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Sailor awakens with a guttural wail.
His heart pounds in his chest as a sob spills from his lips, his hands moving up to clutch his neck before he can process what he’s doing. His stomach churns painfully, fear burying itself deep into his chest until it hollows him out and swallows him whole.
He heaves. Once, then twice. There’s a tightness in his throat, like it really had just been pierced into. He half expects to look down and find blood flowing down it, but nothing is there but the scratch marks he’s left from digging his nails into it.
Leftover thoughts from his dream still permeate his mind: I can’t breathe, I’m going to die. It’s a feeling so nauseating he feels it in his bones. Bile rises up his throat, but he doesn’t let it spill. He swallows it. It’s disgusting; he gags.
There’s a knock on the door, and Sailor freezes like a deer caught in headlights. He can’t move, he’s going to die, he can’t breathe, he’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s—
“Sailor!? Kid, what’s wrong!? I heard you scream!”
Sandbag’s voice is muffled from behind the door. Sailor’s eyes widen, but no matter how hard he tries, his lips won’t form words. He just sobs again, louder this time, praying that Sandbag will get the hint and come in anyway.
And it does. The second that it has confirmation that his ears weren’t just tricking him, Sandbag bursts through the door.
“SAILOR!”
He wastes no time rushing to Sailor’s side, the realisation of what happened dawning on him once he sits himself next to his son. He must have had a nightmare.
His blankets and pillows are thrown about everywhere — a few somehow making it to the bottom of the bed or off of it entirely. Sweat sticks to his nightshirt like glue. Tears are streaming down his face like an endless waterfall, making his eyes puffy and his cheeks flushed.
But what concerns Sandbag the most: his neck is covered in scratches. Nobody else is in the house, so they’re clearly self-inflicted. A deep concern laces itself into his expression, his eyebrows furrowing. It shakes its head. Okay, one thing at a time. Sailor is still hyperventilating; he has to tackle that first.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay, kiddo.” He starts, shuffling closer to Sailor. His hand looms shakily over Sailor’s back so he can pull away if he needs to. “It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”
Oh, but it felt real. It felt so, so viscerally real.
“S—Sandbag…” Sailor mumbles as he tearfully eyes his father. Sandbag is crying nearly just as much as he is. Then, his gaze moves down to its hand. He chokes out another sob and pulls it into a hug.
“Ah—!! H—Hey, kid, you’re alright. Yeah, see, it’s all okay!” The older man immediately begins to rub his back, returning the hug without hesitation. Sailor’s grip is so tight that you’d think it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“PAPAAAAAAA!!”
Sandbag feels his heart shatter into a billion little pieces as Sailor wails — a hoarse scream from the chest. He cradles the boy tighter, a protective, paternal instinct taking the reins.
“Shh, shh, everything’s okay.“ Tears are clouding its vision. Keep it together, Sandbag. Keep it together for him. “I’ve gotcha. Papa’s gotcha.”
It’s the first time Sailor has ever called him that.
“Mhnn— I— you…!!” He can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. His hands move up to his throat again, feeling as if something is restricting his breathing, but Sandbag stops him in his tracks.
“No, kiddo, don’t scratch. It’s not good for ya.”
A pitiful whine. Sandbag frowns. He doesn’t know what to do or say to make it better, so he just keeps hugging him, gently rocking him back and forth in his arms.
“You don’t gotta speak, Sailor. Just focus on calming down, y—yeah?” His heart is racing a thousand miles per hour. He just hopes Sailor can’t hear it.
The teenager's crying is loud. Gut-wrenchingly loud. What kind of nightmare could've gotten him this upset?
Sailor has always been a positive person. Since the second that Sandbag took him in, he's been a little beacon of optimism in his life — a consistent force. He brings joy with him wherever he goes, to the point where Sandbag has jokingly started referring to him as ‘Sunshine Incarnate’. It's not easy to stifle Sailor's light.
Yet here he is, his wick burnt out, reduced to a sobbing mess in his father's arms.
...Something had to have happened; this can't just be it. Sandbag knows Sailor better than anybody, and there's no way he would cry like this over some nightmare.
