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The trial haunts her.
Every night, without fail, Loona dreams of that cruel day. The moment she closes her eyes and lets herself drift off to sleep, she’s back in that courtroom, watching the only person who ever loved her be dragged to his death while she’s powerless to stop it.
She wakes up in cold sweat most days, curled up in her bed. Images bouncing around her head cruelly, teasing her with what could’ve been her reality.
The axe grazed his neck. She’s sure of it. Even if she had looked away at the last second, she saw it falling out of the corner of her eye and heard the others gasp in shock. She had heard Moxxie sob like a baby against Millie’s chest while the latter’s breath hitched. She had felt her own heart breaking in half in her chest.
For that awful split second before she gained the courage to pry her eyes open, she thought he was dead. She thought that when she looked, she would see his lifeless body before her; his last words ringing in her ears like a mantra of pain, a teasing reminder of how wonderful he is deep down.
“Take care of Loona for me.”
“I love you guys.”
She had wanted to scream in grief that she loves him too, that they all do. That she’s so sorry for ever taking him for granted, that he means everything to her, that he saved her life, that she still needs him—no matter how much she pretends otherwise—that she had just been too stubborn and too foolish to see it before.
Every moment they ever spent together replayed in her mind in that moment, every memory. Every time she ever shoved him away, when all he wanted was to give her a good life.
He saved her. If he hadn’t adopted her, she’d either be on the streets or dead. She had been so bitter toward him for so long for ruining her “perfect plan” for what her life would be when she was freed from the orphanage, but she spent her entire childhood locked away in there; she had no concept of how the real world worked.
She wouldn’t have lasted a week.
Blitz is weird; he’s always been weird, but never in a creepy way, just in a “sad, lonely, middle-aged man who’s been through too much pain to come out completely okay on the other side” kind of way.
The weirdest thing he’s ever done is believe in her. She has no idea why, no idea what she did to deserve such everlasting faith, but no matter what she does, he’s there, cheering her on.
Even when he really shouldn’t.
From what she’s pieced together, because of Blitz’s shitty childhood and shitter father, he’s completely against yelling or disciplining his kid—which sounds nice until she actually needs direction. Sometimes, she really wishes he’d stop being such a pushover and actually tell her when she’s doing something wrong, but at least Milie and Fatty have always been there to do that.
She honestly doesn't know when Blitz went from “weirdo sad guy who clearly just wants company” to “dad”.
Maybe it was the first time she ran away and instead of yelling, he just sat with her until she was ready to come home, perhaps it was the day he hired her at I.M.P because he wants her to have an income, maybe it was the first time she got sick and he took care of her every second of it, perhaps it was all of those and everything else mixed into a strange batter.
Getting over the trial was hard enough for her, but then the idiot decided to get himself shot in front of her and nearly bled out in her arms, which only led to even more nightmares.
She knows he means well and has so much on his plate—he always means well, even when he fucks up—but she wishes he would just see her for a second; she wishes he would see she isn’t okay.
She never tells him, though. He has enough to deal with—single-handedly stopping Stolas from falling apart—without her burdening him. She can’t add more to his plate; she just can’t. Not when she seems to be the only one who can see how exhausted he really is, how it weighs on his bones, how the bags under his eyes grow every day.
He’s been sleeping more since he got back from the hospital, always wrapped up in Stolas’ arms on the couch, but she knows he’s still not resting well. How could he possibly?
All of them have dreams of the trial. She’s heard Blitz desperately soothing a sobbing Stolas in the late hours of the night after nightmares. Sometimes the other way around—those nights really break her heart, she doesn’t like hearing her dad cry. She’s even overheard muffled phone calls as Blitz desperately attempts to soothe a distressed Millie or Moxxie—or both.
That’s what stops her from going to him for comfort most days; he’s hardly holding himself together as is. Not to mention that he has to hold the bird together as well.
Sometimes, she resents Stolas; just the tiniest, most selfish part of her.
She knows she shouldn’t, she knows it’s wrong, but for so long it was just her and Blitz, and she always had the imp’s full attention—even when she didn’t want it.
And now she doesn’t have it anymore.
