After another three and a half gruelling weeks of physical therapy, Ash was being discharged. He had managed to prevent Derek from meddling and had stuck with his original physiotherapist Alice. Her jaw was on the floor that he was already in crutches and had ditched the wheelchair a week before he was discharged. Many of the doctors attributed his near miraculous recovery to his age, but Alice remained sceptical. However, she couldn’t explain it any other way.

Ash approached his front door, Bernie and his mom Becky accompanied him home.

“be careful up the steps, Ash,” said Becky in a wavering voice. In one hand she held an overly large bouquet of flowers. Ash nodded.

“I don’t really feel like I need these crutches anyway, to be perfectly honest.”

“You really should, at least whilst you’re out of the house.” Bernie’s tone was stern and tinted with warning. “Also, don’t let Derek push you into returning to training too soon. You know your body, so don’t push too hard, new season or not.”

Ash grumbled and winced as he crossed the threshold. Maybe he still needed the crutches a little. It was good to be home again: he had missed the tall ceilings, the plantation shutters on the windows, even the closet stuffed to bursting with with his old college work. He should probably throw it out, but he never found the right time to do so.

A scent of wood polish made itself known, letting Ash know someone from his agency had probably sent in a cleaning staff to take care of his house whilst he’d been away. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of it but he kept his mouth shut in front of his company.

He hobbled to the couch as his mom fussed and fluffed the flowers in his one and only vase. He sunk down into the plush cushions, wincing a little as he did so. He hadn’t mentioned the weird, harsh breathing noise he was starting to hear more and more often to anyone. It was starting to happen almost every day, and it was getting louder.

“Say, Bernie… the MRI scan came back clear on my head, didn’t it?”

Bernie took an age to turn towards him as he was bustling in the refrigerator. “There was no lasting damage, no. Why?”

“Oh you know, when you’ve been told you’ve been in a coma, you want to be sure your brain still works like it should.” Ash chuckled and shrugged it off, masking what he actually meant.

“I can arrange a visit to a psychologist though -”

“No! No, that's not necessary. They’re full of mumbo jumbo anyway. I was just curious.” Bernie quirked a brow and Ash wished he had never brought up the topic in the first place.

“Bernie, maybe we should go, Ashley needs to rest.” Becky had caught her son’s uncomfortable air and pulled at Bernie’s arm gently. Inwardly, Ash thanked her, relieved. He was exhausted.

“You have my contact details, please do not hesitate to call if you’re struggling or anything, okay?” Bernie’s tone was one of a terse and overbearing father. Ash nodded, not wanting to get back up off the couch. Thank goodness his mom was here to usher the doctor out.

“I would avoid the papers tomorrow dear, it’ll just be of you trying to duck the paparazzi just now. They’re still hovering around outside the lobby, so me and Bernie are taking the service elevator to try and dodge them. I’ll call tomorrow, okay? Don’t strain yourself.”

“Okay, thanks mom.” With that she gleamed at him as they closed the front door behind them, leaving Ash in the blessed silence. Was it blessed? Sometimes when it went quiet around him the strange noise would ring in his ears. The first time it had happened Ash had tried to determine its origin only to surmise it was surely coming from within the confines of his head. That worried him, but surely if news got out he was seeking therapy for noises rattling around in his head it would be all over the news. For now, it was only an annoyance every now and again that made him jump, and something he could ignore.

*****

It was fully awake around them, churning and buzzing with virility. Very warm and bright, and most importantly, a comfort to them.

They stretched out within it, accidentally touching the sides that bled into the conscious and causing another rupture. They knew the subconscious would attempt to boot them out eventually, into the more tenuous conscious and more importantly, making their host aware of their presence. Hiding in the depths of the subconscious was always a short term plan as they solidified their negotiation plan for when their host became more aware something else was sharing the space.

*****

Ash couldn't sleep. There were minor, annoying aches no matter what position he tried to lie in. Getting up to stretch his limbs was the only option.

He shuffled to the bathroom, confident on his feet even though they hurt. It was positive pain to him however, it provided fuel to his resolve to begin training soon. Sitting in the hospital had bored him senseless and the decision to return training as soon as possible had not been difficult.

He hadn’t covered up the large, ceiling-high mirror beside the sink yet, and his reflection glared and winced back at him when he opened the door. The bandage was getting a little soiled, dark unidentified fluid bleeding through the fabric. With one hand he pulled the material, catching his eye as he did so. A flicker of something snaked across the iris, the ghostly sharp inhale sounding within his head. He stepped back, so much so he fell against the wall and slid down it, clutching at his heart and gasping sharply.

“What the…” he muttered to himself, his chest heaving and he looked back and forth. “What is causing this?” He pressed a hand to his forehead.

The noise called again, immediately after he asked the question to himself. He looked up, back into the mirror. “Is this an effect of the accident?”

It rang out again.

His eyes widened. “Is it answering me? Are you answering me?” he said to nobody.

It called once again. Ash’s breath caught in his throat and he crawled over to the mirror. For the first time since the accident, he found the courage to stare at his own reflection, and how much was different about it.

He unwound the bandage from his head. The doctor had warned not to take it off for another week or so, and Ash finally saw why. The long, ugly scar could not be ignored no matter what angle he looked at his face: like a root forcing its way through the sidewalk it stretched across his face, from the hairline right across the bridge of his nose and finishing under his cheekbone on the other side. The sutures only served to exemplify its ugliness.

He couldn’t stand looking at his split face, not even for a second. He concentrated on his eyes instead, focusing everything he had into the glassy pale blue color. Into the pupils that dilated as he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He glared deeply, so much so he wasn’t really focused, just a blur of colors.

“If you can hear my voice, could you respond?”

It responded, but not in anything coherent, not to Ash anyway. He blinked, and as he did, something in his irises flickered and disappeared. “Why?” he whispered. “What is that?” All self-conscious thoughts of talking to himself melted away as he stared again, hoping to see the spark he was positive was hiding in his eye.

*****

It was all just muffled noise. But they could see the host they were trapped in, at least. In the reflection of the guy’s eye they could see themselves and they waved their arms like crazy to catch his attention.

Getting out of someone’s consciousness was supposed to be easy, but they couldn’t figure it out at all. Every time they heard the noise, they shouted back “I’m here! I’m stuck inside here!” in the hope they would understand but it was unclear.

Definitely though, there was a tenuous back and forth establishing, despite the language barrier, currently a solid brick wall. They couldn’t even make out coherent words. Going for broke, they pushed against the confines of the consciousness, trying to break the seal around them, pushing and pulling.

There was a shudder inside his head, not the same as the noise but more of a stretching and splintering, like straw being crushed under tractor wheels. Beside him a figure appeared in a mist.

He gasped again, pushing back to the wall with his feet. The figure didn’t disappear as he hoped it would, it was however, motionless, standing like some kind of frozen spectre. Feeling like a fool, Ash raised his hand, maybe trying to communicate with the thing: there was a lot to imagine as it had no features, just a grey humanoid figure beside him in the mirror, but not by his side.

It raised its hand back.