Amaranthine: Descent | WinTeam | Boyslove

Awakening

Win wanted to die.

He also felt sure he was dying.

The night Team left him behind had served as a catalyst.

The only person to learn the truth about him, rejected him. Win thought back to when Sert dragged him away from Wiew. At the time, he was certain Wiew would be sympathetic. Would accept him with open arms regardless of if Win had changed forever. Could overlook that it was someone else's ashes in the family plot. Win understood why Sert and Ari never let him try now. There was no way to know how Wiew would react, and the aftermath held the potential to destroy everyone it touched. As it now did, to him.

Win's nightmares grew and warped beyond his attack at the pool. Even more terrifying—sleep no longer bound them. Win's mind bent and exaggerated those last moments with Team, a sneer twisting his kind face. The fabric of the hallucination was so convincing, so unnerving, Win questioned which version of events actually happened. 

Through the feverish cascade of visions, Waan and Wiew joined Team in his ridicule. Their ghost-like faces stared down at him, dark pools of hatred burning into Win. They drifted through his room and behind his eyelids, mocking him. The Other lurked in the background, observing it all. These novel routes of torment were pleasing for it to witness. When exhaustion closed Win's eyes, it sped down the thread tethering it to his dreams—new targets drew its focus. Win froze, terror rooting him in place as the thing taunted him. Powerless, he watched Team or his brothers cut down instead of him.

With his eyes wide open, unrested, the scene shifted. Waves of pain gnawed at him while his fear mutated everything around him. His brain continued its obsession.

Win writhed on his bed, the agony in his head competing with the burning in his body. For the first time, Ari's blood had zero effect. No matter what she channeled into it, he wouldn't calm down or sleep. The murmurings of his mind led him to barricade himself in his room. Win locked them out. They can't help you, the sickness reasoned. 

The phantoms made sense. The outpouring of negativity from his loved ones held the truth of his existence. Win didn't want to hunt. He didn't want to eat. The voices would win if he caved into his nature, so he fought his biology. The terrible acid pull of his veins was as much a slap in his face as a reminder he was no longer human. A creature for people to turn their backs on. A parasite unworthy of compassion.

Didn't he deserve it?

Win couldn't scrub the blood from his hands, the memories of his first night adding itself to the fray. The fire within him tipped dangerously close to that level now. To that one moment when the monster within consumed him, losing time only to wake up to a horror. Win silently wished the fire could ignite. If he waited long enough, could it burn away the life he didn't ask for? Spare him from seeing that look in someone's eyes again? 

Sert forced his way into Win's room, splintering the jamb on the door. He carried a blood pack in his hand, knowing Win hadn't eaten in days. Win was curled up in the fetal position in the middle of his bed. The sheets tangled around him as a sheen of sweat covered his skin. Sert sat on the bed, appraising Win's condition as the nightmares slid through his waking mind. His usually fluffy blonde hair clung to his forehead in clumps. Win reminded him of a child fighting past a high fever. He reached his hand toward Win and met with the snapping of fangs. Win scowled up at him, contempt in his eyes.

"Go away," Win croaked. Leave me to my misery. "Let me die."

"God, you're an emo pain in the ass."

"Fuck you." Win squirmed as another tremor shot through him.

"You won't die. You should know this by now. You'll drive yourself to madness and your body will take what it needs, whether you like it or not."