M for violent imagery


Darkness shrouded him. His eyes took in the surroundings, acknowledging the trees and the soft grass under his bare feet. His toes stretched out, pressing down lightly as he lifted up on his haunches. The smell in the air was pungent. The copper taste revolted him and excited him; his tongue ran eagerly over his teeth, lapping up whatever was left.

Frank’s eyes took in the scene at his feet, bending back down on to his front paws. His nozzle bent down, tearing off a piece of the person that had been screaming and running only minutes before. It was still warm... it was perfect.

But - no - that wasn’t... that wasn’t ok. Memories flooded in of humanity. He whimpered in his sleep, tossing a bit. He’d killed someone. A soft whine escaped before he gave a forlorn howl; it cut short as he sank down into the cool grass next to the cooling body. Frank rested his chin on his crossed front legs, staring at what he had done. Sadness at a life cut short at his own hands... it flooded in. Frank was crying softly into his pillow, turning on his side as he curled his knees up towards his chest.

Time changed in the dream, as dreams were apt to do, and suddenly he was pacing back and forth in a room he couldn’t quite make out. Colors flew at him, lighting up the walls. Frank could feel the change coming on. Shaking his hands out, he waited impatiently for it to get over with. As his body started to morph, painful groans and grunts escaped him. In the bed, far away from his dreams, he twisted and turned in bed.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes taking in his hairy new form. It left him panting and aching, but it was only second to the need for blood. Frank pulled his head back, neck extended, as he let out a single, drawn out howl. Blood... And suddenly he was choking on it, there was too much. Looking down as he tried to breathe, feeling his throat constricting, Frank stared at the mangled bodies of those he had ripped to pieces. A scream escaped him.

Laney had fallen asleep against him, her arm bumping into his, head lolling toward his shoulder, inching onto his pillow while her hair spilled wherever it pleased. It had been an easy, uncomplicated way to fall asleep. Laney didn’t mind sharing a bed, least of all Frank’s. Their breathing had been normal, quiet, calm when she’d drifted off, and the sounds of the city beyond made it easier still.

But this was a different sort of sound, a hurried breathing interrupted by muffled cries. Laney turned to get comfortable, eyes scrunching shut even further, as if someone had turn on a flood light. She brought an arm up to her head and pressed her cheek into her pillow, her back to Frank now. She was still floating on the edge of sleep, everything murky and navy, with buzzing dots of light and noise. She felt him move, but it didn’t really register.

The terrible scream was less an interruption than an alarm. Laney’s eyes popped open and she sat up as if someone had tossed cold water all over her. The hand nestled nearest Frank propped her up, the other moved to his arm, fingers tightening over his skin as if to anchor herself there and to make sure he was still breathing.

But it was impossible to miss that bit. He was breathing, definitely. What had sounded like murmuring a few moments ago, from the depths of sleep, now sounded like someone being tortured, subjected to Cruciatus. Laney’s eyes darted over his face in the dark, searching for a way to stop it. For a brief, horrible moment, she’d thought he was having some sort of seizure or reaction. Laney’s heart sank and then sped up. She’d seen people dream and do all sorts of ridiculous things in their sleep— it was part of the dormitory experience— but this was different.

“Frank,” she hissed loudly, shaking him tentatively, and then harder when she realized it couldn’t hurt him. She was not the most reticent person. She hardly paused as she reached for wand, turning on a light. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare— it’s just a dream.” She was using both hands now, one having made its way to his cheek. She wiped the hair back from his forehead, feeling for fever, as ridiculous as it sounded. "Wake up, for fuck’s sake.” Her voice had become terrified, desperate rather than angry. She had never seen him this bad.

Of all the bodies that laid about, Georgianne Sleeper was the one that made him choke on air. He could almost taste her, the honeysuckle scent almost burned into his nostrils. Frank tried to get out of the room, but the door was shut. She - she was standing! Some attempt at conversation started, but instead, blood seeped out of the tear in her neck. Frank started crying, falling to his knees as he begged her to forgive him.

She had only been nineteen... Around Laney’s age. He’d taken her life and extinguished it without a care in the world. Frank rocked himself back and forth as he cried. “No, nonononono...” He didn’t even think to try and pinch himself; it all seemed so real. Perhaps this was his hell, and he had all his sins to atone for.

