What do you think the Seven have nightmares about?
Hey, thank you for the ask! I had a random, personal headcanon thing like this started, and it was great to get to dust it off and actually finish it!
Vasquez: Vasquez’s nightmares usually include feelings of being pursued, while at the same time, he’s searching for something that he cannot find. He doesn’t dare look behind him. He can hear hounds and hoofbeats, and the shouts of men who would make a trophy out of him. Occasionally, the people chasing him are the members of gangs he used to run with. Sometimes his horse is lame. He can never find a place to hide. Sometimes he finds himself in the town he used to live in, and is denied sanctuary by his family. On waking, he’s not sure what was so terrifying about the dream in the first place, but he feels scared and miserable…and sad.
Billy: The dreams that rattle Billy the most are the ones in which he is ineffectual in tasks he’s very good at. Sometimes his knives are missing from their sheaths, or the blades are so dull, they don’t cut anything. Any punches he lands have no effect on his enemies. Sometimes there is something preventing him from helping Goodnight. His dreamscapes vary. Sometimes he’s on a ship. Sometimes he’s in some deplorable camp full of railway workers. When he wakes, he quickly calms himself, though the aggravation of having been so unnerved in the first place sticks with him. They are, after all, just dreams.
Sam: Sam dreams of war and slavery. His family, and the ruin that used to be his farm. Sometimes, in his dreams, Sam is after a bounty that’s been eluding him for too long; someone who is and is not Bart Bogue. Then there’s the woods. Sam’s instincts scream at him not to enter, but going around will make him lose precsious time. The farther he goes, the thicker the forest becomes; the more the trees seem to crowd him. They groan and creak, and that plaintive noise reminds Sam of the sound a rope makes when it has been pulled taut. Sam keeps going and he finds it more difficult to breathe. He always wakes up before he makes it out of the woods.
Goodnight: On the worst nights, Goody’s unconscious mind is a jumble of any number of horrible things. War, not being able to recognize his own reflection. There are nights he dreams he can’t find his targets in his rifle’s crosshairs when it’s imperative that he do so. Then there’s the owl. That’s as close to describing the thing that haunts his dreams. It has talons, and it shrieks. Goodnight can hear its wings, though he doesn’t think owls’ wings make sound when they’re in flight. It’s predatory. It’s an ill omen. He can smell rot, and the owl’s voice becomes the cries of dying men. His voice intermingles with theirs as he screams himself awake.
Red Harvest: After nightmares, Red wakes from quietly, tears hot on his face. He chokes back a sob as he looks at the rest of camp, hoping no one has seen the result of his nightmare. He won’t sleep the rest of the night. Anything to avoid reliving images of disease sweeping away his people like a cruel tide, or or being crowded onto reservations. Those things are usually mixed with themes of being completely, and hopelessly lost, or with being unrecognizable to his people upon returning to them. And climbing. There are hills in his dreams. Hills that no matter how hard he climbs, or digs in with his fingers, he can’t seem to surmount them.
Jack Horne: Jack becomes a monster in his most vivid nightmares. He becomes a vicious, destructive force, devoid of compunction or mercy…and he knows that he’s been that thing before. Or something very close to it. He can’t stop all the heartbreak, and rage, and violence. He damns himself over and over again with every brutal act, and somehow his family has seen all of it. He wakes up with hurt in his heart and the overwhelming feeling of shame and guilt. The loss of his family eats at him, and he he feels worse yet when there’s a part of him that recognizes he’s grateful his family never saw what he became.
Josh: The war isn’t excluded from Josh’s nightmares, but there’s one aside from that that gets under his skin. He often finds himself back in a brothel that was familiar to him in his youth. He’s in the too-crowded bar. Ethel, Maria, his cards…the things that are his are nowhere to be found. Alcohol sloshes in his gut, and he is painfully aware of the warm press of too many oily bodies. His eyes dart around for a way out, but all of the doors, except for the one leading into the blackness of the basement, are shut tight. Despite his best efforts, he ends up in the depths of the brothel. He can’t see, and he knows he’s not alone.
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