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Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Anya was too far away to hear the hands of the clock moving, but she still felt as if the sound was ringing away in her ears. The chatter of people around her, birds chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze—all other sounds faded to a hush. She grew more and more anxious as the longer hand—she wasn’t sure which hand meant what—drew closer to the XII at the top.
The clock gonged loudly several times. Anya held her breath and tightened her grip around Bond’s fluffy neck.
“...” The square fell silent again. Anya’s eyes widened in realization. No explosion!
Bond turned to her and licked her cheek affectionately, his big, dark eyes softening with relief. “We did it!” Anya laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. She nuzzled into his fur with a smile. “We saved the future! Papa is—”
A loud boom shook the square, the flash of brilliant, white-hot light blindingly bright. She shielded her eyes and let out a choked gasp. Turning to the source of the deafening sound, her arms went slack around Bond’s neck. What? But we…
What was left of the crumbled building was walls nearly toppling over, some parts on fire, suffocating smoke snaking its way into the sky like a river of death. Most of the walls were rubble on the ground, and suddenly frantic screams punctured the air.
Anya’s legs carried her away on their own accord. Amidst the crowd running away from the danger, she pushed forward, managing to weave between the long legs of adults until she was standing before the shattered remains. Bond was suddenly gone, leaving her alone to face the sight before her.
There was Papa, his strong, athletic body suddenly so frail under the weight of an entire building. Crushed like a twig under the relentless weight of a mountain. His eyes were open, but instead of that gaze of clear skies that Anya was accustomed to, they were dull and empty. She could see the blood trickling from his head, unnatural. Most of his body wasn’t even visible underneath the rubble.
“Papa?” Anya whimpered, falling to her knees beside him. She reached out and placed a timid hand on his shoulder. “Papa!” she cried again.
A rivulet of blood trailed down his cheek.
“A-Anya saved you,” Anya choked out. “So why won’t you wake up?”
He stared at nothing. His hands were limp beside his head, fingers splayed out and still.
“This isn’t funny.” Her lip wobbled; her voice trembled. “Papa,” she repeated, shaking his shoulder. Her vision blurred with tears.
He didn’t stir.
Footsteps pounded behind Anya, followed by a heartbroken wail. It was Mama. She dropped to her knees next to Anya and cradled Papa against her chest, sobbing into his ragged hair. Bond bounded up to them and watched the scene unfold with solemn eyes.
It was that sight that did it for Anya. The realization set in: that Papa was truly dead. She thought she saved him, but something went wrong. She failed. And now her tough yet kind, cold yet loving Papa was gone.
And with the way Mama turned her gaze to Anya, warm red eyes turning dark with loathing, furious at her daughter’s utter failure, Anya knew she was next.
Anya’s eyes shot open. She sat up in bed and glanced around frantically, taking in her surroundings. It was dark, but her pupils adjusted quickly. She was in her room, sitting on her bed. Bond sat at the foot of her bed, staring up at her in concern.
It was only a nightmare. Anya reached for Bond’s ears, scratching them lightly, hoping to find comfort in his warm presence. He licked her hand and whimpered softly.
She tried to focus on Bond and wave away the image of Papa lying lifelessly on the pavement. It didn’t work. The emptiness in his gaze, his unmoving body, the blank expression, blood everywhere—it was all seared into the forefront of her mind.
Papa is alive, Anya told herself through shuddering breaths. She felt wetness on her cheeks and, with a start, realized she was crying.
Why was she crying? Anya knew Papa was alive. He was sleeping in his room next door. And yet, an irrational part of her feared that he really was gone, that she was alone again. She couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened to him—what did happen, in another future.
She couldn’t go back to bed. Not until she saw the proof in front of her that Papa was safe.
Slipping out of bed, Anya creeped into the hall quietly and stood outside Papa’s door. She lingered there for a moment, hoping to hear him snoring softly, breathing quietly, the rustle of his sheets as he turned in bed—anything to indicate that his presence was real and tangible.
She heard nothing. Her heart lurched, irrational panic gripping her lungs.
Anya opened the door. She felt guilty for her childish fear. Papa was a light sleeper. He would wake up immediately. He might even panic—his first thought was always of danger.
She was selfish, but she wanted—needed—to know that Papa was there, his heart still beating. Anya needed to know that he would wake up and look at her with his warm blue gaze, clarity in his eyes instead of emptiness.
Papa stirred as she approached his bed. “...Anya?” he asked drowsily, sitting up and looking at her.
“Anya had a nightmare,” she explained quietly. “Can…can Anya sleep with Papa tonight?”
He gazed at her for a moment. From his sleepy thoughts, it seemed like he was going to say no. Anya thought she might start crying again.
Then, Papa’s eyes softened. “Of course.”
He shuffled back, lifting his sheets and making room for her on his bed. Heart in her throat, Anya crawled onto the mattress and curled up beside him, tucking herself under his arm and resting her head on his chest.
Papa automatically hugged her closer and stroked a hand through her hair. Anya closed her eyes. It felt nice. Papa was always warm and safe.
She grew aware of a soft, lulling rhythm in her ears. The quiet ba-bum of Papa’s heart, strong and steady. Anya pressed her ear closer, feeling her own heartbeat slow down to match his. Her thoughts came to a rest. She was calm.
