Seth feels like he's burning. Heat courses through his veins, leaves him trembling and gasping as fresh agony shreds through his flesh, deep down into his muscles, scraping against his bones. He wants to beg, but the words never come, trapped in this dark field of nothingness that engulfs him. He struggles to breathe, feeling his lungs tear and shred with every inhale and exhale, his throat throbbing with each swallow. He thinks he's dying. Wonders if it would feel less painful than this, right here, right now.
But there's a voice in the distance, the only thing he clings to. The only thing that makes sense in this mess. He thinks he knows who it is, but he can't place it, the name only just eluding him. He struggles to think, to move, to do something, anything, to escape this pain.
Then things shift, the pain eases, he feels like he's floating, stripped down to his barest molecules. There are more voices, calm, friendly tones, tinged with worry and stress. He wants to follow the voices, answer them, do something, but his body refuses to cooperate. So he continues to float in this peaceful nothingness, listening to what he can, soothed by the sounds, the feel of something gentle pressing against his worn, exhausted body.
It starts when his fingers twitch. He feels it, a sharp sensation against his fingertips, like grazing against something solid but soft. A sheet, he decides, repeating the motion a couple of times, enjoying the feeling. The next thing he's able to do is part his lips. Feels like he could speak at any time, but not quite yet, as he continues grazing the sheet, feeling air against his lips. His toes are the next to move, pressing against something light, soothing. Finally, finally, his eyes begin to flutter. Things are too bright at first, he squints and ultimately closes them once more, but it's temporary. The next time, he can keep them open for longer, so he does.
He's laying there, staring at the ceiling, sun dappled across the stones, listening to faint, far away noises, when he hears someone approaching. "Seth, Luke's given us berries to eat, they're so good, I can't wait until-"
He feels warmth by his arm, but he still can't move to look over to see the owner of this painfully familiar voice. Then there's a pause and an awed whispered, "Seth? Are- are you awake?"
Weight rests on his shoulder and then he's looking into soft, tired brown eyes. The name finally clicks.
"Betamon," he whispers.
