Work Text:
It seemed like forever that he’d been walking. Maybe it was. He didn't remember much else. Wasn't aware of much of anything.
Just this.
Just the walking.
The scrape and scratch of hard concrete against his feet, digging in and making the bleeding worse. He must be leaving foot prints with how wet every step feels.
He was walking through a fog. It was everywhere.
In his face, leaving wet drops on his cheeks. Dampening his clothes...
The dark red and black fabric torn, frayed, and burnt in places...
what was left of them...
or did they always look this way?
The fog was everywhere.
Clinging to him. Clinging to his mind.
It was leaving dirt everywhere it touched.
The fog was dirty on the outside.
It was clean on the inside.
Clean white, like new snow.
It was slowly dissipating from his mind but getting thicker in the air.
Dustier.
Dirtier.
Was it what was soaking up all the sound?
Or was it always this...
Silent.
No not silent.
Muffled.
As if he was deep... deep...deep underwater.
Squeezed tight with the pressure.
Pressure...
It was squeezing him. He could feel that in his body... sort of.
It just felt so far away.
Like this body wasn't his own. Like he was dreaming he was there. Like this wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.
Something hits his limb.
Which limb is that?
His arm. His hand.
What had he run into?
He looks. Its metal. Twisted and broken metal sticking out of twisted and broken rocks, sprinkled with glass.
Its everywhere.
The mess is everywhere.
Some of it is burning. Covered in orange and red light that sparkles different colors like blue and green.
Burning.
Shifting.
Falling.
So much of it falling down everywhere he looks. He keeps turning but its all the same.
Shape.
Its moving in the fog. An echo of sound coming from it. Still so muffled but it’s coming closer.
Wet drops on his feet.
Running down his legs.
There’s a lot of red at his feet now.
He wonders where its coming from.
He looks up. Back to the moving in the fog. the muffled sound gets closer.
The shape is a man.
A jacket he knows. Brown leather and heavy. A red mask... or is it a helmet?
The man touches his arm. Its the one he bumped earlier.
The man is making sounds and shaking his arm.
He wonders why? Why shake his arm? What does that mean? Is it important?
It somehow seems so.
The man takes the helmet off. He’s wearing a red mask and shouting words he can't hear.
The man looks upset. Frantic even.
He wants to sooth the familiar man but doesn't know how.
So much excitement and movement.
The man’s hands grip his face and looks at him with a look that begs him for something.
The man’s lips are moving. He gets lost in the motion. In understanding of the motion and what it means.
‘Tim!’ The man yells. Ask’s him to say something, if he can hear him.
He can’t hear him. He can't help him.
There is so much grey.
The fog is everywhere.
Moving.
Spinning.
Dizzy falling.
‘Look at me!’ The man’s lips scream.
The man begs. ‘Stay with me’
When did the man get above him?
Is he not standing?
How strange.
The fog is too thick to see anymore.
Its getting black.
All black...
And the muffled...
Sounds...
Fade...