Something was tugging at him as Georgianne came closer. Frank was tense, body ready to snap if she got too close. The old man, the first person he had killed, was stepping up behind her. Frank’s ears thumped with his heart beat, louder than the gurgling of blood. He felt like he was going to vomit; the smell of her perfume mixed with the stench of death was going to force his meal up.

Suddenly Georgianne was there, a glint of silver in her hand. Eyes widened as Frank tried to shout, growling instead as he pushed off his hind legs. The knife was coming towards him faster than-

“No!” Frank shot up out of bed, grabbing Laney’s arm and wrestling it back, growling as he flipped her over him. As they crashed to the floor, blankets tangled amongst their legs, he snarled as he gripped her hair, head yanked back painfully, teeth at her throat.

And then he realized where he was. Or started to. The breath he had held was slowly let go. Frank shakily let go of Laney’s hair, attempting to right himself in the tangle of limbs. “Oh, oh god.” Looking down at her, he felt his stomach twist painfully. What had he done? “La-Laney, are you ok? Oh no, I’m so sorry.” Frank fumbled to try and untangle them, reaching over for a lamp and only further catching his legs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He chanted it as his hands shook, attempting to get his leg free.

Laney’s hands were still latched determinedly to Frank when he shouted again, the no infiltrating the dark and causing her stomach to sink. Her reflexes were good, an agile athlete’s, but she hadn’t anticipated his nightmare to become unhinged so quickly. She drew a breath and winced as they tumbled toward the floor. “Frank!” She repeated, a half-scream, despite the apparent useless of trying to shake and shout him awake.

Any other time, she would have loved his teeth at her neck, but this was not the sort of a rough tumble Laney liked to be woken up for. Her leg was caught under his, the sheets twisting them together, his fingers in her hair. Her heart was pounding as if she’d just missed a bludger, but it was Frank on the opposing team. It felt wrong.

She reached up to press a palm into his shoulder just as he started to come to his senses. She’d left her wand on the other side of the bed, under the glow of the opposite lamp. Her hands worked fine. But as she stared at up, brows knitted, eyes narrowed, pressing to push him away, she could see that he was spooked. It was as if someone had doused him in cold water. Laney kept her hands tentatively where they were, but stopped pushing.

“What was that?” She demanded, ignoring his question and his apologize. As he attempted to turn on the lamp nearest him, Laney removed her hands and slipped a leg out from underneath, trying to aid in the untangling. She managed to slip free after a few moments, propping herself exhaustedly against the nightstand, shaking like Frank. She brought her knees to her chest, guarding them with arms locked in front of her, her gaze locked on Frank, waiting for an explanation. She had never been afraid of him, had never second-guessed invading his personal space. It was a foreign thing. She stubbornly tried to swallow any fear. “I thought you were sick or…” She shook her head. Was he? Her expression seemed to pose the question. Even the worst nightmares didn’t usually end with two people on the floor.

She raised a hand to her hair, pushing it back, craving a cigarette. She dropped her arm and her fingers rubbed together in their wanting. Needing. She tilted her head back and breathed more calmly, but her eyes stayed on Frank. "What were you dreaming? It was a dream, wasn’t it?"

The sound of his name in this instance chilled him to the bone. The unexpected pitch could be associated with fear; he didn’t put it together until after he came to his senses, after he started to process what had happened since he’d woken up. His heart thudded against his chest, his ears, making the quiet between his pants and apologies not so quiet in his head. There was so much going on in his brain that he was still grasping at reality as if it were fog.

Frank had never seen Laney scared before. Not that he could see her right then... sleep was still in his eyes, even if his brain was wide awake. Shaking his head at her pointed question, Frank breathed heavy and fast. The fight-or-flight reaction had been completely unexpected on both ends. That his sympathetic nervous system had kicked into such high gear... He could still taste Georgianne on his tongue.

The thought of her perfume made him want to gag. He dry heaved for a moment, head bobbing forward as his mouth opened. Frank cleared his throat, finally getting a leg free after Laney slipped one of hers out of the tangled sheets, reaching the lamp at the last moment of his stretch. With a soft groan, Frank clicked it on.

