Chapter Text
When Curly wakes up, he thinks he’s still asleep. That this must be a nightmare, it must be, but just as he starts deluding himself, the pain crashes in, full force. Everything is burning. Every inch of his skin feels like it’s on fire. He can’t feel his hands or feet, it’s just white hot pain. He can’t move, either; when he tries, it just sends in another wave of pain coursing through his veins. He tries to open his mouth, to scream, to shout, to do anything at all, but nothing. He can only see out of his left eye, so he stares. He tries to look down at himself, but it’s blurry, just red and white and blue. He can’t blink, can’t talk, can’t even move, so he stares up at the ceiling of the med bay.
He counts the tiles. He’s burning. He counts them again. It feels like someone’s stabbing into his skull. He counts them a third time. He tries to cry, but he can’t.
Hours. This goes on for hours. Nothing changes, nothing moves. He just stares up at the ceiling as he hears the sound of waves from the false window. The red light from it is headed his direction; it must be showing the sunset beach again. In fact, everything seems too red; he doesn’t know if it’s something wrong with his eye or not. How had this happened? What happened? Was everyone else okay, or did they get hurt too? Jimmy. He got Jimmy this job, it would be his fault if he got hurt, all his fault, how could he have been so stupid?
He hears the hiss of the door open.
“Hello, Captain.”
He hears Anya’s soft voice. It’s been the only thing to sooth him in hours of agony.
“Jimmy said he gave you pain meds earlier, you’re probably due for another round,” she says. She’s still too far away, Curly can’t see her. “I’ll grab him in a minute.”
Curly doesn’t want her to leave, doesn’t want to be left alone in this state for another second. He wants to jump up from the table and beg her to stay, Anya, always so kind, always such a good friend, he never really valued her when he had the chance, he always should have-
“AY SLEEPYHEAD!”
Curly jolts up from his bed. The pain is gone without a trace, like it evaporated into the air but his heart is racing at record speed. He can hardly breathe enough. Curly puts his hands on his face, wiggles his fingers, stands on his feet. A dream. Really? A dream got him this frazzled. He glances at his alarm clock and—no. Absolutely not. That doesn’t say 9:57am. It doesn’t. That would mean he overslept nearly five hours and holy shit, he’d never hear the end of it from Jimmy. He can already picture his smug smile.
“On my way!” Curly says, muffled slightly as he pulls on his shirt. His chest still feels tight and his heart is in overdrive, but this he can manage. He can get on his clothes and do his damn job. It was just a nightmare.
“You’d better be,” Daisuke calls from the end of the door. “I think Swansea might actually kill you.”
Curly huffs out a laugh. His heart doesn’t feel like it’s actually going to explode anymore, which is a bonus.
“Come on, kid,” Curly responds. “You’re just glad you’re off the hook today.”
Curly can practically hear Daisuke’s grin in his voice.
“Hey man, don’t call me out like that.”
He opens the door, and Daisuke does a soldier salute so dramatically, he nearly falls.
“Where’s he waiting?”
“In the kitchen, I think,” Daisuke says, a little guiltily. “I may have suggested he steal your coffee ration as revenge?”
Curly rolls his eyes, trying to look annoyed, but it’s all in good fun.
“Alright, Daisuke, I may have earned that one,” Curly says. He pats him on his shoulder, then starts walking down the hall. “Stay out of trouble, kid.”
“Will do!” Daisuke calls after him.
***
The door of the med bay opens, and Anya grips her pen tighter, willing herself not to grit her teeth.
“Jimmy, I already told you I wasn’t in the mood for your jokes. I have work to do.”
“Woah, just me!” Curly says. Anya looks up, face flushing. She can’t believe she just talked to him like that. She looks up, and she’s relieved to see him smiling. He looks tired, though. She’s seeing the beginning of dark circles “Spare a minute? If you’re too busy-”
“No,” she says too quickly. “Between you and me, that was just an excuse to get Jimmy to give me some quiet.”
She motions to the chair in front of her, and Curly sits.
“He that annoying? I can talk to him if you think that would help,” Curly asks. Anya feels a dash of hope. “He’s a bit of a character, but he’s got a real heart of gold beneath all that.”
Anya’s glad she’s holding a pen; if it were a pencil, it would have already snapped.
