Bad dreams plagued Charlie. Full of monsters and blood and darkness, he would have tossed and turned. Yet it was as though he was rooted to the spot. It was as though he was stuck in his own personal hell.

And the longer he stayed here, the deeper he sunk into the black hole.

It was soon beginning to feel like there was no way out.

Panic split his skull open, filling him with pain like fire running through his veins. To the point where he was astonished it didn't melt through his wrists and kill him. He didn't think it was possible to survive this kind of pain.

Opening his lips to scream, his voice was stolen before it even left his lips. Leaving behind only the aftermath of hoarseness and sharp pain, as though someone had rubbed his throat raw with sand paper.

Fear tore him apart, wide eyed he looked around. Am I dead? Is this hell?

He could only pray that this wasn't the case. He didn't know if he could survive this for an eternity. Charlie had never been a particularly tough person, his brothers had always had to look out for him. Ever a disappointment to his father to this effect, but he was the third born son so as far as the King was concerned. He didn't care.

What did I do? What on earth could he have done to end up here he wasn't sure.

Logic tried to play its part even in his agony. He couldn't be dead, pain like this couldn't have been reserved even for the depths of hell. It was thoughts like this which let him hold onto his sanity, for the time being at least.

Pain was something the young boy had been very unused to in his life. Protected at every corner and every turning, the worst he had known was a graze to the knee or a particularly uncomfortable illness.

This was something entirely different, and it felt almost entirely crippling.

It seemed to light his every crevice and every inch, nothing was left untouched by the fire which seemed to shoot through his veins. The epicentre seemed to be deeper in his brain then he knew existed.

From this same place, the horrendous nightmares seemed to linger and explore.

The monsters lighting his mind were all too human, faces that should have felt familiar but were in some way distorted in a way beyond what his brain could fully understand. He knew only one thing for certain, and that was that he had to get as far away from them as possible. They were a threat and they wanted him dead.

Even if he didn't know how or why.

And he had no way to either protect himself, or fend them off. He was alone in this hell.

Dragging himself to his feet in spite of the pain which begged for him to stay lying there, to let death take him if it meant that he would be free from this agony. He ran, pushing on with a speed he didn't now he possessed. Terrified of the strangers who seemed to lurk ever closer no matter how fast he went.

It was this fear of the unknown which was making it feel like he was losing his grip on sanity.

Forcing himself on, even as he tripped over what seemed to be an infinite number of hands reaching out, grabbing at him pulling at him. He ran on, allowing the tears to tumble down his cheeks as terror quickly began to overwhelm his small form.

With a wail of terror, he managed to kick past one particular set which threatened to grab and keep him. He pushed on, but it was soon becoming more and more impossible, no matter how hard he tried.

At last his feet were pulled from beneath him and he landed with a hard thump.

The sound seemed to ricochet across the walls, until the echo of his failure was inescapable.

Hands gripped him suddenly from every side, grabbing him tight and choking the air from his lungs. Again he would have shrieked were it a possibility, but even as it felt like he was dying he had no choice in the matter.

Shadows began to crowd his vision until he was all but blind, only silhouettes of the strange monsters being properly visible and they were quickly the only thing he could see. He was drowning in the darkness and quickly beginning to fade.

Only now did the pain begin to falter from his system and he could breathe again, but he knew it was too late. There was no escape from what he had before believed to be a nightmare, and he was sure this would be his end.

Giving into his fate of death, Charlie gave up all attempts of trying to escape this hell, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. If he was going to die, he was going to try and do it with dignity as his father had always told him.

Darkness at last took over his vision completely, and the world seemed to fall away from him.

Then and only then, did the young boy wake up.

It seemed to take an eternity before his eyes adjusted to the bright room, lights beamed down at him like heavenly light. He flinched, squinting against the pain he let out a snarl but little sound other then a squeak came from his tortured throat.

The sound seemed to creep from his throat, despite how desperate he was to make it, it wouldn't have woken a restless babe from their sleep. Let alone draw the attention of anyone who could help him.

Pups have made a more intimidating sound then he was able to in that moment.

Whilst the pain was gone, but a distant memory of a quickly fading dream. The inability to move remained, and he was left helpless in the bed. Only able to flick his gaze from side to side, and move his fingertips a little.

Again the panic began to sweep through him, this time stained by the confusion and fear.

