Tillman stood, tense and still at Pig's approach. The dead did not often walk in his dreams but when they did, he never fought them. Survivor's guilt, his therapist's soft voice reminded, it was a natural reaction.

The soft touch of cold fingers made him twitch instinctively and he waited for them to move down to his throat, to choke out the last of his wasted breath.

Blue. It flashed in front of his eyes briefly and then disappeared, swallowed by pale and gray. A mirage?

Calm. He heard it, but he couldn't comply. He brought his hands up and seized the face in front of him, squeezing a bit too hard, afraid that the apparition would vanish at the touch. He didn't say anything. He didn't have anything to say.