Chapter Text
Jensen felt strange. He was so tired, like that kind of exhaustion you get after being awake all day and all night and you just can’t keep your eyes open any more. He couldn’t remember what he was doing before, but he welcomed the sleep around him. Why not? It was almost just right. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and let his body relax where it lay.
- She wrapped her arm tighter around Jensen’s shoulders, pressing the chloroform tighter over his mouth. She could feel consciousness and control slip from the actor’s muscles as he started to sink down, a dead weight now. Her friend hurried over, helping support the man made out of muscle.
- “We are so dead…”
- “Shut up and help me get him to the car. You can leave once we get him to my place…”
He felt dizzy. Jensen didn’t remember being up earlier, or the exhaustion he thought he’d felt. He could only focus on the waves of nausea rushing through him. He didn’t remember getting back from the bar, didn’t remember drinking. The last thing he remembered was making plans to meet Jared and Misha at the bar for their guys night out. He must have had a lot; Jared must have kept pressing him. Or maybe it was Misha. His costar did like pushing his limits. He hadn’t been this drunk in a long time, his tolerance high after years of late Friday nights with friends and family. He tried to move but the nausea rolled through him, making him groan, gagging. He felt his muscles all clench and he gasped in pain, like he had been jabbed in the side. In the distance he thought he heard Jared talking. Well, that was nice, if he started throwing up maybe his friend would at least make sure he got to his side so he didn't choke on his own vomit. He felt like he was weighed down by a bag of bricks, his arms heavy and legs asleep. He sank back into oblivion.
- A sick smile twisted over Her lips as she stroked the side of Jensen’s face. He was even better in person than she thought he was. He was flawless, or nearly flawless. She knew. She had checked. The actor lay on an old mattress in her dark basement, in nothing but his boxer briefs. No windows or doors leading outside made this the perfect dungeon for Her to play in. She had his hands bound tight above his head, attached to the headboard, and a needle in his arm pumping sedatives into his system.
- Her hand rolled down his flawless chest, smile turning into a frown. He was too pretty, and had no scars bigger than an inch anywhere on him. She could see some around his elbows, a small one near his ear, and handful of rough spots on his legs mostly near his knees and feet. Probably all from falling down as a kid.
- “Oh, Dean. That won’t do at all.” She purred as she picked up a blunt knife, jabbing him in the side just deep enough to leave a decent gash that would heal up with a pretty scar. "You may have been healed by Castiel, rebuilt by him...but you're supposed to be all pretty and cut up. Where are all your scars, my lovely hunter?" A sigh of pleasure as blood rolled down the pale skin of Jensen's chest and spilled on to the mattress. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you. Make you all pretty and cut up like you're supposed to be. I'll fix you."
“He’s getting worse.” Jared’s voice barely filtered into Jensen’s mind. He sounded terrible.
“More marks?” Confusion roiled through Jensen at the sound of the voice that answered Jared, he must just be imagining things. He was bone tired. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days, and he felt numb all over, and strung out like a bow. His shoulders ached, but he had no energy to even roll them as he lay there.
“Yeah. His arms…” Jensen didn’t know who Jared was talking to, or what about, so he just let that blessed sleep claim him again.
- She frowned, seeing his eyes fluttering with movement. He couldn’t wake up yet. She added a heavier dose to the IV line and looked Jensen over. He looked beautiful, all abused and bruised like that, with all those lines of cuts, all different, all wonderful.
- Her eyes fell on a section of him she had forgotten about until now. His arms. Oh, that would never do. Dean obviously would have thousands of scars there. Animals, fires, glass, ghouls, demons, blood letting. How could Dean be so baby smooth on his arms like that? She’d have to fix that right away. That was the most obvious part and she had forgotten about it completely.
- She looked at her table of supplies and clicked her tongue. “A-ha!” She smiled, picking up the sharp hand rake. Her eyes darted to the hot wax she had melted in a bowl nearby, simmering over the candle at its base. Perfect. Her tools were all ready for the task she had in mind.
“Can you see us?” The voice pierced the fog around Jensen’s mind, slowly causing him to regain consciousness. He blinked heavily, and his lids felt like sandpaper scraping at his eyes.
“Don’t waste your breath.”
