Chapter Text
His first death was from the gas.
It didn’t affect him as it did the others, when it came down like hellfire through the skylights, raining daggers of glass that ripped through his arms and lodged in his skull. No, it was so much worse for him, in his fragile body that regenerated much like any normal human’s did, with his humanoid lungs that breathed by instinct. A gasp of shock, and he inhaled, and burned. His nerves were on fire, he burned he burned he burned he burned -
He was choking, gasping for air and drowning in his own dissolving flesh. It hurt, it hurt, it HURT, and he was only barely aware enough to see the Scaldra enter, and begin firing on the figures around the seemingly abandoned mall, but he was more than present enough to feel the bullets rip through his skin, his muscles, his bones, his organs, his muscles, his bones, his skin-
And like his lungs, by instinct, he rejected this ending.
Again.
His second was much the same.
Again.
His third was much the same.
AGAIN.
His fourth… They had realized then, on some level, what was happening. The loop was odd like that, granting anyone who interacted with him an awareness of previous timelines. He’d never really tested how much they knew. He hadn’t wanted to.
The fourth time, the rest of the Hex scattered to the more protected areas before the gas canisters fell, slipping on masks, calling for him. He didn’t move from where he kneeled, hands on knees, waiting, waiting for the phantom agonies to dissipate. He could still… Feel. The glass in his skin. Feel the way his body burned, feel the way a sword ripped through his heart with every beat. This… No. This was not the story. Centuries on centuries had honed his capacity with time. He knew now that each reset was definite, and he could never reach forward once he’d gone back. He knew now that pain was… An annoyance, at best, a distraction at worst. He’d survive this, like he always had.
The fourth time, he locked this sub-loop to the moment he stood up to face the commander, sliding down on a rope, surrounded by infantry. He met her eyes, felt her hatred, her… confusion, her fear. Yes, he’d meet her glare, and nod in greeting. When she raised her gun and fired, and when the bullet punctured his skull…
Again.
She’d been about to land upon his reset, heeled feet a meter from hitting ground, so when the loop came… She let go. Barely managing to grab onto it again, all around her her soldiers facing the same dissonance. They’d get used to it.
Behind him, he heard confused gasps as even the members of the Hex found themselves reset, guns holstered, blades sheathed, bodies returned to where they’d been five seconds ago. In Amir’s case, it was quite the change. He’d nearly been to the drifter’s side, reaching to drag him back to safety. Now, he stumbled, hitting and tripping over one of the many little concrete flower boxes. That… He noted, would be something to watch out for. He’d not loop them into perpetual injury. No, he… Knew how much that hurt. Phantom pains were bad enough.
The drifter turned back to the Scaldra just in time to catch a fist to the face. He felt his nose crunch, pain blooming like flowers as he spun and fell, hitting the cement with an audible crack. It sent him reeling, but he wasn’t… Dead. Yet. He didn’t have to be dead to loop, but…
“WHAT IS THIS.” The major’s accented voice roared, barely audible through the ringing in his ears. “What sort of Entrati BULLSHIT IS THIS?”
He looked up, meeting her gaze through a haze of pain. “Cons…” He coughed over the words, blood filling his mouth. It still hurt to speak, his throat still scalded and filled with boils as his flesh rejected the air… No. No. That wasn’t real. “Consider this a… lesson-”
He didn’t get the opportunity to finish his sentence, the rest of the sound cut off and strangled as she grabbed him around the throat, heaving him to eye level. Oh Sol, his head was spinning. She was yelling something at him, then staring, expecting a response. It took him a moment to try and parse through the noise, and that was a moment she was not at all willing to spare as she ROARED. The world spun, light and shadows flashing as he fell again, and PAIN. Her clawed hand ripping through his chest as he hit the ground. Familiar agony, his heart stuttering and thrashing between her fingers, a spasm slamming his head against the concrete again. It hurt it hURT IT HURT-
AGAIN!
He stumbled where he stood, collapsing to one knee. The major slid down the rope. Screamed at him, desperation starting to bleed into her voice. Stormed over, grabbed him. Lifted him. What was she saying? Same as before. What was happening. What had he done. He smiled. She headbutted him. He saw stars, eyes rolling upwards in his skull. This was… bad, he needed time for the deaths to unwind from around his soul, he needed more…. more time… She dropped him. Shot him once, twice, seven times, screaming.
Again.
He needed to reach back farther, he thought, as one of the Scaldra troops kneed him in the stomach, dropping him to his knees, cocking its shotgun, placing the cool metal against his skull. More yelling, demanding answers. Again, he smiled, finding them, forcing them out through a shattered jaw, through charred skin and twisted flesh. “New.. Years.” The major stopped, staring at him with a look that seemed incredulous, the metal against his head faltering. He didn’t know what the other members of the Hex were doing, didn’t quite care at the moment, so long as they were alive.