And then he turned his sheepish attention back to his girlfriend. Frank felt his heart sink even further at the wounded look Laney had going on; the legs tucked in didn’t help her look any older. Sitting on his bum, he leaned his head back against the wall opposite of her, legs stretched out as the energy rushed out of him; the other side of the fight-or-flight kicked in. The part that helped counter-balance all of that adrenaline.

Not that he could have ran very far from this fight, anyway. Eyelids felt heavy as he glanced away, tongue running over his lips before he shrugged. Another clearing of his throat and he shifted against the wall. Frank’s breathing had slowed down to a more normal tempo. The light-headed sensation was going away. His head shook as well at her thought, finally chancing a look to her.

It was not the most promising look. Frank chewed on his lower lip in consideration, waiting for the questions that he knew would come and not knowing if he wanted to answer them honestly or not.

“What were you dreaming?”

His head fell back lightly against the wall, a soft clunk as he let out a hard breath. A hand reached up to rub at his eyes; Frank’s throat had gone dry. First he shook his head, then nodded, and finally let out a humorless bark of a laugh before sighing. The feelings of the dream were still with him, even if the vividness of it was fading away.

Eyes closed as he considered. “Yes-” His voice cracked. Frank cleared it. “Yes. A dream.” After another moment of silence, he finally opened his eyes and looked at Laney. Then he glanced past her, to the bed, staring at it absentmindedly. “I just...” Anxiety fluttered through his chest at the thought of voicing things from his head. His hand awkwardly rubbed at his neck, another shake of his head giving away the way he really felt. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s nothing. Just... a bad dream...” The smell of perfume was fading away. “I’m sorry.” His eyes found her face once again, leaning forward as his hands rested on his thighs. “I’m so sorry, Laney. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His head reached out to her leg.

Laney frowned further at the laugh, which lacked the quality that usually made her laugh back. He answered her first question before her second. When he did explain, it was a non-answer, evasive, despite the obvious signs that it was still hitting him, haunting him, revealing its presence in his muscles, his mouth. He’d looked ready to vomit a half minute ago. Laney felt a tug in stomach, something reaching toward her heart.

Her limbs nevertheless loosened a bit at his confirmation, her other arm falling softly now, fingers still listless.

The apology danced over her skin in the dimness, and she saw it in his eyes, she thought. But he hadn’t given her an answer that would pacify anyone, even the most casual lovers, or the most trusted. They were so not casual, and trust was not a word that they spoke to each other often, though Laney had pondered it more than once.

“Your teeth were at my throat." It was damp, the cold of sweat settling into one’s skin, making itself known just as calmness arrived. That particular discomfort did not invite sleep. “And I know if you wanted to play, you would have asked me.” A dry bit of humor.

But he hadn’t, that wasn’t what he had wanted, he had not even been awake. If she had seen bits of the animal in him, they had been the characteristics she’d come to appreciate: his heat and heightened desire, an adventurous appetite, a moon-fed energy. The other part, the savage part, the teeth of the wolf, the thing that took over and shrouded his human instinct, those were not things Laney associated with Frank, unless she was joking or framing them for her own desires. That he had almost… done whatever he was going to do in his dream to Laney, and now wouldn’t tell her what or why, was not something she was willing to talk around. She looked down at the hand that reached toward her leg, and back up again. She understood. “You were a wolf.”

Tonight was not a full moon.

Laney sat up on her knees, reached toward the nightstand. They were not supposed to smoke inside; she always went out on his balcony, or tested her luck and curled into the windowsill, the window cracked open at odd hours. But the instinct was strong now, and Frank looked like he was just coming off the brink of fainting. She knew she wouldn’t be going outside until he told her more, was fairly sure he wouldn't follow if she did. She grabbed a packet under the lamp, and Frank’s wand, and settled back down onto her knees.

She shook a cigarette out of the box as she stared at him. She lowered eyes and lifted his wand to light it, and dragged it, after a stilted moment, from her lips. It was relief, a clean breath, or felt like it. She leaned forward, extended it to him. If it was not a potion, not what he needed, it was nevertheless a silent offering, an attempt to understand. When her eyes caught his again, the insistent question was obvious. "What did you dream?" It was quiet, but not relenting.

