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King woke up.

Or-- was he awake? King was looking down at himself again, taking the position of a mourner at his own funeral. Looking down at the unmoving face of himself, trying to wake but being unable to. His body was no one's it seemed, seeing as he was staring wistfully at his dozing face without rhyme or reason as to [i]how[/i] or [i]why[/i]. King had no energy to reach out, to try to accept himself again. Whatever forced sleep he had just experienced left him feeling restless and euphoric. Ashamed. Without much else to do, he stared down at himself and felt wrath build. Richard King looked so peaceful asleep. That fact burned through King like a war; the mere idea of himself looking helpless in rest chilled him to the core. If only his angles were sharper, his mouth tighter, his scars self-gained and not given. If only he could be as prickly in sleep as he was in awakening, maybe then his demons could leave him be.

What a depressing thought. King pondered his need for a therapist, and then all at once realized he was running away from home and better off just dealing with himself in his own way. An airy, nonexistent laugh escaped him, and then all emotions were stilled in favor of receiving flashes of his rest. Right, [i]right[/i], something like that couldn't be considered a rest in the end. Dreams like that shouldn't happen, not at that level of ferocity and clarity. As he thought back on his dream, silent and invisible, his view shifted from his own face and the cave floor to a rocky ceiling dappled with torch light. 

Nerves pinched all over, and then suddenly he was back in his own skin. Sleep paralysis wore off so quickly King forgot he had even experienced it, and as his eyes broke open and his fingers wiggled to regain circulation he realized where he was. The cave stretched out over head, unchanged from what he could notice, and below him the terrain was smooth and chilling. King made to move but his body refused, all muscles screaming out in anguish against him, and this feeling only doubled in intensity as he suddenly realized there was an unfamiliar weight on his chest. King flinched away from it (or attempted to), completely surprised, caught off guard because he couldn't remember seeing a body as he "woke up" originally and he still wasn't sure if his dream was over. Dark hair was all he saw when he tried to glance down, not enough to be Astrid's but long enough to not be his fa--

King tried to sit up again. His nerves twisted and his chest heaved but eventually he was propped up on his forearms and staring down at the sleeping face of what he assumed to be Malcolm. A bit of precarious balancing on one arm and hair-moving later cleared up King's assumption, and he let out a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding. King had no time to be annoyed or embarrassed by the situation, not yet, his mind was ringing wildly as his gaze swept across the rest of the cave. Three other shapes were nearby, all breathing, all warm. He wasn't sure if they were alive but, from his own experienced, King could only assume that they would wake soon with the same sense of sickness that seemed to come with magic-water-induced-hallucinogenic-dreaming.

Worry passed, replaced by a dead tiredness in his bones again, and King settled back comfortably on his arms to throw his head back. Nausea came and went, as well as questions. He was stock full of knowledge and had no idea what to do with it. Memories he shouldn't have yet were now gleaming in his mind's eye, ready to be put to full use. All he could remember about experiences like this were the words "prophetic" and "drugs".

Silence ate at him. None of the others were rising and worry threatened to rear its ugly head again. With a self-contained shudder, King lifted a hand to Malcolm's head (he let his hand linger for a moment, because his mind wasn't sure what to do, because he was slightly embarrassed now, because he always seemed to linger around this drunk asshole), and then reached down to roughly jostle his shoulder. [b][color=ab2020]"Dude, hey. Get      up--"[/color][/b] His eyes turned to the others, narrowed in the half light and blazing with a wish to flee this dark place, [b][color=ab2020]"Az, Philly, Jess? Guys? Get up. Get up [i]now[/i], please."[/color][/b]