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!
"Shhh, shh. It's me. Wash? Buddy?" His hands are gentle against Wash's shoulders, the sound of his helmet clattering to the floor almost unbearably loud, a crackling counterpoint to the shallow, not quite panicked breaths from one of them. Both of them? Who knows.
"Nope. Feel pretty alive, honestly, and a little freaked out. It took awhile to get any idea of where they were keeping you- I'm sorry." He shouldn't have left Wash on the ship in the first place.
"No. I'm not hearing this. You're not real. I'm not going to do this again." How many times has he dreamed or hallucinated that someone came for him, only for them to vanish, to leave him again with the crushing realisation that he was alone.
"I- okay. Just sit tight, alright Wash? I'm gonna get us somewhere safe." He can promise that much. Sure he didn't think he'd actually MAKE IT this far in the plan but he'd planned for the next part.
What else is he going to do? He's been sitting tight for a long time. There's nothing else to do. He pulls away from York, drawing his knees up to his chest, eyes still tightly shut.
"You're not real. Not real. Not again. Just leave me alone."
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"It's just me."
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"You're dead," he says quietly. York was dead. All of them were. It's just him/ They'd told him.
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"No. I'm not hearing this. You're not real. I'm not going to do this again." How many times has he dreamed or hallucinated that someone came for him, only for them to vanish, to leave him again with the crushing realisation that he was alone.
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And the next.
Running and hiding, that was the plan.
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"You're not real. Not real. Not again. Just leave me alone."