nextchance | crash sites keep me up at night

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cassian andor

crash sites keep me up at night

In the dream — and it was a dream, although she didn't know that —

Jyn was a little girl in the cave on Lah'mu, not knowing when it was or how long she had been there, only that she was waiting, always waiting, always left alone. The lantern was burned out, the small space dark and damp, somehow seeming to get smaller still, a grave and a prison cell and the only home she had. When, at last, the door swung open overhead, it was an unfamiliar figure overhead (a new variation on an old theme), a young boy with dark hair and eyes, and Jyn didn't really know him except that she felt like she did anyway. Wordless, he held out a hand, and she began to climb.

She climbed, and climbed, and climbed, until her bad shoulder ached and her hands slipped on the ladder's rungs, but she had to keep going, even as she got nowhere, the cave getting deeper now, except it wasn't a cave at all. It was the data tower, getting taller, not deeper, and no longer a little girl, she kept climbing, desperate to reach the top where no one was waiting for her anymore, because when she looked down — so far down, it hadn't really been that far, had it? — Cassian's body lay bent and broken at the bottom, and she knew he wasn't getting back up. Stupid, to think she could reach him, that she might be able to hold onto him this time.

Finally she stepped up and out of the cave that was also the data tower and onto the beach, alone again, except for all of the dead. It had been a while since she'd dreamed of Scarif, and somehow there were more bodies now, her father's weapon overhead, her inescapable legacy. Past the shoreline was forest, and she knew it to be Yavin 4's even though she had barely seen it while she was there, and knew that it held the house she'd once lived in. The house burned — the fire she'd set — and the forest burned with it. The world glowed green with the Death Star's kyber-light, only it wasn't coming from the sky above but from her. Surrounded by bodies, she sat on the sand and waited for a death that didn't come, one which would have been, she supposed, too kind. Hard as she'd always fought to survive, a death that meant something in the arms of someone who cared about her was worlds better than surviving alone, left to bear the weight of so much destruction.

She looked up at the weapon that shared her name, a grim mirror in the sky, and with the fire and the dead around her, she knew that they were one and the same, and this was always going to be where she wound up.

— With a sharp gasp, Jyn lurched awake in the dark, her limbs clammy with sweat and her face damp with tears. Nightmares were nothing new to her, but it had been a long time since one had rattled her this badly. In her addled state, trying and mostly failing to get air into her lungs, she couldn't think of what might have caused it... Until the sound of breath that wasn't her own reminded her that she wasn't alone in the room. Through the haze of everything else, the events of the last day began coming back to her.

It should have been reassuring to remember that Cassian was here and alive and safe. At any other time, it would have been. Instead, in the moment, her panic intensified, her chest painfully tight. It was a good thing, not being alone anymore, except that she still felt like she was and knew she would be again. Close as he was, he felt impossibly far away, and yet he was too close, too. The last thing she wanted was to be seen like this, a panic-stricken, crying mess, unable to calm herself down after just a stupid dream. All she could do — one of the only coherent thoughts she could hold onto — was try to stay as quiet as possible, pressing a fistful of blanket against her mouth to try to stifle any gasps or sobs, and hope she hadn't made enough noise to wake him. He needed the rest. She needed to pull herself together, shoulders shaking in the dark as she tried to breathe.

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He had laid back down; now he turned to her, propping himself up to face her fully. "I dreamed I didn't get there in time. The Man in White shot us both."

Were it not for everything else, she might have smiled at the way he used the same nomenclature she had given her mother's killer as a child. Instead, she just bit her lip and nodded slowly. Not so different from her own dream, then, or at least part of it. The similarity wasn't altogether surprising; the fact that he would be so unsettled on her account was.

Trying to force a deeper breath into her lungs, she set one hand between them, the motion hesitant, an invitation and a reassurance.

"Usually when I dream about Scarif, you fall and don't get back up," she admitted. "All this time, and I can still see it."

All this time. The divide of time between them… yet no divide at all.

Softly, Cassian reached out and took her hand. His pounding heartbeat immediately slowed and gentled at the touch. Don't let yourself rely… but oh breathing was harder without her.

It was a moment of shared openness, like they'd had before… and he abruptly hurt so badly at the thought of it passing again, into veiled eyes and aborted sentences, the words just came.

"I feel like I don't know the right questions," he said quietly. "But even if I did, maybe I shouldn't ask them. I want to know more about our… my… time here. But maybe it's none of my business. If that was someone else. Or if it was me… I shouldn't try to… recreate, without building, or earning, or… Either way, I shouldn't put it on you. But then I see you bite so much back and I wish… I miss… I just don't know."

