The Typhoon ~Vash x OC AU~

Chapter 39: Harrowing Nightmares

Leilani

I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes it's as if I'm right back at that fire, seeing Millions Knives's eyes, cold and calculated, burning into my skin, leaving welts and blisters, but it is not the flames whipping around us that leave me paralyzed in dread. It is the wailing baby he holds in his hands that rips my heart from my chest.

And as I scream, I always wake in a cold sweat, my throat hoarse with tears and tight.

So I gave up trying to sleep, instead keeping a watchful eye on Greywynn as she dreams. She woke about an hour ago, but I shooed an exhausted Vash back to sleep, saying I'd tend to her. I did, of course, and now she is back asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily.

My eyes burn, the lids heavy with tiredness, but I can never shake the internalized dread that dream has instilled in me. The cruelty of my mind leaves me feeling jittery and panicked. So much so that I brought out my pistol.

I haven't held it since my run-in with the Bad Lads – haven't even thought about it – but right now, its etched metal is a familiar comfort in my hand. One that I know well, having traced it over a thousand times. It eases my mind a bit to have it. To be armed is a part of survival on No Man's Land, though I'm not sure what a measly little gun will do against a monster like Millions Knives.

Deep down, I don't think it'll do anything. To a menace like him, bullets may very well be like child's play. His body might just expel them like nothing as he rages closer. And that's to say the bullets penetrate him to begin with.

I shake that thought from my head. I need to calm down. My mind is playing tricks on my body. The mental images speed up my heart rate and leave me wanting to puke. Being a mother is far more stressful than I ever thought.

"Lei?"

I look over at the bed. In the pale light of early morning, I can faintly see Vash. He is sitting up, his chest bare and hard, and his hair wild. He rubs his eyes with his prosthetic, trying to brush the sleep from them when he freezes.

"Is that...a gun?" Even in the hushed murmur of his voice, I can hear the alarm. Slowly, he climbs from the bed, moving closer to me. His night joggers hang low from his hips. He reaches where I am and crouches, resting his palms on my bare knees. He is warm, and his eyes are soft, though his brows are pinched. "What are you doing?"