Apocalyptic Dream

7- Band-Aids

Seven didn't know what was up with his life that month. Usually things would run much smoother. He had once managed to go a full year without hurting himself so bad to where he bled, and yet this month made it seem like he was going to die.

He didn't remember much from when he fell, just something about his missing item, somehow getting a hold on it, being carried, so much yelling, and not being able to breathe multiple times during a seemingly bumpy trip, the sun beating down upon him, though everything looked red to him.

He heard multiple shouts once more, though he didn't understand them fully. He wondered if his two new friends of the apocalypse were out of his house, away from that crazed maniac who... What did he do again? Seven couldn't remember exactly. He couldn't see now, but he was still able to comprehend a few words and feelings. No real thoughts swam through his mind, and he was aware of this strong, aching pain in his chest, that seemed to be why he couldn't breathe. He didn't really know how it happened though, after all, he was just in the room with those two guys.

Seven wondered who the other one was. The first sounded of Russian origin, while he didn't know about the second. He wondered if he was just imagining the movement, or if he was still laying on his bedroom floor, dying. He had to be, who was going to save him, anyway?

"We're gonna save you, Sev." He heard a murmur from what seemed to be the distance, but who was it? They didn't sound like they were the Russian guy, and they seemed to know him, so who was it?

Seven gripped his item tighter in his hands, well, tried to. He struggled to keep a hold, the item almost slipping from his grasp several times, though something always made sure he didn't drop it, almost as if he was being watched as he laid there.

Was he actually dying? he seemed to be losing a lot of blood, but he couldn't really tell. In the pain he felt of his chest, there was the lingering feeling of something rushing in his chest, so he assumed he was bleeding out from a wound. Was he stabbed? Was he never going to see his companion and friends again? Was he going to die here, alone in his own house where nobody would know he really died? Maybe this was for the best. He couldn't seem to get out any words or sounds, and he tried, only ragged breathing as he seemed to choke several time on something that was starting to come from his mouth, probably saliva, though he didn't think too much of it.

He felt lighter now, but that was probably just his head, now going in and out of consciousness. There was going to be no last words when he died, He would only sit alone, in the dark room. He assumed he had also busted his head when he hit the foot of his bed earlier, because he could feel immense pain back there as well.

At least he wasn't going to turn, that was the worst fate. Not alive but not quite dead. He would be mildly aware of everything he did, who he killed, what he ate, but he wouldn't be able to control it. He knew because he had seen the newly turned. Their eyes always seemed dead but glossy, as if they were trying to fight it. By the time they killed for the seventh time they gave up, though. Seven had also seen that.

It was getting harder to breathe deeply, so Seven tried shallower breaths. He couldn't tell how long it had been, either, but he felt like he was going up stairs, hearing something about blood and many other voices overlapping. What was happening to him? Had he been found?

Seven didn't know, but he welcomed the darkness as it consumed his entire mind, covering his thoughts in a sleepy haze that seemed to do the trick making the male slip away into a deeper sleep, away from his pain, and to what Seven thought would be a very disappointing afterlife.

~<^>~

Seven sucked in a breath.

How was he even alive? He could feel pain from his sleeping arms and his chest very clearly, and the bright sun wasn't helping out, and yet every so often a shadow seemed to pass over his eyes, several bumps jarring his legs but not his upper half. It was on something, maybe someone, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that he was in pain.

How long had he been out for? It felt like a very long time, his arms, though asleep, felt stiff, and his neck wasn't any better. His spine ached, and his legs felt numb, but not quite asleep.

Seven tried to breathe again, suddenly coughing as well. several coughed wracked his throat, Seven hearing a few worried words being exchanged, though he was more focused on trying to calm down his coughing.

It was several more minutes before he stopped coughing, a groan escaping from his lips as yet another bump jarred his legs, which seemed to be hanging off of something.

"Is he awake?" a meek voice asked quietly

"I think so." Came the monotone reply from above Seven, a voice he recognized immediately.

"I swear if I open my eyes and i'm laying on Technoblade i'm going to throw myself out of the next window of a high building I get to." Seven's voice was hoarse and raspy, but still understandable, prompting a few laughs to come from around the male.

"Don't open your eyes then." Seven could hear the humor in his companion's voice, though there was that underlying tone of worry he always seemed to carry for the other male, something you would only know if you knew Technoblade. "How're you feelin'?"

"Tired and achy." Seven replied

"That isn't even a word!" came a complaint from somewhere to Seven's left.

"You can't even read, asshole." Seven replied while slowly pushing himself to sit up, his eyes opening while several protests ringing from Techno as the younger tried to get the other to lay back down "Calm down, drama queen, i'll be fine." Seven said as he shifted around so he could move closer to Technoblade so he wouldn't complain. "Where are we headed now?"