Rhys sinks back into his pillow, exhausted all over again and tired of trying to look around. Things are filtering back to him, but still hopelessy broken and out of order. It hurts to think too much and he wants his damn morphine. They usually give morphine for being this fucked up, right? At least some Vicodin.

"Think they missed me." His eyes are wet, and he had to reach up to make sure it's not blood. Nothing but salt, even though it doesn't feel like he's crying.

"Doesn't matter. She thinks I'm dead. Don't wanna... Don't wanna make trouble. Don't want money. Told him that. But I'm going into the Potter's field, 'cause I'm not blood...not even human..."