“Shut up, I think I’m getting through to him.” Jared’s face filled Jensen’s vision and he blinked again, a little easier, trying to look around but recoiling at the movement of his head, vision dancing and nausea rolling through him. His lids clenched shut and he made a small sound, trying to move his arms but unable.
“Great, now he’s throwing up.”
“Better than nothing.” Jared hissed to the voice Jensen had yet to put a name to. He felt fingers card through his short hair, and a wet cloth settle on the back of his neck. He realized he was on his side, mostly on his stomach, leaning over the edge of a bed, a waste basket and plastic bag beneath him. Before he blacked out again, he recognized the tell-tale signs of his lost lunch. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. The vomit in the basket was undistinguishable; not that he was trying to see what it was that’d just left his body. He felt blackness creep back into his vision as he was moved onto his back again. How long had he been laying on his side like that?
- “Shut up!” She screamed at Jensen, slashing at his bare chest with the knife in her hand. She growled, staring at the extra deep gash she had just made. The sight of blood and the tell-tale sign that the wound would scar darkly settled her a little.
- She pulled out her cell phone and went to the edge of the room by the stairs. “Parker, where the hell are you? He’s starting to wake up.”
- “I’m on my way. Don’t do anything brash.” He hissed over the phone.
- “I’m not stupid.”
- “Right, sure. That’s why you kidnapped one of TV’s hottest actors.”
- “Shut up, Parker! You know someone might be tapping this.”
- “Yeah right.” She could hear his nervousness. “Did you see it yet?”
- “What?” She asked, calmer, because she already knew. She swelled with pride.
- “The newspaper. It’s all over the place. No one has any clue where he is.”
- “Well, it has been a week. They just need to be patient. I’ll get him back to them…”
- “But not in one piece, right?”
- “Obviously.”
- “At least let him recover a little tonight. If you keep going the way you sound like you are, there will be nothing left of him. He won’t scar if he doesn’t heal.”
- “Alright. I’ll give him a dose of Nyquil or something, so he’ll sleep more naturally or whatever. He’s been groaning all afternoon. It’s driving me nuts.” She glanced back at the man she had tied up, already seeing a little bit of weight loss on him. She’d been giving him liquid food since she got him here, but with the amount of blood he was losing he wasn’t keeping anything down well.
- “You’re torturing him, of course he’s going to make noise…”
- “Whatever. Just get home. I need to fuck something. All his fucking noise is making me horny as shit. Get home before I do more than just cut him up.”
Jensen’s eyes peeled open slowly, easier than the last time. He blinked, taking in the old musty looking ceiling. He didn’t recognize it. He turned his head, the nausea there but subtle. He could move without retching if he was careful.
“Dude, you back in the land of the living?” Jared was at the edge of the bed in an instance, sitting beside him and checking his temperature with the back of his hand to his forehead.
“W-wh-“ His voice caught on a dry gag and pain shot through his neck and throat.
“Shh, shh. Don’t worry about it. Do you need water?” Jared placed a hand on his, and tucked his fingers under one of Jensen’s. “Just squeeze once if yes. Twice if no.”
It was like Jensen had forgotten he had limbs, hands, fingers even until he felt the heat of Jared’s on his. He let out a pathetic sounding noise as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his arms, into the knot of pain at his neck, and then like a current throughout his body. He barely managed to squeeze back, tight, before he was trembling like a leaf on the bed. He felt like the wind was knocked from him, all the heat being drawn out of him, toward Jared’s hand on his. Memories of sitting on set in the impala with Jared washed through him, snow all around them; the windows open so that the crew could talk to them. The icy wind of the Vancouver winter rolling through their thin layers, freezing them on the spot and making the leather of the seats biting to even move against.
Jared’s hand retreated and suddenly he was being covered with a light weight, something cool that warmed him slightly after a moment. Then another layer of warmth and weight, and another. It took four layers to make his shaking stop, and his body relax in gratitude. He made a weak little noise to try to convey his thanks to his friend, eyes having fallen closed again, too heavy to keep open. It was like they would let the cold in further.
After a moment a scalding heat was pressing against his check, moving gently, rolling down to cup his neck and jaw by his ear, turning his head a bit. “Open your lips.” A soft voice.
He obeyed, feeling cool, blissful water roll over his parched lips into his dry mouth and down his throat. He managed a few more mouthfuls before he started drifting again. That scalding heat from Jared’s hand never left his clammy skin.
