Just something that's been rolling around in my head for a while. Please bear in mind that I haven't read TWTTIN for a while now, and I'm trying my best. I don't own anything.

You could call him messed up and he wouldn't fight back, taking it as the truth. But now, it hit closer to home because he had messed up. He had screwed up so badly and there was no going back. It hurt to wake up every single day and realize that he was a different person. Of course, the realization wasn't exactly the biggest thing on his mind, but it was certainly there along with the fear of the nightmares returning.

People refused to look him in the eyes, to take in that degree of fear that lurked in their dark depths. It seemed like only his sister would look at him, take him seriously since the accident, and even his parents treated him strangely. His father was oddly quiet about his outfit choices and his mother… so much pain in her eyes when she looked at him that he wanted to cry out, to hit something and tell everyone to stop staring. That he would be all right.

Now, however, the bed sheets were tangled around his thin frame as he tossed and turned. His face was a mask of fear and pain as he whimpered in his sleep, arms flailing wildly, hands opening and closing in an attempt to grasp something that only he could see.

They were back, the colours, that is. They screamed at him and tore at his clothing, accusations falling out of their lips like water. What was worse were the voices that inhabited the colours… Cathy, Bryon and a number of other people important to him in his life that were telling him just how horrible of a person he was. The voices rang in his ears even after the colours stopped yelling.

He was not relieved when the yelling stopped. In fact, he was far from it. When the yelling ceased there was something much worse that came, legs moving swiftly as they approached in waves, washing over him and sticking in his mouth, his ears and clinging to his eyes in order to avoid being swept away. He could feel the many hairy legs on his face and the fangs digging into his flesh.

The spiders.

A cry was ripped from his throat as he writhed upon the bed, nearly throwing himself off it and onto the floor. That would have been much more kind than the wakening he was sure to receive in only moments, his heart beating so hard he was sure it would and tears spilling over only to roll down his cheeks as he realized that he is alone in this.

"Baby, wake up…"

This time it is not the floor that has woken the boy, but the voice of his sister. He sat straight up, eyes wide and tears coursing down his cheeks. There was no way he was going to let Cathy worry about something that trivial… that childish. Yet, if he was going to tell her he was okay, why was he clinging to her?

His hands grasped the fabric of her shirt, breathing in the familiar smell of Cathy's perfume and feeling the cloth beneath his fingers. Something tangible, something to keep his mind off what lurked within him and constantly fought to get out. It distracted him from the insanity that could have come much too early.

Tears came much easier, and he found himself sobbing into her shoulder, wailing and apologizing profusely for waking her up. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, and couldn't bring himself to tell her the reason for his dreams. She had been deceived… told he was getting better, and yet there he was sobbing and terrified.

M&M wasn't getting better. He was getting worse.

Originally contained Cathy's point of view going backwards through the events for her, but I couldn't do it. It confused me.