He’s not been neglectful by any means, not at all. He's been extremely vocal about how much he loves her and how proud he is. And now he lets her come along on hits with him and Moxxie since Millie is pregnant, so she sees him plenty, even more than she did before. And in all honesty, she’s been busy too. She’s been spending so much time with her friends and at parties. It was.
A small, minuscule part of her just…misses him.
However, she wouldn’t trade his happiness for anything. And she certainly won’t take it out on him like Octavia is doing to her father.
There used to be times when Blitz would hit his low points, and Loona truly feared he’d do something irreversibly stupid, the biggest one being after his and Stolas’ breakup bullshit.
Blitz was always stupid, but she had been terrified every morning she’d come out of her bedroom and find him dead on the couch.
She doesn’t want to be afraid of that anymore.
No rage would ever match the feeling welling up inside Loona when she checked Voxtagram the day after and saw the posts from the party. The way Stolas stood on that stage and sang shit about Blitz, how Tex had sung background vocals—Loona had sent him quite the angry paragraph after that, which resulted in her blocking him before he could respond—how everyone cheered around hundreds of decorations centered around her father dying.
But nothing hurt more than when she zoomed in on a photo and saw something she’d never forget. Her father, hunched over, half hidden by a stained tablecloth, had the saddest eyes she’d ever seen.
He’d gone to the party.
Blitz has made mistakes, so, so many mistakes, but he doesn’t deserve that. No one does.
That party changed something in him, something in the way he looks at himself. Perhaps it was the wake-up call he needed to stop being such a self-centered loser, but it made him so devastatingly depressed.
For all the bad that the trial brought, at least Blitz got Stolas back. Those two idiots need each other.
But she still needs her dad.
The nightmares don’t go away.
It doesn’t matter how long she spends with him or how much she shoves the feelings away. It doesn’t matter how long she stays away, reminding herself that he’s okay.
The nightmares just don’t go away.
And she’s getting really fucking sick of it.
For the third night in a row, she wakes up from the same nightmare—Blitz’s lifeless body curled on the ground, his head detached, eyes white and staring right at her.
She wakes up with a muffled scream, sitting up quickly enough that she almost falls off the bed, her hands rising to cover her mouth and stop an incoming sob.
Her shoulders shake, her fur drenched in cold sweat, tainting her being. She takes in a shuddering breath, her ears pined down against her skull painfully enough to give her a headache.
Before she can talk herself out of it, she stands up and all but races to the door, legs trembling weakly below her as she steps out of her bedroom, quickly walking into the living room.
She would feel embarrassed any other night, but these dreams have haunted her for months now, and she just can’t pretend anymore. “Dad?” She whispers, her voice much smaller than she means.
She can see the rounding of his horns peaking over the couch from where he’s lying atop Stolas, his breathing soft as he rests peacefully.
Loona quickens her pace as she rounds the corner, hands trembling as she leans against the side, trying to see his face—his neck, she needs to make sure it’s still attached.
He’s fine.
Of course, he’s fine.
He’s lying there like an idiot with his mouth wide open as he snores, sucking in Stolas’ feathers disgustingly with every exaggerated breath, his tail tightening around Stolas’ waist like an oddly comfortable snake.
He’s fine.
She still wakes him up.
She approaches the couch, kneeling next to it, resting her paw on his shoulder—carefully assuring her claws are tucked away.
”Dad?”
He shifts slightly, turning around in his sleep.
The couch really is rather small, though.
So the simple act of turning around sends him face-first out of Stolas’ arms and onto the carpeted floor below.
Loona winces at the sight, guilt twisting coldly in her chest. He’s hurt still, and she's bothering him instead of dealing with it like the adult she always claims she is.
After a few pathetic seconds, Blitz raises his head, squinting up at her in confusion. “Mhmm…Loonie? W’as t’e matter?” He yawns, looking up at her with that forever soft, fatherly look.
She’s kneeling in front of him still and reaches out to help him up. They’re around the same height once he manages to steady himself.
She wraps her arms around him and butts her head into his chest, a dog-like whimper escaping her lips against her will, her ears flattening against her head.
Blitz immediately seems more awake. “Loona?”
”I’m sorry.” She whispers.
She never apologized to him before, not about anything.