- Parker cupped the unconscious man’s face and used a thumb to open his lips a little, pouring in a little water. She was gone, getting more supplies, so he took his time to take care of the kidnapped man.
- “I’m sorry, Jensen. Jesus…She’s taking this too far. I’m sorry. I’m gonna get you out soon. I promise. Just stay with us, okay?”
- He brushed a wet cloth down Jensen’s sweat covered face, his neck, bathing him slowly with an idling gaze. He was aware of the fluttering in the man’s eyes as he struggled for consciousness, green showing for barely a moment before falling back shut with a small roll of his head to the side, forehead bumping his stretched out arms.
- Parker ran a hand soothingly up Jensen’s side, over his exposed arm pit, and gripped the back of his shoulders lightly, kneading for a moment on both sides.
- “I know it’s not much, you probably can’t feel it even…but I know this can’t be comfortable, tied up like this.” He sighed, continuing his task of washing off the bloody form, layering him in blankets to keep him warm as he waited for Her to return.
Waking up again without his friend’s warmth against his skin made him cry out. The loss of the warmth was like losing a part of himself. He didn’t know how long he had been out, but it felt like ages. He’d lost all sense of time, and every part of him felt dull and detached, like his body wasn’t his own
The sound of movement drew his attention, and then there was Jared in his line of sight again, worried expression mixed with one of hope.
Jensen’s face twisted. Why did Jared look so strange? Something was off with Jared, and it must have been easy for the other man to see Jensen’s confusion. He was by his side in seconds, picking something up off the bedside table and wiping Jensen’s forehead with it.
“You alright?”
“…not really, no…” He murmured in a rough voice, not realizing until he heard the sound of two sharp inhales of breath that he hadn’t really managed to talk at all since whatever this was had started. Last time he tried hadn’t ended up very well.
Jared looked away, to whoever else was in the room, and Jensen turned his head to find out the mystery man’s voice. Who he saw almost sent him right back into that darkness. Sitting at a table by what seemed to be the motel room’s window was his clone.
Jared was pressing the cool rag to his neck, carding a hand through his hair and making “shhh”ing sounds at him as he nearly started to hyperventilate. “Breath, come on buddy, breath.”
Jensen gasped in lung-fulls of air, panic tightening his chest. What the hell was going on? Where was he? Who was that? Why was he bed ridden? What was going on? Why couldn’t he move his arms? Why couldn’t he sit up, or remember where he was, or what day it was. Why did everything hurt so badly?
“Shhh, come on honey. Shhhh.” Jared leaned down and wrapped an arm around his middle, curling around his side. For some reason that helped Jensen calm down, his heart rate settling as he blacked out again with that solid warmth against him.
- She smiled, looking down at the man on the now blood stained bed. He was glorious. Some of the small cuts along his torso were starting to heal up, and some of the deeper ones she had made were neatly stitched so they could start to heal and scar up all red and pretty.
- “You may not be him…not really…but I’ll make you look like he should. I’ll make him real.”
- She cupped his cheek and rolled her hand along his jaw, smiling to herself. “You really are too pretty for your own good, Dean…with all these sexy lines…” Her hand trailed down his chest and across his ribs and sides. “…those fucking lips…” She leaned in close, breathing against them hotly, but not touching. “…your gorgeous green eyes…” She caressed a thumb over his eye lids and shivered. “Those eyelashes…” She moaned lowly to herself, caressing his body with the side of her own.
- “Parker doesn’t want me to cut up your pretty face…I can see why. He wants you, too. He’s always wanted to be your cockslut…I’ve known it all along. That’s why he didn’t really fight me when I came up with this plan, you know. That’s why he hasn’t told anyone. He still thinks he might get the chance to ride your cock when you’ve healed up.”
- She laughed, pressing into Jensen’s side, wrapped around him lightly with one arm as the other slide down her own body. Her bare breasts pressed against his ribs, and one of her legs slithered over his bound ones as her hand slide between her thighs. “Maybe I’ll let him fuck you…I always thought you were a little bisexual. Always figured if Dean was real, he’d have whored out that pretty little body of his to make money. Yeah…I’ll let him fuck you as I ride your thick dick so hard you see stars. That's what I'll do."
