felt almost...sane, again. He felt normal for the first time in his life. He felt happy and content.

He couldn't remember the last time he stole something.

A few months back while he was here, the village was attacked. Jericho left with such assurance, such conviction in his eyes. Elliot followed him more out of instinct than anything else. He was scared.

Elliot Knight had struck the final blow to the parademons after the village. During Superbrat's infinite crisis gig, parademons struck everywhere. Metropolis, Gotham, Central…

Tibet.

The villagers honored Elliot after that. They brought him offerings of food and clothing. They accepted him just as they had accepted Jericho, so long ago when he'd first been left on that mountain.

He kept telling himself he was a villain. He had a record out there, in the world, as Kyd Wykkyd. He didn't deserve the kind looks and the reverent stories and the safety and security.

But he was still here. He'd been here so long now and… he couldn't ever imagine going back, now.

All for Joseph. All for that impish little blonde and his schemes and his tricks to mold Elliot into a person he'd only ever wanted to be…

Elliot bolted up, making Jericho let out an annoyed sounding huff, rolling over and going right back to sleep.

Elliot gently shook Jericho, biting his lip. "Joseph." Jericho glared in his sleep, shrugging him off.

Elliot shook him more urgently. "Joseph, Joseph- wake up-"

Joey leaned up on his elbows, glaring tiredly at Elliot in question.

"Did you seduce me into a proper self-care routine?"

Jericho flopped back down, ignoring him.

Elliot climbed on his back and shook him more urgently. "No- no, this is important- wake up!"

Joey finally leaned up again, glaring tiredly behind him.

"Did you plan this? Was this a conspiracy to get me to be a hero? Was this-"

Joey promptly rolled over, shoving Elliot down on his back again and flopping fully on top of him.

Elliot continued mumbling. "Oh my god, oh my god- you turned me into a housewife-"

Joey slapped a hand over Elliot's mouth, sitting up again and glaring. He placed a gentle kiss to his forehead, slumping back down.

Sleep. He signed into Elliot's side. Talk tomorrow.

Elliot huffed, letting himself relax again. "Did you even know what you were doing?"

Joey shrugged, curling up and tucking his head beneath Elliot's chin.

"No." Elliot smiled. "No, of course you didn't."

There was a long beat of silence, and he was pretty sure Joseph had fallen asleep again.

"...For what it's worth, I'm glad you did- whatever you did."

Joey smiled in his sleep.