He wasn't in his own bed, nor somewhere that he recognised. Though the smell was faintly familiar but in that moment he didn't care. The fear was ensuring that there was little logic left in his brain.

A strange smell, almost metallic and thick, filled his nose to the point where he could smell little else. He could barely recognise it, knowing it only as something from a past dream that he couldn't put his finger on.

Yet even that scent was almost entirely overwhelmed by something else. All he could think to describe it as was sickeningly clean. Like life had never touched this room, and it was purely, perfectly hygienic. Free from anything which made a place feel like a home.

Forcing his young nose to push past the clean smell and something stranger, he sought desperately for anything that he could recognise. He didn't care in what form he found it, Charlie was filled with the need to know something. Anything.

But no matter how hard he searched he found nothing but the two strange smells.

He couldn't remember a time he felt lonelier.

Either way it was one of the worst things he had ever scented, and it sickened him to his stomach. Charlie swallowed the bile which was slowly rising to the back of his throat, trying to ignore it as best as he could.

So he did the one thing he could think to do.

Yell for his mother.

Fortunate that he had managed to find his voice again, and whilst it still hurt a little it gave him some form of defence.

"Mum?" He cried, the panic rising to the back of his throat as he searched the dark room for the familiar figure of the Queen. With little room to move, he couldn't see a great deal outside of his peripheral vision.

As immature as it may have sounded, as he was eight after all and was of an age where a fear of the dark was no longer acceptable, and the crying for one's mother was a laughable notion for a boy of his status.

In that moment the terror of all that he had witnessed made him forget it all and the desperation took over his every sense and thought.

No response came from the darkness for a short while, and it did little but to fuel his panic. The idea that he could be alone with nothing to do to help himself from whatever danger lurked behind after his dream.

Even if it had begun to fade, Charlie found himself unable to shake the feeling that it was true.

His upper lip beginning to tremble as he fought back the tears, his entire body would have been shaking had he not been unable to move. A wail began to make its way to the back of his throat, and he would have let it free had it not been for a voice and a small face appearing in the doorway.

A pair of narrowed eyes gazed at him, and they seemed to contemplate something for a moment. Then an unmistakable grin lit up the face of the boy who appeared to be a stranger from this distance and he ducked away with a cry.

"He's awake," the joyful and fortunately familiar voice of his elder brother sounded. The relief apparent in it as well. Charlie saw a mess of black hair stand up beside him, and charge for the door. A shorter child quickly following suit.

Now their voices and faces were something he would never be able to forget no matter what happened. In a thousand years and a million lifetimes, those two would be forever engrained on his heart and mind.

Robert and Arthur.

Dragging the door open with difficulty considering their small side, light filled the room and made Charlie squint his eyes. Blinded momentarily by its sharpness, he was left helpless to its brightness until the door was shut once again.

After his mother appeared in the doorway, looking at him with a frown embedded on her face.

The two brothers were on his bed and hugging him before Charlie had the chance to say anything. They crowded him with their warmth, and held him close to the point where he felt like he would suffocate.

But he didn't care, they were here and he felt a million times better because of it.

Smothered against the bed and with little choice about it, the little boy gave into the wishes and wants of his brothers. Happy to have them near him, to know they were safe and with the presence of his mother he knew that he too was safe.

With them all at his side, the memories of his dreams seemed little more than a distant dream and one he could forget about without thinking about it twice.

"Go to your father, Artie, Rob," she spoke with a firm but gentle tone.

Knowing better then to argue with his mother, the 11 year old was gone through the door just before it closed and the mother and son were left alone in the room. She stood there in silence, watching him for a moment.

Whilst his older brother was perhaps a little more stubborn minded, he paused. His lips parted to disagree, to find someway which allowed him to stay with his vulnerable younger brother. The lifting of the Queen's hand quickly gave him reason to flee from the room.

Now free from the weight on his chest, Charlie could breathe a little easier. Looking up at his mother with a confused look, he raised an eyebrow but otherwise couldn't do a great deal to show his disapproval that his brothers had been made to leave.

But then he saw the look on her face which quickly banished the annoyance from his head.

The way she looked at him, as though he was a puppy kicked by his master sent panic down his spine. He would have given anything in that moment to wipe the look from her face, he hated to see her upset.

