Work Text:
David wakes up with a start, breathing heavily.
The fading dream still lingers, ghosts of adrenaline and pain heavy in his chest. He can’t remember what it was, only that it felt very, very, real, and was very, very, bad.
He brings a trembling hand up to his face and presses into it, curling inwards slightly as he tries to calm his breathing. There’s an anxious, building, pressure filling up his lungs and throat, pushing. His eyes feel wet and warm.
“Mmm…” there’s a rustle in the dark as someone shifts on the bed behind him, and then an arm settles gently on his waist. “You ok?” Dwayne mumbles, voice slow and raspy with sleep.
David blows out a shaky breath, hot against his palm, but can’t make a sound around the tightness in his throat. He feels Dwayne move again, pulling him a bit closer, his thumb rubbing lightly against his stomach.
“Ok… ‘m here.”
It’s said into David’s hair, lips against his scalp, close enough to be a kiss.
He swallows thickly and brings his hand down to squeeze at the arm wrapped around him, just holding, curling further back against Dwayne’s chest.
There’s another creak as the bed shifts, in front of him this time, and another light, confused groan before someone huffs and wiggles closer to sandwich David into a hug.
“Bad dream?” Paul asks, and David nods, shivering at the contact. “Mmm... ok.” He yawns. “We gotcha man.”
And then, they just hold him. For a long time.
David wraps his arms around Paul and squeezes hard, and Dwayne does the same to him, still rubbing against his skin. The contact tingles in just the right way, calms him and grounds him, exactly like he needs it to right then.
David cries very quietly, like he always does, and breathes very quietly, like he always does, and barely moves, like he always does, and they hold him.
He falls asleep again at some point, and when he wakes up the next time there’s a head of blonde curls squished between him and Paul, and another arm next to Dwayne’s. Their legs are all knocked together under the blankets, tangled and messy, and David can feel Marko’s soft breaths against his neck and Michael’s rough palm on his hip.
The morning sunlight is warm, bright and soft on the posters and knick knacks filling their room at the Emerson house, and the dream doesn’t seem that important anymore.
David smiles, settling further into the mess of blankets and limbs, and let’s his eyes drift closed again.