@ravagingredx  ((I MAY NOT BE THE BEST ARTIST-

but i can draw grant wilson in a dress

Grant was still.

The only indicator that he was very much alive was the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

After a few more moments, the peacefulness of his form was shattered as his breath hitched in his throat and a raspy scream tore out of his throat as he bolted up into a sitting position. His whole body trembled as he sat there, staring blankly at the opposite wall, not even noticing he wasn’t alone in the room.

Slade jumped at the scream, not expecting his son to wake up so soon, if at all.

Slade took a deep breath, and mentally prepared himself for what was likely going to be the hardest conversation of his life.

Send me 💀 to have a dead character my muse knew to come back to life.

Slade stared at the sleeping man before him.

This couldn’t be possible.

Yet it was. 

Grant was there, breathing, laying in a bed, his face calm and peaceful, his blond hair falling around his face. 

His son was alive.

And he had a second chance.

But would Grant even let him take it? The boy had been so headstrong, so independent. 

And God, how was he going to tell the boy about his brother? About Adeline? About the little sister he didn’t know he had?

How was he going to tell him that he died? That their family was gone? 

He hung his head, tempted to just leave, but he couldn’t do that. 

He wasn’t going to abandon his son.

Slade stared in shock at the young man before him. 

It couldn’t be. Grant was dead.

But there he was, looking the same as he did years ago.

His voice came out weaker than he would have liked, “Grant? Is that really you?”