Who: Paul Shrewsbury What: Waking up to the real world When: Very early Sunday Morning Where: The Shrewsbury's apartment
Paul woke up screaming, making sounds he didn't realize he was capable of making, the feeling of the demon's knife was fresh in his mind, along with the hot metallic smell of blood. His blood, and Alex's blood. Finding himself safe in his own bed was a shock. There was no way that was just a dream. Dreams didn't feel like that. Dreams faded when you woke up. This only grew sharper. They were memories, and they were every bit as real as the memories he'd suddenly acquired when George had become a part of him, if not more real. Besides which, there was simply no way even his overactive imagination could ever have come up with something like... that.
He reached for the rubbish bin only just in time to be sick. He'd never seen that much blood, even in his other half's memories of the final battle against the death eaters. He'd never even imagined so much blood could exist, spattering the Burrow, the place that had seemed so safe and so perfect. He buried his face in his hands and a last sob of pain and helplessness tore through him. All the memories were disturbing. Cursing the demon. Begging her to stop. Watching helplessly as the woman he loved was cut into pieces right in front of him while nothing he could say, nothing he could do, no offer of his very soul would make it stop.
More minutes passes and his near hysterical breathing slowly returned to nearly normal. He stood up, far too shaky on his feet for a man who had, by all appearances, merely been asleep alone in his own room. He needed a shower, to wash off all the blood that wasn't really there. He needed the strongest, hottest pot of black tea the world had ever seen. He needed to find Alex Morgan. Wherever she was. Whoever she was. He didn't know if she'd be glad to see him or not, but he didn't think he could live without finding out. But first thing, he needed to check in with his sister.