Work Text:
“Amanda!”
Connor flew up in bed with a shout, breath heaving and trembling. He felt cold, down to his smallest bolts. Blinded, unable to recognize where he was. There was foggy white everywhere, and wind in his ears, and he was scared. Desperately terrified.
“I have to find the emergency exit,” he whispered, pulling at himself to get up.
A weight was stopping him though. Holding his legs down with absolutely no give. Something big. And heavy. And… warm?
He focused on it. It was a strange, welcome contrast to the chill inside him. He leaned forward, reaching out blindly. It abruptly got in the way of his palm, solid but soft. He couldn't see it, even as he stared at where his hand was stuck. His hand was white. He blinked, letting his skin flow back down to his fingers. He breathed in slowly, forcing himself to focus on it. He could hold it indefinitely.
He pushed his other hand forward, testing the area around his impeded palm. There only space above. He let out the breath, pushing forward against the obstruction.
There was an organic sound of protest. A whine or groan of some sort. From something living.
He spread his fingers. Forced himself to push the numbing cold to the back of his mind. There was a soft, brushing feeling against his fingers, long and rippling like… fabric? No, more like hair. Or…?
The obstruction was covered in soft kind of fluff. Connor's brow furrowed. It was undulating, moving his hands up and down in a steady pattern. He studied it. Matched his breathing to it. It was soothing.
The wind faded away completely, replaced with silence. A distant rumbling punctuated the sudden lack of sound. He appreciated it.
He closed his eyes, welcoming the changes in his senses. He bent forward carefully, until his face and chest met the shaggy, solid obstruction. There was that brushing softness again, the steady patterned undulating. And then, a sudden shift and a stripe of wet on the right side of his face. Everything that lingered was gone in a snap.
He could see again. The dark silhouettes and shadowy shapes that were familiar to him. His closet, his desk, the lamp, the window with drawn curtains dulling the moonlight. He could see the shape of his bed. The covers, and on top of them-
“Sumo.”
His breathy whisper of the Saint Bernard’s name was met with a light “woof” and a sniff, followed by him readjusting all 160 pounds on the android's outstretched legs.
Connor's lips quirked up in a shaky grin of relief as he nuzzled into the dog's shoulder, lightly petting his side.
“Thank you, Sumo.”