Heads or Tails?
One: Peter
by elfin

"I had a dream."  They were the first words he'd spoken in days and his dry throat reminded him painfully of it.

He had.  A long dream he'd started to believe he would never wake from.

It had started suddenly in a violent explosion of horror and pain.  No dream had ever before felt so real.  No nightmare had ever been as terrifying.

He could still recall the terrible shriek of metal crushing under tremendous pressure. 

But the rest of the dream was a blur with brightly coloured moments of lucidity. 

A warm cocoon turning suddenly into a cold, torturous cage inside which he was trapped.

A scream dying in his head, silent and unheard, broken body refusing to respond.  Voices - some raised in alarm, some loud in anger, some gentle and reassuring.

The remnants of the dream that had stayed with him were cold, painful.  He could remember movement but not moving, sounds but no meaning.

Nothing from the dream made sense.  Intense agony interlaced with periods of awful numbness.  Aware of hands on his unresponsive body, aware of things he didn't like being done to him.  Painful things.  Invasive things.  Yet there had been a singular gentle touch too, a touch just to his hand, a touch that seemed to belong to that one, reassuring voice.

He could remember listening for that voice.  As he'd lain paralysed in the dark - a dark pierced regularly by an intense bright light - he'd clung to the voice, a lifeline when he'd been sure he would never wake up.

And then, suddenly, the dream had changed. 

He could remember a death but instead of getting colder he'd been warm.  Fear and pain were replaced by strange, coloured cartoon characters and although for a time there were no voices, he was more comforted than he could remember being since the dream had started.

But after a while the cartoons and the warmth had faded.  The sounds and the voices had slowly returned.  But not the voice, not the one voice he searched for in the cacophony assaulting him.  Louder and louder, the light getting brighter and brighter.

And in search of the voice that had soothed him through the long dream, he'd woken up.

Reality, it turned out, was far more terrifying and more painful than any nightmare. 

But at least he could listen and see.  At least he knew when to expect the light in his eyes, the pain in his arm.  His head hurt and leg ached but he could tell those looking after him and they could make the pain go away for a while.

But best of all was the smile on Andy Dalziel's face when he saw him for the first time since the accident.  A shining smile, tears of joy in his eyes. 

"I had a dream," he tried to explain, and Andy laughed and sobbed at the same time. 

The doctor stepped away, letting Andy take Peter’s hand. 

Peter recognised the touch, the warmth, the comfort and reassurance he'd felt with that same touch throughout his dream.

And a couple of tears blossomed in his own eyes.  "Not a dream?" he whispered, and Andy shook his head.

"No, Sunbeam.  But you'll be all right now.”

He wishes he could remember, until he sees his leg and hears Andy tell him about the blood clot in his brain.  And then he's glad he doesn't.


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