When Sailor falls, he gets right back up. Sandbag always tells him that it's okay to cry, but he never does. He just keeps on running.
Is that it? Is that why this is happening?
He knows that Sailor never had the best upbringing, but every time he’d ask, Sailor would just brush him off. He figured that Sailor would come to him when he was ready. Should he have pushed more? Asked more questions?
All of these questions swim around in Sandbag's head like a whirlpool. Fuck, he's a terrible parent. How could he have let it get to this stage, how ignorant can he be!?
“…Papa.”
Sailor's words snap him back into reality.
It's quiet, so quiet that you can barely even hear it. And Sailor is never quiet. Everything he does is loud, a big, bright show of eccentricity that never seems to dull.
Sandbag heard it, though.
“Bubba.” The nickname slips out before he can even realise what he's saying. But when Sailor doesn't react, Sandbag finds no need to go back on its words.
It seems like Sailor's calmed down a bit by now. His breathing is still a bit ragged, and he's still crying, just not as violently as before. He sniffles and goes to wipe his eye with his sleeve, his hand balled into a loose fist.
“Papa,” he repeats, for the second time.
“Bubba,” Sandbag parrots, his hold on Sailor slackening slightly. Still hugging him, just a bit less desperately. “Feelin' a bit better? Got it all out?”
All that he receives is a mumble. It's tired, but not a ‘no’.
“…Good, I'm glad.”
In all honesty, Sandbag's not sure where to go from here. He wants to ask about the dream and the scratches, but it also doesn't want to risk setting Sailor off a second time. He spends a few moments fumbling for its words before Sailor speaks up again.
“Had a bad dream...” He's holding his sleeve over his mouth. Is he chewing on it?
“We were— you were— we were gonna die, Papa!! We were in this real awful place 'nd—“ Another sob. “He betrayed us! He threw us to the sharks without even hesitatin'!! And... And...!!”
‘He’? Who the hell is ‘he’?
Once he starts to hyperventilate again, that's when Sandbag knows it's time to stop.
“Okay, okay, let's slow down, kiddo.” It sits back a bit so it has a proper view of Sailor's face. “Let's take a deep breath, yeah? Can you do that for me?”
Sailor seems a little hesitant to the idea at first, but eventually nods, doing his best to take a deep breath. He seems to have got it on his own, and Sandbag doesn't wanna seem patronising, so he doesn't demonstrate.
The teenager holds his breath. One, two — then lets it go. It comes out shaky, but he doesn't give up. He's a big boy; he's not a quitter!
Inhale — one, two, three, four. Hold. One, two. And exhale — one, two, three, four, five, six.
He did it.
And when he looks up, he finds that a shaky yet proud smile adorns Sandbag's face. It ruffles his hair, just like he always does.
“There we go. Good job, kiddo! Proud of ya!”
Sailor just smiles. It's light, tinged in lingering sadness, but it's there. And that's what matters. A little bit of light is peaking through the storm clouds.
He wipes his tears with his sleeve, which is noticeably stained with a bit of slobber. “Y—Yeah!” The teenager shakes his head, as if to try to shake the bad feelings off. He sniffles. “B—But it was just a bad dream... Just my mind playin' tricks on me... It wasn't real.”
...Just a bad dream. It wasn't real, huh.
Something that's not rooted in reality at all wouldn't have affected him so much. Dreams reflect your waking conscience — or whatever Vega says.
“Yeah... You mind me askin' some questions about that, kiddo?”
Please say yes. This might end up being its only opportunity if Sailor keeps going the way he has been.
“...Hit me with 'em.”
Oh, thank god.
“‘Kay… uh… who was “he”? Y’know— the guy you were referring to?”
Sandbag’s first question lingers heavily in the air. It was the thing weighing the most on his mind — if Sailor is having nightmares about someone they know, it needs to get to the bottom of why.
“…Eddie.” Sailor’s voice is slow and cautious, like he’s one wrong move from getting in trouble. It breaks Sandbag’s heart, the protective instinct in his chest growing stronger, angrier.