“It’s fine,” she says, and she hates herself for saying that. But Curly would never believe her. No; he could never believe her. He cares too much about his friend to see his faults. “What did you want to talk about, anyway, Captain?”
Curly rolls his shoulders, shifting in his chair. Something really must be on his mind if he didn’t correct her ‘Captain’ to his usual response of ‘that’s Curly to you.’
“You ever have a nightmare that’s so bad, it actually feels sort of real?” Curly says.
“Well-”
“Like, even time was passing in real time,” he interrupts. Anya shakes her head. Sometimes, it feels like people ask for her advice and don’t care to hear what she has to say. “And I swear to you, I actually felt real pain.”
Anya pinches the bridge of her nose; her frustration and care for him battling.
“What happened in this dream?”
Curly huffs out a laugh, but it’s bitter sounding.
“I honestly don’t know. I was in the med bay, and injured. Badly. Don’t know what from but it felt like burns. I didn’t have most of my arms or legs, one of my eyes, even my eyelids,” he describes. He’s talking faster now, that charming smile replaced by genuine fear. Anya’s chest feels tight as she watches his facade unfurl, even just a little. “And I was just…lying there. For hours, goddamn hours, and I felt every second of it. All I could do was stare at the ceiling and be in pain. It wasn’t like a dream, not even a memory, it was like I was living it in real time.”
Anya hesitates, watching his panicked blue eyes. She places a hand over his, and he almost looks embarrassed, wiping those emotions away from his face. He combs his curly hair back from his face.
“Sorry,” he says, “that was kind of intense.”
Anya shakes her head.
“I don’t think so,” Anya says, and his shoulders relax a tad. “I think you have a lot of pressure in your job, and I’m not surprised the stress is getting to you.”
Curly tilts his head a little.
“Well, it shouldn’t,” he says. “I should be a good enough Captain that I can take a little pressure.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Anya chides. “Listen, maybe there’s something that’s been bothering you for a while, and this is how it’s manifesting. Maybe your dream is representing one of those fears.”
Curly, bites his thumbnail; it’s like Anya can see the gears turning.
“Inaction.”
“Inaction?”
“In my dream, I literally couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even move off the damn table,” Curly says. He looks at her, blue eyes alight. “Maybe it’s a sign I should be doing more.”
Doing more? That’s bold, when you can’t even notice what’s right in front of you.
“Maybe,” Anya says instead. “But you already do a lot of work—managing the crew, creating and solving tasks. I don’t want you to stretch yourself too thin. Maybe it’s the chance to look inward; what are you missing there?”
Curly nods, lost in thought.
“Maybe,” he murmurs.
“Regardless, I’m glad you came to me,” Anya says. She smiles, doesn’t even have to try this time. “I’m glad you talked this over instead of holding it all in.”
The doors open again, and it’s Jimmy. Anya hates the skip of fear her heart does, but Curly’s here—Curly’s here, and nothing can happen.
“What are you doing out here, Cap?” Jimmy asks. His eyes glint, dark and shiny like oil. “That intern said you slept until 10:00.”
“Technically, no,” Curly says with a laugh. “Bad excuse, but I had a nightmare, so I was just checking in with our trusty nurse.”
Anya can’t even feel the compliment with Jimmy in the room.
“A nightmare?” Jimmy asks, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Curly says with a shrug, looking more embarrassed by the second.
“Oh, mommy, I had a bad dweam,” he mocks, looking at Anya. She wants to kill him. She blinks, hating herself for the thought. Then she thinks it again. She could stab him through the eye with the pen she’s holding, right into his skull. “Did you bring him some milk and cookies and tuck him into bed? Was he so snuggly wuggly he overswept work?”
“Fuck you,” Curly says with a laugh, punching Jimmy in the shoulder. “Bold coming from the man who overslept his final because your fifth grandparent ‘died.’”
Jimmy’s eyes look wide.
“Well,” he starts. “Whatever, fuck you right back. Wanna grab lunch?”
“Sure,” Curly says. He looks into her eyes, and the sincerity rises back to face. “Thanks for talking with me, Anya.”
“Anytime, Captain,” she says. She means it.
“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you, that’s Curly to you?” he says, winking. He follows Jimmy out of the room, and Anya is left in comfortable, reliable silence.