Bloody hell. Jefferson hated nightmares.
It was kind of inevitable, he knew. After his mind had been put through the blender for fifteen years, after everything he'd done during that time, rough nights were the norm. He even knew that he deserved them, every horrible second of them, and he'd deserve so much worse, too.
He was lucky. He was blessed, even. Instead of what he'd deserve (probably to be taken down like the rabid animal as he had been for so long), he had David, his best friend, at his side. He had the farm where they'd retreated, haunting Jefferson with echoes of good memories. He had Grace, always up for a Skype call, even after they insisted she should go back and finish her studies instead of stalling them like he'd done for a semester after Jefferson was found. He had Emma, with her no-nonsense attitude, and Emma's son Henry. Though Jefferson kept his distance from him, not wanting to taint the boy with his darkness, not like Henry madr the keeping his distance part easy. He had Ruby, always just a phonecall away.
He had so much, and he deserved none of it, yet he clung to them like his life depended on it. It kind of did.
He was pretty sure he'd still be Wonderland's puppet assassin if not for David bringing him back, and he'd have killed himself after being found if not for these people.
But still. Nightmares from hell were rough.
He had been pacing in the living room for half an hour, steps almost soundless, and then he calmed down enough to go to the kitchen and make a hot drunk for himself. Tea. Tea gave him comfort. Tea reminded him of happier times, before everything turned to ash and dust, before Jefferson became the Mad Hatter.
He quietly padded to the corridor and sat down back against the wall next to David's room, knees up, mug balanced on top of them. A few nights ago, he'd found a pillow nailed to the floor in his usual spot, as quiet acknoqledgment of his habit to spend half of the nights here, on watch. And as a sign that his relative comfort was non-negotiable in David's eyes. It gave him another bit of peace, guarding his door knowing that David knew of his habit, making sure no one could harm his friend.
His dreams, his nightmares were just that. Dreams. Not reality.
And Jefferson would do his bloody best to keep it that way.
@ask-charming-david starter for you love 😊