His workshop. It wasn’t far. Dark, it required fumbling. He let himself in, made his way up the stairs, and collapsed to the floor as soon as he had it shut behind him.

The fact that the light was on was slow to register.

“Rain,” Erin said.

“Don’t,” he said. He didn’t want her to see him like this.

She knelt beside him. He shook his head.

She wasn’t strong enough to move him, but when he realized what she was doing, he didn’t have the willpower left to resist. She pulled him closer, so his head was in her lap.

She stroked his hair and shushed him.

Mama Mathers stood above the two of them, watching, and he couldn’t bring himself to mention it.

When the cluster dream whisked his consciousness away, it was a mercy.

Shadow 5.1

Experience told me that after waking up from a bad dream, it was better for me to move. The emotional and mental impact of being tired for the rest of the day was far lower than if I remained in bed and stewed. Either way, I rarely fell back into sleep.

It was one of the few things that had been easier at the hospital. Sleep had been regular, reliable. There hadn’t been any stretches where I’d have nightmares or insomnia for three nights in a row and the littlest things would be a grind by the third day. The drugs had been part of my diet, to ensure I fell asleep and woke up at certain times. They didn’t do much about the nightmares, but even waking up hadn’t ended the nightmare back then.

I was perpetually tempted to get something to help, but the degree to which I was tempted was a warning bell in the back of my mind.

Sleep, eating, having a space to retreat to, physical affection, attention, socializing, breathing. It was always the basic, animal things that came apart in the wake of stress and crisis. Things broke down, got twisted, or they were reminders.

I woke up and I pulled on a pair of jeans. Red-dyed raw denim, washed with something dark that made the creases and seams very apparent. They were a little looser fitting than my going-out jeans, and I’d settled into wearing them when I was at home and my dad was around, or now, when Crystal was around. It felt less like I was a slob if I was wearing them at home, especially if anyone dropped in.

Dean had tried on red jeans once, while I was shopping with him. His uncharacteristically self-conscious reaction had had me in stitches. If I hadn’t been able to fly, I would have been on the floor laughing. It was a good memory and a large part of why the jeans were a security-blanket level thing for me.