Leo stumbles into the room blood covering the front of him, and a dozen holes riddle his torso. He chokes out Rumlow's name, before collapsing to the floor and a pool of red forming beneath him. But then suddenly the room is filled with blood. Bodies. His whole team laying dead around him, and suddenly Rumlow himself is coated in blood. The bodies look at him with soulless eyes before they start to speak to him. "Was it worth it?" "What did they cost?" "Is the cause worth all of this?" "You'll die alone now." "Alone. With nothing in a hail or fire..." The dream ends and Leo is snoring peacefully beside Brock. Hand over his bandages. But alive. [ideas from hell.]
The nightmares were getting bad again…
Brock shot bolt upright in a cold panic, heart thudding in his ears as he scrabbled for the gun he always kept close.
Instead his hands found a body- Another jolt of panic shot through him before he realized the body was warm, alive. He huffed softly, slowly coming up out of the disorienting haze of his half-awake state.
Rumlow laid a hand over Leo’s bandaged chest, just wanting to feel the soft tide and fall of the other’s breaths as he snored softly next to him.
Peaceful… Brock was jealous, honestly— He hadn’t had a peaceful nights rest in… decades. Before everything went to shit it was dreams of dead eyes and cold steel, lightning and frost; now it was of fire and darkness.
Dreaming of Strike Team Alpha wasn’t new, either- But the blood was. He shook off the dream, whisking away the suffocating scent of blood and smoke and char as he settled back into the bed— Wrapping an arm loosely over the other’s sleeping form.
