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You roll over in bed, snuggling deeper into the mound of blankets and searching for sleep. But the sound of the metal door sliding open has your eyes fluttering, the cold stinging your nose as he shuffles inside. You sigh into the darkness, focusing on the figure now stood at the end of the bed; faint light illuminating his face streaked with tears.
“Nightmares again, Caboose?”
The young man nods. A small whimper escapes his lips as he jams a fist against his eyes, crying softly into his palm. Cloaked in his blanket, his bright blue eyes don’t leave the sympathy oozing from your expression as you sit up. The floor nips at your toes despite the rugs you’d tosses across the metal sheeting, cursing the men who designed the living quarters. The nights were always painfully cold.
Standing up and slipping your feet into slippers, you smile at Caboose, collecting your own blanket, fabric pooling to the floor. Opening your arms he curls in, the tall man becoming a tiny child as a tremble of sobs burrow into your shoulder. Your hands work his back, rubbing soothing circles as tentative hums resonate between your lips, fingers brushing back the mess of dark curls tumbling over his eyes.
Clinging to you, the back of your shirt tugs tight in his fingers, Caboose holding on like you were the only thing that existed. His shoulders hunch beneath the blanket; torment aching in his wails as tears soak your collar. Your heart pounds, chest heavy as you listen to his sobs. Broken and lost as he struggles, trapped in a world that had haunted him every night for months.
You wish you could take away the pain, somehow steal the agony wracking through his body. All you’ve ever wanted to do is shield him, protect a man who deserves nothing but joy; but you can’t. It’s your job to pick up the pieces, to bring him back to a place of warmth and love. And it was time to clock in.
Between your murmurs, his tears begin to slow until only soft sniffles remain. Tilting his chin, you smile gentling into his warm eyes, their depths tracing your features. In the moonlight his bags are darkened, the curve of his jaw and cut of his cheek produce elongated shadows that act like bruises. Purples bloom across his childlike innocence, plunging him into a state you found so incredibly familiar.
“You ready for another adventure?”
At your words he brightens. Colour returns to his cheeks and burns your fingertips. Taking your hand in his, he nods eagerly, excitement washing away the fear and anguish that had gripped him moments before.
“I’m the best at adventuring,” he states, letting you lead him from your room and into the hallway, “even in the scary places.”
“You’re the head adventurer,” you encourage, tracing through the darkness of the base. Shoes whispering against the metal as you pass the others’ doors locked tight, gentle snores slipping across the sheets. Caboose presses a finger to his lips, noisily forcing a ‘shhh’ as you try to suppress your giggles.
“Well then,” you start, finally pulling into the mess hall and flicking on the lights, blinded by the intense glare. “Are you ready for the mission?”
He straightens, blanket still tight around his body, his hands forming fists against his waist. “I was born ready.”
“Are you sure? It could be dangerous,” you prompt, approaching him and taking the fabric, tying it like a cape around his neck. He does the same to you, fingers lingering against your jaw, a warm thumb tracing the angles.
“I’m not afraid of anything.” He’s certain, foolish bravery stretching a goofy grin across his face, memories of the nightmare quickly dissipating. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.”
“But can you protect me from the lava?” In a smooth bound you leap up, landing on one of the many tables littering the hall. Caboose panics before scampering after you, making sure his cape wasn’t dipping into the magma.
“There’s a fresh batch of cookie in the kitchen,” you inform, jumping to the next table, pretending to wobble, “and they’re in danger.” He follows your lead, moving forward, his long limbs always seeming confused. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you look to him, unable to hold back the grin as he continues to launch between the tables, small noises of effort muttered with childlike glee. “Only you can save them, Caboose.”
He glances back as you hurtle forward, metal scraping against metal with each small movement. Caboose is ahead of you, only a few tables away from the entrance to the kitchen, eyes alight and brimming with joy.
His face twists in terror as he glances back, mouth hanging agape to stir concern inside your chest. “No,” he whispers, eyes fixated behind you. Turning, you let out a relieved sigh, Agent Washington standing in the doorway with accusations in his eyes.
“What’re you doing?” he asks, tone telling you that he really didn’t want to know. You shrug, motioning to Caboose as he continues to be dramatic.
“Wash, quickly,” Caboose gestures to the closes table, urging him to hurry. “The floor is lava, you’ll burn up.”
“I’m not getting involved; I just wanted a snack–”
“You’ll die, Wash!” Caboose wails, and David releases a rattling sigh, eyes catching yours as they glint encouragingly.
“Oh no,” he jokes flatly, eyes tired and blond hair a mess as a hand runs through it, “I’m dying. You’ll have to go on without me.”
“David,” you scold, and he sighs with his shoulders, clearing his throat. Sinking to his knees, Washington makes his best death noise, holding up a hand as he’s engulfed in the lava; Caboose’s laments ringing out.
“Oh no, I’ve made the most foolish blunder. Go on without me, Caboose the great. Save a cookie for my grave.” His eyes flash to you, the corner of his lips tugging upwards when he sees you’re satisfied, revelling in the light of your face. Seeing you so joyful and so far along the road of recovery filled him with hope. He never thought Freelancer’s could have a chance, but you’d proved otherwise.
He watches as his friends’ giggle, Caboose holding out a hand for you to leap, your bodies clattering together. “Don’t worry,” claims Caboose heroically, holding you close, dipping you over the edge the way he’d seen in movies. “I’ll save you.”
“Oh, Caboose the great,” you call, letting him lift you before swinging onto his back, arms winding around his neck, “you are truly the bravest adventurer.”
“And the best,” interjects Washington. Caboose whips round and yelps with glee, David’s eyes widening when he realises he’s gotten too involved.
“Washington, you are alive!”
“No, I mean no I’m not. Err, I’m a ghost. Boo.”
“Come, ghost, we must save the cookies.”
“Fine,” grumbles Washington half heartedly, clambering onto the benches, a smile playing around his lips.
You cling to Caboose, his cheek nuzzling into your arm until he launches into the kitchen, shrieks of delight bubbling from your chest as the smell of cookies fills the air.