Peter Wiggins' POV:
I woke up in a body bag.
At first I was like: woah, I'm not dead. That's pretty cool. But then I realized where I was and I was like: woah, I'm in a body bag... Not so cool.
After that, the only thing I could focus on was panic.
My hands struggled with the plastic surrounding me and I took a stale breath, trying to calm myself down.
For a moment it seemed as if I would suffocate. It surely felt that way. Oxygen failed to reach my lungs and my voice became strangled as I shouted.
No one came.
Taking my final breath, I clutched the material of the bag between my fists and yanked with all of my might. There was a tearing sound as the plastic ripped. Relief coursed through my veins as I pushed my way out, taking deep breaths and trying to slow my pulse.
"Oh god." I gasped. "Woah, ok. I'm alive. Ok. It worked. It worked." It was strange to hear my voice out loud. It was hoarser than I was expecting.
I stilled, sweat pouring down my face, my hands a chaffing mess, my stomach aching for some weird reason.
"It worked." I frowned, looking down at my abdomen, trying to understand why it hurt so much. There were surgical scars mapping across my pale skin, perfectly cut and sewn back together.
The panic I had managed to squelch returned. I choked back a scream and looked frantically around, my eyes landing on a table near me.
There were plastic boxes.
There were plastic boxes with things in them.
I knew what those were, but I didn't want to look.
Forcing myself to stand, I slowly made my way towards the plastic containers. My blood froze as I neared one and saw what was in it.
It was a human heart.
There was a label on the side and with shaky hands, I picked it up and read it.
Name: Peter Bartholomew Wiggins
Age at Time of Death: 19
Underneath that I read the date of death.
Four months? I had been dead for four months?
My fingers trembled and I returned the box to the table.
This was my heart. That box contained my heart.
I shivered and pressed my palm to my chest, feeling for a heartbeat. It was faint at first, but it was definitely there.
My eyes widened. Then that means...
I looked at the other boxes, locating a pair of lungs, my pancreas, liver, intestines.
I almost threw up at the thought of doctors performing surgery to remove my organs.
That's why it had taken so long, I thought. Of course it would take four months! I had to regrow everything. Kyna would have scolded me for being so stupid, but-
"Kyna!" I hissed, smacking my forehead with the heel of my hand.
I had been completely immobilized, unable to help the person I cared about the most. For all I knew, Kyna Holmes was dead and Jim Moriarty had succeeded.
I hoped with all of my new heart that this wasn't true.
I tripped as I made my way towards the door and my hand caught on the knob. Pulling myself up, I realized another rather somewhat important detail.
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