Held
Held
You stir, caught in a fight I can’t see,
I reach for you, anchor you here.
Even in dreams, you fight like hell—
but you don’t have to fight alone.
Vi wakes with a start.
She doesn’t know what pulls her out of the dream first—the phantom burn of old wounds, the weight pressing against her chest, or the way her body jolts like she’s still falling. Still running.
Her heart pounds, her breath sharp and uneven. Caitlyn's bedroom is dark, looming around her, shadows stretching long across the ceiling, familiar shapes warped by the way her vision blurs at the edges.
She exhales, heavy. Shifts onto her side, trying to will herself back into the safety of sleep. But it lingers, the dream clinging like smoke in her lungs. The memory of it—Jinx, Vander. Then Caitlyn on the ground, blood seeping between her fingers, breath rattling in her chest—it feels too much like a ghost of something real. She saw it happen once. She could see it happen again.
Vi presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, forcing herself to breathe through it. It’s over. She knows Caitlyn is safe. Next to her, wrapped in the sheets, warm and steady and alive.
A soft murmur stirs beside her. The mattress shifts as Caitlyn turns towards her, barely awake but already reaching. Her fingers brush Vi’s shoulder, featherlight, like she knows without asking. Vi stiffens, instinct curling her inward, but Caitlyn doesn’t push. Just hums—a quiet, half-formed melody, the kind that barely carries past her lips.
Vi exhales.
Closes her eyes.
She doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve the quiet, patient way Caitlyn soothes her even before she even knows what’s wrong. She shouldn’t wake her for this. Shouldn’t let herself take more from her. Too much.
But then Caitlyn’s hand moves again, tracing slow, absentminded patterns along her shoulder, the nape of her neck, the dip of her spine. She hums still, soft, something without words but weighted with meaning. A lullaby, maybe. Vi doesn’t know. She only knows that it anchors her in a way she can’t explain.
She lets herself soften into it, just a little.
Caitlyn’s fingers trail lower, down the curve of Vi’s back, until they find the ink there. She traces the shape of it from memory, one stroke at a time, like she’s reading the story written into Vi’s skin.
“You’re warm,” Caitlyn murmurs, voice thick with sleep. Vi hears the unspoken 'you’re trembling, too.' She almost apologises, but Caitlyn just shifts closer, tucking herself closer against Vi’s back, pressing her lips against her shoulder in something too tender to be casual.
Vi swallows hard. Closes her eyes again.
It’s fine, she tells herself. Caitlyn is warm, and whole, and hers. The nightmare is just that—a nightmare. Nothing more.
But her hands still curl too tight against the sheets, and she can’t shake the way her chest aches like something inside her is still breaking.
She shouldn’t have woken Caitlyn for this.
Shouldn’t let her see the parts of her still too afraid to sleep.
But Caitlyn’s fingers never still, tracing the ink on her back like she’s smoothing out every jagged edge. The song she hums changes, deeper now, something steadier, more certain.
Vi listens. She breathes. Or she tries to.
Caitlyn shifts behind her when she doesn’t seem to settle, propping herself up slightly on an elbow, brushing Vi’s hair away from the back of her neck. Vi feels the press of Caitlyn’s lips there, just a whisper of warmth before they’re gone again. It should be nothing, just another quiet gesture in the space between them, but Vi’s chest tightens at the feel of it. She knows she's trying so hard.
Caitlyn hums another note. Tugs the blanket up where Vi's kicked it off.
“Sleep,” Caitlyn murmurs. It’s not an order. Just something gentle, something easy, something Vi could pretend she’s capable of.
Vi tries. She really does. But the memories in her head are stubborn, and guilt is harder to shake than exhaustion.
She's safe. Caitlyn is safe. You're safe.
But the nightmare keeps replaying behind her eyelids when she shuts them, twisted versions of things that could’ve been, things that might still be.
Her breath hitches as she tries to hold it in. Caitlyn notices.
Vi feels the shift, Caitlyn rearranging herself so she’s even closer. She doesn’t ask if Vi wants her there. She just moves like she belongs, because she does.
Because Vi needs her, whether she says it or not.
She feels the weight of Caitlyn’s palm between her shoulder blades, steady, grounding now. She strokes down, slow, fingers tracing the dips of Vi’s back, the curve of each muscle.
Vi exhales, shakier than she means to.
Caitlyn doesn’t speak. Doesn’t press. Just keeps moving, quiet and sure, mapping Vi’s skin with her fingertips.