Speaking of throats... Frank felt like he had something stuck in his. He couldn’t meet her gaze, preferring to stare absentmindedly at the floor between them. Her attempt at a joke at a time like this - well, it was admirable. He merely let out a breath and grunt, rubbing his neck as he tried to think of how to stop his embarrassment and complete lack of self control when he slept.

This could be a problem. If Frank couldn’t trust himself outside of the full moon... then what was he doing? His panic started to escalate as he considered possibilities that were useless to entertain. What if he continued to stay a danger? Would Laney not sleep over? Was he doomed to be alone? All these things that had plagued him before that he thought he had put to rest (at least for a while) started to bubble up.

His hand froze in its advancement towards Laney. Processing her words, he took a slow and deep breath, letting his shoulders fall a bit as he let it out. Frank pulled himself back against the wall as she sat up; of course she wouldn’t want him to touch her. He didn’t notice as he started to wring his hands together; a nervous habit. “I guess... so.” His throat felt dry. No. He felt like he was trying to swallow, but all he was getting was sand. Frank leaned his head once again against the wall, staring up at the ceiling while listening to her light up a cigarette.

The sound of movement brought his gaze back down, focusing first on her face and then on the offered cigarette. Frank stared at it for a long moment before accepting it, careful of how much he touched her now. Was she wanting to run? He set it between his lips, holding it between pointer finger and thumb while sucking in a deep and hard line of tar and nicotine. Holding it there, he felt some of his panic slip away, a little of the worry start to fade. He heard her question when he caught her eye.

Craving nicotine without realizing it, he let the smoke out and took another deep hit before extending it back, butt first, to Laney. This time he blew the smoke slowly out of his lips, open to the side as it rose in a disjointed cloud above them. Frank cracked his knuckles before pulling his legs up to him, arms settling on top of his knees lightly. His lips rested against his hairy forearms, staring over them at her as he considered how to start. “I just...” No. It was a dream. Sighing, eyes glanced down between them before Frank moved his head up and rested his chin on top of his arm.

His voice slipped out, quiet, into the void between them. “I was dreaming about... the people I’ve killed.” Frank didn’t focus on anything, his eyes staring off to the side of Laney. A sudden unexpected sob hit him; the people he had killed! Burying his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, he worked to calm his sudden outburst. After a few moments he was able to bite it back, swallowing past that lump that sat just behind his tongue. “I don’t even... I don’t know all of their names.”

His heart twisted painfully; there was no way he could ever make it up to their families, even if he did know every last person. A tear rolled down his cheek, burying itself into the scruff on his face. Fingers raced through his hair while he tried to focus on the telling. “I saw them all in... No. I remember tearing someone limb from limb, enjoying the way they tasted, mixed with their sc-screams.” His voice was full of disgust; at himself, at the situation, at the thought.

Once again he pulled his knees to him, head banging loudly against the wall as he fought to not cry. “I ended someone’s life. Multiple some-” Another sob and a shake of his head before he caught himself. “I just...” Fingers ran through his hair and gripped the side of his head before he turned his gaze to Laney. He felt empty, soulless.

“I saw her. Geor-gianne.” As if in memory, his calf ached; the scar was jagged from the silver dagger that had been sunk into him to the hilt. Rubbing at it with a free hand, his other held up his head. “She was going to... she was going to kill me. But-” He almost couldn’t get it out, choking up on the thought before his eyes sought Laney out. He couldn’t say it. Shaking his head, he left the unspoken feeling of karma and how he deserved it away from his lips. If he voiced it, it made it more tangible. More real.

Then he couldn’t torture himself with it. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” If he pleaded long enough, maybe Laney would realize he really was. Another few tears joined his hairy shadow, a shaky breath inhaled before he started to cry, hand covering his eyes. Frank sunk his forehead against his knees. What a waste.

There seemed to be hesitation when she extended the cigarette. Laney was about to tell him to just take it when he did. Something further calmed inside of her as she watched him take two drags; she felt again as she could breathe easier. Relaxation’s glow seemed to emanate from the end of the silly little thing they called a habit. The smell of smoke, which she almost took for granted, and the lingering of it in her lungs made her feel as if she were still holding it— though she also very much wanted it back. When he returned it, she leaned forward again quickly enough, appreciating with unusual consciousness the way it felt between two fingers. She settled into her folded knees, held it idly between slow drags, and waited for an explanation.

