A/N: This post was inspired entirely by Leoraine's S is for Stalker (an amazing Suits fic that you definitely should read if you're in the fandom). I don't like the layout of LJ so I didn't go searching for the full prompt, but I used what I could gather from the name to create this. I hope you guys like it :)
Images, memories, pain.
Where was he?
A hospital bed, steady beeping, a flash of yellow.
A car.
Images, memories, pain.
Barely alive and yet he could feel everything.
Images, memories, pain?
But he can't feel pain.
Images, memories, pain.
A hand reaches out.
Is it reaching out for him, or for the car, trying to stop it by sheer will? Something warm touches his hand, coating it in liquid.
Taste, smell, touch.
He could feel but not pain, never pain.
Heartache, love, grief.
Mourning the ones he lost while he walks away with a new chest plate and a Band-Aid.
Lost?
Losing.
The distinction was important but he didn't know why. Lost was past tense, 'something that has been taken away but cannot be recovered.' Losing is present. Stoppable.
Losing?
Warm liquid, spreading, oozing, sticky. A cry for help, someone shouting his name.
A hospital bed, steady beeping.
But the noises were slowing down, irregular yet frantic, as if they were trying to hold on, trying to speed up.
Losing.
Something else starts beeping, flashing, shrieking. It's slowing down, slowing down – something different but important. What, what was so important? What was he forgetting?
Images, memories, pain.
A yellow car, a hospital bed, a hand reaching out. The liquid dripping, coating his hand. Something within him alights, sensors going off, flashing, shrieking.
Lost.
The beeping stops but the silence is just as bad, piercing, empty. It's reaching critical, blue lights turning red, flickering.
John.
His arm jolts as a volt of energy surges through it, a spark alighting somewhere at the end. Something else jerks beside him. The beeping returns.
Images, memories, pain.
But it isn't a memory, it's happening now, this is the present.
The yellow car.
A yellow Hotrod, but bigger, faster. A Mercedes, tires squealing, windows smashing. Circuits blown and warm liquid. Everything is wrong.
Fix.
He reaches up, hands shaking, wires frayed. Something sparks and his eyes open.
John.
Right beside him, hardly breathing, barely alive.
Thanks for reading! xx