Kiba doesn’t dream. Not in the literal sense, at least.
He’s heard other people talk about their dreams–their unconscious adventures or whatever–but he’s never been able to do the same. Usually he’s just out like a light. Maybe he wakes up in a mood, emotions filtering through as he sleeps, but nothing concrete or detailed enough to count as a dream.
He doesn’t think it’s much of a loss, really. What’s the point in having adventures in your sleep when you can have them in reality?
And, well, no dreams no nightmares.
Given what he’s seen, ain’t he lucky?
Too bad the same can’t be said for the captain.
They’re on a job–an easy delivery to some barely named pebble of a moon turned into a whole production. A miserly bastard exploiting a bunch of honest people who just needed a little help from the Shuumatsu’s ragtag team of heroes in order to find courage to stand up for themselves… the usual, really.
If he were one for business cards, Kiba would probably change his to say Big Damn Hero.
Right now it’s the evening before the final showdown. They’re taking turns on watch, because this isn’t their first rodeo that’s for sure–he wouldn’t be all that surprised if the bastard sent some muscle their way in the middle of the night–but they’re not all that worried. Kiba and Akamaru have this.
The captain murmurs in her sleep and Kiba, ears always tuned in to what she says, listens.
“… retreat… prince…”
Just those two words are enough to place when Shikako is in her mind, but the last is what makes Kiba’s blood chill.
Kiba doesn’t dream in the literal sense. Not so much in the figurative sense, either. Not anymore. He’s content with living on the bucket of bolts that is the Shuumatsu, making sure the captain has back up for her crazy schemes.
Because having a dream means getting your hopes up. Means getting invested. Means making your soft spots out in the open.
Having a dream means that you can be betrayed.
And failing your dream means reality becomes a nightmare.