The word 'killed' prickled her skin more than Laney thought it should have. It was foreign in Frank’s voice. But the anguish in his face crashed reality upon them. If he appeared dangerous, if the confession scared her, he also seemed afraid— more than Laney, in a way. The sob shook her nerves. “Will knowing their names make you feel better? Will it stop you from dreaming?” She asked calmly, already knowing the answer; the words didn’t come out as questions, so much as points.

The tear on his cheek stung her in an unexpected way, like a bludger to the gut. Laney did not cry around people, did not usually keep company who cried. She had wounded him before, had seen the look in his eyes. But she hadn’t seen him cry, and despite his good heart, his obvious pain, it caught her off guard. This was different, not an easy sort of crying.

The animal in him was a singular experience, but she felt intensely for him, like she’d been invited on the journey, or had stubbornly included herself on it. The repulsion of the confession was whisked away quickly, replaced by absurd understanding and not the loathing with which Frank spoke. That he could hate himself, that it was so evident in his voice, made her want to hex him suddenly; her fingers worked hard not to pinch the cigarette too tightly. She listened without speaking.

“Someone used you to do it for them.”  That loss of control was a wholly different sort of crime, more terrible even than what Frank had done. Like a boggart, it crawled at her, the idea of giving up her own will.

Laney chewed at the inside of her cheek, just barely. It was the name that affected her the most. Georgianne. What if she had lived? The macabre line of thought might have been a villain’s.

Her arms turned to gooseflesh as she inhaled more nicotine, tried to keep cool. The apology rung in her ears, the words sounding almost crazy. Frank appeared to break down, to crumble. Laney pulled the cigarette away from her lips. She felt fire in her abdomen where that supposed bludger had hit. It was worse and more jarring than the impact, the thing that remained. She stared for a moment, open-mouthed, frozen. She was not supposed to feel like this, not for someone else. It hurt too badly, it required too much.

Her momentum returned and she stretched out toward him again, crawled forward quickly, making up for a lost half second. Her hand was on his face faster than she could speak, that seeker’s reflex to reach out, to touch the thing trying to escape. “I know you are,” she said, forcing his head up, forcing her own eyes to lock onto his; her gaze said it before her mouth did: “Look at me. I know you are.”

It was a kind of honesty that did not come easily, despite her boldness. The hand with the cigarette was balanced over his shoulder, precariously, between flesh and wall, as her wrist rested there. She shook her head almost like a seizure, and then pressed her forehead to his. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” she demanded, a loud whisper. She was too afraid to elaborate, to bring to surface those words, to accuse him of hating himself or of thinking that he deserved to be in pain. Laney did not know a person less deserving of pain. “It wasn’t your fault, Frank. It was a different part of you.”

Her rhetorical question seemed to cause him to sob louder, a helpless shake and shrug of his shoulders accompanying it. It wouldn’t stop him from dreaming, but perhaps that was some form of punishment for himself. It was deserved, definitely. Would it make him feel better, though? Some part of him felt that it would; that he could try and give to the families of those he had ended. The rational part realized it would only make things worse, and it ate him up more.

Was it cowardly to keep himself hidden? Should he have sought out his victims families more readily?

Laney’s apparent understanding made his shoulders shake harder, tears fall faster. He almost hurt her; what would she have said then? What if she hadn’t been able to say anything? He cried more, fingertips digging into the top of his head. Frank considered all the things he should do, chiefly among them keeping Laney as far from his as possible. But at the same time... he didn’t want to be without her. How unfair for her.

When she touched him, he wanted to recoil, to push himself down into the ground and bury himself with dirt. Frank didn’t deserve her to console him. Usually he just belittled himself until he fell asleep from pure exhaustion, or put himself into a stupor of video games or alcohol. Or sometimes both.

Her words slipped through, but he only continued to sob. When he tried to stop, it came out harder, a brief moment of silence as he tried to suck it back in. Frank tried not to look at her, but her command was too hard to ignore, glancing to her face through a watery haze. Still, he saw the look she had on her face; it was starting to help calm him down.

