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It’s not easy to sleep on the floor of a diner in the middle of the desert, y’know.
Most nights, Ghoul and Kobra are wound so closely into each other that it’s almost impossible to tell which lump under the blankets is who. Generally speaking, Ghoul prefers to be the one holding Kobra. He likes the feeling of being able to keep him safe, to protect him from harm. He used to sleep with one arm fixed tightly over Kobra’s waist and the other under his pillow, scarred fingers tightly gripping onto his ray gun. Just in case. Over time, though, he’s started to notice that it’s got much easier to sleep with both arms wrapped around Kobra, his ray gun on the floor next to his slightly pathetic excuse for a bed. It seems pretty convenient that Kobra likes to be held, especially with Ghoul’s excessive need to protect him even when they’re safe (”You can never be too careful, Kobes,” he’d whisper, Never know when we’re gonna be ambushed by Dracs). He likes to tuck himself against Ghoul’s chest, his head slotting into the crook of his neck like a damn jigsaw. (There’s been plenty of mornings where Party comes in to wake them up and they’re what has been affectionately named as ‘Human-Pretzeling’ by Jet Star, which usually earns them a loud Jet, they’re doing it again! from a rather exasperated Party Poison.)
Usually, Ghoul can sleep through the whole night provided that Kobra is there with him, hands in his hair or on the small of his back or snaked up his shirt for extra warmth; it’s surprising how cold it gets overnight in the desert, especially seeing as Ghoul’s room is an old supply room with the supplies removed and a stolen, greasy mattress cramped onto the floor instead.
Ghoul wakes up to a pitch black room. He’s fucking freezing.
“Kobra?” He whispers into the dark room in the hopes of a response. No reply, just his own voice reverberating off the bland walls. He really needs to trade for some more Mad Gear posters on his next supply run. Ghoul snatches his flashlight from underneath the corner of his pillow and shines it around the room. No sign of Kobra Kid. Shit. The bedsheets are still warm when he blindly feels for traces of something, anything with him in the covers, so wherever Kobra’s gone, whatever has happened to him, he can’t have been gone long.
Ghoul sits bolt upright and fumbles around for his ray gun amongst the clutter on the floor. It takes a few moments of ghosting his fingers over all the wrong stuff - his mask, a padlocked box of stolen trinkets from various zones, empty tins, a screwdriver, dirty clothes, a stolen energy drink - before he eventually locates his ray gun in the other and grips it tightly, shaking slightly as he stands. (In retrospect, it would’ve been far more logical to use the flashlight to look for the blaster, but you can’t blame his exhausted brain for a slight mistake that doesn’t really matter much now anyway.) He pushes the door open with his shoulder while staying as quiet as possible; he doesn’t want to chance getting blasted by Dracs at two in the morning.
“Kobra?” No reply again. He steps further into the room, using his flashlight to scan the walls. It looks pretty empty aside from the chairs and tables shoved up against the walls, strewn with empty Power Pup tins and old mission plans and scrapped blueprints for various trinkets and gadgets that Ghoul’s been tinkering with. The sound of laboured breathing and quiet sobs drags his attention down to the floor by one of the booths in the corner.
Kobra.
Ghoul drops his ray gun straight to the floor - he’s lucky it didn’t accidentally shoot - and rushes over to Kobra’s crumbled form on the ground. It’s a painfully familiar sight, but the fact it’s familiar means that he knows exactly what he needs to do. Kobra’s got his eyes squeezed shut, presumably, and his hands pressed tightly over his ears. He sinks to his knees in front of Kobra, tapping him gently on the top of his head and waiting for him to take his hands away from his ears. It could be seconds or minutes or an hour before he’s ready to communicate, but Ghoul is prepared to wait however long it takes just as long as it means his Kobra will be okay in the end.
When he finally does take , Ghoul whispers a small “Can I touch?” and positions the flashlight facing away from the both of them immediately at the affirmative nod, despite how feeble it is. Hands are immediately everywhere they can reach, checking for any wounds (he’s all clear luckily, thank Destroya) and sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders, pushing down just firm enough to create the pressure that he knows calms him down so well.
“What’s goin’ on, love?” Kobra shakes his head. “Kobes, you gotta talk t’ me, sweetheart.” When there’s no response but another weak shake of Kobra’s head, Ghoul inches forward on his knees just a fraction and slides his hands from their position on Kobra’s shoulders and up to his face, cradling his jaw oh-so gently and tipping his head up to get a better look.
Once Kobra’s head is lifted enough for Ghoul to see his face in the dim light, the laboured breathing and the sobs all make sense. He looks like shit. His eyes are bloodshot and glossy and his whole face is shiny with tears. It looks like the knees of his pants are soaked with tears, too, and Ghoul notes that he didn’t even notice that Kobra went to bed with his jeans on earlier. There’s a gash high on his cheek from a mission a few days back, and the sight of it sends this odd pang right through Ghoul’s body like his blood is made of spikes.
He swipes his thumbs across his cheeks to try to dry his tears, but Kobra reaches up to cover Ghoul’s hands with his own, letting his eyes slip shut for just a few seconds. For a moment, Ghoul thinks he might have fallen asleep again (and what a miracle would that be), and then he pushes Ghoul’s hands away and lifts his own up, touching his middle and forefinger to his thumb once, and then moves both forefingers back and forth in front of his mouth before making a sad little whimpering sort of sound as his eyes brim with tears again.
