An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Gyro woke to the sound of a soft cry.
He sat up in the darkness, blanket falling off of him and the air mattress creaking as he peered up onto Fenton’s bed. He could make out the dark form of someone on the bed sitting up as well, their dark outline looming over him. “Gandra? Are you alright?”
Gandra swallowed. “Go back to sleep, screwloose.”
Gyro was all too familiar with this. He was intimately experienced with waking up terrified and alone.