Burr doesn't really come to his senses until he is being carried inside. Even then, there are only half snatches of reality. Dark wood walls wheeling and pitching sickeningly. He is put in a bed, and he has hardly been set down before he is retching, awful and painful and choking over the side.
His head pounds, and his eyes are watering, and he can feel his heart beating too-fast, clenching and cramping as he sucks air through a space that seems too tight.
There is someone on the bed, kneeling over him, caressing his face, cool water, and he thinks--
He is breathing slower, and maybe it will be fine after all. But then he smells it--catches a whiff of something, of--someone he can't--and then he is leaning over and retching something horrible again. Spots in his eyes.
He thinks he might die. He will die. There exists more than one thing can contain, a limit to pain or--and he smells Ned, Ned, and Ned is--Ned is good, and Burr reaches for him, wraps himself in his, shivering and shuddering and wracked with pain.
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His head pounds, and his eyes are watering, and he can feel his heart beating too-fast, clenching and cramping as he sucks air through a space that seems too tight.
There is someone on the bed, kneeling over him, caressing his face, cool water, and he thinks--
He is breathing slower, and maybe it will be fine after all. But then he smells it--catches a whiff of something, of--someone he can't--and then he is leaning over and retching something horrible again. Spots in his eyes.
He thinks he might die. He will die. There exists more than one thing can contain, a limit to pain or--and he smells Ned, Ned, and Ned is--Ned is good, and Burr reaches for him, wraps himself in his, shivering and shuddering and wracked with pain.