And Vi, for once, lets herself be held. She holds it in for as long as she can.
She tries to breathe through it, lets Caitlyn’s warmth sink into her skin, and focuses on the way those soft fingers trace the ink on her back. But the tightness in her chest won’t leave. It lingers, sharp and then suffocating, caught between her ribs like something waiting to break free.
She swallows it down.
Again and again, she swallows it down.
But her breath is uneven, and Caitlyn hears it. Feels it. The shift in her breathing, the way her shoulders tense.
She just presses closer, her cheek settling against her back, arm draping across Vi’s waist, palm resting up against her chest, her thumb rubbing back and forth a few times, trying to loosen the held breath free.
Vi exhales shakily, blinking hard, but she already knows she’s losing the fight.
It starts slow. Just a sting behind her eyes. Then her throat tightens, her chest caves, and suddenly, it’s all too much.
The first sob breaks before she can stop it.
Caitlyn stirs fully then, waking in that soft, slow way she always does, like she’s attuned to Vi even in sleep.
“Violet,” she murmurs, still thick with drowsiness, but warm. So warm.
Vi doesn’t answer. She squeezes her eyes shut, presses her knuckles against her mouth, tries to hold herself together. But it’s already spilling over—her shoulders shake, her breath stutters, and Caitlyn is right there.
There in a way Vi doesn’t know how to handle.
Caitlyn shifts closer. Her arm tightens around Vi’s waist, pulling her in, holding her steady.
“You’re alright,” she soothes, voice soft and certain, like she can make it true just by saying it. “I’ve got you.”
Violet shudders. A broken sound leaves her, too quiet, too raw. Caitlyn presses a kiss against the back of her neck, the warmth of it lingering as she moves to tuck Vi’s hair behind her ear.
Vi turns before she can stop herself. She rolls over, hides her face against Caitlyn’s collarbone, the fabric of her sleep shirt growing damp as she lets herself go, lets herself break.
Caitlyn holds her. Doesn’t speak, doesn’t shush her, just breathes with her, fingers carding through Vi’s hair, her other hand tracing slow circles along her back.
"I’ve got you,” Caitlyn whispers again. She kisses the side of Vi’s head, her temple, anywhere she can reach. “You’re safe.”
Vi’s hands fist into the fabric of Caitlyn’s shirt, holding on like she’s afraid to let go.
Caitlyn just holds her tighter.
Minutes pass, maybe longer. The weight of exhaustion presses back in, heavier than before. Vi’s limbs feel boneless, her mind hazy, but it’s different now. Like Caitlyn’s touch has chased away the worst of the storm.
Vi doesn’t speak. But Caitlyn hums again, that same quiet melody. And eventually, the sobs quiet. Vi’s body relaxes, her breathing slows.
Caitlyn doesn’t move, doesn’t let go, just keeps her there. Vi lets herself drift.
It doesn’t last.
Sometime later, in the deep hush of the night, Caitlyn wakes again to movement beside her.
Vi is restless. Tossing, turning, kicking the sheets away once more. Caitlyn feels the tug as the blankets shift, the cold creeping in where warmth once was.
She blinks groggily, pushing herself up slightly. The oil lamp still casts a pale glow across the room, illuminating the tense lines of Vi’s face.
Even in her sleep, she’s still fighting something.
Caitlyn sighs softly.
Without a word, she reaches for the sheets again, pulling them back over Vi, tucking them in around her as if she can shield her from whatever still lingers in the corners of her mind.
Vi shifts again, brow furrowing, lips parted in a quiet, distressed sound. She doesn’t wake, but Caitlyn feels it—the unease, the fight against something unseen.
Caitlyn soothes her the only way she knows how.
She brushes stray damp strands of Vi’s hair away from her face, smoothing them back with gentle fingers. The motion is slow, deliberate. Her touch lingers at Vi’s temple, then down over her cheek, her thumb tracing soft, absentminded patterns against her skin.
Vi exhales. Her body relaxes by degrees under her touch, the tension ebbing away like a tide.
Caitlyn keeps going, letting her fingertips trail along Vi’s cheekbone, down to her jaw, before slipping back up into her hair.
Vi doesn’t stir again. Doesn’t fight it. Just breathes, deep and even.
Caitlyn watches her for a moment longer, committing her to memory. The soft parting of her lips, the way her freckles catch the light, the rise and fall of her chest as she sinks into peace once more.
