Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Discworld characters, etc. Only the story is mine.

A/N: Wrote this two years ago and I finally managed to find it again :D One shot fic and one of my favourite pieces of work although it is kind of crrazy :P Enjoy, and remember to review at the end of reading it :D Give comments if you think I can improve on anything!

His Worst Nightmare

Sam Vimes stared at his hand in horror. It looked as if it had been cut and stitched up again at last a hundred times. Normal men would have yelled their heads off at such a revolting sight, but Samuel Vimes was not an ordinary man. It was extremely revolting, he conceded, but he had seen worse, – he was after all the Commander of Ankh Morpork's City Watch – although never once on his very own hand or any other part of himself.

Hence, he was anything but alarmed. Instead, he was curious to know what had happened to him while he had been unconscious. The last thing he remembered was yelling at Stronginthearm along Cable Street before suddenly blacking out. He rubbed the raised lump on his forehead. It was painful. He took another look at his deformed hand. It was a known fact that people grew used to changes with time. Strangely, Sam was growing more and more disturbed with his new hand with each passing minute.

He heard a floorboard creak and immediately turned his attention to a dark corner of the room. A few seconds later, Igor emerged from the darkness apologizing profusely. Vimes relaxed.

"Sorry, marther, I thried to be quiet. I hope I have not dithurbed you."

Samuel Vimes managed a small smile considering the circumstances. He guessed even Igors made some mistakes. Igor, like all other Igors, looked as if he had just been through a terrible accident. Not a bit of him was not covered in scars and stitches. However, despite their appearances, Igors were undeniably useful, and Sam found himself relieved to see the scarred man.

"What happened, Igor?" Vimes asked, lifting his hand.

"Well, marther, a week ago, after you had your breakfath, you thet off for work ath uthual. You and Thronginthearm went on yout uthual roundth later that day. You went path Treacle Mine Road, where you ticked off Thronginthearm for arguing with a troll, thur. Then you went to –"

"Igor," Vimes interrupted, "I meant my hand. At the rate you are going, this story will last till nightfall."

"Thur, it ith nightfall."

Vimes gave an exasperated sigh.

"If you don't tell me what happened to my hand, I'll makes sure you won't get to see another nightfall." There was a short pause, and Vimes added, "It looks almost as bad as your hand, Igor."

"It ith, thur."

"What?" Vimes asked, horrified now. "You mean, I've got your hand stitched on to me now?"

"No, thur. I think you mithunderthood, thur. Thath not my hand."

"Oh," said Vimes, relieved.

"Ith my couthin, Igorth. You were really lucky, thur. He had pathed away just the day before your accident, thur. Gave me hith hand before hith death. Thought it might come in handy."

Igor paused to look at Vimes.

"Are you all right, thur? Your fathe ith the colour of theets." (The sheets are obviously not white. Vimes face was a dark brownish colour – the face of a man who was finding it extremely hard to digest all that he had just heard.)

It was a long while before Vimes finally managed to say something. It was not very nice. Of course, Vimes had been familiar with the Igor practices, having seen a few Igor funerals. However, he had never thought that he would be one of the few… lucky ones to receive their gift. Vimes was beginning to feel extremely disturbed and was about to voice a thought when he realized that Sybil was not by his side.

"Igor?" Vimes asked, "Where's Sybil?"

"Well, thur… the mithreth… hath gone on a long journey… to a better place, if you get what I mean, thur."

"My wife, Igor! Sybil would not leave me behind if I were lying unconscious on a bed. Plus, Ankh Morpork is the best place on the entire Disc! There is no better place!"

"No, marther… I think you mithunderthood. The mitreth… the… pathed away shortly after the heard about your accident. Ran into a drunk troll. Critical."

"You… you… are kidding aren't you, Igor?"

"If it's any help, thur," Igor continued, hoping it would provide some form of consolation, "the thaid that her heart wath yourth before the died."

Then, looking at Vimes disbelieving face, he added, "You can look under your thirt, marther."

Vimes unbuttoned his shirt and stared. A long gash and a few stitches decorated his chest. He swayed and felt himself falling as realization dawned upon him.

"No…" Vimes wept, before he world went black again.

Vimes found himself shaking when he opened his eyes again. Sybil was sitting beside him, a wide smile on her face. He pushed himself up as she gave him a big hug.

"Sybil, you're alive!" Vimes cried, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Of course I am, don't be silly. I suppose you had a long nightmare, that's all."

"A nightmare… that means…" Vimes lifted both of his hands. They were his!

"Vimes?"

"Yes, Sybil?" Vimes asked, suddenly feeling very, very good.

"Well, there's something you might not be too pleased about..."

"I'm ready for anything, Sybil," Vimes replied, and he was sure he was. It was all just a horrible, horrible dream, after all.

"If you say so…"

Sybil walked over to the end of the bed and lifted the blanket, exposing his left foot. Samuel looked at his left foot with newfound horror. Was this just another nightmare? The foot before him looked as if it had just been pulled out of a piranha infested river.

"I'm really sorry, Sam – your foot was wrecked after the troll landed on top of it. It's a wonder you're alive. However, we were lucky that an Igor had just passed away the day before…"