A Bird Without Wings (Discontinued)

I've got a long, long way to go (Before I can say goodbye)

Hey guys!

You would not believe how difficult it was to decide.

I read your comments, and loved each and every one of them.

Some people suggested him not getting his hearing back, but being able to discern vibrations, and like... translate them? I think that was what they said?

And I LOVED that idea, but I didn't know how I could write it believably, so I decided against it. (Sorry guys. I did love the debates)

Anyway.

I've decided to keep him deaf, with hearing aids, because I enjoy writing it, and think it adds a unique element to the plot.

I am so grateful to all of you guys that commented, because believe it or not, that's actually how I was motivated to write this chapter.

Enough chatter.

Without furthur ado, may I present-

Drumroll please.

This angst concoction that I mixed up.

Enjoy.

The world was silent again.

The world was quiet, and he couldn’t feel anything over the waves of pain that broke over his body, and then there were hands, pushing, rolling him over, lifting him up as he vomited, coughing and gagging as bile rushed up, and holding him still as he thrashed, trying to get away because please don’t touch me no please I don’t want it nonono please stopitplease

He knew, with a burst of clarity, that he was dying.

He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t awake.

Hovering in some strange in-between, he could feel warm hands brushing across his face, he could feel something cold rushing into his veins, could feel a cold cloth draped over his forehead.

Could feel the rhythmic breaths forced into his body by a plastic tube shoved down his throat.

Could feel the wetness periodically dripping onto his arm.

Gentle fingers tracing lazy swirls into his skin before he was pulled away again.

Hands gripping his own, holding him down, holding him still, forcing him onto his stomach.

Hands tracing patterns again.

Hands gripping his own.

A kiss pressed to his limp fingers.

Hazy thoughts, half-formed at best.

There- but not there.

Somehow.

His world was narrowed down to hands.

Large familiar ones, smaller soft ones.

Hands with sharp movements, and hands with soft.

At one point, his hand was lifted, and a sharp prick of pain made him drift again.

Screams.

Someone screaming, someone crying, unaware of the turmoil they were causing.

Yelling.

Pained whispers.

Sobs-

Demons grasped at his form, tearing at his flesh, rending his head with their demented shrieking.

Red glowing eyes, and heart stoppingly cold, cruel whispers.

He opened his eyes at one point, and when he did the demons had taken over his dad, and Pepper.

Their faces were deformed, wavering, and twisting into unearthly screeches of delight at his pain.

Red glowing eyes, and he turned away, but the hands were there, and they weren’t comforting anymore, they were horrifying, digging into his skin, wrenching an agonized scream from his throat.

A different kind of pain registered in his hand, and he welcomed the velvety blackness.

In the drugged haze, he tried to wake up, to get up.

He had to tell his dad it was okay.

That he’d be okay.

But he couldn’t wake up.

It was dark.

And quiet, and he didn’t understand what was happening.

He was cold, and he wanted his dad.

Everything hurt.

Maybe the pain eased, or maybe he just got accustomed to it.

Until it did stop, and he could open his eyes again.

His eyes blinked slowly- when had they opened?

White light assaulted his vision, followed by the realization that there was something in his throat.

He tried to speak, and choked, gagging on something hard and cold in his throat.

A ventilator.

Immediately, a dark-haired woman was there, holding his arms still, not letting him reach for the tube, and holding him down until she could be sure he was aware of his surroundings.

Her eyes searched his, and when what she found was satisfactory, she released his arms, bringing her own up to sign. ‘Hello Peter. It is nice to see you awake. We have been very worried.’

A cough wracked his body, and he gagged anew at the foreign feeling in his throat.

‘Take it out,’ he signed sloppily, panic making his movements almost illegible. ‘Don’t want it take it out.’

‘I will,’ she soothed, one hand brushing his hair away from his eyes before returning to sign calmly. ‘We needed you to wake up, little one. That was the most important part, and now I can take it out. I just need you to let yourself breathe, alright? Your father is asleep, and he should be here when I do. Alright?”

Forcing himself to relax minisculely, Peter balled his hands into fists at his sides.

'Good. I'll get him, alright? I will not be gone long. Just let yourself breathe.'

Her words were unnecessary, seeing as breathing was about the only thing he could do.

The minute the left, his throat seemed to close up, and he wanted his dad.

A lump rose in his throat, and he was surprised to feel coolness on his skin.

Tears.

He wanted his dad.

His breaths came short and uneven, catching in his throat.

Dad.

Okay...

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