Caitlyn exhales, pressing one last kiss against Vi’s temple.
Then she closes her eyes, her fingers still resting lightly in Vi’s hair, and lets sleep take her once more.
The morning creeps in gently, a slow bloom of golden light filtering through the curtains. It settles in soft patches on the sheets.
Caitlyn stirs first.
Her body wakes gradually, drawn from sleep not by noise or urgency, but by the simple awareness of Vi’s presence beside her. The familiar weight of her arm draped across Caitlyn’s waist. The slow, steady rise and fall of her breath against Caitlyn’s collarbone.
For a long moment, she stays still, just breathing. Just feeling.
Vi is relaxed now in a way she hadn’t been all night. The restless tossing, the quiet, broken noises—all of it—seems to have melted away entirely. Caitlyn lets her gaze sweep over her, cataloguing the details in the golden hush of morning.
Freckles dusting her nose. Lips parted slightly in sleep, her gentle snore. Fingers curled loosely against Caitlyn’s ribs.
She looks totally peaceful now. Finally.
But Caitlyn remembers all the nights before.
The way Vi has woken, breath shaking, fear tightening every muscle in her body. The way her voice has broken without a sound. The way she’d curled into Caitlyn like she was afraid of losing her.
The latest memory tugs at Caitlyn’s chest.
Carefully, she shifts, just enough to brush her fingers through Vi’s hair, smoothing back the strands that have fallen across her face. The motion is slow, barely-there, just a whisper of touch.
Vi stirs at the feeling, a quiet hum escaping her lips as she shifts against Caitlyn’s side. Her hold tightens briefly before loosening again, her face nuzzling into the curve of Caitlyn’s neck with a heavy, sleepy sigh.
Caitlyn smiles faintly.
“Too early,” Vi mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
Caitlyn hums in agreement.
She lets a moment pass, lets Vi settle again. But the question sits on her tongue, heavy with everything that lingers from the night before.
“Do you remember last night?” she asks eventually, voice quiet.
Vi tenses—just barely, just enough for Caitlyn to feel it.
Her fingers twitch against Caitlyn’s ribs, then still. Her breathing shifts. Then, after a pause, she murmurs, “Yeah.”
She doesn’t elaborate.
Caitlyn waits, fingers still tracing slow, patient circles against Vi’s back. She doesn’t push, doesn’t demand anything from her. She just waits.
But Vi doesn’t continue. Doesn’t move.
Instead, she shifts in the sheets, her grip on Caitlyn loosening, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet. Small.
“I woke you up again,” Vi murmurs.
Caitlyn frowns. “That’s not—”
“What was it? Twice? Three times?” Vi adds, voice tight. “Kept you up half the night. Again.”
And there it is.
The guilt that’s been sitting in her chest since she'd disturbed the first time days ago. The weight of taking too much.
Caitlyn sighs, sitting up slightly so she can see Vi properly, one hand reaching for her face. She cups Vi’s cheek, her thumb grazing just under her eye, tracing the faint shadows there.
“You think I mind?” Caitlyn asks, voice soft.
Vi’s lips press into a thin line. “I shouldn’t—”
Caitlyn doesn’t let her finish.
She leans in, presses a slow, lingering kiss to Vi’s lips. Lets it sit there for a breath, long enough to feel the way Vi exhales against her.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
Vi swallows. Shuts her eyes.
Caitlyn presses another kiss—this time against her temple, then her cheek. Her hand slides up into Vi’s hair, threading through the strands at the base of her skull.
Vi leans into it. Gives in, just slightly.
“You didn’t keep me up,” Caitlyn murmurs against her skin. “I want to be there.”
Vi exhales shakily. Caitlyn feels it, the way the tension slowly bleeds out of her body. The way her fingers uncurl against Caitlyn’s ribs, no longer clenched.
“You always say that,” Vi mutters.
Caitlyn pulls back just enough to look at her, her fingers still tangled in Vi’s hair. “Because it’s true.”
Vi doesn’t argue. She just buries her face in Caitlyn’s shoulder again, her body pressing closer, as if trying to make herself smaller.
Caitlyn doesn’t let her.
She shifts them easily, pulling Vi with her as she leans back against the pillows, guiding her to settle against her chest. Vi lets her, curling into the warmth without resistance.
Caitlyn keeps her close, her fingers stroking through Vi’s hair again, slow and steady.
Neither of them speak.
Eventually, Vi’s breath evens out again. Her body settles fully against Caitlyn’s.
