by Vala

Gunn doesn't dream. He hasn't dreamt since he was six years old and he fell asleep in his mama's arms that one winter day. He and Alonna had just came in from the snow -- it was the first time it'd ever snown in LA while he was alive. They were so happy and cold and Mama made them hot chocolate.

He remembers this clearly because when he woke up, she was gone and they were alone.

Gunn's been alone ever since, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise. No matter if he was with his crew, if he was with Alonna, no matter if he was with Angel and company.

Angel was a vampire. Plain and simple. Wesley was still a wuss, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Fred was a freak. Everyone denied that she was, but he knew she was and she knew she was. Cordelia was (now) a half-demon. You could never trust a demon. He'd learnt his lesson once. He didn't need to be taught again.

They gave an off vibe, like they were always standing on edge around him. Like, they had something to fear about him.

Vampire. Pansy. Freak. Half-demon. And they were afraid of him.

Angel went evil, Wesley was an incredible spaz, Fred has a taco obsession that might one day require professional help, and God knows what would go wrong with Cordelia. But something was bound to. Something bad always happened.

Afraid of him. It was like a joke. A bad one. He kept waiting for the punch line but it never seemed to come.


Sometimes, Gunn has nightmares. They're not dreams, always nightmares. They seem too true to be real and too true to be a nightmare, all at once.

And they're always the same. Alone and in Death Valley, but not a care in the world. And not the hot, sunny place, but the literal Death Valley. Or what he would imagine Death Valley would look like.

Unlike what some thought, Gunn didn't fear death. Not anymore. He'd been so close he could taste it and it didn't scare him. He knew he'd die, he accepted his fate just like a Slayer would have.

Except Gunn wasn't a Slayer but sometimes he wished he was. He'd sold his soul for a truck for fuck's sake. It'd be nice to know he'd expire sometime soon. Before his soul was sucked out of his body by an excruciatingly ugly demon who was far too good at gambling to not be cheating in some way or another.


Sometimes, Gunn sleeps. Just sleeps. No dreams, no nightmares, no thoughts. Just blackness that passes in what seems to be an instant. The best kind of sleep one can buy without having anything but his soul to pay with.


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