Right now, Papa seemed strong and indestructible as always. The rhythm of his heart never wavered, always reliable in its next beat. Anya could predict when the muscle would contract again, pumping blood to his veins and breathing life into his body.
But even Papa’s life could be so easily snuffed out. She’d seen it in her nightmare, in Bond’s vision. For all that people were strong, they were also fragile, like butterflies in the wind. A gentle breeze would carry them along, allowing them to thrive. But too strong a gale, and they would be destroyed by its harshness.
“Anya,” Papa began quietly. “Would it help if you told me about your dream?”
She opened her eyes to look up at him. He gazed back at her, nothing but earnest concern painted on his face. His worry, Anya could tell, was genuine.
She turned her face into his shirt. “Anya dreamed that… something bad happened to you.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric. But if she looked at his face while she told him about her dream, she would only be reminded of how lifeless he looked when he was dead.
Papa hummed encouragingly, rubbing circles on her back.
“You—you were dead,” Anya choked out. The tears were running again. “A…a bomb blew up, and you were in the explosion. Me and Mama and Bond ran over, and Mama was crying…”
“Oh, starlight,” Papa said softly, sadly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He hugged her closer. “But I’m alive, see? And I won’t leave you if I can help it.”
Anya stiffened. That couldn’t be true. He was planning to leave, once his mission was over. She glanced up at him, ready to hear the truth from his mind.
I don’t want to leave this family. Even when Strix is over.
She let out a soft gasp.
“Is everything alright?” Mama’s gentle voice called. She was peeking in from the doorway, Bond pawing the floor beside her.
Anya turned to look at her. Mama met her gaze and cocked her head slightly, offering a small smile.
“Yor,” Papa greeted. “Anya had a nightmare.”
Mama sat on the edge of bed. Papa let go of Anya so that she could scoot over and hug Mama, who automatically pulled her close. Bond sat beside them and nuzzled Anya’s leg.
“Are you alright, Anya?” she asked, wiping away the remnants of tears on Anya’s face.
Anya felt overwhelmed by the love radiating from Mama’s figure. Just like Papa, she was thinking of nothing but her wellbeing, pure concern for her child. Even over something as silly as a dream. They were both watching her attentively, comforting her when they could be sleeping. How had Anya gotten so lucky?
A perfect one hundred points.
“Yes,” Anya said, nuzzling close. “Anya feels safe now that Mama and Papa and Bond are here.”
Bond barked in affirmation.
“We’ll always be here, darling. You can come to us any time you need something,” Mama assured her. Anya couldn’t believe she ever dreamed that Mama would turn on her. The only thoughts she could hear from her were ones of protecting Anya, offering all the comfort and love she could.
“Can we sleep together tonight?” Anya asked.
Papa started. “What?”
“Anya won’t have more nightmares if she’s with Mama and Papa.” It was true; they were such a safe presence that no nightmare could ever get to her while they were near. And now that she didn’t feel so sad anymore, Anya thought it wouldn’t hurt if Mama and Papa also happened to cuddle while they were comforting her.
Mama and Papa exchanged a glance. They were both red now.
Papa coughed. “W-well, if it helps you sleep, I guess…”
“Are—are you sure, Loid? This is your room, I don’t want to intrude…” Mama trailed off.
He smiled. “It’s okay, Yor. It’s for Anya.”
They gazed at each other for a moment. Then, Mama smiled back. “You’re right. For Anya.”
Anya grinned. They definitely just had a lovey dovey moment.
Papa made more room on the bed and lifted his blanket, letting Anya crawl in beside him. Then, Mama tucked herself in on the other end of the bed, her face red. Her thoughts were rambling on about Papa's smell on the pillows and how nice it was.
Bond watched forlornly from the foot of the bed. Papa laughed quietly. “You too, Bond. I’ll make an exception for today.”
Bond yipped and leaped onto the bed.
Eventually, they found comfortable positions. Papa and Mama were both facing Anya, their arms draped over her like an additional layer of warmth. Their eyes met for a moment, and then they both looked away immediately, thoughts murmuring about how pretty the other was. Bond was near their legs, curling up over their limbs without putting too much weight on them, his paws resting on Mama and Papa.
“Good night, Mama…Papa…Bond,” Anya said sleepily, feeling safer than she ever had before.
“Good night.”
“Sweet dreams, Anya.”
Anya woke up in the early morning, the faintest beams of sunlight peeking through the curtains. Mama, Papa, and Bond were still sleeping softly, their breaths slow and content. Anya twisted to look at them without waking anyone up.
Mama and Papa had moved much closer to each other in the middle of the night. Their faces were close, eyes shut and expressions peaceful, and their hands had found each other’s grip. Their clasped hands lay over Anya, protecting and loving all at once.
Bond’s nose was buried against Anya’s stomach. His legs still stretched over Mama’s and Papa’s, but now his tail was curled around Anya’s leg like his own version of a hug.
It was safe and happy and warm, and Anya wished it could be like this forever. She smiled, closing her eyes and drifting off once more.
She dreamed of butterflies and laughter.