Caitlyn watches her for a long moment, watches the way her lashes rest against her cheek, the soft parting of her lips, the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Then, she sighs.
She knows there’s more beneath the surface, more Vi isn’t saying. The unspoken words weigh heavy in the space between them, and Caitlyn can feel Vi’s internal battle—the conflict between wanting to keep things buried and the undeniable need to let someone in.
“I… I need to know, Vi,” Caitlyn murmurs softly, her fingers drawing gentle circles on the back of her neck. “What’s in your dreams? Why won't you tell me?”
Vi’s body tenses immediately at the question. Caitlyn can feel the heat of Vi’s cheek pressed against her chest, the way her muscles lock, and she knows that Vi wants to pull away, to retreat into that space where she doesn’t have to confront her feelings. But Caitlyn has always been there. She at least deserves to know why.
“I just can’t stop seeing it,” Vi finally whispers, her voice cracking. “The people I’ve hurt, the people I couldn’t save… I just keep seeing their faces. Seeing them die, you Cait. And I… I feel like I should’ve done more. That I need to protect you.”
Caitlyn just listens, waiting for Vi to go on. The words come slower, more hesitant.
“There was one—I was in the middle of a fight, and you were there, but you were hurt—you were bleeding, and I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t save you. I tried, but the more I reached out, the further you got. And I just…” Vi swallows hard, the words thick with emotion. “I just couldn’t get to you, Cait. And it was my fault. Like everything’s my fault.”
Caitlyn’s chest tightens. She knows that Vi carries guilt like a weight on her shoulders, that every mistake, every battle she’s been part of, is something she replays over and over in her mind.
Caitlyn knows she’s not immune to that weight either—her own grief and trauma are deep and messy, too—but hearing it from Vi, hearing the raw fear and anguish in her voice, makes her ache for her in ways she can’t even put into words.
“I wasn’t there in time,” Vi continues, her voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t protect you. I’m always too late, and I couldn’t even hold you when it mattered.”
The pain in Vi’s words is so raw, Caitlyn feels it deep in her bones. She does her best not to let it show, she presses her tears down, for Vi's sake.
She pulls her closer, wrapping her arms tighter around her, trying to offer whatever comfort she can, even if it feels like such a small thing compared to the fear that has taken root in Vi’s heart.
“You don’t have to save everyone, Vi,” Caitlyn whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You’re only human."
Vi shakes her head against Caitlyn’s chest, her breath shaky as she speaks again, “I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve protected you better, Caitlyn. I should’ve stopped all of it before it even started. But still... Even now.”
Caitlyn knows this isn’t just about the nightmares anymore. This is about Vi’s deepest fears—fears she’s been carrying alone, hidden beneath that tough exterior, for her whole life.
“You won’t lose me,” Caitlyn says firmly. “You won’t. But I need you to let me in, Vi.”
Vi pulls away slightly, just enough to look Caitlyn in the eyes. The vulnerability in her gaze is almost too much for Caitlyn to bear. She’s so used to seeing Vi as strong, confident, the one who takes charge in the toughest situations. But Caitlyn can see the cracks, the raw fear and guilt that Vi has been hiding from everyone, even from her.
Especially from her.
“I don’t know how to let go of it. The guilt. The fear. It’s like a constant weight—I don’t want you to see me like this, to see me weak. But I—” Vi’s voice breaks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just.”
Caitlyn gently cups Vi’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears that have started to fall. “You don’t have to pretend, Violet. Not with me. You don’t have to hide any of it. I want to be here, through all of it.”
Vi looks at her for a long moment, and Caitlyn can see the battle raging inside her. But then, slowly, Vi nods. She whispers again, her voice trembling. “I’m scared of losing you. I’m scared of not being enough, of not being able to protect you like you deserve.”
Caitlyn pulls her back into her arms, holding her close, as if that simple gesture could take away all of Vi’s fears, all of her pain. “You’re already enough. You’ve always been enough.”
They hold each other in silence for a moment, letting the words hang in the air between them. Caitlyn can feel the weight of Vi’s guilt, her fear, but also a sense of relief, as if she’s finally allowed herself to be vulnerable again.
Caitlyn doesn’t know how to take away the nightmares, how to erase the guilt that weighs so heavily on Vi, but she does know one thing—she’ll be there for her, no matter what.
“I’m here, Vi,” Caitlyn repeats, her voice steady and warm, a promise. “I’ll be right here, always.”