“We die at new years,” The drifter continued, voice slurred. “Come back then.”
The shotgun went off.
AGAIN.
He gasped, keeling over in his rooms, heaving deep, desperate breaths of fire into his lungs, tears beading at the corners of his eyes from the lingering effects of the gas, heart struggling, beating, faltering, spine severed by a thousand strikes through it, legs useless, hands trembling. It hurt it hurt it hurt it HURT IT HURT IT HURT IT HURT IT HURT iT
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. He’d… He’d been through worse. He’d… Tried to escape, way back when. He could still feel that grass beneath his fingertips, the way the wind touched his cheeks. Could still feel the first time he’d lost control of the looping, too scared of the pain to think straight. Died again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Mere seconds between each blow of the blade, until he’d lost enough of himself to ignore the agony and correct it.
This… Was nothing, he promised himself, forcing himself to his hands and knees, coughing up the nothing that was filling his lungs, blinking away the nothing that burned his eyes, forcing himself to roll back and sit on his heels. Forcing himself to wrap broken fingers around shattered knees. Breathe. Breathe. It happened once, it happened again. That was life, everything echoed.
Amir was the first to him, taking in the sweat that dripped down his face, and grabbed him by the shoulders. Shook him. Sent shocks of overstimulation down his spine, stopping only when he managed a wince. Was he… Talking? Yeah.
“Ten minutes.” The drifter offered. “Till… They come again.”
Amir quieted, and he opened his eyes briefly enough to see the look of horrified concern on the young man’s face. He didn’t deserve all this, poor kid.
“Then we prepare.” A deeper voice, husky and soft with… That same concern. Again, the drifter peeled his scalded eyelids apart to look, light coalescing into Arthur's form… Yeah. Yeah, no, he hated the expression he saw there, too. He didn’t deserve their pity. Didn’t want it, either.
So, he gets up, heaving himself with a grunt to his feet. “We prepare,” He agrees, blinking away the haze, shrugging off the hand still on his arm that had helped him rise. “Eventually, they’ll learn their lesson. It's not like they can kill me harder than they already have, so we’ll call this a war of attrition. Or something.”
“What’s going on? And… Can't we just… Leave?” Another voice, a woman’s, soft and light. Aoi. Worried. Damnation, they needed to stop with that.
“Figure that’d be smartest, wit the way things keep goin’.” That was Quincy. Were they all here? He hoped not. Couldn’t they just-
“Marty, are we stuck in this building?” Arthur again, and the drifter focuses… With some trouble.
“No. But they’ll keep coming until they get it.”
“Get… What? That you’re some… time god, or something?” Amir. Who earned himself a raised brow or a side glance from everyone in the room, Lettie and Eleanor filing in together.
“Again, no.” How to explain. He found himself… still lost in the before, the now subtly still slipping like sand through his fingers. “They… have a part to play, and this isn’t it. They cannot be here. They’re… Improvising, and not in a good way. Its...”
He cut himself off, because… That, from their reaction, had been the wrong thing to say. Like a physical wall had been manifested, he could see them shuttering off. It took all his will to avoid creating another loop and try that again, because… They’d have realized, and it would have made things worse.
But… It was… True, though. They weren’t supposed to be here, in this area. This was a safe zone. Like Teshin’s cave. It was supposed to be beyond their reach. It had to be, or he’d never be able to rest. It had to be safe. He’d make it safe, no matter the cost. For himself. For them. They’d understand. They did, on some level, he was sure, but…
“And… If the rest of us “improvise” in a bad way? Have you done this before?” Lettie, making air quotes with her fingers, staring at him with a wary gaze. Damnation.
“I don’t think you can,” He admitted, rubbing the side of his jaw. Focusing on the soft scratchiness of the stubble that refused to remain shaved, instead on the way they looked at him. Instead of his heartbeat. Sol, they… Needed to stop looking at him. “It’s… hard to explain. But… I’m… Look. They’re just as aware of time jumps as you are, alright? I can’t hide the spirals. You’d know. Because you know me.”
As always, it was Amir who broke the ensuing silence first, with a drawn out ‘hmm.’ “Soo~o… Uhh… Back on track. You’re planning to just… Keep them in some crazy time loop until they stop trying to attack our base? So we don’t have to leave?”
A nod. That was his plan, more or less. And very clearly, the rest of them didn’t like it at all.
Silence. Shared looks between them, and he stood there… Waiting.
“Look. Marty. I don’t think anyone here could stop you, so we won’t.” Arthur sighed, “But whatever bullshit you’ve got going on, just don’t overdo it, alright? We’ve all got eyes, and I don’t think Lettie can fix…” He drew off, gesturing with his mutated hands towards the drifter in a sort of flicking way.
“I’ll be alright. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He affirmed. To them, and to himself. Part of him… Some small, cowardly part of him, curled up against the oncoming pain, wanting so badly to take their suggestion and just leave. What could it hurt, in the grand scheme.
