Work Text:
It’s not until much later —
(But not too much later, not when every breath brings him closer to his end, when reality bends and twists around him, when blood drip drip drips from every seam —)
it’s not until much later that he remembers the skeleton, the one that shouldn’t move and yet did.
He remembers the picture from the hangar, the horror of not-quite-human figures, the shouting about radiation.
X-ray images.
It’s not that strange for a skeleton to move, not if it’s still inside something alive.
Not that it matters anymore because there is no later, not for him.