(no subject)
A fiery blaze. An all encompassing white-hot heat.
That was how he was supposed to die. That was how he was supposed to live again.
A thorn in his head, a bullet in his brain. That wasn't right. That wasn't how this was meant to be.
So it is written, so it shall be.
Blinding light as he transported himself all over the entire city, trying to force the invading metal and gunpowder out of his head.
Tried to burn it out.
Tried to bleed it out.
It didn't work.
Blood, dripping down his face. Dripping down his neck. Coffee, splashed on the floor from where Rodney had dropped his mug.
Blood is life. Life is blood. Drink of this wine, for it is my blood
Cold, hard floor under his hands. Warm hands on his face.
A fiery blaze in his head. An all encompasing white-hot heat.
Flesh is meat. Meat is flesh. Eat of this bread, for it is my flesh.
Rodney's voice. Beckett's voice. Nara.
Nara.
Nara.
Nara.
Nothing.