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There was red everywhere he looked.
The red heat of flames at their back, scorching right through the linen of his shirt; flickering red light that bounced off shrapnel and glass scattered everywhere; the neon red glow of a single bulb overhead, still swinging wildly from the blast; painted red hands, shaking as they attempted to staunch the flow of blood; the princess in his arms, as red as their name.
The world burned red and Tennant burned with it, knowing anything that remained he would burn down too.
Rose, he whispered, shaking her a little. Rosie, look at me.
She didn’t open her eyes. The others lay motionless around them and the heavy sinking in his chest sank deeper; he tried to rub life back into Rose’s fingers but their skin had always been colder than his and now he was sure something inside him had died, too.
When he tried shouting for help his voice would not rise above a hoarse whisper and the chill terror of it nearly made their heart stop altogether. Rosie, please wake up, don’t leave me here but now he wasn’t convinced he was making any sound at all so Tennant just screamed silently, forehead bowed against Rose’s still chest.
He woke without gasping.
It took several seconds for air to return to their lungs; it did so agonisingly slowly, the remnants of the nightmare holding them in paralysis for a few moments longer. Tennant used the feeling of cold stone beneath him to drag himself further into consciousness until he felt solid again. He checked his hands just to be sure: there was no blood, but a slight tremor betrayed the fear that still quickened his heartbeat.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Chaser’s bored voice said somewhere to his left. “Take the next watch, yeah?”
Tennant Crowcolt grunted irritably as he sat up and that answer seemed satisfactory enough. His knee brushed the sleeping figure curled beside him and he paused as Rose stirred, mumbling something soft and incoherent. The tiefling felt their eyes glow a little in the darkness as he trained his gaze upon the rise and fall of her shoulders, burning the image of it into his brain. You can’t protect her, a voice inside their head taunted. You know you can’t.
Just die trying, he thought to himself. They wondered what Rose would think if she knew he’d dreamed of her death the past three nights, ever since their deadly fight in the ghost-filled house. The memory of firing a bullet into her leg made him wince automatically and he shifted a little closer to her for warmth, obviously.
As the night stretched on Tennant’s thoughts drifted, running in little circles of worry and guilt and anger. He thought about his home, how he’d stalked the hallways like a caged animal when all he’d really been was a brat, painfully ignorant to what real imprisonment felt like. He remembered how his sisters had always begged letters off him when he went travelling and what he’d give to send them just a note now. His mothers would be frantic; once upon a time this thought may have given some kind of petty satisfaction, but now Tennant just felt ashamed. Reva had never allowed them to watch the Ant Farm broadcast out of principle, but surely someone had notified them of Tennant’s whereabouts by now. He wondered absently if they were watching. A silky voice reminded him: Tell Rose the Prince is watching , and as if on cue the glitter whirred past and Tennant glowered at it, deftly flipping the camera off in a very Chaser-like fashion. It flew away.
Occasionally a distant roar or scream would pull him sharply from his self-indulgent brooding and each time Tennant’s gaze would jump protectively to Rose and he’d suppress an eye-roll at himself. The gunslinger had long stopped arguing with himself over whether any feelings for the princess still lingered, not when every other thought or action betrayed them so clearly. If Rose had caught wind of his pining, she hadn’t revealed herself. Thank the skies–– his ego could only handle so much rejection .
“––time in the world,” Rose sighed next to him and Tennant frowned, only just catching the last part of their sleep talking. It pulled a small smile from him as he peered over at her, hoping to catch wind of something he could use to tease her with later. But the smile quickly fell from Tennant’s face; Rose’s cheeks were wet with tears, their chest rose and fell in a painful fashion. Automatically their hand went to her arm.
“Rose?”
She was cold. There was a sharp frown line between her brows that tugged at something in his chest––somewhere, some part of Tennant wished he could pull her closer against him and kiss it away.
“Rose.”
She flinched violently and so did he, almost snatching his hand back. Rose blinked a couple times, reorienting herself in this new nightmare of theirs. “Hey, s’alright,” he said in a low voice. She met his eye and he held her gaze firmly. I’m here . “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just–– you’re crying.”
Rose swiped at her face almost angrily and Tennant dropped his gaze. The glitter had no such grace; he heard the whirr of it close by and heavily considered shooting it.
“Sorry,” Rose finally spoke, voice strained with emotion. “I uh–– just, sorry.”
Tennant frowned, considered asking her about the nightmare, then thought better of it. He wouldn’t be telling her about his. “You don’t need to apologise,” they said instead, squeezing her shoulder a little before letting go. He swallowed and felt a lump in his throat. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you, for looking out.”
He nodded wordlessly. He’d done little else other than look at her, lately. There was a comforting melancholy to unrequited love that was more bearable than the storm of other emotions that accompanied the Ant Farm: terror and isolation and exhaustion. He returned to thoughts of her again and again, despite their sting, because the alternatives were far more terrible. If the worst Rose can do is not love me, Tennant thought, the sight of her lifeless body too-fresh in his mind, that’s fine by me.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. “S’just a dream, Rosie.”
Their back was to him but Tennant could still hear pained breathing, though Rose did their best to hide it. His palm hovered inches above her head, reaching to stroke her hair, but he sighed and pulled it away.
There was melancholy, and there was asking for it.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he heard Rose reply. “Just a dream.”
Tennant tried not to think about how the worst nightmares were those experienced when awake.