#characterization is probably a bit off here. sorry. it's nearly 3am

[speromint]

"Your mom would be fuckin' proud, man."

And Ashe feels himself falling. His body moves on its own, now-clawed hands pushing up from the ground. He wants to turn and look back at his friends, wants to see one last glimpse of them, but his head only manages to twitch to the side for a moment.

His mouth opens and speaks in a voice that is not his own.

Ashe can feel his consciousness fading, smothered by the Trickster's will. He's kicking and thrashing, but he can't stop himself from sinking down into the depths of his mind.

His consciousness fades out, and Ashe drowns.

There's a ringing in his ears. Every inch of his body aches fiercely and his bones feel impossibly heavy, like any sort of movement would be a herculean task.

His head is against something jagged and hard, and through the pain Ashe feels something warm and wet sliding down his back. Most of the pain radiates from there.

"Ashe!"

The familiarity of that voice causes Ashe's eyes to open halfway. His vision is blurred, but he'd know that vibrant red hair anywhere.

"D'kota?" His tongue feels swollen in his mouth, like it's made of cotton.

"Ashe, holy shit!" Dakota instantly goes to hug him, but Ashe's pained groan as he's lifted off the rubble deters him.

Someone comes to kneel down next to him. He hears more than sees his father.

"Ashe, kid, jesus-" There's a metal-covered hand on his shoulder, and Ashe weakly turns his head to see him.

He's so different than Ashe remembers. His hair has gotten longer, and he's grown a short, greying beard. His vision clears for a moment, and there's an expression on his face Ashe hasn't seen in years.

"'m I... dead?" he slurs.

"No, kid, no you're alright. You'll be alright. Just- just try and stay awake, okay? Doctor'll be here any minute now."

He tries to nod, but he doesn't have the strength. He thinks he rasps out an "okay", but he's fading in and out of semi-conciousness and it's hard to tell.

"A-? -she! -on't fall asle-! As-!"

There are flashes. Someone is lifting him up. There's something over his mouth. Wheels screeching. A constant beeping.

Ashe finally comes back to consciousness sometime later. Beside him is the source of the beeping noise- a heart monitor. It picks up as the fog in Ashe's head begins to clear.

His back aches badly, but the pain isn't nearly as intense as earlier. He's in a small, standard hospital room, wearing a deeply uncomfortable medical gown. He's not wearing his binder, but something is wrapped securely around his chest and back as well.

Something in the back of his mind is distressed at the lack of mobility, and he instinctively tries to flex muscles he does not have.

Right, the wings. That's what the bandages are for, then.

He hasn't used his body in nearly a year, now, and he feels terribly weak whenever he moves. He can barely bring himself to sit up properly, much less move his legs. Most of his movement this past year was probably relegated to his arms and wings, letting his legs fall out of use.

The feeling of having little control over his own body again sends him into a bit of an instictive panic, only amplified by his very recent possession.

"Ashe- calm down, kid, you're alright, you're safe."

His father looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept since their fight with Overlord. He can see heavy bags under his one uncovered eye, and he looks so much older.

Mark Winters had been a fairly young father. Young enough to stick out in a crowd filled with the parents of his classmates. Now, though, his dark blonde hair was streaked with white, and his face wrinkled with worry lines. At least, the human side of it did. Ashe wasn't sure there would be any signs of aging in the spatterings of deep green scales across his body.

"My- my legs-" He gasped out, looking down at them through the blankets. "I- I can't-!"

"I know, kid, I know." Mark reached out to him, but stopped halfway. "You're gonna have to get used to using 'em again. Doctor said there's a lotta atrophy goin' on."

This didn't help much, but Mark kept his voice calm and even as he continued, "you'll be alright, Ashe, I'll help you through it." This time, his father's hand did rest on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

"How long was I gone for?"

Mark sucked in a breath, hesitant. "Just over a year, now. It's January 8th."

Ashe looked down at his hands as he processed this. There's so, so much he wants to say, to ask, but instead what comes out is, "I'm eighteen, now."

"I know."

A beat of silence. Something drips onto his hand and Ashe is suddenly aware of the hot tears rolling down his face. He's missed so much. An entire year of his life, gone.

"I know, kid," Mark gently pulls him in for a hug. Ashe can't remember the last time he'd done so. "I know."