Think
Title: Think
Creator: TheFoxinator
Rating: T
Setting: Post-"Chosen" AU (Sorta complies to some comics canon but not much)
Summary/Prompt: Mr. Scattybones: The Creepy Heap from the Deep (Angst)
Word Count: 221
Note: I got "Creepy Heap..." again and figured I'd revisit Deep. So this is a sequel of sorts to that.
He knows, or he thinks he knows, or if he could really think, he might be able to think he knows that this isn’t right. That he should be smaller, slimmer. That he should feel the ground beneath him. That his body should stretch and bend in different ways. That he should flex and growl and… and…
Change.
If he could really think, he might be able to think he knows that he used to be able to change.
He still can feel, in echoes, the crunch of bones and cartilage rearranging themselves inside his body.
And other things.
Flames burning the skin from his tightly-held… from him. From his body. Smoke and fire and skin turning to ash and flaking off. Charring his bones and boiling his organs. Surrounded by flames, the opposite of this.
Surrounded by flames and company.
If he could really think, he might be able to think he knows that he used to not be alone.
There was someone there. Someone at the end. Someone at the beginning. Someone who started things inside him and who was by him as they ended. Someone by his side and in front of him and burning too.
If he could really think-
No.
He doesn’t need to think.
He just knows.
When he hears her voice, he just knows.
Creator: TheFoxinator
Rating: T
Setting: Post-"Chosen" AU (Sorta complies to some comics canon but not much)
Summary/Prompt: Mr. Scattybones: The Creepy Heap from the Deep (Angst)
Word Count: 221
Note: I got "Creepy Heap..." again and figured I'd revisit Deep. So this is a sequel of sorts to that.
He knows, or he thinks he knows, or if he could really think, he might be able to think he knows that this isn’t right. That he should be smaller, slimmer. That he should feel the ground beneath him. That his body should stretch and bend in different ways. That he should flex and growl and… and…
Change.
If he could really think, he might be able to think he knows that he used to be able to change.
He still can feel, in echoes, the crunch of bones and cartilage rearranging themselves inside his body.
And other things.
Flames burning the skin from his tightly-held… from him. From his body. Smoke and fire and skin turning to ash and flaking off. Charring his bones and boiling his organs. Surrounded by flames, the opposite of this.
Surrounded by flames and company.
If he could really think, he might be able to think he knows that he used to not be alone.
There was someone there. Someone at the end. Someone at the beginning. Someone who started things inside him and who was by him as they ended. Someone by his side and in front of him and burning too.
If he could really think-
No.
He doesn’t need to think.
He just knows.
When he hears her voice, he just knows.