Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything. PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, ETC, Full starter or pic prompt, drop it like it's hot Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with Tag and go!
"I'm gonna retire for the night- ping me when you need me, ok?" He's pretty sure Wash won't pull him to sleep, especially if he hunkers down in the chip where he's supposed to be and just...chills till the next round of tests. No need for adjustments when there aren't tests being run, no need to poke around curiously when it's not his head he's doing the poking in.
"Alright. I mean, you don't have to. Do you sleep?" He's pretty sure this was never covered in their training. There had been all sorts of stuff about combat improvements and the technical side and nothing really about the reality of having a tiny person living inside your brain. That seems like an oversight.
"Nah. I just retreat to my chip and do puzzles or something. Review footage, find places we can improve." Does he sleep? Sometimes he thinks he does but. AI don't sleep. Right? Right.
"AI don't sleep, dude. We don't have squishie bits that need rest. It's ok." It's life. Or. He thinks it's life, considering that this is a brand new assistance for him.
"Ping me when you need me, ok? See you on the other side." He recedes, like he said he would, that warm burr settling in the chip as he reviews what they've done so far, marked places where they could improve. Made himself comfy.
"Alright. Rest well..." He supposes. Or whatever York does anyway. It's an odd feeling, suddenly being alone in his head, but it's not quite as empty as it was before. He can still feel York , a warmth at the back of his skull.
He heads off towards the mess, aching from the day, but he feels pretty good.
It's all pretty normal till, well. Wash sleeps. Then York tries his hand at it because sleeping should be fine, right? Turn off his brain for a bit and drift and...it's easier than it should be, the drifting. Finds himself in a house with a lot of doors- not familiar but. Familiar to Wash, probably. Step by step and he loses the armor, settling into the more conscious sense of 'him' that he's got.
Jeans. Grifbll T- a face. Hair. Blue eyes that flick around till he opens a door and finds- well. Wash. Wherever he's dreaming whatever he dreams.
His dreams aren't always the greatest. He'd seen frontline action even before the project and anyone who'd been there has nightmares. But this one isn't that. There's a broken mirror, and blood and a Wash who looks disturbingly young to be so hard.
He blinks at York for a moment, frowning at the new element to his dream, before he shrugs off that skin and looks mostly like his waking self.
"I'm dreaming? I think." He shrugs and leans against the doorframe, lifting a hand to wave. AI shouldn't have faces, right? At least not so clearly defined ones. But he does and the air changes a little, going heavy with the weight of rain and an impending thunderstorm. "You look kinda rough there. Wanna talk about it?"
"I thought you didn't sleep." It was odd to see him here. He was confused where he was. Was he sleeping?
And York he realises after a moment, has a face. An actual human face. No armour. No projected light. He looks human. He shivers at the change in atmosphere and then finally looks down at himself, at the blood still spattered over him. "I... I had a bad dream."
"I don't. This is sort of- I dunno. Halfway booted? A resting state." The usual tinny tone to his voice is missing- leaving it warm and resonant and solid. There's no overall golden color, no glow. Just him with his skin and his eyes, pushing away to offer Wash a hand. "C'mon. This room's no fun, lemme take you somewhere better."
"You look real. I mean... you look human." Not like an AI at all. No glowing, no helmet. His voice is different when it isn't reverberating from the helmet speakers or from the inside of Wash's skull. He blinks at him for a moment and then takes his hand, letting York pull him up.
"Uh. Yeah?" That's weird, isn't it? It is. He frowns down at his hand, blinking at the skin tone. "Guess I think of myself as a real boy, huh?"
That should bother him more than it does. But. It doesn't bother him and he's too busy tugging Wash out of this fucked up room and into the hall. Step by step the setting changes- still a hall, still a house but- not Wash's. Something with hardwood floors and vague impressions of portraits on the walls. Somewhere with a back porch open to all the rumbling thunder and rain. "You like thunderstorms, Wash?"
"I don't mind it," Wash says quickly. "Just didn't expect it." He wasn't sure what he'd expected. Just not this, not the very human face looking back at him. He wonders if he'll even remember this later. It can't be real right?
He follows after York, holding tightly onto his hand as they leave his hazy nightmare and head somewhere different. Pictures on the walls, but what they actual depict isn't something that Wash can grasp. "Hm? I don't know. We didn't have them where I grew up."
"Weird." Where does this one come from, then? It's a memory that he can reach out and touch, the weight of the air, the rumble of the thunder. The sudden crackling cool in the wind as rain starts to fall. There's a swing on the porch and York tugs Wash over there, settling up- and without thinking about it? Tugging him into his arms.
Because he seems off balance and that's not fun. "Where did you grow up?"
Wash lets York pull him close. It just makes sense in that weird way that dreams sometimes do. He's still asleep. His nightmare had shaken him and comfort wouldn't be a bad thing. Or maybe he's just going nuts after not actually touching another person for months, except in medical.
The rain falls heavily, bouncing off the ground as it hits. "A small colony planet. Mostly rock and desert and mines."
"Then you're in for a treat." The wind's really going now, snapping up the long grass like a cracked whip. All cool air smelling of damp and green as the wall of rain starts advancing. Inevitable and unyielding and sharp with ozone, the sound rattling about the asphalt drive that winds through the yard.
There's a sharp scent in his nose, and the rain looks like one continuous sheet of water, not drops at all. Wash sucks in a breath, staring out at it. It doesn't feel like a dream right now.
Advancing until it overtakes the house- porch keeping them dry as the rain surrounds them on all sides. The whole world wiped away in a wall of water and sound. "See? not so bad."
Better than a broken mirror. York shifts enough to tuck his chin over Wash's shoulder, eyes slipping closed because this? Feels familiar. Feels right.
There's something electrifying about it. He gasps when it hits the building, a thunderous noise as the rain pelts off it. "It's pretty cool," he agrees, smiling slightly. He closes his eyes, leaning back against York's chest. It feels comfortable, comforting.
"You should see it in person. Sometimes the sky goes a little green- or all golden? And then it goes dark as the clouds come in thick." Like he's seen it before. Like he's lived it.
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Not that he ever had a head. What?
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He heads off towards the mess, aching from the day, but he feels pretty good.
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Jeans. Grifbll T- a face. Hair. Blue eyes that flick around till he opens a door and finds- well. Wash. Wherever he's dreaming whatever he dreams.
"Hey buddy."
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He blinks at York for a moment, frowning at the new element to his dream, before he shrugs off that skin and looks mostly like his waking self.
"York? What... what's going on?"
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And York he realises after a moment, has a face. An actual human face. No armour. No projected light. He looks human. He shivers at the change in atmosphere and then finally looks down at himself, at the blood still spattered over him. "I... I had a bad dream."
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"That would be good."
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That should bother him more than it does. But. It doesn't bother him and he's too busy tugging Wash out of this fucked up room and into the hall. Step by step the setting changes- still a hall, still a house but- not Wash's. Something with hardwood floors and vague impressions of portraits on the walls. Somewhere with a back porch open to all the rumbling thunder and rain. "You like thunderstorms, Wash?"
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He follows after York, holding tightly onto his hand as they leave his hazy nightmare and head somewhere different. Pictures on the walls, but what they actual depict isn't something that Wash can grasp. "Hm? I don't know. We didn't have them where I grew up."
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Because he seems off balance and that's not fun. "Where did you grow up?"
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The rain falls heavily, bouncing off the ground as it hits. "A small colony planet. Mostly rock and desert and mines."
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Better than a broken mirror. York shifts enough to tuck his chin over Wash's shoulder, eyes slipping closed because this? Feels familiar. Feels right.
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But he's never been, has he?
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