Work Text:
Her hands are so small. Fingers curve gently and guide his head to face in a different direction, so she can inspect the clotting cut on the side of his head. It's already scabbing and closing up.
"Hey, it's okay." Nill looks at him, her face part worry, part determination. She holds up the bandages, beseeching, and Heine sighs. "It'll be fine in a few minutes." Never mind that he's dizzy and disoriented and he isn't standing up because he can't. He's fine.
Nill leaves him after a few minutes, probably noticing his unfocused gaze, and comes back with blankets instead of bandages for the bed. Go to sleep, she motions, and he watches her go.
He sleeps, and dreams of Lily.
Her hands are so small. The tips of her nails are smoother than he can imagine them being (even though he can't remember anymore) and they brush across his face, intangible.
Why won't you listen? she asks, but the voice from her mouth is the Dog's. Her teeth are straight and even. Because you aren't here, he answers.
His shoulder aches when she bites him, small fingers warm and soft on his face. Cradling his head in her hands, Lily tears him apart from collarbone to hip and he bleeds Giovanni's acid-green, Arthur's solid burgundy, Lotto's clear and frosty blue.
Lily's lips are red, red, red. It isn't as if you know me. Her hands are gentle as they pry open his jaws. If he shuts his mouth needle-sharp fangs will pierce through his tongue.
She whispers to him forever, in her voice and the voices of his Dog and Mother, and drags him closer into her arms until he can't see shit for the blood filling his eye sockets.
He wakes up with Nill's hand in his.