Obliva
This is a Human Sander Sides Au, I came up with the idea after watching Katy Perry's Chained to The Rhythm music video.
This has some ideas from it, but will not be exactly or follow the story line of the music video.
Chapter Warning: Hospitals, war, nuclear war, needles, drugs, memory lost, Deceit (please tell me if I miss anything)
[Deceits name is Damian. Also I wrote this on my phone, so I apologize for any mistakes]
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Prologue
Everything was fuzzy, that's the one thing he could tell for sure. His thoughts, his vision... his ears were ringing, his eyes watered from a overly bright light... there was a blurry object above him, and something seemed to be touching his cheek in a repetitive motion.
As his eyes started to focused, he noticed that the object was a person, a person with glasses and freckles across their nose. Behind the person were walls that were a blinding white, and their were wearing clothes that matched. Causing it too look like there was just a floating head to his tired eyes.
Who is that head? Wait, no person, if there is a head, there has to be a body, right? His eyes bugging out as his scrambled mind tried to connect the peices. However it was like trying to finish a puzzle with only a sixth of the pieces.
The motion on his cheek had stopped and there seemed to be fingers combing through his hair.
An almost comforting, "shhhhh, it's okay, everything is okay," cut through the ringing in his ears. He could hear ugly hiccuping and sobs, who was crying though? The person wasn't crying, and it was only him and them there...
The stranger brought a tissue up to his cheek. Oh, he must have been the one crying, as his strained eyes saw the tissue come away wet. He looked away out of slight embarrassment, not surprised that the rest of the walls were the same blinding white.
Everything slowly went black, had his eyes been covered? Why couldn't he see? Was he going blind?
Yet he embraced the dark, which was oddly comforting after the bright white... Wait no, he needed to figure out why he was here. And who he was. Wait, who is he? His brain went into overdrive, like a squirrel on coffee trying to find the exact place he had buried his nuts last season.
After a moment, perhaps it was a few moment's, he couldn't tell, the name Damian popped up in neon lights in his head. And with the name, came a memories. Not a lot, but a few that helped him get a grip on things.
He was being spun around a wooden floor, as hearty giggles filled the air, a genuine smile on his face. The memory fluttered across the back of his eyelids before it changed, There was a spraypaint can of yellow in his hand, and a brick wall in front of him covered in colors, a can rattled next too him as a voice said something he couldn't understand, that one disappeared to reveal another one, he was walking with a couple of other dudes, all of them wearing matching, torn and worn, jackets, with the words "Eat The Rich" messily hand-sewn on the back, this time the shapes reformed, into a mess before clearing, he was sitting in a classroom, and his classmates were dead silent as all of them were watching the television that was mounted on the wall. A news reporter was speaking in a rushed voice before the screen was filled with an image of a mushroom cloud.
His thoughts where painfully clear now, the war! Did he get hurt? What of his friends or his family? Does he have a family? If he did, his mind could not recall it.
The light fluttered back into his vision, as he opened his eyes, having finally figured out that he had simply had closed them. The person was still there, and now there was an odd air of familiar around them.
"Wh-where am I?" A horse and cracking voice asked, that he recognized as his own. "What's hap-" he coughed, his throat feeling raw and dry. His arm jerking as his body shook with the action, a slight pinching sensation in his inner elbow. "What happened wi-with the war?"
The person, let out a gentle laugh, "You are at the hospital, sweetie. You just had a bad bump on your head."
Damian didn't think that was right, it didn't feel correct. But that would explain why everything seemed so vague.
The nurse stood up next to an IV bag stand, a needle in their hand. "You just need to sleep it off, honey." Their voice washed over him like honey, as he watched as the IV bag seemed to be turning from clear to blue. He blinked a couple of times, as a sugary, "Rest darling," flooded his head.
His eyes struggled for a moment before closing in defeat. "Good job," the praise floated around his head like a balloon, pretty and shiny. Distracting. Things started to get fuzzy again, worries of the war, what was happening or even if his friends are okay floated out of his grasp. But he couldn't bring himself to hold onto them. So they just drifted away.
Moments later Damian drifted off into a sweet, dreamless, drug induced sleep.
The nurse checked his vitals, made a few notes on a clipboard, then left the room, closing the door with a soft click. Then they went to inform the boss that another patient was ready.