Maybe it was the shelter of darkness, making her feel a little less exposed despite the wretchedly vulnerable state she was in. Maybe it was just the sound of his voice, or the warmth of his hand in hers, or simply that her ability to fortify the walls meant to protect her was waning. Whatever the reason, as Jyn slowly lay down, staring up at the ceiling, she tried to find some words that she wouldn't have to keep herself from saying.

This was backwards, after all, in a way that she would have struggled to articulate. What to tell him and what not to, what she could even want from him, in her mind, those ought to have been her worries, not his. Not knowing how to say that, though, she started with something she could say, that she knew to be true.

"When we were on Jedha," she murmured, her breathing at least a little easier now. "You shot one of Saw's people to protect me. He was behind me with a grenade and I hadn't seen him. I think... that was when I first knew I could trust you. And then when we were on Yavin 4 and you came to volunteer... and you showed up on top of that tower and saved my life, again..."

She knew what she was trying to say, but not how to say it. Whatever they'd had here started back there. He wasn't the same person now, without the same history between them, but he was, too, in the ways that mattered most. She'd loved him, or started to, or something like it, before she ever wound up here at all, even if she would never have known to put that word to it.

Too tired and wrung out to be properly frustrated with herself, she exhaled slowly. "I guess all I mean is... Anything you want to know, I'd tell you. I just don't want you to think that... that I'd expect anything, or ask it, or... I don't know."

In the sheltering dark, he opened his mouth to speak… then closed it again. His hand held hers close.

"I've never trusted anyone the way I trust you," he said at last. "Not just how you'll speak and behave toward me, but at all; your judgment, your actions, your… everything. It makes me not worry about you because I know you can take care of yourself. That doesn't mean I don't want to help. I do. Just because you can go it alone doesn't mean you have to. But I know you can. Instead of making me feel like I have to help, it makes me grateful to.

"I've never really had that before. I can't think of anyone I didn't spend more time worried about. My ma, my friends, my… wife… I think our relationship was more built on worry than anything else. There were good reasons, but I think, now, that worry is a kind of distrust.

"I won't ask more tonight. It's not fair of me, when we're both… well, I can't speak for you. Thank you for listening.

"I guess I'm asking… next time you don't say something because you're worried how it'll affect me… go ahead and say it? As it is now… I know it wasn't for long, but I'm missing that friendship we had, with that trust."

Edited 2025-05-15 04:55 (UTC)

Jyn hardly knew what to say to that, or, at least, where to start. Even at the best of times, putting her feelings into words was not something that came naturally to her, and right now, with her heart still racing from the dream she'd had and Cassian's presence leaving her so thoroughly confused, was not the best of times. She wanted, on some instinctive level, not to say anything at all, just to roll closer to him and curl up against his side. That wouldn't have been fair, though. Nothing was clear enough for that, even after all he'd just said.

She focused instead on his hand in hers, grateful for that one small point of contact. There was some kind of metaphor to it, that maybe she couldn't have what she'd had before, but that wouldn't make her appreciate any less what she did have. And whatever else happened, there was something here. He'd just said it himself: that friendship, with that trust.

That, at least, gave her a thought, and reminded her that they were, in a way, starting over. There were things she'd said before that she would probably have to say again, which did actually give her a place to start.

"I'm not always... good at saying what I'm thinking or feeling," she told him. There was, of course, one constant, I love you still lurking somewhere, buried deep but too true to ignore, but that wasn't hers to offer now. "Not used to it, I guess. Even now. But." She bit her lip again. "I've never trusted anyone the way I trust you, either. And that goes back before this place. I've missed that, too. Anything I haven't said... It's not because I don't trust you."

He took a moment to process that. Then he nodded. Then he remembered they were in the dark and he squeezed her hand. "Okay."

"Okay," Jyn echoed, not much more than an exhale in the dark, and squeezed his hand in turn. At least, whatever else, no matter how confusing or complicated, there was this. That wasn't just enough; it was so much more than she ever thought she would have again. In the interest of the honesty he'd asked for, that she did want to try to give, she rolled onto her side, not moving any closer, but facing him in the dark.

"I really missed you. I'm really glad you're here."

"Me, too." Darkness or not, his eyes shone to her and crinkled how much they meant it. And how good it was to hear her say it.

They lay calm and quiet, heartbeats and breathing slowing and perhaps beginning to synchronize. Cassian murmured, "I might fall asleep again."

"You should," Jyn murmured in turn, and, oh, it was harder than it had been yet not to kiss his cheek or stroke his hair or anything else just as thoughtlessly intimate. She settled instead for brushing her thumb along the back of his hand again. "Rest, if you can."

She wasn't sure if she could, but she also wasn't sure it mattered. It reminded her of something else she probably ought to say, though, this one easier than anything that had preceded it. "What you said before... It's okay if you wake me, too. Always."

