Laundry Day, or: My Hero
Pairing: Bert McCracken/Quinn Allman
Summary: "I won't ever let anything hurt you."
Disclaimer: I'm a pathological liar. True story...or is it?
Author's Notes: Have a fic request? Go here for my 100 Prompts table, or here for my H/C Prompt table.
Quinn Allman's Mom Has Got It Going On
You wake in a cold sweat, panting. Head spinning, and it takes you a moment to realize that you're still laying down, safely inside the tent. And Bert... he's staring at you, hovering over you and biting down on his lip. You can't quite remember the last time you've seen him look that worried, and if you have seen him that worried before, it certaintly wasn't worry for you.
This time it is. Completely.
"M-morning," You force out, trying to smile. It's more of a grimace, and you must look pretty terrible because Bert looks away, turning his gaze to his lap.
He doesn't ask what the nightmare was about. He never does, knowing that you'll either avoid the questioni or lie about it. It's not something he needs to know anyway. Not right now.
Still, you can tell that he's itching to say something. Say anything, search for a hint or at least a little assurence that you're okay. But you can remember every detail of that dream today, and you're not so sure if you can even try to lie to him today.
He looks back up at you as you move to curl into a ball and yank the blanket over your head. A sign that you don't want to be bothered, and it kind of annoys you that he doesn't just fucking leave.
Squeeze your eyes shut, lay still. Maybe he'll think you've already fallen back to sleep. Maybe he'll catch on and go away. Maybe he'll-
"Quinn..." He sounds desperate and worried, and it makes you feel kind of guilty. Guilty enough to grunt in responce. He slides his hand under the blanket to play with your hair, and you squeeze your eyes tighter. "You're safe, okay? No matter what you're dreaming about... you're safe. I won't ever let anything hurt you."
You have to smile a little at this, letting out a soft laugh. You finally turn to look at him and he lays next to you, throwing his arm around you.
"My hero," You say, laughing again. It's soft and strained, but still. It's a laugh. It's enough for Bert, anyway, who seems to relax as you bury your face in his chest. And even though your heart is still pounding and there's this awful tightening in your throat, you think that maybe Bert's right.
You're safe. He won't let anything hurt you, ever. That's what friends are for.