A Whole New World

t h i r t y - o n e

Waking up from unconsciousness isn't like it is in the movies.

Reality floods back to Niall slowly and all at once simultaneously; first the sensation of soft covers laid over him, then the scent of washing detergent and home, then the feeling.

The feeling that he has been numbed to for so long; every suppressed emotion, every bit of panic and pain and fear, every unshed tear and choked back sob.

He suddenly feels suffocated, both internally and externally.

All he's aware of is the heat, the heat that burns him despite the shivers claiming his small body. The dampness of those soft sheets, the way his hair is plastered to his forehead and he feels heavy and light at the same time.

His tongue feels thick in his mouth, limbs like lead where they rest.

He is conscious of the lack of medication coarsing through his bloodstream and numbing him, and he wants to beg for them to give him his pills and let him fade away to where he doesn't hurt so bad.

He swallows thickly, turning his head against the pillow with a strangled sound as he attempts to speak before his eyes flutter open.

And he's home.
He's home and he's tucked into his own bed - the bunk below Liam's with his own covers laid over him. The winter sun filters in through the window, and he lets out a soft sigh.

He feels far away and floaty, and he knows he must be hallucinating but he's too distanced from reality to care.

Everything burns but at the same time, he's so cold; his body is sore and his head feels tight. A sob escapes him without him even registering that the sound has come from him.

Then his Papa is there, sitting beside him on the bed and leaning over him slightly, eyes creased and worried, hands stroking his hair away from his face as his lips move but no sound reaches Niall's ears for a moment.

He's too busy trying to absorb the vision, wishing it could be real and not some fever dream. He forces a hand off of the bed to try and reach for the man, but he feels too weak and he becomes vaguely aware of tears leaking from his eyes and falling down across his temples.

Papa looks over his shoulder and sound catches up to Niall.

"- a bucket, Lou, I think he's gonna need it," he's saying, voice rushed but low in volume, and Niall stares at him for a moment with blurry eyes before he looks past the man on the bed beside him to the other figure in the room.

"Daddy," he whispers, voice strangled by yet another sob - and he doesn't even know why he's crying but he's on fire and everything is melting and he wants this to be real.

His Dad looks afraid, laying a soft hand on his shoulder as he crouches by the bed, eyes scanning over his feverish face for a moment before he speaks in the softest of voices.

"Hey, baby. I'm right here. Don't you worry," he says softly, and Niall leans into the touch the moment the man rests a cool hand on his cheek, closing his eyes.

Then the touch is gone and so is the man, and when he opens his eyes again, it feels as if some time has passed by.

The moment his vision adjusts again, his entire body is retched upward as his stomach convulses, and Papa is quick to hold a bucket in front of him as he brings up the entire contents of his belly.

He sobs as he's sick, his throat burning and his stomach knotting itself as he heaves and retches.

There's a soft hand rubbing up and down his spine, his wet t-shirt reeving up with the motion and he briefly wonders where his suit has gone before the thought passes by again.