His eyes settled on the feral before him, covered in the blood of his previous attacker, his unconscious mind and his conscious mind settling in with this image, his fear spiked, but no further illusions came at him. The emotions that flooded him snapped his control and his abilities faltered all in one sudden movement, the noise of it all echoing in his brain and suddenly the only blood or bodies left in the room were that of Jason and Kyle. Realizing the shift, Heather stepped into the room further, shutting the door, and attempting to give Jason his privacy back. She knew how badly his pride would hurt after he understood what had just happened, and to spare him some of the pain of it, she ushered the rest of the concerned household out and away from his bedroom door. They knew what had happened, and Kyle would be there to help their master pick up the pieces.
And pieces there would be as the man looked down at his now white gray hands, the look of almost feathery scaling flesh confusing him after the dream's expansive contact with the usual way he looked. The sight of himself, his real form and look, was like a cup of ice water in the face, and he sputtered for a moment. The wounds he had accidentally caused himself were still seeping, shallow, but more than visible against his aged form. The illusion couldn't cover or sustain the injuries, and wouldn't stand itself back up until he had healed more and the bleeding had stopped.
Confusion covered his face as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes before he turned to Kyle. "...I...what...," he fumbled at the mouth, lacking even a logical sentence to ask the boy who looked like he had taken on some kind of foe in this room that had once held so much comfort. His head hung as he looked down at himself, a man seemingly broken by the weight of all that had happened to him in life. The truth of his past had started him in the face and threatened his life. Was he that person? Was he that cruel sadistic bastard?