Not for being so difficult those first few days.
Not for running away when he adopted her.
Not for being so untrusting.
Not for all the cruel words she’s spat at him over the years.
Not for all the times she’s physically hurt him in some way.
Not for taking him for granted.
Not for being such an awful daughter when all he’s ever wanted was to love her.
She’s never apologized before.
She should have.
She was always afraid that if she apologized, he would finally realize she was a lost cause and give up on her.
She couldn’t handle that.
His arms are quickly wrapped tightly around her shoulders, his chin hooked over the top of her head, surrounding her in the warmth that is him. “Loonie, baby, what’s wrong?”
Fuck.
Fuck she loves him.
She can’t make her words form; she can’t manage the strength to force them from her choked throat. She just tightens her hold on him and hopes he understands.
He's good at that. He’s good at understanding her.
Not always, but when it matters.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
She hates that tone; she always has. That babying voice, like she’s weak and small.
She’s always hated it.
Or maybe it just…scared her. The way he talks to her so preciously, like she’s his whole world. It was terrifying. Because how could she matter to someone so much? How can she risk that when it's always a means to an end?
She nods shakily against his shoulder, hissing in a weak breath, trying to pull herself together. She shouldn’t be acting this weak. Not even in front of him.
”Oh, Loona.” He whispers, pulling away enough to cup her fluffy face. “Do you…wanna talk about it?”
She debates saying no, snapping at him, shoving him away, baring her teeth, and screaming that she doesn’t need comfort like some helpless pup.
A few months ago, she would have done that without a second thought.
She can’t make herself push him away anymore. Not again.
Not if she loses him.
If he dies without knowing how much she cares deep down…it would destroy her.
He’s done so much for her; he deserves to see that he’s doing a good job. He’s a good dad. Not the perfect one, not even a great one sometimes, but he’s hers.
He’s the only dad she wants.
“I just…” She swallows the lump building in her throat and looks at him with the softest eyes she can muster. “I’m just really happy you’re alive.”
His eyes soften in understanding, pulling her back against his chest and stroking her hair in that way she’s always secretly loved. His gentle claws carding through the knots tangled in her deep fur.
“Oh, Loonie. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
”I sure can!”
“No, Dad! You can’t!”
She doesn’t mean to snap. But for Satan’s sake, she’s so tired of him acting as though he’s invincible, like he’s incapable of death just because he's gotten lucky so many times.
Luck doesn’t keep you alive, not forever. She’s sick of him pretending it does.
She takes a deep breath, nuzzling her wet nose against his neck.
“You just…you have to be more careful.” She whispers. “Please. Just…just stop. Slow down. Just stop getting hurt.”
He would normally try to roll his eyes, try to deny everything, play it off.
Instead, he nods sincerely. “Okay.”
”Okay?”
”Okay.” He confirms. Kissing her forehead softly. “Okay, Loonie. I hear you.”
”Thank you.” She mumbles against his neck; her voice much softer than she intended.
She’s so tired.
”Hm?” He says, way too smug.
She growls halfheartedly. “Shut up.”
”I’ve just never heard you say anything like that before—“
”Blitzzzz.”
”Aw, what happened to dad?”
”Stoppppp.”
He laughs gently. Still cupping her cheeks, gazing at her with a gleam in his eye that has gotten so much brighter lately.
He’s so much happier now. He’s changed. Stolas has changed him.
She’s proud of him.
She’ll never tell him that to his face.
He knows.
She’s happy too.
She pretends to go back to her room after a while of sitting in the kitchen and listening to him babble about his day. She’s only half listening, just relishing in the sound of his voice, the indisputable proof of his beating heart.
She waits a few minutes, just until she hears his snore from the couch again, until she sneaks back into the living room, curling up with a blanket
Just…listening to him snore, watching his back rise and fall as he curls up into Stolas.
He’s okay.
Everything is going to be okay.
She hesitates before lifting her head onto the couch, nuzzling her muzzle into the torn fabric.
Right as she drifts off to sleep, she feels a familiar clawed hand scratching behind her ears, and a gentle “I love you” fills the air.
”I love you too, Dad.” She whispers.
For the first time in weeks, she sleeps soundly through the night.