Eyes squeezed shut as their foreheads touched, hands seeking her out like a blind man, pulling her tight for security, a desire to not feel alone. Her words made him weep anew. Whatever he was thinking were words and backhanded statements to himself that he would never be able to voice aloud. The harshest critic was in his head, and it made sure he knew it.

His head shook in disagreement, wanting her to understand that it was still him, no matter how removed he tried to be from the wolf inside him. Fingers dug into her before he pulled her against him, needing the comfort, craving it, and feeling dirty and awful for desiring it. Finally he nodded, a way for him to show her how much her words meant.

It was quite a few minutes before he calmed down enough. Frank finally pulled back, exhausted from his fit of tears. His head hit the wall lightly as he took in a shaky breath. His mouth was parched and he craved a cigarette - what were they doing smoking in the apartment?!

Around his eyes was blotchy, angry skin, puffed up to show how much they didn’t like being subjected to such behavior. Wiping his eyes, one hand held tight to hers, lightly moving his thumb against her skin. “You’re amazing.” He brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing her knuckles before resting his cheek against them. “I’m sorry you have to deal with my shit.”

Frank’s guilt was visibly eating at him, worse than watching something on the hunt, and, to Laney, more intense than the actual monster he thought himself to be. He seemed to want to resist her, but gave in soon enough: she was glad for his firm and needy fingers, something to touch and distract her. She was glad too for the quiet that followed the sobs, even if it was less distracting. As she hugged him, she rubbed his back, and ignored the strange sensation of a stray tear drop finding its way to her cheek or wrist.

When he pulled back, she did too, but shuffled closer so that their legs were still touching and she no longer had the bed to support her back. She curled her fingers into the edge of his palm, holding on as much as he was. She watched for signs of a further breakdown.

The word had weight to it in the way most didn’t. Laney’s heart jumped happily, despite the bad situation. She smiled a soft smile and rocked forward, the cigarette threatening to litter a column of ash on the floor. “You’re pretty great yourself.” She bit her tongue before she could add an inopportune for a wolf. Now was not the time to joke. She almost snorted at his next words, though. Laney was in the habit of finding herself right, had an overly healthy self confidence most of the time, but the irony in Frank’s statement wasn’t lost on her. The shit-stirrer in their relationship was arguably not the direwolf. “If that’s the worst you’re giving me to deal with, you could bring it on a little more,” she suggested. She liked things rough and unexpected, but she was kidding, more dark humor coloring her tone. Laney was adventuresome, but she didn’t usually get overly complicated, not where sex and feelings were concerned (sex, maybe), but they were getting there, and not just because of Frank’s bad dreams. And maybe this time she did like it.

She held back from saying what her eyes said, that he needed to tell her instead of holding all of it in, and that she might hex him if alluded to being a terrible person again. It was a hard concept for Laney, too, sharing certain things, even if she could blurt out any number of other things. She could make Frank feel guilty all she wanted, and hardly blink over it, but watching him torture himself was hard to stomach.

The cigarette went out out before she could flick the mounting ash or take a drag. Laney frowned at it, and pulled away from Frank to find something to use as an ashtray— and a fresh smoke. She dropped it into a beer bottle, whose last swig barely hissed. She looked over her shoulder, holding the new cigarette unlit. “Do you want to try to get back in bed?” Her hand came down at her side and she crawled around, back to him. She gave it a dismissive gesture. “I can wait a few hours.”

Even if he couldn’t bring himself to believe her words right then, Frank appreciated them nonetheless. He smiled however small as he looked at her face. His eyes dropped after a moment; emotionally he was exhausted. A small breath of a laugh escaped him and he rolled his eyes before looking up at her once again; he did not intend to bring on any more drama than had already been brought. In fact, this much... he hadn’t even realized he could do what he had.

Which made it all the more sobering. He rested his lips against his forearms, crossed over his knees, nose resting on the top as he stared absentmindedly in Laney’s direction. The biggest problem was that it was a lot to deal with. Suddenly there was this huge unknown that would plague him every time he tried to sleep. At least with Laney there. The very last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. At least, when they weren’t both playing around. Hurt for real was not something Frank played at.

