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The world that he opened his eyes to was bright, but not blindingly so. He blinks a few times, banishing the dark spots from his vision as he glances around. The area around him is blank, a complete void that is empty of anything but a stark white.
He searches for whatever is making that ticking noise, but there’s no shadows on the ground, no disturbances to the smooth white surfaces spreading out in either direction. He doesn't know how large this place he has ended up in is, but it could be as vast as the Void or as small as a cupboard.
He doesn't move from his spot, frozen in place as he listens to the ticking sound, still looking around, yet rooted to the spot, as though his scanning eyes will find something he didn't notice before.
He freezes when the ticking stops, breath catching in his throat.
The silence echoes around him, ears slowly filling with a buzz that seems to overwhelm everything else around him. He stands, for only a moment longer, staring into the emptiness around him that suddenly seems too close, too small, too constricting . He shudders a breath, lungs spasming as he breathes.
His bones seem to buckle, bending beneath some unseen weight that he can't seem to rid himself off, no matter how he scrabbles, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as he stands. He doesn't manage to remain stood for much longer, knees buckling beneath him as his joints seem to grind together, pushing inwards and inwards, snapping and twisting until they feel wrong, out of place.
The ground inches from his face doesn't look any different from the ground stretching out around him. He chokes, and there’s a blemish on the pure white surface, spattering it red as he hunches there, arms clutched close to himself, wrapped around his stomach and his waist as something burning, something hot and bright and painful seems to curl around his ribs, tightening on the bones there until they begin to crumble beneath the pressure, giving way as something else forces itself through.
He chokes again, lungs seemingly frozen in place as he lays there, fingers twitching but hands unable to move, tightly wrapped around himself. He remembers learning, once, that if you get electrocuted by something that your muscles spasm so fast it feels like all you're doing is clutching on. The only hope then is to turn of the electricity or for someone to whack you hand away on the off chance that they catch you when it is unclenched and help you to release it.
He stares at the ground, tears beading in his eyes. The silence around him is deafening, even as he trembles. And he is sorely, sorely alone.
He slumps further into the ground, hoping to find some kind of chill emanating from it. Instead, all he seems to do is warm it with his skin, the burning that seems to have wormed its way into all his bones heating his skin, flushing his cheeks even as he presses closer into a floor he could have sworn was cold.
The pain races along his back like a pair of twin flames, crawling quickly, skittering down his spine, and he breaks, crying out, a few tears escaping his eyes as he curls up a little further. He hears something rip, and all he can hope is that it was his clothes rather than anything else. He can't quite pinpoint what lessens the pain there, but the flames on his back seem to flicker to a stop, their crawling creep slowing to a halt as he lays there. It’s a small relief, a tiny mercy in the face of everything else. He takes it for what it is, allowing the sudden relief from pain to layer over him like a blanket, covering him from the shoulders down and brushing against his ankles as he lays there, in an awkward half-laying, half-kneeling pose.
The pain along his sides is slow, it doesn't bloom suddenly like the pain along his back. It’s more of an aching pain, something you would expect when you're still growing. The headache that accompanies it makes his eyes hurt and makes him close his eyes, attempting to avoid the pain before it becomes unbearable.
He doesn't have a way to tell the time as he remains there, there is no sun in this place, and there are no stars. There are no indicators for him, nothing. It is a barren expanse. A wasteland. He doesn't have high hopes for surviving here long, there’s nothing in sight, and the trembling that seems to have infected all his limbs makes him doubt he could stagger very far, let alone walk to somewhere with supplies.
When the pain leaves him, so abruptly that he feels heady, eyes aching and heavy as he peeks them open again. He hisses at the light that invades them, finding it brighter than before, as though the light around him that has no source has strengthened its brightness, specifically to be a pain to him.
He fumbles, hands pushing against the floor as he attempts to sit up, to pull his face from the floor and find a more dignified way of sitting than his current slump. He fumbles, hands feeling thick and heavy, and the blanket on his back brushes across his neck, before falling, dragging his shoulders back with it.
