ashenscipher | (no subject)

Who: Bitterblue and Po
What: dealing with nightmares
Rating/Warnings: Maybe some warning for mentions of past abuse

The dreams that were made of real memories were terrible. Dreams that her mind conjured up from ideas and imagined fears were awful of course; but, in the end, much more easily dismissed, because they were not real. They had not happened.

The dreams she woke up from that were rediscovered memories were the worst of all. Like bubbles trapped, forgotten in the holes her father left in her mind, finally floating free to burst their heart breaking truth on her consciousness. She never knew when a memory would come back to her, but every time, even in sleep, was like a punch to her stomach.

This was one of those nights.

Bitterblue woke up crying, and when she realized it was more than just a dream, she cried harder. Her father was dead these almost ten years and yet he still managed to cling to the life struggling to rebuild the world upon the unsettling foundation of the ashes of his memory.

All Bitterblue could think was Why? A simple question with no definable answer.

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Bitterblue was already up at her wash station, to splash water on her face in an attempt to push aside the tears. But when she heard the knock on the door and the voice behind it, she abandoned her futile pursuits, and went immediately to the door.

She threw the door open and barreled into her cousin, wrapping her arms tight around him.

"Oh Po," was all she could sob at first.

But it was good, grounding, to receive the comfort of a friend. Her tears slowed down, and she could breathe again, could speak again.

"I'm sorry to have woken you." She assumed, she didn't know he'd already been up. "You should be sleeping for your travels tomorrow."

Po wrapped his arms tightly around his shaking cousin. She was still so small, even as an adult; so small that she reminded him forcibly of the first time they met. Bitterblue had been shaking then too, from both cold and terror. She had not been crying, not even at the news that her mother was dead, for the grief was still so new as to turn her numb. He'd hugged her on that day too, and then tipped her over his shoulder and fled with her from her father and his mesmerized soldiers. Now he held her against him once again, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into her back. He could feel her rapid pulse and hear her gasping breaths.

"You didn't wake me," he assured her in a quiet voice. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

Bitterblue was finding it easier to breathe again. Her cousin's hug grounded her, like all such hugs from her friends. Something about the connection to another person soothed away her fears, especially the one that was always sitting in the back of her mind, the one that said her world was not real. The legacy of her father's abuses.

No, this was real, this moment. Po, her room, she was real.

The dream that was a memory was real as well, but it seemed less terrifying now that Po was here.

She nodded against Po's shoulder. "Yes. But it wasn't just a nightmare, it was a real memory."

One advantage of a mind-reading Grace was knowing when he was being comforting or helpful to his friends. Po could feel clearly that his hug and his words were grounding his cousin; it was important that he keep hugging her until she was feeling less frightened and that he keep talking to her until she could work through what had given her such fright. Bitterblue, as one of the very few people who knew of his Grace, had the option to simply send all of her thoughts directly to his mind and unburden herself without even having to speak. But sometimes, that wasn't necessary; someties, speaking was an important part of processing the fear.

"A memory," he echoed quietly back at his cousin. "Of Leck? Would you like to tell me, Beetle?"

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Eek! I'm sorry for the late reply!