It's always the same. He'll wake up cold, shaking, breathing ragged, his skin and clothes and the near-matted beard wrapped around his chest drenched with his own sweat. His heart racing, like he's been running from something. His eyes twitching, like he's seen something.
He'll shut them, trying to recall what the dream was about.
Nothing. Nothing but an endless blank.
Sometimes if he concentrates hard enough and for a good long time, he feels it...on the edge of his memories...flashes of light and movement and emotion, but he just...can't...
Fiddleford pulls the thread-bare pillow over his head, shaking again. Stupid, useless, crazy Fiddleford...stupid, useless, broken mind...
He feels like a traitor. he doesn't know why.
All he can remember is a pyramid and a crossed-out eye.
A/N: Yes I hc poor Fiddleford has night terrors. Weekly, if not more often. Alone. : (
I think the memory erasing gun just kind of shuffles bad memories to the subconscious, or at least doesn't eradicate said subconscious impression of them. Plus, I don't think Bill, the trillion year old evil that he is, ever truly goes away. but maybe that's all just me lol. Enjoy that cheery thought~