Chapter Text
Ross woke up on fire. Which, lately, wasn’t as unusual as it should’ve been.
He started choking on smoke like a sickly Victorian child. His lungs burnt with the taste of ash and ozone, at least what he expected ozone to taste like, clinging to his tongue. Heat pulsed through his veins, as if it had followed him out of sleep. He jerked upright in the narrow bunk and cracked his head on the frame above. Cursing, he pressed a trembling hand to his scalp. Slowly standing up, he snuffed, or rather beat, the fire out on my pillow.
Walking towards the cupboard for a change of food and clothes again, he started feeling itchy all over. He expected it if he was just on free, but it just wouldn't stop, and then the old ache at the base of his neck ignited. That faint bruise that had been there for weeks; he’d ignored it, told himself it was nothing. Damn, was he wrong, scorched as if a pressing iron had been pressed straight into his bone. He staggered back towards his bed, gripping the mattress frame, breath tearing out of him in a scream he didn’t remember starting.
Through the ringing in his skull, he thought he heard someone shouting his name. But he had something just a little bit more urgent; like his neck felt like it was burning. Somewhere through the ringing in his head, someone shouted his name. He didn’t care. His neck was on fire, and not metaphorically. Holy hell, he was actually on fire. Again. He started freaking out, grabbing anything he could, and luckily he snuffed it out; he wasn't on fire anymore, just his bed was.
Wait, what?
Oh shit, his bed was on fire.
“Oh, come on,” he croaked. “Mrs. Campbell’s going to kill me.”
And that was his favorite bedsheet too. Goddamnit.
He stumbled to his nightstand, grabbed his water bottle, and threw it on the bed, but it turned out a sip of water wasn't enough to put out the fire. Who could have guessed? For some reason, it made the fire worse.
Cursing, he fell back, the jolt reminding him of the searing pain in his neck in front of him. The fire had spread too quickly, but he couldn't cry or notice because, dear lord, was he hurting. Now that the skin had cooled down marginally, he felt it; he felt a mark, like a deep brand. What the fuck? He was not a horse.
Luckily, or rather unfortunately, he was pulled back to reality from his thoughts and growing ache in his neck again by witnessing firsthand Adam bursting through their door and getting knocked out by a piece of literal firewood.
Great, just great.
Crawling towards him, he didn't have the energy to stand; he was met with an obstacle, like the crumbling and flaming remains of his bunk bed. Now, of course, he could have found some water or a blanket to put the fire out or performed a series of moves that would make Simone Biles ashamed, or he could have, you know, jumped over the fire, but one thing about him was that he was not a rational thinker, and something a tad less important: his legs didn't work.
Of course he didn't need to do anything because Adam had already woken up at that point; at least he hoped that and it wasn't some mirage caused by the great wall of fire. But he couldn't celebrate too much because his Burning Neck Syndrome was back and better.
Waves of fire rolled off of him, coming from his mark thingy. He thankfully wasn't getting hurt by them, not too much at least. He couldn't say the same about his room, though.
By that point he was sure Adam was yelling at the top of his lungs, but he was a bit too busy recreating the conditions of hell to listen to him.
Suddenly the waves stopped; the fire around him raged on, though. His room was completely trashed. He had gotten a jolt of energy. He hobbled towards Adam, but they were still too separated by the flames. Speaking of the fire, was he imagining things, or was it getting closer to him? -“Ross! The fire’s moving’.” - Yep, it was; he wasn't that insane just yet.
He tried to avoid it, to run away, but wherever he turned, he was trapped. Then the fire started clawing up him, and this time. It hurt.
He tried to call out for help to Adam, anything. Nothing came out but a sob. Just for a second, Ross swore he felt something open inside him. Like a lid pulled back. The burn at his neck pulsed again.
He didn't know why that terrified him.
The fire has completely caged him; it was blinding, just a white void everywhere.
Then Adam’s hand broke through. Ross grabbed it, gripping tight, watching the world dissolve into white.
The last thing he saw was Adam’s stupid, crooked smile, the one he always made when things were about to go horribly wrong.