whomp


.

"Stop."

Benny startles awake, jerking upright. His fingers are quick to find his blade, having slipped from them sometime in the night, and he swings his head around.

"Shut up," whispers—"shut up, shut up, stop."

The words are in a tandem, two voices, pained.

"He's not listening, stop, stop, he is not—shut up, stop."

"Danny," he calls into the dark. "... Green Eyes?"

Everything falls still. Silent. Heavy, thick and oppressive.

Benny sucks in a breath.

"... shut up," croaks—miserable, choked.

Pray, I to the angel "every night."