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â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
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Summary: Echo wakes in a panic. Thankfully someone is there to soothe his racing thoughts.
Warnings: discussion of panic, brief mention of blood.
Based off of this post I really couldnât help but write something for it.
@saturn-sends-hugs this is a gift for you, friend <3
Echo woke with a gasp, a gut punch, almost a garble. For a second he thought blood was in his throat, skin burning as flame licked him, a scream right on the edge of his tongue. Then the rumbling of a shipâs engine reminded him of where he was. The Marauder. Clone Force 99. Safe. But why didnât he feel like it? With a grunt Echo pulled himself up, hammock swinging precariously while his lungs tried to pump air through him. The dreams wouldnât leave him be no matter how hard he tried. Days of waking up near panic left him fatigued, wanting for sleep but rarely letting it take him. Echo swung his legs out of the hammock and dropped onto the floor. He grabbing the side of one of the bunks for balance and tried to steady his heartbeat. Everyone else should be asleep - Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair all dozing peacefully - but Echo needed something. What that something was he wasnât sure but he had to get out of that hammock. He couldnât go to the cockpit, not while Tech was on watch. Maybe he could switch with him, take over the night watch so he could stay awake. Anything to keep those images away. Anything to make the night pass by without his heart beating out of his chest.
âGonna keep standing there or are you going to sit down before you topple over?â Without meaning to Echo flinched. Crosshair was awake - apparently - and was staring at him passively. He was sitting on a lower bunk, back against the wall with some sort of flimsi pad in his lap, a pencil held between his fingers. How did Echo not notice him?
Echo shook his head. âNo, Iâm-â He took a second to swallow the rough feeling in his throat but nearly choked on it. Crosshairâs eyes flickered away from him and to the book in his hand.
âSit down before you break something. I wonât be peeling you off the floor when you pass out.â Crosshair said, voice low. Echo bristled at the insinuation but couldnât quite argue. His head was starting to feel light and that tight ball of panic hadnât lessened in his chest. After a few gulps of air Echo moved until he could sit on the edge of the bottom bunk, scooting back until he was mimicking Crosshairâs position, head tilted back against the wall.
Silence spread between them and Echoâs mind spun. Sitting was a bad idea. Nothing to distract him meant more racing thoughts and those thoughts meant more constriction in his lungs, and if he couldnât breathe then what was he supposed to-
âLook,â Crosshair urged with a tap of his pencil on the page. Another instruction didnât come, instead he waited while Echo blinked the stinging emotion out of his eyes and tilted his head until he could see what was being pointed out to him. On the page was the beginning stages of what looked like their ship. There were a few spots where it was clear Crosshair had to erase and redraw but the lines were strong and confident, details already littering the page. The entire drawing was about half way done but he wasnât sure if Crosshair liked to do more than sketch. Crosshair used his pencil to trace along lines heâd already created, pointing out what he wanted. âItâs more cramped than Iâd like it to be but I finally got the whole ship to fit on one page. See, thereâs the window to the cockpit and the partial view of the gunnerâs mount.â He put the lead to paper again and started adding some details to the wings. A few lines were added to detail the little dent on the wing facing them. Echo took in a deep breath in time with the pencil and let it out, feeling the ache in his gut lessen.
Echo pointed to the page with his scomp. âIt looks good. Donât forget to add the paint splatter from Wreckerâs mishap.â His voice came out scratchy, as if sandpaper was wrapped around his throat, but Crosshair paid it no mind. He hummed, adding the outline for the splatter, then moving on to shade in some of the underside. Echo watched and his fear drifted by. There was something hypnotizing about that pencil, the way it sounded as it scratched along the paper. The panic gave way to frustration and Echo had to wrap his arms around himself to attempt to soothe it away. Heâd inserted himself without thinking enough about it and now he was intruding, already making suggestions, why couldnât he just-
Crosshair let out a short laugh, shaking his head. âYour brain runs as much as your mouth, huh?â He asked. Rude. Echo rolled his eyes, looking away.
âIâm sorry. It was justâŚâ The dreams. He should go back to bed. No, not back to bed. Going back to bed would be a bad idea. He should⌠he should leave Crosshair alone at least, do something else.
âNo need to spill your guts.â Crosshair stretched, shifting until his leg was resting firmly against Echoâs. âNot yet, anyway.â Echo swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and tried to focus on the constant pressure instead. Crosshair went back to drawing confident lines on the page, tipping the book towards Echo to ask about how it looked every so often. It was kind of odd, sitting in the dim light watching Crosshair draw a damn good sketch of their ship, but that feeling was less discomfort and more adjustment. He didnât close his eyes again, not that night, but he considered it when fatigue yanked at his bones once more. He preferred to be up anyway, watching, whispering suggestions, anything to keep his thoughts from spiraling back to the darkness that lined them.