“Eddie? That guy?? Wh— he hasn’t hurt you, right!? As in, in real life? If he has, I swear to god—”
Before Sandbag can threaten to beat Eddie to a bloody pulp, Sailor frantically interrupts. “No, no!! I don’t know why I keep dreamin’ about this— I love Orca Man, he’s great!! He’d never do somethin’ like that, I…”
He trails off. “I dunno… It’s stupid.”
Sandbag shakes his head. “It’s not stupid at all, kiddo. But you’re— you’re absolutely sure he didn’t do anything?” He wants to believe Sailor, he really does, but for him to be having so many dreams framing Eddie in this light… it just doesn’t sit right with him.
“You know you can tell me anything, right? No judgement, nothin’. I will never, ever get mad at you for this kind of thing.”
There’s an intent look in Sandbag’s eyes. As awkward as he can be with his words, his expression is unmistakable. He means what he’s saying. And yet, Sailor still seems hesitant.
“…I—I know that, I trust you, Sharkbag. I really do, but… that’s just not it! I swear, I’m tellin’ the truth!! Orca Man’s a great crew member, I just—“
He sighs. “I don’t know…”
“You… don’t know?”
“I don’t know.” Sailor just shrugs. He doesn’t know what else to say — if there was a solution to making these horrible nightmares go away, they’d be gone already!
“I dunno why my brain has clung onto it so hard. Maybe… Maybe I’m just worried about the crew fallin’ apart, leavin’ me, getting hurt... that sorta thing. You guys are like my family, I don’t wanna lose you!!” The boy’s shoulders hitch, his voice raising into a shout, then back down to a whisper. “I— I can’t lose you.”
If Sandbag’s heart was already broken, it’s been shattered now. From what little he knows about Sailor’s past, it sounds like he hasn’t had much permanence in his life when it came to friends. Dock workers came and went, leaving Sailor alone with only his grandfather. It must’ve been so lonely, having no one to talk to.
No shoulder to cry on when he was upset. No one to laugh with, no one to vent all of these feelings to. And from what Sandbag can gather, his grandfather was far from that figure to him, either.
“Oh, kid…” Sandbag places a gentle hand on Sailor‘s chin, tilting it upwards so Sailor is looking him in the eyes. “Look at me, kid. I’m never going to leave you, I swear on it. And I can’t speak for the others, but I have a good feeling that they feel the same. You’ll never have to feel that way again under my watch.”
Sailor blinks up at the older man, heaving another shuddering breath. Tears well up in his eyes for the second time tonight. “P—Promise?”
At this, the blond man removes his hand from Sailor’s face, its pinky finger held out for him to take. His eyes are still full of that same determined look from a moment ago — it hasn’t faltered this entire conversation. “I promise.”
“Mh—“ his bottom lip wobbles, threatening to break into a sob. He doesn’t let it. Sailor shakes his head, as if it would get rid of all of this awful fog clouding his mind. It just makes him feel dizzy. “‘M sorry, Papa… shouldn’t be…” A sniffle. “Shouldn’t be puttin’ this all on you… ‘ts late…”
“Aw, Bubba,” Sandbag’s arm is back up around Sailor’s shoulder within seconds. “You can always come to me, no matter how late it is. Plus, I was already up, so…”
…He’d rather not disclose the details of exactly why he was up (or more accurately, where he was planning on going), but that’s beside the point.
He gives Sailor’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, a soft smile gracing his face. “So I wanna hear no more apologising from you tonight, got that?”
A small giggle erupts from Sailor’s lips, causing a tear to spill down his cheek. Sandbag wipes it away with his finger. “Aye aye, Daddy…”
…Upgraded from ‘Papa’ to ‘Daddy’, huh. He’s been flip-flopping between nicknames all night. It decides not to comment on it, though. He doesn’t want Sailor to panic and backtrack. It was a bit surprising at first, but Sandbag doesn’t mind it. It almost makes him feel like a real dad.
“Also,” Sandbag adjusts himself so it’s leaning against the bedrest, patting his lap so Sailor knows that he can come and sit on him if he’d like. The boy in question almost immediately shuffles closer, hopping onto Sandbag’s lap, his head resting on its shoulder, and his legs pulled up to his chest.
