DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All publicly owned characters and/or plot do not belong to me. I'm just playing with them JWillow Jamison is mine.
Chapter 1:
Blood. There was so much blood. She screamed out for him to help her, pleading in the darkness—but he did nothing. He watched as the life drained from her eyes—drowning in the abyss of servitude and the pretense of loyalty. His chest was laid bare, his heart beating wildly, aching with the hurt of his entire existence. The growling rage and pain bubbled from his mouth as he begged for it all to end.
"Please leave her alone! Take me! Please, take me!"
And then, like a good little routine, she was there in a long flowing dress. She looked like an angel but he knew it was her.
"Skye!" He called to her, but she didn't look at him.
The light radiated off of her like the sun and the man was there too. He kissed her softly on the forehead and she smiled up at him, twining her fingers in his and they began to walk away. He wanted to call out to her again and again, asking her to stay but his voice was lost. She was happy and alive and free, and that was all that mattered. This time he begged for it all to end for an entirely different reason.
A fatherly hand gripped his shoulder. A kind hand— one that wouldn't punish him. He looked up at the man and his reassuring smile almost eased his pain. Almost. He was tempted to walk away with him, but he waited a moment too long and suddenly there was more blood. It was pouring down the man's chest and he knelt by him. He called for help. The others were there now, but it was all wrong. They were dying. Their eyes were black and lifeless and they didn't come to him. They wouldn't help him no matter how much he screamed and begged. The darkness came for him and he was alone with nothing but his silent pleas. He was always alone.
Ward sat up straight in his bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The dreams weren't getting any better and quite frankly he wasn't sure how he was going to keep it up, never getting any decent rest. Sure, his entire childhood had been a series of nightmares, mostly real nightmares that carried over into his dreams—but this was different. This was a completely new kind of torment and he was fatigued in a subtle and excruciating way. He briefly thought about asking Simmons for something to help him sleep, but then he'd have to explain the whys, and that wasn't happening. The thought of talking about any of it made his skin crawl with anxiety. Glancing at his alarm clock he groaned. He still had two hours before he needed to be up, but he knew there wasn't any way he was going back to sleep. Today was the day the team headed to the Triskelion to determine their new recruit and he was absolutely, under no circumstances, looking forward to it. Swinging his legs over his bunk he mustered up the energy to take a quick shower and re-read over his next mission details. He just needed to survive one more day, and figure out the answers he needed to help the people he wasn't supposed to care about.