It wasn’t long before Jensen woke up again, green eyes snapping open with sudden awareness. It was darker in the room now, and he felt that weight around him still. He looked, and saw Jared’s head on his shoulder, eyes closed. He had bags under his eyes. He turned his gaze around the room and fell on the shape of his doppleganger sitting on the other bed.
“This is a dream, right?” He ventured in a low, soft voice, so as not to wake Jared, dream or not.
His twin turned to look at him, closing the book he had been looking at. He moved to the edge of the bed silently, not wanting to wake Jared. “It’s real for us.” Jensen’s voice came from the other man’s mouth, though a bit rougher, a tad bit deeper.
“You’re me…”
“No. You’re me, which I’ve seen before. Never quite like this, though. You're not a shape shifter, though. I did the tests.”
Realization dawned on Jensen. “You’re Dean.”
Dean narrowed his eyes, studying the man on the bed. He gave a small head nod. “And you are…”
Jensen shook his head, disbelieving. It must be a dream. “Jensen.” He said with a weak little smile in greeting.
“Alright Jensen, who are you? You obviously know who I am.” His hand was tucked behind his back, and Jensen stiffened up, guessing or rather knowing that his hand was on a gun. His pearl handled one.
“I’m an actor…” He started, seeing Dean give him a skeptical look. “That plays you on a TV show called Supernatural…”
Dean raised a brow at that, moving his hand back to rest on his thigh. “What?”
Jensen relaxed when Dean’s hand moved away from the gun. “Hi. I’m Jensen Ackles. Watch Supernatural, every Wednesday at 8 on the CWTV.” He quoted off a saying he must have said hundreds of times.
Dean quirked his lips at that, reading the ease of the statement off of Jensen’s lips. “Supernatural, huh?” He tilted his head in thought. “What’s it about?” He asked, after rolling around the sound of it on his tongue.
“You sound like an interviewer.” Jensen laughed softly, careful not to jostle Jared on his shoulder. Thinking about any of his body parts just made him hurt all over, so he avoided it. “Supernatural is about two brothers who fight monsters based on real folk lore and legend.” He said without even thinking about it, it was so natural to him. “Sam and Dean Winchester.” He tilted his head just a little to look down at Jared. “This is Sam, isn’t it.”
A soft hum greeted his query, from below his chin. Sam yawned slightly against Jensen’s throat and sat up in one movement. Jensen was finally aware enough to note the differences between this man and his best friend back in reality.
Dean and Sam exchanged looks, some silent communication darting between them. Jensen watched them for about a minute before the two turned their eyes to him, in unison. “Ah, man. That’s pretty creepy when you see it turned on you.”
Sam smiled gently at that. “An actor, huh?”
Jensen quirked his lips, “Heya, Sammy.” He said in his best Dean voice. Sam’s eyes darted to the man on the other bed before jumping back down to Jensen, the shock and disorientation obvious.
“That’s weird.” Sam said, shoulders having tensed.
“I don’t like it. Don’t call him Sammy.” Dean retorted with a scowl.
Jensen couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Just like the show.” He breathed when they gave him a look.
Sam shared a look with Dean before standing up. “So, how much about us do you know?” He went to the bathroom, keeping the door open so he could still listen, getting something and coming back into the room.
Jensen let out a hum in thought. “I don’t know. We’re starting our 8th season. What major life events have you been going through lately?” His eyes fell on the large box of what looked like medical supplies in Sam’s hands, cautious. Why did he have that?
Dean tilted his head and ran his hands over his cheeks in thought. “Well…” He looked at Sam uncertainly. “I just got back from Purgatory…”
Jensen let out a soft breath, closing his eyes. He nodded wordlessly. “So Hell, Lucifer, Leviathan all happened, huh?”
He could feel their surprised caution to his words. “Sounds about right.”
“Do you think we should call Cas?” Sam queried.
“Hmmm” Dean tilted his head in thought, thinking through the options.
“Wait, Cas is alright?” Jensen was confused. They must be a bit farther ahead of the plot line then the show was. He had read the scripts, but Cas was still in purgatory for now. “We haven’t gotten that far…”
As if to prove Castiel was, in fact, fully functioning, the angel appeared by the side of the bed. Jensen jumped a little, groaning in pain at the jarring sensation and missing the reaction of the seasoned hunters. When Jensen’s eyes opened again he was staring straight into Misha’s bright blue eyes. He knew, though, that this wasn’t the actor, his friend. It was hard for his head not to supply that name though, when he was off set.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sooner.” Cas was saying to the Winchesters, tilting his head as he peered into eyes identical to Dean’s with fascination and worry. “I should have made it sooner. Have you told him…?” Cas turned to look at Dean, still leaning fully over him.
