A/N: I wrote this chapter while listening to Paper Route's Dance on Our Graves. On repeat. For forever. Gah, I love it.


There's a muffled voice, soft and sweet, talking in the room. His ears are registering the flow of the words, but his brain is unable to comprehend the words that are being said. A dark blue eye opens slightly but the room is bright and it closes just as quickly. It feels like an eternity later when he is able to open it again, the soft voice still going from beside him. Something warm and smooth is holding his hand gently. His eye moves to take in the fuzzy shape of a hand in his and it follows the small hand up a thin arm that is covered in black blurs. His brain tries to think of what those blurs might be but he can't figure it out. The blue eye takes in the soft green of a sleeve before settling on the long, blonde hair that is pulled back in a ponytail with a braid in it. Then it takes in the soft face and he feels his breath catch.

The woman's image is fuzzy but there is a light behind her and she looks ethereal to him. His brain automatically thinks he's dying or dead and an angel has come to condemn him to hell. His eye struggles to stay open and then it can't anymore and it closes. The last thing he feels before slipping back into unconsciousness is her squeezing his hand. He hears a faint voice, calling to him in question and then he's gone.