His thumb moved in answer to hers, and for an instant both played against each other, then linked.

“I hope I don’t,” he murmured back, “but thank you.” He rallied enough energy to crack a lopsided grin: “I really don’t want to go to that apartment.” Too much truth to really be a joke… well, the joke was in knowing she wouldn’t kick him out for dreaming.

Jyn smiled in turn, just a little, at the joke, sensing it for what it was. She doubted he would have said that if he thought there were any actual chance of her telling him to leave just because he had a loud nightmare. It wasn't as if he was the only one of them prone to bad dreams. Even if he had been—

"No, stay," she said, and she must have been more tired than she'd realized for how easily it came out and how little thought she gave it. "Please stay."

He was beginning to drift, but he held onto her hand and the importance of this response.

“Always. As long as you want me.”

"Always," Jyn echoed, too drowsy to know if she was just repeating what he'd said or giving an answer of her own. So much time she had spent without him, and she had never once stopped wanting him here with her, even when she'd tried to convince herself otherwise. These weren't things she was supposed to say — but then, he'd just told her to say them, hadn't he?

"Thank you."

It wasn't his place now to say Welcome home. Even though that's what he felt. Welcome home to inside his chest, inside his throat, inside his mind and heart and hands. Welcome to everything he could offer and everything she would take.

With another brightening smile, he said only, "Just a Fact."

She'd always loved seeing him smile like that, the way it softened all of his features and made him look younger, less burdened. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Jyn watched him until she couldn't anymore, hand clasping his, her own words again echoing in her head, please stay please stay please stay.

The last conscious thought she had was hoping he would still be there in the morning. It had been a while since she'd really let herself hope for anything.

This time, as she slept, she didn't dream, or at least wasn't aware of doing so.

When, at last, she began to awaken again, it was a gradual thing, all sensation and no thought. She was warm all over — her head on a shoulder, an arm around her, curled beside another body, and, oh, she'd missed this so much. Home, the semi-aware part of her mind provided. She was finally, finally home. With a quiet, contented hum, she mindlessly shifted a little closer, not yet ready to open her eyes or be anywhere but here.

Edited 2025-05-15 17:22 (UTC)

If he dreamt, now, it was of her: holding her into a deeper, healing sleep.

He woke gently to light streaming in from the high, narrow windows.

And it wasn't a dream. Sometime in the night, Jyn had rolled in to him, curling into his arms. They lay softly together, unurgent, breathing together.

Cassian's arm had fallen asleep and he didn't care. He wouldn't disturb her for anything.

Usually, once Cassian woke up, he got up. Now, he closed his eyes back into her hair and matched his breath to hers.

They were back on the beach, but there was no sorrow now, no doom; no light coming for them; just themselves become oceanic.

If this was another dream, it was one from which she didn't want to wake. Jyn felt too good for that, safe and content there in his arms; she wanted it to last just a little while longer, enough to give her something to hold onto. Dreams like this tended to be worse than any nightmares. Those, she was used to, having had them for most of her life. The good dreams, the ones she wanted to hold onto, were the ones that left her most rattled. Even with the high likelihood that she would regret it, though, she wasn't ready to move yet, wanting just for a little while longer to remember what this felt like.

"Feels good," she mumbled into his shoulder, not wholly aware of doing so. She couldn't even be sure exactly what she was referring to. It seemed instead to encompass the entire drawn-out moment. Usually, the best — and thus worst — of her dreams weren't this detailed or vivid. Was he real? She thought he was, hoped he was. There was that word again, still inextricably bound to him.

Good. Yes. He couldn't remember the last time his body sank so into the floor, without tension or ache, without even awareness of anything else, yet with him actually present in it and… not minding… elated at the fact. When he could breathe so deeply without hollowness or strain… when he felt nothing but comfort and relief. Yes, also the electricity of attraction, but not while she was unconscious, and secondary to the feeling that… this was just right.

And more than any of that, the joy of her relaxation with him, that he might be giving any of that back.

He wouldn't pretend to be asleep if she wasn't. "Mmhmm," he agreed. For a heartbeat, his arms flexed; not enough to displace her, just enough to acknowledge. Lips half-brushing the top of her head, he murmured, "Good morning."

Edited 2025-05-15 18:56 (UTC)

Her breath caught at his words, felt more than heard with the way she was curled beside him. There was no lurch to it, no discomfort, just quiet surprise, pulling her a little further into consciousness. With that came memory — yes, he was here, yes, this was real, not dream or imagination. The nightmare she'd had, and falling asleep on the floor beside him, her hand in his. They hadn't been this close then. She must have done that in her sleep, a fact which made her face feel hot with embarrassment.

