Faulty Memory
In his dreams, her blood is brighter than the sun, and he can only stare.
Sometimes, she screams, but usually she doesn't say a word. Sometimes she lives, but he can't see her in the chaos. Sometimes he attempts to save her, but usually he dies trying.
Usually, he wakes up screaming.
And sometimes, when he wakes up, Xander is there.
"Was it the nightmare again?" His body is warm, easing against his, and Andrew's throat is sore from shrieking.
"You should have woken me up," he mutters, breaking the embrace to search for his glass of water, ever on the dresser. He takes a long swallow, pauses for breath. "When did you get here?"
Xander is next to him, hands clasped in his lap, penitent. "A couple of hours ago. You seemed peaceful."
"I wasn't." He takes another sip of water. "You should have woken me."
Xander takes the glass from his hands, shaking, and replaces it with his lips. "Did you see her again?"
"I always do." He marvels at the stubble underneath his fingers. "How long will you stay?"
Xander doesn't answer with words, but Andrew is content with his body, easing against his.
Sometimes, when Xander is there, he doesn't dream.