It was the same dream, the dream that didn’t get any easier with repetition. Jim was drowning and he couldn’t breath. The creature was stalking him again, the thing that had slide into his boss and was pressing cold lips to his in a hideous parody of their most intimate of embraces. Were he a younger man, he would have been inclined to scream, but war was an insistent teacher and his instincts kept him silent, even full of terror and unconscious.
Sebastian’s toes dug into the mattress as he shifted. He was a trained and fluid killer, he didn’t tense during his nightmares. His body loosened, readying itself for reaction time measured in split second, whether he needed to reach out for a gun, a knife or to bug the hell out of there. Loose from his jaw to his toes, his only visible signs of tense distress found in his furrowed brow and uneven breathing.