A/N: Warning: This chap is extremely stupid. And emo. And, sort of a filler. But you may need it to understand parts of the story, so read it anyway! (:

I re-wrote it so it's a bit longer, and a songfic! (The lyrics actually ARE what mainly make it longer, though I fixed some spelling "issues" and added little bits of emo-osity…)

The song is "Prayer of The Refugee" by Rise Against. I love this song! I heart it on Guitar Hero 3, and absolutely fell in love. (I heart that game, even if I suck at it!)

"No…" Bliss whispered. "Don't…go…"

A dark, shadowy figure turned halfway to look at her. It said nothing, only smiled sadly and shook its head. She could see its dark hair flopping around, but the figure's face was simply impossible to see. It was as blank, dark, and expressionless as a head-on silhouette. But with adorably floppy hair.

It was raining.

They weren't standing on anything, and everything was dark. The rain looked gray against the dark background, but it didn't splash against anything. It just kept heading down, until Bliss couldn't see it anymore. There was a faint light around the figure, but that was it. There was no ground that she could see, but she could feel the pavement on her bare feet as she took a daring step forward, even though every inch of her was screaming to run and never turn back.

"Please…" Bliss was saying. "Please…"

But the figure just shook its head again and walked away.

"Please…"

The figure stopped walking. It froze, with one long leg extended, mid-step.

Bliss looked up, ever hopeful. "Don't go…"

But the shadow flickered, and soon it had disappeared.

"No," she screamed, and reached out a hand towards what used to be.

It was all an illusion…

000000

Bliss shot up, screaming. "Don't go!"

Don't hold me up, now,
I can stand my own ground.
I don't want your help now
you'll just let me down…

Then she looked around. Her window was open. There, at the end of her bed, was that a jacket? She crawled towards it and picked it up. Her fingers felt that the cold leather was wet, but the inside of it, the thick fabric lining, still held a trace of warmth. She knew this jacket. She recognized it. Her memory was calling up different events where she'd inhaled its fishy, sushi-like smell and thought, I'm in heaven.

It was Dylan's.

Warm yourself by the fire, child,
and the morning will come soon.
I'll tell you stories of a better time,
in a place that we once knew…

Dylan Ward. The Silver Blood who had almost taken her, but not by choice. A monster by force, not by choice. Why was his jacket here? Bliss frowned, staring into the darkness. What…was that footsteps? There…! She listened quietly, pulling her blanket up to her chin should she need to hide.

Before we packed our bags
and left all this behind us in the dust,
we had a place that we could call home
and a life no one could touch.

The house fell silent. She grew impatient. Putting he hands in her lap and letting the blanket fall, she sighed.

"Dylan?" she whispered.

She swore she heard the ghost of a chuckle, but it faded all too fast for her to be sure. But it was enough to send her shooting under the covers like a two-year-old.

But minutes later, she was peeking out. Slowly, she came back out, exposing just her head. She glanced around, eyes fully adjusted to the dark, and frowned at her own immaturity. She thought about how childish she was being. Infantile, even. Really. Hiding under the covers from the monster downstairs? Right. Totally mature. Emboldened, she cleared her throat.

Don't hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground.
I don't need your help now,
you'll just let me down…

"Dylan?" she called again.

Again, the faded laugh. Out side in the hall, the grandfather clock chimed once. The moon shone at her through her open window. Shadows moved around her bedroom, leaping and dancing as the trees were blown around outside by the icy wind. The curtains blew in the wind, making her shiver. She got up and slammed the window shut, sighing impatiently. She was such a wimp sometimes!

Angry with herself, she curled into her bed again and muttered to herself, "God, B, you're going insane…"

But when the muffled laugh came again, she shot under the covers and just couldn't convince herself that she was hearing things. It wasn't working.

We are the angry and the desperate,
the hungry and the cold.
We are the ones who kept quiet
and always did as we were told.

Her house creaked a little, like it always did, but tonight it managed to scare her.

But we've been sweating while you slept so calm
in the safety of your home.

000000

When Bliss woke up in the morning, she was clinging to the leather jacket she'd found on her bed last night. The same one that the shadowy figure in her dream had been wearing. The same one she'd dreamed about ever since Dylan had gone missing, without even telling her who was harboring the Silver Bloods. He'd cried, "They're coming!" and fled through the window like her room was on fire. She'd heard voices for about an hour, but nobody came up the stairs and into her room.

We've been pulling out the nails that hold up
everything you've known.

Still, she'd been scared. Every creak, every tiny noise had scared her that night. She'd been a jumpy mess, and now the feeling was back, if not stronger.

Ugh.

She sighed softly and walked into her bathroom, the plush carpet silencing her footsteps. There was a crumpled note on her dresser, scribbled on a piece of her monogrammed stationary. Beside it, her purple ribbon-wrapped pen (the one with a big purple-dyed feather at the end) was hastily thrown to the side. Her hand hovered over the note, hesitating before she reached to grab it. She opened it, and her bright green eyes went wide. There, scribbled on her pink monogrammed stationary, in glittery purple ink, was the best thing she'd read in months. She squished her eyes shut and counted to ten before re-opening them to see if the note was real and not just a grocery list she was misreading.

It wasn't.

So open your eyes child,
let's be on our way.
Broken windows and ashes
are guiding the way.

Wait for me, it read it Dylan's messy writing. I'll be back soon.

Keep quiet no longer,
we'll sing through the day
of the lives that we've lost,
and the lives we've reclaimed.

A/N: Told ya. Emo. And short. Extremely. But hey, review anyway! Pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese? –smile-