A/N: Well, you're a patient lot, and make no mistake. Thank you. Another one where I had trouble deciding where to break a chapter Back to Don's POV, because I miss him.

Chapter 14

He was on fire - inside and out - everything burning. No matter how he twisted, how hard he tried to escape, it stayed there - under his skin, filling his chest chasm and his stomach, shriveling his insides. He tried to call out to someone, but the fire filled his throat, singing it closed and stealing his air.

He had failed, then. Failed to stop Twilliger and now he was paying the price - up in flames, in a fiery ball of ignited gasoline. Like little Karen McGuire. Like so many others before her. Well, it seemed only fair - why should he be spared? He had failed to protect them, and now he would join them.

Still, he had never expected it to take so long…to go on and on like this. Death by fire…was it always so slow? Did it take this long for Karen, while she hung there, waiting for her mother…? Or did she suffocate first…?

"Donnie!"

The sound of his name made him twitch. Who would be calling him? Karen? No, no - she wouldn't know his name, how would she…?

"Donnie - shhh - take it easy - it's all right…"

All right. Why did people always say that? What the hell was all right about any of this…?

"Come on, Donnie - wake up for me - you're scaring me now, you're crying…"

Crying. No, he wasn't - of course he wasn't - he was burning…the tears would turn to steam…crying wasn't…it was…it was useless. No point. He didn't -

"She's dead." The words startled him. His voice? Sort of. A raw sound from his raw throat. Something soothing was stroking at his hair, oblivious to the flames that were licking at him, or maybe it was burning with him...

"You with me? You okay? Who's dead?"

Everything fell away, as if he had crashed through one wall of reality and into another, the memory of the first one dissolving fast and knowledge of the new one still grey and insubstantial. Who? Who? He couldn't remember - it was gone already - it could be so many, many people, so many he had struggled to protect and save and had, in the end, failed…Twilliger's victims. Karen McGuire. Mom. He tried to swallow, but his throat was filled with razor blades. "I don't - " he coughed instead, and a new fireball of pain erupted inside him.

"Here - come on, open up for me - "

Something cold slid between his lips, trickled down the fire of his throat, wetting it. He choked in surprise, coughed again.

"He okay?"

He thought he knew that voice, too - couldn't quite label it. If he could get his eyes open - but they stayed glued shut, heedless of his commands. Bad…this was bad…he needed to…he needed to…

"Better?"

"Dad," he croaked. It was one, brief, ray of clarity, and he snatched at it and clung tight. Okay. Okay, he knew something now. Everything else was sort of - he couldn't really recall - what exactly -

"That's good." A squeeze at his shoulder. "How you feeling?"

Not so good. Because I don't know where I am, or what's happening to me, and I can't seem to keep a thought in my head for…for…and if I'm on fire, shouldn't you be putting it out or something, because you're my father after all, unless you think I deserve it too, and maybe that's what everybody's decided, that I've failed and been sentenced to burn…like…like…damn, it's gone…

Something was really wrong with that whole idea, but he couldn't quite get his brain around it…

"Dad." It wasn't a question, really, it was just the only thing he knew for certain and it made him feel better to say it, confirm it, as if that might lead him to another thought, another idea, some memory of what was going on with him, as if it would make him more sure of other things, too.

"Right here, Donnie. You okay, now? Think you can go back to sleep?"

Sleep. They had no clear shape, but he knew that terrible things lingered on the other side of sleep - dark specters, with sad, hollow voices - not a place he wanted to return to. Better if he just - took his leave. Or at least looked around - got the lay of the land. He tried to get his hands under him, to push up. Icy fingers burrowed into his abdomen, digging deep, trying to pry it open. He thought he heard a cry, but it seemed so separate from himself, so far away -

"Shhh…" Strong hands were pressing down on his shoulders, pinning him down…he had some vague idea that this had happened before and that it had meant peril - that he needed to escape it. He struggled hard against them, but he couldn't make them budge. "Charlie, ring for the nurse - "

Charlie. Nurse. That should mean something, something significant, but he realized, with a sense of growing alarm, that he couldn't remember what. "Dad." He said it again because he had to make sure - make sure he was still there - if he was, that was the one thing - one thing he could -

"Right here, Donnie. Just try to relax, all right? Don't struggle, it's not good for your stitches."

Stitches. Stitches? "What - ?"

"Your appendix ruptured. You're in the hospital. And it would be a whole lot better for you if you could just lie still."

Appendix. He clawed frantically through his memory, could not find the smallest trace of familiarity about it. Panic ballooned in the middle of his chest.

"I'll get a cooling blanket."

Nothing about that voice he recognized. Nothing. If they would just let him up for a minute…his struggles were growing feebler, though…too hard to sustain. If everything was so all right, then why wouldn't they just let him get up…?

It was no use. He felt himself sinking, the greyness a rising tide around him. He felt as though someone had bled the last ounce of strength out of him. Something else was rising too, inside him…"Dad…" fainter this time, but with increased urgency.

"Uh-oh."

The hands left his shoulders, scrambled instead to support his head. Something cool and metallic bumped the bottom of his chin, then everything spilled out - the fire, the fear, the churning organs he'd been fighting to keep inside, over and over, pounding in his forehead and ripping at his midsection. Black spots danced behind his eyelids and he tried to clutch at his head to keep it from flying off, but something tugged at his hands, entangling them, pricking at them. Determined to break free, he tugged back.

"Charlie? Stop him - his IV - c'mon, Donnie, easy, easy - it's okay. Just relax, it's okay. Everything's okay."

The black spots were in his brain now, blotting it out, dark thoughts fluttering among them like a cloud of ghostly bats. He recognized them all, wondered how they had gotten free when he was usually so good at keeping them locked away.

"Easy. Take it easy…it's okay…"

Stop saying that...

The darkness filled his skull now, spinning the rest of the world far out of reach. Someone was holding his arms down, and he knew - instinct-knew and training-knew - that that was never a sign that things were okay, no matter what they tried to tell you - how hard they tried to fool you. He fought to push the restraining hands away, but nothing was working anymore, and the protests merely circled stubbornly within the darkness in his skull…

It's not okay, he reminded himself. Don't give in - don't let them mess with you, don't forget. It's not okay…it's not… it's not…it's not…

TBC