At last she stepped fully into the room, pausing to knock the light switch which flooded the room once again into the light. Charlie could tell even in his youth that she had been crying, her eyes were swollen and bags lay beneath them.

Walking forward, she came to settle down beside his bed and took his hand in hers. Gripping it tightly, she was like an anchor. Holding him steady to the earth after moments of what felt as though he had been floating through the darkness.

Smiling now, he managed to grip back. Trying to see a smile return to his mother's face but it didn't work for the time being. It was apparent that the Queen was trying her best to appear brave for her son.

Charlie knew better then to believe her at face value.

"Hi Charlie," she said with a surprisingly calm voice. It was level in spite of the way her hands shook, and the tears welled up in her dark blue eyes. She pressed her lips gently to his forehead, using her free hand to brush against his cheek.

The 8 year old tilted his head to the side, growing more and more angry with the fact that he could do little other then hold her hand. Charlie let out a low growl, the only thing he could think to do.

Fortunately he failed to notice the way his mother flinched at the sound. Nor the way that she now carried herself in a very different way around him, with a level of caution usually reserved for his father and few others.

Ignorance was bliss.

Queen Veronica seemed to take a deep, measured breath as though preparing herself for something, though he didn't have a clue as to what. She played with her dress, something he would have thought his sister would do, not his mother.

For a moment she said nothing, shifting in clear discomfort as she tried to think.

"You've been in an accident, Charlie," she said at last. Looking down at her hands as she spoke, a shell of the person the young boy was used to. A boisterous queen who was quick to speak her opinion and gave others little choice in the matter. This, was someone entirely different then the mother he loved.

But she smelled just like her and looked just like her. He forced any negative thoughts from his head, concentrating on his mother and her words, listening closely and with fear. Though he wasn't entirely sure what was happening.

"You took a tumble, and hit your head." She continued with a bit more of a firmer tone of voice. Carrying herself a little stronger this time, though the pain lighting her eyes was still very present. "Things are going to be a little different now, but you will be ok."

She sounded so certain about this, Charlie had no reason to think she was lying.

Even if there was a scent of a lie underlining her voice.

"And you've been asleep for a few days," she said quietly. Continuing to run her fingers through his thick hair, untangling the knots as she went. Her voice was becoming withdrawn, sounding almost absent minded.

It did little to explain any of the pain he had awoken to, but he listened carefully all the same.

For the first time, Queen Veronica turned her gaze from her son's eyes and down at the rest of his small form. Her eyes narrowed with sadness for a short time, she rested the hand not tightly gripped by Charlie on his knee.

"You'll be in pain for a while," she continued in a quiet voice. "And it'll take a while, but you'll get your ability to walk back, eventually." She forced a smile onto her face, though it waivered a little when she managed it at last.

Charlie tried to smile in turn, but found himself unable even to fake one.

Her voice should have instilled Charlie with at least a little happiness. The fact that whilst things may have been bad for now, with little explanation, it was going to get better. But the way his mother spoke made it very much ruined what should have been joyous.

Tilting his head to the side, he looked at his mother. Wanting more than ever to hug her, to hear her tell him that it was going to be ok. In his immaturity he was very much thinking only about himself in that moment. Though he could be forgiven for making it all about him in that moment.

Everything about his world had come tumbling down on his head and he didn't know how to react.

For a little while longer, the queen and her son stayed like this. Veronica ran her eyes across her sons form with a sadness bright in her eyes before she at last stood up. Apparently having decided something, though what Charlie would never know.

"I'm going to leave you to get some rest little one," she said at last. Kissing him a final time on the forehead, before straightening and turning for the door. "Sleep well, I will come back to check on you soon."

Charlie nodded, though he was terrified of what his dreams would greet him with again that night. He quickly became aware of how tired he felt, and how badly every limb seemed to be aching.

He didn't argue, and closed his eyes before she had even closed the door behind her.

Veronica stepped into the outside world, shutting the door quietly behind her. She stood for a moment, leaning against the door she didn't have anything to say. She slid to the ground, landing with a thump on the ground she sat in stiff silence.

Pain lighting her gaze as she thought about what she had agreed to.

Shaking herself, she tried to think about anything else. At least her little boy was alive.

And she was grateful that he hadn't recognised the scent that he was covered in. No matter how hard they had tried to clean it from his skin, it had happened so often that it was at this point irremovable.

Blood.

Or rather the fact that it wasn't his own.