Sam keeps at it. He hears the soft calling sway of shore, whispering to him, pulling him close and putting thought in his pan. Each pap puts some of his sharper broken edges into alignment, making them softer, making it all ease away. His breath comes heavy and rasped, yet the longer Sam goes, the more things change.
His eyes fade back in color, turning from red to orange to something near-gold, the indigo a little more visible now, the glow not so bright. His eyelids droop down like he's falling asleep oh so slow. His body un-tenses, slumping. The buzzing in his skull scatters out over his pan, as Sam's hand is on his horn taking the edge off the world. Off of him.
His breath gets quieter. It gets to shudder in exhale. It gets to the mother fucking point whereas he drops, right down to his knees, taking Sam with him but holding him there for how his arms are over Sam's shoulders, going around his back. His bloody mitts are all up in staining his brother but it could be worse, it could be so much worse.
It don't start soft. This would be something fairytale on Alternia but it's not. Not right now it ain't. In a pan soft enough to be bearable for staying inside of, he's got all them thoughts right there. All them revelations. All them memories.
She's gone. She's gone, she's gone. He did something terrible and she's gone and-- He shakes, coming undone in Sam's arms, weeping open, gasping for breath what don't come in all right, gasping against the pain. There's no holding together this time. There's no words to be said with this. He can't think nothing but a chorus of protest at the very state of the world. He shakes all over and wishes desperate that he could feel nothing at all. He would take even just the feeling of the bullets and arrows gone through him over everything else. His eyes squeeze shut lest he be faced with everything around him. His choked and desperate and utterly muted cries are all he has to give now.
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His eyes fade back in color, turning from red to orange to something near-gold, the indigo a little more visible now, the glow not so bright. His eyelids droop down like he's falling asleep oh so slow. His body un-tenses, slumping. The buzzing in his skull scatters out over his pan, as Sam's hand is on his horn taking the edge off the world. Off of him.
His breath gets quieter. It gets to shudder in exhale. It gets to the mother fucking point whereas he drops, right down to his knees, taking Sam with him but holding him there for how his arms are over Sam's shoulders, going around his back. His bloody mitts are all up in staining his brother but it could be worse, it could be so much worse.
It don't start soft. This would be something fairytale on Alternia but it's not. Not right now it ain't. In a pan soft enough to be bearable for staying inside of, he's got all them thoughts right there. All them revelations. All them memories.
She's gone. She's gone, she's gone. He did something terrible and she's gone and-- He shakes, coming undone in Sam's arms, weeping open, gasping for breath what don't come in all right, gasping against the pain. There's no holding together this time. There's no words to be said with this. He can't think nothing but a chorus of protest at the very state of the world. He shakes all over and wishes desperate that he could feel nothing at all. He would take even just the feeling of the bullets and arrows gone through him over everything else. His eyes squeeze shut lest he be faced with everything around him. His choked and desperate and utterly muted cries are all he has to give now.