sometimes he wakes screaming. he remembers the accident as if it were merely yesterday, can still smell the smoke and see the flames as they devour everything in their way, reflecting themselves in his wide eyes; angry red against cool blue. he remembers screaming and shouting until his lungs felt like they were too going to burst into flames. he remembers being helpless; huddled in a corner pathetically like a stray animal as he watched everything crumble before his eyes. everything he owned, everything he knew. everything he loved. he remembers the hands that found him, grabbed him, stole him away from the mass of ashes he had once called a home. he had been grateful, thought they were there to save him, and so he had put up no fight... though it soon became evident that they intended to be as cruel with him as those flames that haunted his dreams. back then he would wake screaming, too, the only difference being that he would likely have fallen asleep screaming anyway, and spent the day in the same frame of mind; whimpering, screaming, sobbing. it only got worse when he made a noise, and he knew that well, yet he still could not help but to hope that maybe someday, someone would hear his screams, and he would be saved. comforted. loved. empty wishes from an empty mind; no-one came. no-one would ever come.
but someone did come. or rather, something.
and now he still wakes screaming, but there is always a hand to pull him out of the darkness. a chest to be pulled against reassuringly. lips always there to press against his own lightly, to softly whisper 'i am here, my lord, you are safe' in such a manner that he forgets why he was ever scared in the first place.
and he knows now, no matter what he may suffer through in the rest of his life,
he will never be alone again.