‘No talking.’
“Is that just you or for both of us?” Kobra’s response is almost immediate, raising one finger, twisting his hand around, and then pointing at himself. ‘Only me.’ He drops his forehead back onto his knees. Okay, Kobra doesn’t wanna talk. That’s okay. Ghoul can work with that. “Alright, I think we can work with that. Haven’t got my hearin’ aids in, anyways, so this might make it easier.”
Kobra makes a loose thumbs-up shape and presses it to his chest, moving it in frantic circles as more tears escape down his cheeks and more sobs wrack his body.
“Oh, honey, it’s alright, you don’t you apologise for this,,” Ghoul takes Kobra’s hands in his, soothes his thumb over his knuckles, turns his hands over and kisses his palms, kisses the pads of his fingers just like Kobra does to him when he just can’t seem to breathe right. “Can you take a couple deep breaths with me?”
They both breathe in slowly (Ghoul acting as more of a guide for Kobra to follow), although Kobra’s breath is much shakier than Ghoul’s and he can’t hold it, just lets go of it in one big huff and screws his eyes tight shut like he does when he wants to punch something. It’s alright, he tells himself, just try again. And he does, and he holds it this time and he sees the proud smile on Ghoul’s face when he lets his breath go slowly. Thank Destroya they’ve both had plenty of practice in doing this. They eventually get Kobra’s breathing back to normal and his tears dried, and Ghoul pulls Kobra into his chest, arms around his shoulders and squeezing just enough to make him feel safe.
“You did so good, Kobra, m’so damn proud of you. Let’s get you t’ bed, yeah?” Kobra nods sleepily and leans his head against Ghoul’s shoulder, looping both arms around his neck and letting himself get hoisted up into a standing position. His body is far too exhausted to walk properly, so Ghoul wraps an arm around his waist and guides him back to bed with the elegance and politeness that his mom would’ve expected of him. It’s not like he remembers her or anything, but he’s pretty sure if she were here she’d want him to act like a gentleman.
“I didn’t do too bad for a zone pup, huh?” Ghoul grins, watching Kobra fight off his own as he makes a pinching motion with his hand near his mouth; ‘Shut up.’ “You love me.” Kobra giggles and kicks him in the back of the knee. He does sort of deserve it, really.
He eventually slips into bed next to Kobra and pulls him against him, caging him in with his arms because he knows he likes to feel protected like this. He also knows he’s going to get The Look from Party Poison in the morning, because that’s Party’s little brother and they’d go to the ends of the earth for him, damnit. After some manoeuvring, they both decide they're comfy enough and everything finally feels like it's softening around the edges.
“Goin’ on a supply run to Zone 3 tomorrow if you wanted t’ come with.” Ghoul says, twisting blonde hair around his finger. “It’ll jus’ be me an’ you if you want.”
Kobra makes a little humming sound and tilts his head up to look at Ghoul, just between his eyes where there’s a little raised scar from a clap with a Drac a couple months back. “‘S that where you trade stuff with that kid for the cool marbles?”
“That’s the one.”
“Shiny.” He mumbles, pressing his nose against the warmth of Ghoul’s neck, and for the first time that night, a small smile creeps across his face.
“You’ve had a long night by the looks of things, and you ain’t comin’ on this trip with me tomorrow if y’ ain’t slept, y’ hear me?” Kobra nods. “Good. Get some sleep, Kid, you need it.”
The last time they went on a supply run with a sleep deprived ‘Joy, Party had almost ended up face-first in a pile of scrap metal. Jet, being the hero that he is, had carried them back to the Trans-AM and laid them out across the backseat to sleep under Jet’s jacket even though it was a billion degrees outside. Nobody will ever let them live it down. Nobody’s allowed to go on a supply run without at least eight hours of sleep under their belt now, though, and Jet Star will make sure of it every single time. It’s not like you can fudge it and tell him you did, because he’ll know damn well that you’re lying. He’s like a human lie detector.
Kobra just hums, nestling his face even further into Ghoul and pressing one final kiss to tattooed skin, and Ghoul has to suppress the smallest of giggles when his lips tickle his neck as he speaks. “G’night, Ghoulie. Love you.”
“Love you too, Kid,” He presses a kiss to blonde hair and tightens his hold around his shoulders, tracing delicate patterns and spelling out secret love letters on his skin. He promised he’d never let anything get to him and he’s not planning on breaking his promise any time soon. “So much.”
It doesn’t take long for Ghoul to hum Kobra to sleep, and it doesn’t take long for him to follow after, really. The sheer exhaustion of the whole debacle well and truly took his last bits of energy, and it’s not exactly hard to fall asleep when he’s got the prettiest looking heater pressed up against his side.
When Party thrusts the door open at the ass crack of dawn holding Ghoul’s forgotten ray gun and That Look on their face, they leave pretty damn quickly when Ghoul shushes them and whispers, “Tough night. Let him sleep.”
And when Kobra stirs in his sleep, Ghoul just kisses his forehead and sinks deeper into the covers with him, murmuring a soft, “S’alright, honey, you can sleep.” against his cheek.