Frank blinked back to the present, watching her as she crawled over to the beer bottle, watching her move quietly. The smell of the cigarette continued to linger in Frank’s nostrils, a side-effect of his condition. There was a sharp edge to the smell coming off of Laney, a different whiff than he was used to. He assumed he had scared her, and though it wasn’t as strong as it had been when he first came to, it stung his olfactory nerves with its reminder. His head automatically shook ‘no’ at her question before he gave it some thought.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward and gingerly took the cigarette from her fingers. Frank set it in the corner of his mouth before groaning as he rolled to the side, getting on his knees on the hard ground; he was not twenty like others in the room. Once he had the lighter in his hand, he lit the tip and took a long, unhealthy drag. His free hand gently grabbed the back of her head, fingers moving through her hair to get a decent hold. Frank pulled her forward a little before making contact with her forehead; he lightly kissed her hairline before snuggling into it and taking a slow, deep breath.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Fingers gently caressed the back of her head before he pulled away. He took half a drag before handing it back over to her, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth before his hand fell down to her shoulder and then her knee, squeezing however slightly before pushing up off the floor. Frank sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed, making a motion at her before smiling softly. “Come back to bed. If... you want.” He wouldn’t be able to let himself fall asleep, but maybe she could relax and salvage the rest of the night.

His nightmares were too real.

The bit of fear that was left on her, that would linger through the night— perhaps more than a bit— didn’t prevent Laney from closing her eyes, however lightly, taking in the secondhand smoke and finding security in Frank’s closeness. There were mixed emotions, but the one that won was the one that needed him and needed him to know that he wasn’t a monster. She brashly ignored the other things. Frank’s nightmares were hardly as worrying as an opposing team’s beater, the chase for a snitch, or bad weather when she was fifty feet off the ground. She could take on a direwolf, especially one so squarely good.

Laney had never though she’d end up with someone this good— good in nature, good in giving, the sort of person who cried over the idea of her hurting her. Yet here she was, and it was arguably her most stable relationship.

Stubbornness and invincibility, and maybe something else, put the easy spring in her step as she climbed to her feet, cigarette in hand, and then into the bed. She took a drag and then leaned over the nightstand, putting it out as she had the other. She’d only a needed a few pulls to calm her, tide her, and she assumed Frank was of similar mind. She crawled behind him, settled onto her knees and bare feet, and put her arms around his neck, loosely, her face hovering close to his skin. She kissed hot skin at the base of his neck, laid lips on his shoulder, then his cheek. “It was just a dream,” she reminded him, softly, a murmur on the shadow of bristly hair that came with his affliction. Laney liked it, everything from its tactility to the way he looked when he hadn’t shaved for twelve hours. Her lips formed a calm pout as she rested her chin on his shoulder and she pondered the newness of this situation— or the perpetuity of it for Frank. Her eyes settled on the clock on the nightstand.

Finally, she withdrew her arms and crawled back to her spot in the bed, though she seemed to shift slightly more to the center, consciously, taking over part of the sheets where Frank’s outline was still visible. She patted his spot, two muted thumps on the mattress, and sank onto her pillow with a tiny yawn. She watched his back as her eyes grew heavy.

A slow breath was inhaled as her arm wrapped around his neck, a small lift to his lips coming over him before he could help himself. Frank held on to her lightly; his head turned briefly towards her. He chewed briefly on his lower lip before nodding - whether it was in agreement or just to put her at ease, he wasn’t sure. Eyes closed almost unwillingly as they sat there on the edge of the bed. This was relaxing and intimate.

When she pulled away, Frank turned briefly to watch her settle down, the light from the street filtering through the curtain. He smiled at the encouragement, finally moving onto the bed and encouraging her to roll over. Frank wrapped his arms loosely around her; he pulled her in against him, kissing her neck lightly. “Sleep well, baby.”

It wasn’t too long before she was breathing slower, evenly, little other noises coming through as she settled into sleep. Frank wormed his way out of her clutches. He slowly pushed himself up and off the bed. Little grunts from the springs in the bed spoke of his exit. Frank quietly padded out to the living room where he settled on the couch and some paperwork, glasses settling on his nose as he stared down at the research he had done. The Ukraine was where he had to go for a group of book requests.

Hopefully Laney slept well now. The wireless was pulled close, quietly turned on as he started drafting his trip out.