I sit here and all I can see is blue.

I know there are voices around me, and someone's small hands pulling me away, but I don't want to go. I want to sit here until he gets up again.

Except, he won't ever get up again.

Once, my nightmares were plagued by blue. Pale, glittering, menacing blue, hard like ice. They haunted me, every night, I couldn't escape the madness that burned in them.

Then, somewhere along the line, I stopped being scared of blue.

He was dark blue, like soft midnight lakes. Comforting, enveloping. He was deeper than the pale nightmares, and I stopped having nightmares and started dreaming again.

I dreamt that things were different, and the nightmare figures were gone.

I dreamt that he held me and whispered words of love.

I dreamt he loved me.

Now, I can hear his voice, and I imagine that maybe he called for me on the last whispers of breath to leave his lips. I wonder if he called for help, or if he just looked death in the eye and spat out his cigarette on its foot.

I look back and I can see the faint trail of smoke from his cigarette, still smoking on the ground, in front of his slumped body.

And I know he was caught completely unaware. He did not expect his attacker, but he hardly died willingly. He was still him, and would have screamed his defiance to the end.

He knelt here, dying, and he would have known it, which is probably worse. I had felt the tears that covered his soft cheeks, still damp when I cradled his face in my hand.

He might not have been perfect, but he meant well. No one had the right to dull the light in those dark blue eyes.

Small hands lead me outside, and a large figure lays a silver cross on my hand. I tighten my fist around it, still staring ahead emptily. They think I'm in shock, but I'm thinking. I'm planning.

I feel Cross Punisher laid next to me, and my hand tightens on it as his once did, fingers curling around the trigger. The small pendant in my hand is digging into my palm.

All I have seen for so long is blue, and I fear my nightmares must once again be plagued by the colour, both light and dark.

But my days, they will be painted red.