Sirius's son

Waking up

Awareness played with Rigel like a fish reaching for bait on a hook. It swooped in and out of his consciousness like a bird, never staying long enough for him to get a firm grasp on it. He was getting taunted, and somehow, he didn't even mind. It was like there was a big wall erected in his mind, blocking him from feeling anything and everything. He was floating in a huge expanse of black nothingness. There was no difference between up and down. Rigel just existed, on the edges of reality.

He should want to wake up. He should want to see the light again. He should need to break free of this watery prison, but he didn't.

He was so tired. He was mind-numbingly, overpoweringly, exhausted. It kept his eyelids unmovable, completely immobile, dragged down by hundred-pound weights. He had been tired for so long. He could tell.

All those feelings, all that pain, it was slowly leaving him and Rigel was okay with it. He liked the sensation of diving into the unknown.

Rigel had to wake up at some point. He wanted to hide, but he couldn't.

The floating feeling was so nice. It was like floating on the beach in a warm summer. He was just below the surface, staring up at the white sun that existed above him, foreign, and scary. If he went up there he might get burned. It was unknown, scary. And below his legs, his feet, it was dark. It was completely black, rippling with waves that came from nowhere. He didn't want to go there. It was ominous; it was threatening.

It made Rigel scared. He thought he was escaping from the madness, not holding a hand with it again. Fear had been everything. Fear had kept him alive, and it had pushed him toward death. It was the poison and the cure, like chemotherapy for a cancer patient. It was killing him and keeping him alive all at the same time.

He didn't want any of this. Why couldn't it all just end? He was sick of being scared, sick of being hurt, and sick of being alone.

Rigel was sick of it, but that didn't mean it would go away. It still burned and blistered. He didn't feel it, but he knew it was there. It was comparable to breaking your arm and staring at it in complete shock.

He was so tired.

He wanted it all to stop. But rarely got what he wanted.

Whether he wanted them to or not, his senses were slowly coming back. His brain was lethargic; crawling through his thoughts was like pushing through thick mud in a swamp, he felt like he was backtracking more than getting anywhere useful.

The hearing came first. He heard mumbles and voices. Sometimes they were loud, people shouting. He couldn't make out the words. But they sounded angry, frustrated. And then, there were the sounds that were with him a lot. All the time. It was a girl's voice, soft and patient. She constantly stayed with Rigel. A majority of the time she was comforting, always quiet, and urging him to wake up; but other times she was scared. Her voice shook and trembled, her words got choked, and she got mad. She never left.

There were other voices, ones that stood out from the others. A male voice, specifically. It was low and kind. And he stayed a lot. He smelled like chocolate. He kinda liked it.

Another voice, a female, very much the same as the other girl, but slightly different, was with him often. She was maternal and sounded like a mom. Rigel figured this girl—woman—had children, or used to. Maybe they were related. 

The smell came next, more trivial than the others, but a sense nonetheless. The girl smelled nice, really nice, like roses. It was the light, sweet smell that constantly floated around her. Rigel liked it. Whoever she was, she had good taste. But another smell, a much more prominent one, more ingrained, lingered. It was comforting. Relaxing, and reassuring.

Touch, at the moment, was the most valued of the sense that had finally come around to Rigel. He wanted to feel the physical more than anything. The girl, touched him a lot. She held his hands, particularly rubbing the skin between his thumb and forefinger, or running her fingers along his knuckles. The girl was constantly in his hair, pulling and tugging, stroking the strands on the side of his head. It was nice. He liked it. It provided an anchor, something he could latch onto. There were other people. The stronger smell of salt was sometimes accompanied by a large and warm, calloused hand on his forehead. That touch was okay too.

The other feelings were coming back too.

He could feel the bed underneath him, a real, soft, impossibly comfortable bed. There was a fluffy pillow behind his head and against his legs. A silk sheet was pulled to the middle of his chest, blissfully cool against his bare skin. Things were starting to fall into place, awareness creeping upon him.

His ears, which used to feel like they had popped, were clear, words starting to make sense. The steady sound of his own breathing was relaxing, an anchor to the real world. Rigel heard quick footsteps and then a presence sat down next to him. He smelled fruit, and then his hand was picked up, fingers tangled in his hair.

"Hey, Rigel." She cooed softly, stroking his hands. One hand left his head and picked at the blankets across his chest, readjusting them to perfection. Her nervous habit. She sighed, the back of her fingers running along the skin above the sheet. "You're cooler than you were before. healer Greengrass said you got a fever from the overhaul of potions she had to use to heal you." She laughed quietly, "But hey, I always have tried to tell you that you're hot." The next breath she drew in was wet sounding. "You're too stubborn Black."

Her voice was so sad. So close to breaking. He wanted to help her. She wanted him to wake up. So that's what he did.

He shifted, lax muscles flared with soreness and Rigel grimaced in pain. "Rigel? Sweetheart, you waking up?"

Rigel tried to talk, but it came out as a bunch of mumbles. His throat was tender and his mouth was dry, words got stuck in his mouth.

"Hey, hey. Shh, take your time. There's no rush." She soothed, her hand sliding under his neck, gently rubbing his skin. "Can you try and open your eyes?" Rigel rolled his head towards her voice, searching for her. "I'm right here, Ri. I just want to see those eyes of yours. Those pretty grey eyes of yours."

Rigel's eyelids felt sticky and crusty, but he pulled them open, staring wearily above him. Everything was a blurry mess, colors melted together in a red college. She was leaning directly over his head, inches from his face. He got to see the white of her teeth as she smiled the warmest smile he'd ever seen. A drop of water hit his cheek and he flinched, feeling it slide down his face.

She laughed wetly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, guess I'm getting kind of emotional." The girl didn't say anything after that, just searching his face, looking slightly awed. Relieved.

"Can you talk, Ri? If you can't it's okay; I just—. It'd be nice to hear your voice." She was shaking.

He got hit with a sledgehammer. Memories ran through his head in a messy slideshow.

"'liza?" he whispered, voice cracking pitifully.

She laughed loudly, sounding like she was ready to start sobbing. "Yeah, Rigel. Eliza. Dear Merlin, it's nice to hear your voice. You—."

Rigel lost track of what she was saying, too tired to follow her rambles. He weakly lifted his hand, plucking at the sheet around his chest. Eliza followed his eyes and leaned back. "What's wrong? Are you hot? I should probably call Andromeda. She should check on you. And Remus has been so worried. He's been blaming himself. I should—."

"-ait." He interrupted, even he had to strain to hear his voice.

Eliza stopped talking and stared in blatant worry at him. "Wait for what?" she asked anxiously.

"'lease don' 'eave."

Her face crumpled immediately and she shook her head. "No, no. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here." She stroked his hair again. "You're tired, sweetheart. You can go back to sleep. I'll stay with you the whole time, I promise."

Rigel let out a heavy breath, his eyelids already closing, and slowly slipped back into sleep again.

Eliza ran her thumb along his cheek, savoring the quiet sounds of his breath and the soft feel of his skin. She smiled, although it was sadder than anything.

"You're back, Rigel. You're safe. You're going to be fine."