Part III
He had a restless sleep, unable to find a comfortable position with his new limbs and sore, tender flesh. Terrible thoughts lingered; permeating his dreams and conscious thoughts. He couldn't, couldn't, couldn't... stop. He stared into the dark; the lights had been shut off to make it easier to sleep. It didn't change anything. His imagination ran away with him. Was it normal for a dream to last this long? to feel this way? to contain these thoughts? It was so linear, so natural, so real. But it couldn't be. He should be waking now. The sun should be burning his skin... But it wasn't. Grif let out a shuddering breath, letting these thoughts go. In the space these musings left behind entered thoughts he wasn't completely prepared to host.
If this wasn't a dream... what was it?
Grif forced himself to sit up. He felt better. Less groggy, less stiff. He wasn't in as much pain; just a dull ache that lingered around the areas where his new limbs connected, behind his eyes and in his throat. He groaned, swinging his good leg off the bed and staring at his... other one. It soon joined the other flesh-leg, pulling on his body slightly as he wasn't touching the ground. He gasped at the painful tug, gritting his teeth before setting both feet on the ground. Grif sat for a moment, rolling his shoulder in jerky movements as he grew use to the unusual weight that pulled him down, making him lopsided—even more unattractive, he didn't have the muscle strength to hold it up and, by the time he would grow use to it, it'd be like having a bad posture, hard to change. So unattractive... so ugly.
With slow, laborious movements he was up and on his feet, swaying at the new, awkward weight on his shoulders; did they do something to his head? He bit back the urge to cry out in frustration—even in his dreams life was fucked up. Grif lifted his gaze to the ominous shadows that lingered in the corners. Fear sparked in his chest for a moment before dying just as fast as it came. He stepped towards the dark shape he guessed was the door, wincing at the clank his foot made, and the soft padding of the other. He heard whirring; felt it in his chest, in his head. Panic rose—was this how Simmons felt when he first began to... move around? when he woke up? Grif took a deep shuddering breath. His lungs felt so thick... Did his heart even beat? Did he have a heart? He resisted the overwhelming urge to lift his flesh hand to his chest—he didn't want to risk learning something about his new body he wasn't ready to face (new body? Was he now considering this Dream-Grif real, a reality?).
The sound of his contrasting footsteps was all Grif allowed himself to focus on as he reached the door, the swirling shadows curling around his peripheral vision. If only he could see... he blinked, his eyes fogging for a moment before—light. Green coloured his vision, but at least he could make out the handle. He reached out with his flesh hand, opening the door with a click. Light flooded, blinding him for a moment before his... new vision shut off and everything returned to normal. Grif stood at the threshold of the room for a moment. The hallway was empty. He headed for the kitchen, voices indistinguishable until he neared. He stood at the threshold of this room too, gazing over his teammates with a hard to read expression. Grif moved further in as the conversation stopped, ignoring their eyes as he took as seat; the last empty one.
Silence.