[Oswald gives no reply. But he stirs restlessly under his blanket – awake already, because his nerves have left him no choice; he feels like one big aching, angry bruise. The pain has given him something to think about. Something else while he's dying what feels like a slow, wasting death and his demons gnaw away at the hole in his own heart. He wonders what Elijah might have had to say if he were here, still. There is time for that, now; too much time. Wonderings and broken expectations are all he has left.
His bleary gaze falls on the pills. He doesn’t know what they are, exactly, and there’s no Ed to tell him the medical name and chemical make-up, to offer a deluge of facts. But whether it helps or kills him, it’s doing him a favour either way, he reasons. Wincing, he stretches an arm and paws the tray perched on the night table. One pill rolls away from his clumsy fingers but he manages to grab the other, finding premature relief in the sticky sweetness of it dissolving in his mouth. It scrapes its way down his throat in two, struggling swallows. All that’s left to do, after, is wait. It’s something to look forward to.
He sinks back under the covers, hunching his shoulders against the pale daylight.]
no subject
His bleary gaze falls on the pills. He doesn’t know what they are, exactly, and there’s no Ed to tell him the medical name and chemical make-up, to offer a deluge of facts. But whether it helps or kills him, it’s doing him a favour either way, he reasons. Wincing, he stretches an arm and paws the tray perched on the night table. One pill rolls away from his clumsy fingers but he manages to grab the other, finding premature relief in the sticky sweetness of it dissolving in his mouth. It scrapes its way down his throat in two, struggling swallows. All that’s left to do, after, is wait. It’s something to look forward to.
He sinks back under the covers, hunching his shoulders against the pale daylight.]