Warren Worthington III // Angel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whoneedsahalo) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
x_muses2014-10-29 01:38 pm
whoneedsahalo) wrote in x_muses2014-10-29 01:38 pm
Entry tags:
[ with worldwillendinfire ] "With these broken wings..."
Pain. Incredible pain.
That was the first thing that Warren became aware of. He was groggy, and had no idea where he was but he recognised the medicinal and clinical smell. He didn't just wake up and respond to anything. There was actually a fair amount of time that passed between his consciousness clawing back than when he attempted to open his eyes. Even then, the first few tries failed because it actually even felt like his eyelids were painful too. After that, he gave up trying and slipped back out of consciousness.
He didn't know how many times he came close to actual wakefulness before he managed it. This time, he got his eyes open a little bit but they were just assaulted by a bright light that caused him to moan very softly, hoarsely, and it would have been a sound missed by anyone who wasn't right by his side. The way he was lying felt awkward. Partly on his stomach, partly on his side with his cheek squashed in against the pillow beneath his head.
He was in so much pain that it hurt to take a breath; it was reactionary for him to suck in a shallow gasp of breath and hold onto it, but holy fuck, did that hurt too and the noise he made that time was a soft agonised cry that was met with a hand closing around his that was resting limply beside him. Waking up was making him feel sick. Why was he feeling sick and in this much pain? Why wasn't his healing easing it?
There was no realisation of how bad he looked, which was just as bad as how he felt. He was covered in bruises, cuts, and grazes from the impact with the sidewalk, and one arm was entirely covered in bandages up to his shoulder. The blinding pain in his wings that was tucked up against his back to aid this weird as fuck recovery position he was in. He couldn't decide whether the urge to pee or throw up was stronger. This had to be hell. There was no other explanation for it.
That was the first thing that Warren became aware of. He was groggy, and had no idea where he was but he recognised the medicinal and clinical smell. He didn't just wake up and respond to anything. There was actually a fair amount of time that passed between his consciousness clawing back than when he attempted to open his eyes. Even then, the first few tries failed because it actually even felt like his eyelids were painful too. After that, he gave up trying and slipped back out of consciousness.
He didn't know how many times he came close to actual wakefulness before he managed it. This time, he got his eyes open a little bit but they were just assaulted by a bright light that caused him to moan very softly, hoarsely, and it would have been a sound missed by anyone who wasn't right by his side. The way he was lying felt awkward. Partly on his stomach, partly on his side with his cheek squashed in against the pillow beneath his head.
He was in so much pain that it hurt to take a breath; it was reactionary for him to suck in a shallow gasp of breath and hold onto it, but holy fuck, did that hurt too and the noise he made that time was a soft agonised cry that was met with a hand closing around his that was resting limply beside him. Waking up was making him feel sick. Why was he feeling sick and in this much pain? Why wasn't his healing easing it?
There was no realisation of how bad he looked, which was just as bad as how he felt. He was covered in bruises, cuts, and grazes from the impact with the sidewalk, and one arm was entirely covered in bandages up to his shoulder. The blinding pain in his wings that was tucked up against his back to aid this weird as fuck recovery position he was in. He couldn't decide whether the urge to pee or throw up was stronger. This had to be hell. There was no other explanation for it.