Sandbag slides a hand under Sailor’s knee for support, the other wrapped around his back, slowly rubbing circles into it. “You said you’ve had this nightmare before, yeah?”
Sailor nods silently.
“Right. I’m sorry, kiddo, that’s horrible…” He kisses his son on the forehead. “Have you been thinking about this a lot? Us leaving you, I mean.”
Another nod, Sailor’s head downturned. He brings his sleeve up to his mouth and starts chewing on it again. While Sandbag has the mind to tell him not to do that, he inevitably decides against it. He doesn’t wanna make Sailor more stressed, and if that’s what’s helping him self-soothe, that’s fine. He’ll have to buy him something proper to chew on if this happens again…
“Well, you don’t need to, because it’s not gonna happen. I won’t let it. Next time you start getting all up in your head about it, come and talk to me about it, ‘kay?”
No response. Sailor just buries his face further into his father’s shoulder, shuffling his sleeves down his wrist. He pops his thumb into his mouth, beginning to suck on it instead of his sleeve.
Sandbag’s eyebrows furrow, his hand against Sailor’s back going still. Okay, something’s not right. “…Sailor, you good? You’ve gone all quiet all of a sudden.”
Sailor’s expression has gone… weary. It’s a face Sandbag has never seen him make before, somewhat similar to how he looked at him earlier, but so very different at the same time. This is something more, something that Sailor has been keeping close to his chest for a very, very long time.
“Mmh… yeah, ‘m ‘kay… feelin’… all sleepy ‘nd fuzzy.”
Fuzzy? Sandbag can understand that he’s tired — it’s the middle of the night, and he just had a breakdown, after all, but ‘fuzzy’? It can’t say that it’s ever heard an emotion be described like that before.
“‘Nd ‘m neck hurts… ‘idn’t mean to scratch it… was ‘n accident…”
Sandbag’s eyes soften. It was planning on asking about the scratches next, before Sailor started going quiet.
“Oh, Bubba… I know. That must hurt real bad, huh? Maybe when you’re feeling less… fuzzy, you can tell me about your dream.”
He’s sure there’s a reason for Sailor scratching at his neck specifically. Was he getting strangled in the dream? Was Eddie the one doing it? Even though he knows that it’s not real, the thought still makes his blood boil.
Sailor just hums in acknowledgment, his body completely slack against Sandbag. He looks so small right now, cradled in its arms… even though Sailor is seventeen, he’s acting more like a little kid than a teenager right now.
Sandbag doesn’t mind, though. While it does worry him, it’s probably just because he’s exhausted. Maybe it’s just his brain’s way of trying to cope with stress. He doesn’t know, but the semantics don’t really matter to him. It just wants its son to be okay.
He’ll just have to ask more questions in the morning, as Sailor’s clearly not in the mood to talk right now. The poor thing is barely keeping his eyes open, and Sandbag really doesn’t feel like grilling him right now.
“It’s okay, Bubba.” He coos, his voice instinctively lowering into a gentle, sweeter tone. “You can sleep, I can tell you’re exhausted. We’ll talk about this more in the morning, yeah?”
He still wants to ask him about what happened in the dream, why he didn’t tell him about his nightmares sooner, but all of that can wait. His baby’s rest is what’s most important right now.
Sailor mumbles sleepily into Sandbag’s shoulder. Not quite words, but small, quiet sounds. Sandbag has to resist the urge to ‘aww’ at him— now’s not the time. Instead, he plants a kiss atop his crown, gently bouncing Sailor on his knee as you would a baby.
“G’night, kiddo. Daddy loves you.”
It watches with nothing but love in its eyes as Sailor’s eyes flutter shut, drifting off to sleep on his lap. As much as he hates seeing Sailor cry, he’s glad he opened up to him, even if it’s just a little bit.
Baby steps. Hopefully, one day, Sandbag will learn what made Sailor the way he is today. All of the events that shaped him, the good and the bad — even if it was never there to personally experience them alongside him.
But for now, he will wait. As long as he needs to for Sailor to feel comfortable, to feel assured that his father is here to stay.
They have all the time in the world to get there, after all.