Fics like out along the edges

Chell dreams of flying, most nights. There’s never a destination, nor any explanation for how he’d gotten up there in the first place. It’s just him, zooming through the air, clouds and blue sky stretching out as far as the eye can see. Sometimes there’s sound — snatches of voices he doesn’t know, jargon he doesn’t understand — but most of the time it’s quiet, and he relishes in the feeling of his stomach swooping, adrenaline thrumming through his veins, all of his nerve endings alight with the sensation of freedom. He doesn’t know why. Technically, he shouldn’t be having dreams at all: the Collective created tabs several years ago that provide every Kree man, woman, and child with a restful night’s sleep, but he never takes them. They make his brain feel fuzzy, like it doesn’t belong to him. And no matter what his doctors tell him, he can’t shake the feeling that these dreams have something to do with his past — the past that he hasn’t been able to remember since the accident. So he holds onto the dreams, hoarding them (and the elation they bring) like jewels, hard and sharp beneath his skin. Maybe someday he’ll understand what they mean. -- The Captain Marvel AU of Top Gun.

Fics like out along the edges

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