[He can't remember passing out. He doesn't remember much at all after the cliff, really- he'd been bracing himself for death, unable to imagine a scenario where he survived losing that much blood, with that many injuries. A single potion wasn't going to make much of a difference. When Cloud dragged him onto his back and started walking towards the city, all he'd been able to think is that hopefully no one would arrest him for carrying a corpse through the gates. Guy's already been through enough.
After that moment, he hadn't known what to expect. Hadn't expected anything at all, in fact. Waking up is a slow process of registering his surroundings one by one, little details. Shadows, moving past his eyelids. Voices, the words indistinct past the blood rushing in his ears. Water trickling down his face. The taste of potion in his mouth, the tingle of it on his skin.
His heart, pumping unsteadily, fighting for every beat.
There are hands, holding him. Brushing through his hair. He feels a seize of panic at first, frightened and angry and too exhausted to move, because- if Shinra found them, if they'd been caught-
-I won't go back there-
He lacks the strength to struggle, which forces him to wait and pay attention as awareness returns slowly to his mind. The hands are... gentle, too careful to be a grunt or a scientist. Soft, like whatever's beneath his head. Not a pillow, but almost- it's been so long since he had a proper pillow to sleep on. Feels nice.
There's a smell in the air too, nearly overwhelmed by all the blood, something sweet and nostalgic. It tickles gently at his nose, trying to make him remember. Whatever it is, there must be a lot of it for him to be able to smell it. Something about it is familiar.
Smells... almost like...
His breath catches, chest heaving as the potions seal the holes in his lungs and neck enough for him to get a proper breath, and when he exhales it's a weak, thready cough, splashing fresh blood on his lips. Dead men don't need to breathe, dead men don't cough. Against all odds, he's alive, hanging on by a thread, and he's being cared for.
I know... I know this...
Eyes fluttering, he looks up. His sight is too dim, everything around him a blur of light and dark, but there's a brightness above him that he hadn't expected. The sky? He'd hoped for the sky.
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momijizukamori
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Date: 2017-08-30 11:32 pm (UTC)After that moment, he hadn't known what to expect. Hadn't expected anything at all, in fact. Waking up is a slow process of registering his surroundings one by one, little details. Shadows, moving past his eyelids. Voices, the words indistinct past the blood rushing in his ears. Water trickling down his face. The taste of potion in his mouth, the tingle of it on his skin.
His heart, pumping unsteadily, fighting for every beat.
There are hands, holding him. Brushing through his hair. He feels a seize of panic at first, frightened and angry and too exhausted to move, because- if Shinra found them, if they'd been caught-
-I won't go back there-
He lacks the strength to struggle, which forces him to wait and pay attention as awareness returns slowly to his mind. The hands are... gentle, too careful to be a grunt or a scientist. Soft, like whatever's beneath his head. Not a pillow, but almost- it's been so long since he had a proper pillow to sleep on. Feels nice.
There's a smell in the air too, nearly overwhelmed by all the blood, something sweet and nostalgic. It tickles gently at his nose, trying to make him remember. Whatever it is, there must be a lot of it for him to be able to smell it. Something about it is familiar.
Smells... almost like...
His breath catches, chest heaving as the potions seal the holes in his lungs and neck enough for him to get a proper breath, and when he exhales it's a weak, thready cough, splashing fresh blood on his lips. Dead men don't need to breathe, dead men don't cough. Against all odds, he's alive, hanging on by a thread, and he's being cared for.
I know... I know this...
Eyes fluttering, he looks up. His sight is too dim, everything around him a blur of light and dark, but there's a brightness above him that he hadn't expected. The sky? He'd hoped for the sky.
...or is it...]