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Everything had turned out alright, in the end.
In fact, things had gone so well considering the circumstances that ‘alright’ was a gross understatement. Irontomb defeated, Amphoreus preserved, all three passengers back on the Express, safe and sound: yet again, the Nameless had done the impossible, with only the help of their allies across the cosmos and their indomitable force of will.
Dan Heng agreed: this was the best possible ending.
It doesn't make sleeping alone any easier.
Nightmares had long been his bed companions, but the nature of them had changed. He used to dream of the Shackling Prison and the three who must pay a price. Under Okhema’s eternal daylight, he'd watched powerless as Stelle died in his dreams, over and over; wandered the Express, calling for March, only for the rest of the crew to ask who he was looking for.
Now, he dreams of fingers slipping from his grasp and dead, red eyes in the night — scenarios only one wrong choice, one slip, one turn of fate away from being reality.
He wakes, heart pounding. He reminds himself of where he is. All these familiar spaces, made unfamiliar by his absence: the darkness of the archives and the smooth tile of the floor, so different from the fresh air of Amphoreus and the soil he made beds of during his long journey. Between deep breaths, he reminds himself that March and Stelle are safe, asleep or staring at their phones in their respective beds.
He wishes he’d retained his demigod form. Maybe the lashing of his tail would dispel his nervous itch to pace. The urge to check that they’re still here nearly overwhelms him.
Dan Heng doesn't move. He needs to sleep, and so do they. They need to go back to normal, or whatever counts as normal for a Trailblazer.
But Amphoreus’s mark stubbornly remains. Dan Heng ducks through doorways even though he’s lost the height and the horns bestowed upon him by the Earth Coreflame. March flinches when she sees herself in a mirror as if she's expecting to find someone else staring back. Stelle jokes around in their nonsensical way as usual, but they hold tight to As I’ve Written like a security blanket. When they think no one's watching, they retreat into themselves, rubbing the grooves of the cover smooth and staring into the middle distance.
Himeko and Mr. Yang… They mean well, but even they know there's nothing they can do. They weren't there, through the thousands of years that passed in system hours in the outside world. They can't even fathom it.
So the entire crew does this, instead — plays the game of normal — and Dan Heng lies alone and feels unsettled in his body, a dragon stuffed back into its shed skin.
A noise. And there again, both so quiet. Someone at the door. Before Amphoreus, little could wake Dan Heng except for his nightmares, and other passengers could download a file or two from the archives before slipping out. Now, even on the occasions he does sleep, he feels attuned to the mechanical hum of the Express, and any unusual vibrations rouse him.
Dan Heng hasn't said anything, but the door opens anyway. He sits up, not wanting to play at sleeping, and squints in the light from the hallway.
The person in the doorway freezes, then, considerately, steps fully into the room. The door closes with a quiet whoosh behind them.
Dan Heng waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again; the silhouette comes into focus as they approach timidly. It's difficult when March and Stelle are the same height but, no— It's Stelle, inching into the room, holding a stuffed toy of some sort under one arm and dragging a blanket behind them.
“Can I sleep in here?” she asks. She sounds…normal. Not sniffling or hiccuping — her voice is steady, unaffected. But she can’t be. Not once has she asked this of him. Only March ever brought up the idea, demanding sleepovers: painting nails, watching movies, as if they couldn't do those things during the day.
Dan Heng nods, realizes Stelle may not be able to see it in the dark— But they’re moving further into the room, more sure. That’s good. Though Dan Heng hasn’t fully understoond the request, not until Stelle walks right up to him and kneels beside him, laying out their giant blanket on the floor.
“You meant, with me?” he asks. His voice comes out more quietly than he’d meant.
“I had a nightmare,” she mumbles, her hands stilling.
Dan Heng sighs reflexively, but already he can feel something in him settling. A past and current version of him, with such different reactions. Before, he would never have let Stelle or March share a bed with him. He needed darkness, silence, and March was an unrepentant snorer while Stelle tossed and sleeptalked. No doubt he’d wake in the middle of the night to a smack to the face—
Better times. Times when he could afford to be less forthgiving with his affection. Now, he lays down, and Stelle takes it as the permission it is. She lowers herself to the floor — careful, too careful — and folds the other half of her blanket around her, cocooning herself and her stuffie next to him.
“Good night, Dan Heng,” she whispers in the darkness.
“Sweet dreams, Stelle,” he answers back. He cannot protect her dreams, but for Stelle, he will try.
When he wakes, an appropriate amount of system hours later, Stelle is still there, their stuffie discarded behind them in favor of the dragon now wrapped in their arms. They’re so warm. Feeling Dan Heng shift, Stelle mumbles something and buries their face further into his chest, holding him tighter. Dan Heng clutches them back. He doesn’t remember his dreams from the night, and what a blessing that is. What a blessing Stelle is.
This continues for a few nights. Dan Heng wonders if Stelle is still having nightmares, or if she just wants to sleep by his side. He won’t ask either way, not when he sleeps a little less fitfully with her there. It gives him some modicum of comfort, to know that she needs him in this way, wants his protection.
It’d probably be more comfortable for Stelle, if Dan Heng moved into their echo chamber of a room. There isn’t much space for the both of them where Dan Heng usually sleeps, and Stelle is used to sleeping in a bed. But he, perhaps selfishly, doesn’t suggest moving. The wide-open space is so much harder to to defend. Better to be close, to be safe.
It isn’t long before March catches wind of it. Dan Heng hasn’t spoken of it, and Stelle retreats to their own cavern of a room first before seeking him out later in the night. But March is much more observant than people give her credit for, so he can only be so surprised.
“Hey!” March says, in her version of a whisper. “Have you guys have been having sleepovers without me?”
She tiptoes in, dressed in a matching pajama set and carrying too many pillows; she must've been spying in the night, then, to know another blanket wasn't needed. Maybe she’s been wandering the train’s halls, restless, and happened upon them one night— Maybe, more than once. How long has she known, and wondered if she was welcome? How long did she wait to ask? A pang goes through Dan Heng to think of it.
Not privy to his thoughts, March hops up the couple of steps and dumps her pillows on top of them to organize. Stelle sputters, but starts laying the pillows at the top of the futon; Dan Heng rolls his eyes. Hands on her hips now, March looks down at them both, shoved in this corner, and cocks her head as if unsure of what comes next.
Dan Heng and Stelle scoot backwards at the same moment, inviting her into the space between them. Frowning, March nudges Stelle’s leg with the side of her foot. “You’re the baby, not me,” she huffs. “I’ll watch your back, just like always.”
“But you act more like a baby than me,” Stelle deadpans, pointing at the space in front of her, and Dan Heng smiles.
Grumbling, March wiggles her way in between the both of them. Dan Heng and Stelle close her in, Stelle’s arms around her waist and Dan Heng’s around her shoulders. He can feel the brush of Stelle’s hair against his hands as she shoves her face into March’s back. March curls against Dan Heng’s chest. She seems so much daintier held here, suddenly drained of her usual boisterousness.
It's overwarm with the three of them so close together, barely balanced by the chill of the floor. Dan Heng couldn't care less. They are warm because they are here, and alive. That is more than enough.