Work Text:
When Adora opens her eyes, she’s no longer trapped in an inescapable world of scarlet. Darkness soothes her mind as the gentle hum of Darla’s engine replaces the screams of the damned, forming a harmony with the sound of her own heartbeat.
A voice says something to her, but it’s garbled, silenced by the sound of her blood rushing through her veins. It speaks again, a soft rasp finding it’s way through her ears and into her bloodstream, replacing the adrenaline and cortisol that has conquered her body.
Something soft brushes against her bare shoulder—the warmth of a hand. The sudden contact forces Adora to retreat from the bed and into the corner, her hands’ relentless shaking dulled only slightly by the weight of her now summoned sword, her fingers squeezing the grip so hard the color has drained from them. Adora levels the crystalline blade towards the person she was sharing the bed with, her eyes unable to make out any details besides a large pair of ears and hands held palms out, a universal sign of vulnerability.
“Easy Adora, it’s just me.”
The sound of her heart trying to break through her chest subsides enough for her to make out what the other person is saying. It takes a few moments longer for Adora’s brain to catch up, forced to shake off the final images of blade cutting into body. Cast in a pale blue light, the room looks welcoming instead of threatening. A large bed rests at the head of the room, with a desk on either wall. The light isn’t coming from anywhere visible, though.
It’s pouring from her eyes.
Catra is sitting on the bed, ears back, the dull oranges of her fur cast into bronze by the pale light. Adora can’t place her expression, somewhere between concern for her and trying to take control of a bad situation. The sword clatters to the ground and dematerializes. Adora wishes she could do the same as her legs give out, sending her tumbling to the ground.
She squeezes her eyes shut, plunging the room back into nothingness. The palms of her hands press against her eyelids to try and stop the tears, but it’s like trying to dam a river with wire mesh. Her lungs burn as she takes shuddering breaths, the noise concealing the sound of Catra slipping out of bed and approaching her.
“You’re okay, Adora. The war’s over, we won.”
A pair of hands dig into her shoulders, slowly peeling her away from the corner and guiding her into an embrace. Warmth fills the space next to Adora as she lets Catra guide her like gravity. Catra, the sun; Adora, a frozen comet being pulled towards the dawn.
There’s so much she wants to say, so much she needs to say so Catra can understand that no, the war isn’t over. Even though Prime is defeated there is still so much work left to do, planets still under occupation that need freeing, fleets and armies that need subduing.
The war in her mind rages every day, casting Adora as an unwilling soldier forced back into muddy trenches to try and stop a horde of foes hellbent on her destruction. She couldn’t lay her sword to rest any more than she could forgive herself for everything she’s done wrong.
Adora lets herself fall into the hug, lowering her shield and revealing the soft joints in her armor just long enough to let Catra reach inside to find the broken center. Another wave of sobs wrack her body, forcing her to take small gulps of air whenever she can, fighting the onslaught of tears like waves.
Catra continues to whisper soothing words to her, one of her hands rubbing small circles into the space between Adora’s shoulders, the other cradling her head. She lets her head fall into Catra’s lap, her partner’s fingers dancing through her hair. The constant, ambient noise of machinery helps to keep Adora centered, forming a barrier to prevent her mind from wandering too far.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
She doesn’t want to. This nightmare was one of her many recurring dreams, this one the most violent and brutal of them all: A world where she let She-Ra become the weapon the First Ones wanted her to be. It always starts differently, sometimes with Shadow Weaver using forbidden magic to rewrite Adora’s personality, other times with some ancient device turning the demi-goddess rampant. Tonight, though, all of the fault lies at Adora’s own feet.
“It was about when I saved you from Prime’s ship.” Adora takes her time to select the best words like a cook choosing spices for a dish. She doesn’t fail to notice one of Catra’s hands absentmindedly falling to the back of her own neck, rubbing at the year old scar like it’s a sore muscle.
“Things were different, though,” Adora continues, “We were too late. Prime had chosen you to become his new vessel. Catra, I—” Crimson and verdant liquid flash in front of Adora’s eyes, dragging her back under. She feels the phantom pull of fabric and muscle against a blade, claws slicing through leather and skin, a hint of Catra behind those sickly green eyes.
The dreams always end the same.
Catra doesn’t react with fear or with anger, she doesn’t try to rationalize with a version of Adora that exists only in nightmares and what-ifs. Instead, she soothes her, pulling Adora into a tight hug before kissing her. There’s barely any pressure when their lips meet, more asking for permission and less overwhelming with love. Adora presses into her, letting Catra’s love flow through the gesture and burn away the memories of something that never happened.
Neither of them say anything when Adora pulls away. She falls back into Catra’s arms, and makes one last, futile attempt to keep the second wave of tears at bay.
“Adora,” Catra says, her eyes so beautiful in the pale blue light, “You’re safe here. You can cry.”
Vulnerability comes easier when you have permission, something Catra knows Adora needs. Adora knows it too; if she has permission, then it isn’t selfish and wrong. She lets her armor fall off piece by piece, heavy plates followed by layers of choking metaphorical chainmail.
Adora’s able to force out a few pitiful apologies with the little breath she has. Catra brushes each one away with a reminder that she has done nothing wrong, that this is okay. Adora, for the first time in a long time, lets herself fall apart, shattering into jagged pieces.
With all the care in the world, Catra collects them and starts to put them back together. She brings Adora to the bed, wrapping her in blankets and making her drink water. Adora cries so much the back of her eyes burn from overuse, her lungs continuing to strain long after she stopped sobbing.
Wrapped in Catra’s arms and with words of love whispered into her ear, Adora finds herself falling asleep. It’s the kind of sleep where you don’t want tomorrow to come, tears running down your cheeks as exhaustion pulls you under. The one comfort that helps put her heart at ease is that Catra will be there with her, ready to make sure Adora survives whatever the world throws at her.