saltandlimes:

no more dreaming of the dead

Hux runs one hand over his face, sitting bolt upright in his bed and trying to brush sweaty hair off his forehead. His shoulders are clammy, and his back aches, as though he’s spent the night flat on the deck, instead of in his own soft bed. He blinks, trying to banish the cobwebs of his dreams from his mind.

He’d seen Phasma there. She’d glared at him, every inch of the young scavenger she’d been when they’d first met. Her voice had been high and panicked as she called out to him, the mask of her anger falling away as she’d tried desperately to reach him. I died for you, she’d said. I lived my entire life for you, killed for you, fought for you, and then I died for you. Why didn’t you save me?

Hux had tried to go to her in his dream, running across a wide open plain, but she’d disappeared into the distance, vanishing into a storm of dust and wind, as Brendol’s laughter washed over Hux from behind. He’d turned then, and his father’s pursed lips and beady eyes had knocked the wind out of him. It’s your fault, Brendol had said. I knew you’d fail. You could have been Supreme Leader, and look at what you are instead. A pet, kept on a leash, a figurehead to the troops.

I’m not, Hux had tried to protest, but Brendol had only laughed, his voice washing over him. Hux had woken then, and now he sits in a cold sweat, trying to shake away his dreams.

The sound of the sonic fades away, and Hux straightens his shoulders. By the time Ren walks back into the room, he’s managed to brush his hair back, and square his soft sleep shirt. He purses his lips, hoping to look annoyed.

Ren stops in the middle of the room, in only his leggings, staring at Hux. Then he comes over, moving softly across the room as he only does this early in the morning. He slides onto the bed next to Hux, one hand coming to rest on Hux’s back and the other threading through Hux’s wet hair. Hux grimaces. It must feel disgusting. Ren doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“Another nightmare?” he asks.

“No,” Hux says flatly. “Nothing like that.”

“I can feel it when you lie.” Ren shuffles around until he’s sitting behind Hux, his legs spread and Hux cradled between them.

“I’m not lying about it,” Hux says. “It was just a dream. It’s no more than I deserve.”

“What does that mean?” Ren asks, his fingers clenching in Hux’s hair and tugging a few strands tight enough that Hux grimaces. Ren makes a soft noise and relaxes his hand, petting the place he hurt.

“I dreamt about Phasma,” Hux admits in a small voice. “And my father.”

“No more dreaming of the dead, Hux. They’re gone. They don’t matter. They’re nothing to you,” Ren says flatly.

“Phasma mattered,” Hux protests. “Phasma matters. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Ren wraps an arm around Hux’s waist, pulling Hux back against him and nuzzling into Hux’s throat. “I wish I didn’t. The Force knows that I wish I didn’t understand. But I do, Hux. I do. Only… no more. I can’t do this any more, can’t feel this much.”

“Neither can I,” Hux admits, and tears finally cover his cheeks.

[The Fic I’ll Never Write: Give a Title and a Ship, Get a Ficlet]