Sam made a noise to catch Castiel’s attention and lifted what he was holding. “I was about to.”
Jensen’s eyes darted between the three other people in the room, breathing heavily. “Told me what?” He was afraid to know, yet in the pit of his stomach he already knew the answer. He had known from the start that something was wrong, and even his panic attack about seeing his replica was far too calm for his own good. It was like his brain had already created a filter, and was only letting in little things at a time. Like Dean, and Cas…and the pain.
A headache started to form behind his eyes, and suddenly his vision was swimming, Castiel’s face flashing to look a lot more like Misha’s, and Sam’s form perched closer, fear shimmering in his eyes for a moment. Then the vision was gone, and Jensen felt sick to his stomach again.
“Can’t you fix him?”
“He’s…not of this world. I’m sorry. My grace can’t touch him…there is nothing I can do for him.”
“Fuck.” Dean swore harshly under his breath. “Are we even sure he’ll survive, then?”
Jensen hadn’t remembered closing his eyes, to fight the nausea. He didn’t know how much time had passed. He just knew he could feel the darkness creeping in on him. He let it flow into him, fading the voices around him, and sending him back into the darkness he’d been floating in for the past few days.
- “We need to stop this. It’s been over two weeks. They're all freaking the fuck out. They think he's dead. He has a family, babe.”
- “No. Jensen fucking Ackles has a family. Dean’s only family is Sam. His turn will come next.”
- “Babe…this is crazy. Dean’s just a tv character….he’s not real….”
- “He’s real to me!” She hissed.
- “Let him go, please.”
- “No. I have a better plan. Shut up and strip.”
Jensen’s eyes shot open as pain rippled through his mind. This pain was different, worse…blunt. His eyes couldn’t focus, but he could make out movement to his left, and down between his legs. He felt lopsided, disoriented. Something lumpy was wedged up below his lower back, his arms were stretched taut above his head, and his feet were bound and pulling his legs apart with ropes tied to the end of a bed.
He didn’t know what was happening, his vision swam, and when he tried to move his head he felt spark of pain ripple through his shoulders and neck and down his spine, making him arch with a gasp, moving whatever caused the pain away from his body.
He felt a hot clamp grab his hip, searing hot and slick, and slam it down hard into the mattress and whatever was under his hips.
“Sit still.”
He blinked, fingers tensing and then relaxing as he tried to return feeling to his body so he could figure out what was happening. He couldn’t see, though, and it terrified him. He could make out the shapes, but everything was blurry. He stared down towards the form between his stretched out legs and tried to speak, a broken noise escaping his raspy throat.
“Babe…he’s awake…”
“I know. I wanted him somewhat conscious for this…” The form to his left sauntered over and grabbed his jaw, turning his head towards it. “Wanted to see those pretty eyes as we ruin him.”
“But babe…won’t he be able to ID us later, though?” The heat at his hip had become mirrored, and he realized that it must be the man’s hands holding him down. His stomach rolled in protest, knowing something was wrong.
“No. I gave him something before you got here…all he can see is blurs of shapes…” She laughed, pressing a hot digit into his mouth. He groaned, trying to turn away as he felt the branding heat press against his tongue, pinning it to the bottom of his mouth, a second sliding in to test his gag reflex a little.
“So I can still…?”
“Yes, you idiot. Get on with it. I want to watch him fall apart in our hands.” She smiled, and leaned in close, breathing hot against Jensen’s cheek. “How many years has it been, Dean? When was the last time you whored yourself out?”
Jensen tensed, whined, tried to moved, to close his mouth, to twist away. No….no. He wasn’t Dean. No. Where was he? Why did everything hurt so much? Why couldn’t he see?
“Yes, babe. Yes.” She cooed into his ear, that scalding heat he knew to be her hand raked down his chest, nails scratching at his exposed flesh. Searing pain shot through his body as she scraped against spots on his body he didn't expect. His abs twitched, his toes curled, and he bucked, trying to make it stop, trying to get away, trying to understand. “You’re our bitch tonight, Dean, and by the time we’re through, you won’t forget it.”
