summary: waking up to an empty bed after a nightmare leaves you distraught. jack isn’t as far away as you think
cw: reader has a nightmare which includes the pretty graphic description of the death of a loved one, non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff
a/n: jack abbot, come save me pls
okay, so i wrote this in may, hated it, didn't scrap it. edited it today and decided to post it cause i have nothing else. nothing's finished. i'm a fraud :)
now playing: NFWMB – Hozier
Red and blue lights flash around you wildly, the colors bleeding into each other.
You don’t know anything except that you’re searching for him. He might be hurt or—or worse, but you don’t let yourself think about it. The sun shines too brightly as you run along the grey tarmac; it almost blinds you.
Your lips part to form his name, but not a single sound comes out.
Your lungs have forgotten how to work.
Every breath you draw tastes like ash. Your throat is so raw, it feels like swallowing glass shards.
Somewhere in your peripheral vision, you catch sight of the one thing you’ve been trying to avoid. You don’t want to look that way because you know what awaits you. But your eyes don’t obey you, the same way your lungs don’t.
You don’t see Jack on the ground. You see a body. His body.
The head doesn’t seem to fit onto the shoulders it belongs on; it is turned so far that your stomach revolts. You remember running your hands through those very same curls, now painted red instead of silver.
You fall to your knees right beside him, shaky hands reaching out but hesitating. He looks nothing like the man you wake up next to every day.
Just as the tips of your fingers brush his forehead, his eyes snap open. The second his pupils set on you, the whites around them streaked eerily red, you wake with a start.
There’s no oxygen for a few seconds, just pure, bitter fear.
It takes you a few moments to orient yourself.
You’re in Jack’s bed. His side is empty. It’s 7:42 am, and he is supposed to be home by now. Each realization deepens the pit in your stomach.
Just as in your dream, your lungs refuse to cooperate the second you notice his absence. You reach out, hands trembling as you touch his side of the bed—you hope that maybe you’ll feel some warmth that proves that he was here and just got up again. But the sheets couldn’t be colder.
If you weren’t lying down, your legs would have given out under you.
You push away the blanket; it tangles in between your ankles as you try to kick yourself free of it. Panic runs through your veins too quickly to keep up with it, and your instincts are screaming—something is utterly wrong.
Once you finally manage to stand, you rip open the curtains and take another look at the bed. But Jack hasn’t appeared out of thin air as you had hoped. The bedroom remains empty, save for you and your labored breath.
The sound of your blood pumping through your ears almost drowns out the quiet drizzle coming from the bathroom—almost.
Between the heavy thumps, you hear the echoes of movement. The faucet squeaks, a bottle opens and closes again.
You rush to the door, rip it open, and step into the steam-filled room.
The shower runs steadily, warm enough to fog up the mirror. The screaming ache in your chest dies down the moment your eyes land on Jack’s back. He sits on the shower chair, his prosthetic leaning against the tiled wall behind the sink.
Hundreds of droplets cascade down his broad shoulders, kissing each freckle individually.
Your heart takes over the decision-making while your mind is still trying to comprehend that Jack is safe. With three large steps, you cross the distance and step into the shower, your pajamas getting drenched instantly. Your hands find him before your mind does—gripping at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can reach. Jack jumps slightly at the contact, a startled exhale falling from his lips.
“Angel? Jesus, you scared me,” he gasps.
As he turns to look at you, his brows draw together. “What happened? What’s wrong?” he asks, concern clinging to his voice.
“Nothing,” you whisper. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re okay.”
Slowly, you drop to your knees as relief turns into devotion. It feels like you’re getting ready to pray as you rest your forehead on his left leg, your hands folded in your lap.
Jack watches you for a second, confusion lingering in his eyes—a second passes. The only thing you concentrate on is the sound of his breathing. It steadies you, not enough that you can fully calm down, but enough for you to get enough oxygen into your own system to function.
“Easy,” he whispers.
His hand comes to rest on the back of your head, threading softly through your hair.
“What happened, baby?” he murmurs. “Talk to me. What are you doing, hm? You’re getting drenched.”
You’re quiet for a moment before the accusation spills out of you.
“You died.”
“I’m right here,” he replies, his expression serious. “I’m not dead.”
He’s not making fun of you—the worry in his eyes is genuine. As he reaches behind him to turn off the shower, your gaze snaps upwards.
“No, wait,” you plead. “Just… just a second. Please.”
He stops moving instantly and reaches for you instead. Gently, he pulls you up by your upper arm, away from your place at his feet.
“Let me get you a towel,” he offers, but you shake your head inconsolably.
“No.” You sound like a child begging to stay up a little past your bedtime. “Just let me… don’t- don’t leave me alone.”
Jack simply nods. He doesn’t protest; he doesn’t complain. His hands snake around your waist, pulling you towards him onto the shower chair. You’re scared to hurt him as you sit down on his lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.
“It’s okay, angel,” he says. “You had a nightmare, remember? You’re fine. I’m fine.”
He cradles you against his chest, where you fit perfectly. Tucked away into the crook of his neck, you listen to the water fall while he cups the base of your skull.
“Say it for me, please,” he instructs gently. “You had a nightmare.”
You take a deep breath before you pull away far enough to look into his eyes.
“I had a nightmare. You’re okay. I’m okay.”
Jack nods softly. His chest rises against yours, forcing you to feel the rhythm of the system that keeps him alive, keeps him by your side. Over time, the frantic beat of your heart slows down to match the speed of his, and your breathing evens out.
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