The dream wouldn’t let Cal go. He had trouble breathing, his body convinced that the teeth and claws that tore into his flesh were real and still there. He was surprised that his clothes weren’t soaked with blood, that he didn’t cough up his own teeth, that his bones weren’t broken. He tried to ask Henry to remind him that being eaten alive was on his list of things to never do, only the words died in his mouth and all he could make was a pained sob.

“You’re breathing,” Henry told him softly and gently rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s just a dream. It can’t hold you, not when I’ve got you. You’re breathing.” This had been his mantra for the last…however long they’d been awake.

“I’m sorry!” Cal whispered with a shaking breath. “I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t, don’t even.” Henry said through his teeth. “Don’t ever.”