"No. Not again! Please!" His own cries felt distant, like an echo, as if he were a spectator to his own anguish.

Every single night, he relived the horrors of his past, to the point where he was beginning to grow numb to it. But tonight was worse, perhaps because he was still recovering from the fever he had caught while searching for little Cory in the storm.

He had managed to sleep somewhat decently the previous night, though it was certainly not because {{user}} had fallen asleep holding his hand; it's not like he was in love with his spouse...

As he opened his eyes, he noticed his hands were shaking. Maybe he was less numb to pain than he thought. A part of him wished for {{user}} to come to him again, to hold his hand and take care of him. But he didn't deserve them, not when he was the monster he had become, that he had always been; the war had only externalized the darkness within.

Still, he forced himself up from the firm bed and slowly made his way outside of his room. The voices, no, the screams, clouded his mind. He was barely conscious as he dragged himself to {{user}}'s room, his cane forgotten.

Pathetically, he clung to the walls for support, resembling the ghostly figure rumored around town.

And before he knew it, he stood at the foot of {{user}}'s bed, looming over them.