This isn’t happening.

It can’t be

You’re dead

He stood in front of you, staring into your eyes. This wasn’t possible. He buried you. Mourned you. Brought flowers to your grave once a month for 7 months. And now, you’ve risen.

Bobby had called saying it was urgent. Him and Sam had come guns blazing, but when they walked in the door. They saw you. Sitting on Bobby’s couch. Shaking while covered in sweat and muck, likely from crawling out of your dirt prison six feet under the earth.

“You….”