Heat was suddenly moving away from his hip, and between his stretched open legs, running across skin that didn’t shudder in pain, but reacted none the less. Heat so vibrant he didn’t know how he wasn’t catching fire slid beneath his balls, lower, and then there was that pain again. That blunt, despairing pain that he’d never felt before.
Blinking desperately, he tried to get his eyes to focus, but no matter what he couldn’t see…he couldn’t move…he couldn’t fight any of it. Shame flooded through him as he felt heat curl around his exposed dick, as he felt his body split open and respond, as he felt blunt pressure rip into him and hot, wet lava encase his sensitive dick. It was too much, too wrong, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
“That’s right, cry for me, baby. That’s it Dean. Perfect. You fill me up so good, don’t you?”
“God, babe. He’s so tight, so hot. You were right. His body was made for this. Wish he was conscious enough to suck my dick, too. Those lips, baby…god damn. Shit. I’m gonna come…”
“Do it, babe. Fill him up with it. I want to see your cum spilling from his hole. Want to lick it out of him and make him eat it off my tongue. Come on, baby, fill him up good.” She moaned as her bony thighs clenched around his hips, her hands pressed into his throat enough to hurt but not enough to completely choke him, but enough that he twitched in panic, desperate to get more air. Her body clenched around him, trying to milk him against his will. “Split him open!”
The man thrusting into him dug sharp points into his thighs, pushed his thighs open even more despite the bonds, and shoved hard into him as heat spilled into a part of him that Jensen had never realized could feel so much…hurt so much. He felt like his skin was being ripped off of him, like he was being skewered, like the tendons in his thighs were slowly snapping from the pressure holding open his thighs. He whimpered as darkness started to drag him down again, clutching at him as a flood of liquid warmth pooled around his cock and hips and the vice on him slid off with a moan and laugh. He welcomed the darkness, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to block out everything that had just happened.
- “Babe…we have a problem.”
- “What the hell?”
- “I didn’t tell anyone, I swear.”
- “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
- “Babe…what do we do?”
- She paced the room, knowing they were trapped. She had seen the men outside, heard them coming for them. There was only so much she could do, at this point. The evidence against her was bleeding all over the bed, painted in her juices and dripping with Parker’s DNA. Shit.
- “If they’re going to get us anyways, may as well go out with a bang, right?” She grinned devilishly, ignoring the sound of the door being bashed open as she turned back to her basement dungeon, locked the door behind her, and picked up her tools. She’d have a few minutes, at least, before they got that door open. It was enough, she could get in a few more scars at least. She wondered if Jensen would ever wake up again. She knew she wouldn’t live to find out, and it thrilled her. She would get to die with this beautiful image burned in her eyes as her last memory. Not many people got to fuck a Winchester and live, after all.
Jensen’s eyes blinked open, and he almost cried when he could make out the grimy ceiling above him. God, he'd never thought he'd be able to see again. “D-Dean…” He whimpered out, voice hoarser than he remember it should be. It ached, and he didn’t want to think about that dull throbbing pain that circled it.
“Do you understand, now?”
He nodded. “I want to go home…”
“I know, buddy. I know.” Dean’s voice got closer, and a gentle hand brushed away tears.
Jensen looked over at him, blinking past the natural blur and looking up at his clone. “Show me…”
“Not yet. We have to save you first.” Dean said with a dashing smile as he looked over to the other side of the bed. Jensen furrowed his brow and looked over, seeing Sam and Cas both there, watching over him. Cas reached forward and cupped Jensen’s cheek lightly, tilting his head gently as Jensen’s eyes looked past him to Sam who had that med kit in his hands still.
“Yeah…” Jensen whispered with a little nod, looking up at these characters in his mind that were trying to help him cope, to understand. “Yeah, okay…”
“We’re gonna get you back to them…just hold on to us, okay? Hold on and let us help.” Dean smiled as he sat down at the edge of the bed, knife in hand and reached up to slice the binds on his hands. Pain shot through his whole body as he was finally released, and his back and shoulders screamed along with him as his arms were brought down to his sides at last. He gasped, and weeped, and clung on to his consciousness as he let himself realize how much reality was leaking into this world he’d imagined.
Someone had found him.