He fumbles, arm flailing for a purchase that doesn't exist as he squeaks. He coughs a few moments later, embarrassment flushing his cheeks at the high-pitched sound. He finds himself glancing around, as though someone would have spontaneously appeared to watch his misery.
He sees double as he flails, vision spinning a little as he blinks. Four hands flash in front of his face rather than two, and he leans forward again, the blanket tugging at his shoulders still, as though pinned to his shoulder blades, threatening to drag him backwards again. He presses his palms to the floor, focusing on the cool material beneath his fingers, splaying them out as he breathes.
His breath still threatens to shudder, catching on phantom pains he’s beginning to believe didn't exist in the first place the longer he sits there. Any semblance of pain has abandoned him, leaving him feeling blissfully fine. He blinks downwards, and he’s still seeing double; four hands splayed out across the ground. Their black tips are a little off-putting, and he stares at them, blinking and waiting for the double illusion to fade, for the darkness creeping up his arms to retreat.
It doesn't, and he’s left staring at his hands like an idiot. He faintly registers the ticking starting up around him again, echoing within his head this time rather than outside of it. He counts ten ticks, holding his breath until the last one.
It stops, and he breathes out, relaxing as nothing happens.
His world tilts, spinning on his axis in a swirl of white, then an overwhelming rainbow of his colours that seem brighter than before. It doesn't dim, even as his mind reels and his stomach threatens to rid itself of anything he had eaten that day already.
He stumbles - he’s on his feet again, when did he stand up? - and his hand presses against something, something that has grooves carved into it, twisting up and away from his hands as he stands there, fingers curling slightly into the material, though he flinches away when his nails scrape against it, the texture and feeling making him recoil in disgust.
The world is too bright still, and he has to squint to look around him, eyes mostly shut as he observes the area around him. It’s…very green, and the ground beneath him is spongy, bouncy, when he tests it, bouncing up and down slightly as he continues to look around, mostly blind as he tries not to cower away from the light.
Someone gasps behind him, a sudden inhale of breath he’s only heard from a drowning person, and he spins, stumbling when something behind him flares, dragging him backwards. He stumbles back a little more when he notices the person standing behind him, noting specifically the way they seem to tower over him, even in their hunched over position, hand pressed against a pillar similar to the one he had clutched at when he awoke.
He backs away, eyes widening involuntarily as he continues to stare at this person. They haven't noticed him yet, and he plans to keep it that way, even as he continues to stare at them, watching as they continue to remain hunched over, breathing as though it hurts to inhale, chest heaving as though they haven't breathed in a long, long time.
They look up, head snapping, almost, and he cowers back, pressing himself closer to his pillar, even as it squashes something sensitive, something that protests at the action and almost makes him lean forward again, if only to relieve the pressure he’s placing on it. He doesn't, and his four hands curl around the stone, clutching at it as though it’s going to protect him from whatever danger he’s being faced with.
The person pauses, their stern look relaxing as they look at him, slowly becoming softer. He knows this person, and this person knows him. Though, he looks a little different than he remembers, a bit more singed around the edges, the ends of his hair flickering with flames that don't seem to extinguish.
He averts his eyes a few moments later, squinting them shut against the light. His eyes unsettle him, all glowing amber iris, swathed and surrounded in a deep black that threatens to choke him, to burn him up from the inside the longer he stares.
He shudders when he looks away, a chill creeping over him as he stares out into the forest.
He swears he sees movement among the trees, but it seems to melt into the shadows cast by the leaves a few moments later, leaving him blinking at nothing and wondering how many more tricks his mind is going to play on him today.
“Scott?” The person asks, and he winces, hands tensing against the stone again before he forces himself to relax.
“Yes?” He manages, and his throat is dry, and the words are scraped out, grinding over a piece of sandpaper as he speaks. He looks back to him, trying to take in his new appearance, the way he looks different to the way he remembers. Taller.
