Day 1: Dreams

Written for Cassian Andor Appreciation Week.

(Because deadlines are just suggestions, right?)

Day 1: Dreams

It wasn’t unusual for Bodhi to wake sobbing from a nightmare. Cassian could often tell which one it was without being told.

The insistent “I defected. I defected!” meant he was in Saw’s caves. If he started whimpering, it meant Saw had brought out Bor Gullet. Crying Stordan Tonc’s name usually meant Scarif, as did shouting the names of too many soldiers to get in, kriff it! before he had to take off, to avoid going down with the planet. Crying for his mother was self-explanatory – he hadn’t gotten leave to go to her funeral, had never gotten a chance to say goodbye. Depending on the tone, a repeated “I’m sorry!” could mean different nightmares. Rapid-fire, almost shrill repetitions, matched with quick, shallow breaths, usually meant something to do with life in the Imperial Army, while a slow, mournful tone meant remembering NiJedha, and how it fell.

No matter the nightmare, Cassian would hold Bodhi in his arms and whisper “I’m here,” until the sobbing ceased.

Sometimes, Bodhi would talk afterward, about the nightmare, or about whatever thoughts jumped through his jumbled mind, and Cassian would listen. Or sometimes he’d get up, and Cassian would wait while he paced the corridors until he tired himself out enough to lay down again. Sometimes he’d ask Cassian to talk to him, or even to sing. Cassian knew he had no voice for singing, but Bodhi found it soothing, and Cassian took satisfaction in that. Very rarely, Bodhi would be calm enough, or exhausted enough, to fall back asleep on his own.

After Bodhi fell back asleep, Cassian would close his eyes. He’d listen to the rhythmic in and out of Bodhi’s breath, feel the warmth of the body beside him, the weight of him in his arms. He’d concentrate on this moment, this warm, dark, safe moment, until his heart, too, was calm enough to let him rest. No matter how often Bodhi woke him with a nightmare, Cassian always slept better when Bodhi was in his arms.

Cassian got nightmares too, of course, but he didn’t like to wake Bodhi. Bodhi had made a near-complete recovery from Bor Gullet, but his mind still drifted sometimes, and he got confused easily when he was tired. So Cassian tried to shield him from unnecessary disturbances, and refused to become one himself.

Despite his best efforts, though, sometimes he would wake Bodhi with his sobbing. And Bodhi would hold him and whisper “I’m here,” until the sobbing would cease.

Cassian never talked about his nightmares. Not with Bodhi, nor with anyone else. Bodhi didn’t like it, but he respected Cassian’s boundaries. When it came up, he’d smile sadly and tell Cassian that he knew he’d talk when he was ready. And Cassian would avoid his eyes, knowing that day would never come. Because what he couldn’t tell Bodhi was this:

Bodhi never woke from Cassian’s nightmares.

Cassian had learned early on not to cry about the horrors he lived through, so why bother crying over horrors he only imagined? No, Cassian only cried when he dreamed about his family. His father’s smile or his papa’s laugh. His sister’s conspiratorial whisper when she told him things he was too young to know about, but she, at eight, understood completely. His grandparents, his aunts and his uncles, and oh so many cousins, celebrating a birthday, a promotion, or a wedding. In his dreams, he remembered his family, and he saw them, alive and intact and so happy, all together back on Fest.

And when he awoke, he remembered. And he sobbed.