[D:BH Connor One Shots] More Than Machinery

It's Just a Dream

[UNEDITED]

Blue blood.

It had been everywhere. In all the places on the body you looked at, it was everywhere. Hell, you couldn't even bare looking at the face and yet you still did. His eye lids closed softly with his mouth slightly ajar, oozing of thirium. The sight before you made you want to scream, but when your mouth opened, your throat was caught in something.

Everything was silent, but the atmosphere was intoxicating. You felt like drowning in emotions, but instead you were struggling with just breathing.

That's when you realized, as your eyes fluttered open from hell, that it had just been a dream.

"That's the fourth time this week..." you cursed, rubbing your eyes and glancing to the time. There had only been ten minutes left until the alarm, but you decided to wake up anyway. No way would you rather take a short nap after that dream - wait no, correction; nightmare.

For some odd reason these dreams keep reoccurring. These sickening dreams of seeing your co-worker and sweetheart, Connor, spewed on the floor motionless, covered in blue blood and his bio-components visible from gashes and cuts.

You didn't understand why you had them.

Perhaps your anxiety suddenly sky rocketed for some unknown reason, or it could be that ever since Connor had been shot and came back the next day, without knowing how fucked that seemed, it started getting to you. Ever since you met him, your mind has been running with more thoughts than you can keep up. It isn't all bad, though. You loved Connor - and without being able to fully comprehend the emotion - he loved you, too.

Perhaps you had just cared too much.

You shake your head and cleared your thoughts as the door to your room opened. It shocked you at first, but then you remembered last night.

"Oh, you're still here?" you rubbed your eyes tiredly, pulling your legs over the bed as you looked up at the said man you dream of. His warm eyes gaze at you, walking up to you with a tray of food. You weren't lying when you say he was a literal sweetheart.

"I thought it would be best to stay after what happened. You showed high levels of stress and emotional trauma that it would have been unwise for me to leave," he said in a matter on fact tone. You chuckled at that, helping him with the tray and placing it over your bedside table.

"But did you want to stay?" you asked. Even after peaking deviancy, he still had the habit of handling situations even if he did not want to. It was like he must do it, since he was made to, but you were strongly against that.

"Yes..." he gave a soft smile, almost shy like, which made you smile too.

"Thank you for the food, by the way," you said, "You didn't have to..."

"I wanted to," Connor said firmly, "You... mean a lot to me, so I want to take care of you."

Your lips pursed as you looked at Connor, feeling like you're about to cry. He was being too sweet you swear you will get diabetes...

"Thank you, Connor," you gave a sweet smile and placed the tray over your legs, taking a big bite of the food prepared. It was a delicious breakfast; toast with pepper spread and an egg on top with a mandarin and a glass of water, including a small wrap of chocolate as a side. As you ate, Connor took a seat beside you, careful not to tip the tray on your lap with his weight.

You looked up at him, grinning as your cheeks were rounded like a squirrel from the food. Even he couldn't help but smile as well, never able to process how you can be so wonderful by just eating food.

"Man, thank you so much, Connor. I mean it," after a gulp, you spoke, "I owe you."

"You owe me?" Connor retorted, earning a nod from you. He looked at you for a bit, then opened his mouth to speak, "Then may I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"What do you dream about?" he asked. You lowered your toast from your mouth and gazed at him, a little surprised that he asked, but you knew it was bound to come up.

"What makes you ask that?" you questioned out of curiosity. Did he scan you while you slept?

"As you were sleeping, you continuously turned and occasionally mumbled my name. Were you dreaming of me?" he said with his classic head tilt.

You sighed and looked down, leaning your head on his shoulder, "I dream about you a lot. Sometimes they can be nice, like we would be walking on the beach at dusk, holding hands." In the corner of your eye, you see Connor smile softly.

"But, most of the time," you continued, "I would dream that you... you died. They felt so real and they were so graphic... I'm afraid to sleep."

Connor moves away and looks straight at you. His hands slowly caress over yours, gently rubbing them, "I'm... sorry."

"Don't be," you said quickly. You knew he was going to blame himself if you told him. He used to be dense to the fact that him dying hurt you badly, but the more pain you accidently showed, made him think horribly of himself.

He hated himself for making you feel this way.

"Just be more careful, you little nut," you smiled reassuringly, wrapping your arms around him. He chuckled at the nickname and hugged you back gently.

"I will. I promise."