“What-” he blinks, “Where are we?” He’s looking around them too, hand releasing the stone pillar as he stands up straight, and god- he’s so much taller than him now, much taller than he was before. He cautiously peels himself away from the pillar he’s taken refuge again, taking a tentative step towards Joel.
He feels tiny beside him, insignificant to be ground beneath his heel like an inconsequential bug. He swallows, slowly reminding himself that they're friends, that they're not enemies and Joel wouldn't do that to him, even if all his eyes threaten are fire and burning and pain and agony. He swallows again, refocusing his eyes on the forest outside.
The trees are sparse, and it’s barely enough to be a forest, but the sun is high overhead, and they're only being sheltered from it by the small canopy over their heads. As though someone planned this, had known they would arrive here, in such a state, and prepared a shelter for them.
There’s movement again, and he knows Joel caught it, if only by the slight tensing of his shoulders, the tightening of his fists as he stares out at it, eyes narrowed. The sun doesn't seem to bother him, even though it’s been cranked up to maximum brightness and it’s all he can do to not be blinded by it as he stares out, trying to desperately find the source of the movements around them.
The bush rustles, then a blur of pink and grey and black streaks forward. They're within the canopy in a few seconds, barrelling into Joel. Their feet barely make a noise as they sprint, and he marvels at how close they got in such a short time, even as he backs away. The shock of pink hair is a giveaway, even as it remains pressed against Joel.
Joel seems to have already realised who it is, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her equally fiercely, holding her closely as they stand there. He takes another step backwards, feeling out of place. He watches them, even as it feels as though he’s intruding on something private.
“I seem to remember you being taller.” Joel jokes, and Lizzie pulls back from the hug to glare at him, taking a step backwards.
“And I seem to remember you being slightly less flamey.” She retorts, flicking a hand at Joel. he can't help but agree with her, even as a striped tail sways behind her, rounded ears flicking atop her head. He’s rather certain the small flames that still remain at the end of Joel’s hair are nothing compared to whatever’s happened to her.
She’s only slightly taller than him, and it reassures him a little bit - maybe Joel’s just freakishly tall here, compensation for how short he normally is. Lizzie’s eyes flick to the side, and she only just seems to notice him, eyes widening before she’s rushing towards him as well.
Her hands grab his forearms, and he stands there, arms half-raised to block her as she stares into his eyes. She scans him up and down, and he does the same to her, meeting her eyes with an unimpressed look. She smiles, slightly guilty looking, but she doesn't release his arms.
He pushes her back with the hands still free, even as the movement feels clunky and stiff, the limbs not quite moving with the fine motor ability he had quite hoped.
“You can join the short people squad.” She promises, and he realises with a sinking stomach that Joel isn't the freakishly tall one as more people appear from various places, crowding around as though they're a new display to gawk at. He’s the incredibly short one here, with even Lizzie standing taller than him, looking down at him.
He swallows, anxiety creeping up his throat again, something flickering at his back again. Lizzie releases his hands, eyes already set behind him, slightly above his shoulder.
“You have wings .” She gasps, eyes going round as she stares at them, a hand reaching out to touch them. He jerks backwards before her fingers can even brush against them, panic flooding his stomach and making his heart beat faster.
“Don't touch them.” He warns, and he withdraws her hand, even as she looks disappointed, still gazing at his wings. She nods, slowly, but he takes it anyway.
Joel has stepped out from beneath the canopy, and this pulls Lizzie’s attention away from him, sliding away like water from a duck’s back. She hurries after him, latching onto his arm as he joins a group of familiar faces. Each of them gives him a short look, but they don't step forward to offer their greetings, instead focusing on Lizzie and Joel, listening to her chatter.
He slips off the other side, away from the group. Nervousness gathers in his chest when he thinks about all those people, making his breath begin to freeze and his lungs start to ice over the longer he thinks about it.
There’s a small cliff ahead of him, easy to scale with two arms, probably even easier with four. He glances back, watching the small group, their movements like a dancing flame as they move with one another. He looks away again, even as a bitter feeling rises in his throat, and begins to scale a cliff.
There will be time for greetings later.