He wasn't pulling away or trying to dislodge her, though. Jyn wasn't yet nearly alert enough to decipher what that might have meant, but it did stop her from jerking back as she might otherwise have done in her self-consciousness. To do so would probably have given entirely the wrong impression anyway. She had her wits about her just enough to know that she wouldn't want him to think he'd done anything wrong here when she was the one who'd unknowingly encroached on his space.

"Morning," she echoed, her voice still rough with sleep. For just a few moments longer, she could savor this. There couldn't be any real harm in that — at least, not to anyone but herself.

It was the very faintest of tensions that ran through her; would have been imperceptible if he hadn't melted into her body so completely.

Skies, he couldn't bear it… regardless of who initiated this (while asleep, it could hardly be held accountable; he'd made the waking invitation of pushing their mats together so it was really him) the idea that she didn't want it was terrible.

But if she didn't, she didn't. He wouldn't ask yet again Are you okay? because the burden shouldn't keep being on her.

For just a moment more, he closed his eyes against her hair and breathed.

Okay. She wasn't here to staunch a wound in his chest. Let her go.

He shifted and unwrapped his arm from around her—another thing that had happened in their sleep. He still couldn't bring himself to stand, but he'd released her. Thoroughly unsure if this was decency or dishonesty.

Maybe there was more harm to be done after all.

Jyn felt her stomach drop uncomfortably when he let her go, like the swoop of unexpectedly leaving hyperspace, her face still flushed with what she realized now, to her horror, was something close to shame. She was so stupid. Sure, she hadn't rolled into his space intentionally or even consciously, but she had then stayed there, selfishly taking more of something that hadn't been offered to her. Just because they'd once shared that kind of easy intimacy didn't mean they would again. That hadn't been him, as he was now. Thank the stars she hadn't done anything more than curl up beside him, but it was still bad enough to have been nestling into his shoulder like that, soft and clingy in a way she normally would never let herself be.

She rolled to her back and looked up at the ship's ceiling for the span of one breath, then two; then, abruptly, she pulled herself to her feet, unable to bear looking at him. "I'm sorry," she said. He'd asked her last night to say what she was thinking — yes, that had really happened — and she did mean to try, but dragging these words from herself was painful. "I shouldn't have done that. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, Cassian."

Stunned, Cassian stood with her. "I let go because I thought you didn't want…?"

Dishonesty. Being too careful. Mistrust.

Slowly, Cassian put his hand to her shoulderblade.

"I want whatever you do," he said quietly. "I don't expect anything. I'll go back to doing nothing if that's… But those last moments on the beach… holding you was… I can't imagine you doing anything I don't want.

"—But I don't want to push. Don't do anything just for me. I can't trust a 'yes' if I can't also trust a 'no'. Does that make sense?"

Edited 2025-05-15 21:47 (UTC)

Jyn let out a slow, shaky exhale as he rested his hand against her shoulderblade, trying to will some of the tension out of her limbs. It was too much — not anything he had done or was doing, but the back and forth of it all in her mind, from contentment to concern and back to confusion again, how things could feel so right and then so wrong in the span of a single breath. She had never felt so at ease with anyone as she did with him, and yet it seemed all she could do was misstep. Given the strangeness of their circumstances, it probably wasn't fair to blame herself for that entirely, but it was hard not to let that frustration well up.

She wanted to tell him everything and she wanted to tell him nothing. She wanted to rebuild what she'd lost years ago and she wanted not to risk opening herself up to that again. She didn't know what she wanted, except that all of this fraughtness and uncertainty wasn't it.

"It does," she said quietly, because the question, at least, was something simple enough to address. She knew what he meant, and she could even appreciate the reasoning behind it, despite their misreading each other a moment before. "Make sense. But I could say the same to you. I—" I love you. It was always right there, on the tip of her tongue; she couldn't allow it past her teeth, no matter what he'd said to her last night. "I don't expect anything of you. I know that, whatever happened before, that wasn't you, now. And I wouldn't ask that. Or push for it. But I also wouldn't do anything that I didn't want to do just for you."

'Push for'… 'expect'… 'whatever happened before'?

All the electricity flooded him, especially in the nerve-endings contacting her.

He wanted to know. He didn't want to know. He wanted her to say everything she needed to. He wanted to have a real chance at something just between…

them.

Who was that? It seemed more important than ever to know if that had 'really' been… him.

…It wasn't. Our experiences make us as much if not more than anything else. He didn't have them.

But she did. No wonder. He wondered if he could be jealous of this other self. No. He just mourned. That he'd missed something so precious and then hurt her so heinously.

No wonder.

"I think we agree," he said softly, about more than they'd just been saying.

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