It was the part of him that wanted so badly to just… Give up. The part of him that had always yearned to just lay down and let Thrax do whatever it wanted with him. To stop choosing, to stop wanting, to stop feeling all the emotions that had finally begun to return to his heart. It wanted so badly to shatter and be broken.
But he couldn’t.
He wasn’t allowed to do that, when there were so few who could do what he could. It was his duty, his responsibility. That was what his power was for, and cowardice had no place. So he’d do what he must. He had to be sure that they knew he’d do anything to keep them safe, to preserve what they cared for. They could trust him. They’d have to, in the oncoming months, so... Sol, they were looking at him again. Pity. They asked if they could help. He told them to stay out of sight, so they wouldn’t be hurt.
--
He sat in the desolate common space, waiting, idly swinging one leg, the other tucked up beneath his free arm. It was a fine place for this sort of fight, will against will, he thought. He anchored himself there, memorizing this moment. Sitting on the stage, waiting, listening to the screaming roar of planes overhead, the rapid heartbeat thumping of helicopters flying low. The drifter lifts a hand to his chest, fabric curling beneath his fingers as he presses down. Like it would do anything to erase that phantom agony. A sword, stabbing through him. Over. And over. And over. And-
And the skylight shattered, the Major and her troops swinging down, turning to look at him. She shot him before he could blink.
Again.
And the skylight shattered, the Major and her troops swinging down, already looking at him. He couldn’t see her mouth, or most of the soldier’s faces, but her snarl was more than visible in her eyes.
She shot him again.
Again.
“STOP THIS.” She roared, swinging down, staring at him. She landed fully this time, storming towards him. “Whatever you’re doing. Stop it immediately, and maybe I won't kill you this time, you miserable WRETCH.”
“Come back on New Years-” was all he managed to get out before his head was blasted off.
Again.
They slid back down.
“New years.” She said before he could, stalking closer, “Fucking New Years? What, are you having some sort of party? Going to take us all along to the Emerald City?”
“The nuclear reactor will explode, see,” He explained calmly, opening his hands. “So we’ll all be dead. Until then, stay away from this area. That is all.”
He barely had time to react before he was hit with a vial of Efervon gas, and his body exploded with pain, flesh corroding, lungs on FIRE-
Again.
He coughed and hacked out the memory, as she slid down and that… That got her smiling. It sent chills down his spine.
“Now that is interesting,” She mused, stalking towards him again. “It almost seems like you’ve got some… Lingering effects. I wondered earlier if that was what was happening, but~ Well. Now I’m curious.”
“I’d tell you all about it,” He laces his fingers across the knee he left curled in, looking up as she stood just before him, hands on hips, “But I’m afraid I’d need more sticks of charcoal than I’ve got to dumb it down to your level.”
Her claws punctured both eye sockets, ripping through his brain in a blink.
Again.
It took all he had to not shudder, to not rub the phantom pain out of his eyes as she slid down.
“You’re stuck here, you know.” He sighs as she once again stalked up, her soldiers hesitantly touching down. Uncertain. “Until you promise.”
“What, until I promise to leave an active terrorist base alone?” She snapped, rolling her eyes. “You’re insane.”
The drifter shrugged. “Basically, yeah. Maybe to both points. Then again, I mean, if we leave, we’re fair game, but… While we’re in this building…” He gestures around at the area, and shrugs.
She stared at him, blinking slowly, brows lifted. In all respects, it was a good deal. Maybe she’d take it.
“And you won’t just…undo it,” A circly spin of a clawed finger. “If any of these…” She gestured over her shoulder at the rest of the mall, using her chin, “ Freaks happen to die while they’re out?”
“They need to survive until New Years,” He nods, setting both feet flat on the ground, pointing at her with his laced fingers. Every heartbeat. Hurt. “So I will absolutely do that. Sorry-not-sorry.
More silence, and she crossed her arms. Amazing how well she could avoid stabbing herself with those claws. “...I find myself tempted to see how long your will lasts, dog. Dedicant?” Damn.
A heavily armored trooper, positively swaddled in efervon bubble-wrapping, marched forward, and set into her outstretched hand a heavy gun. She cocked it. It seemed… Familiar. Horribly familiar, with the way the efervon vials sloshed. A gas based weapon, not one that’d kill him fast. It’d hurt, whatever it was, and…
And he beat her to the punch, ripping his pistol from his belt, barrel hitting the softer point between throat and chin, and firing. Vaporizing his own head with a beam of focused energy, sourced from his soul.
Again.
She slid down, looking… almost impressed, and he blinked away the lingering shocks of pain that lanced through his system.
“A war of attrition,” He says, opening his arms as someone aimed, and a shotgun blast gutted him.
Again.
Her claws through his skull.
Again.
A bullet through his chest.
Again.
Efervon eating through his skin.
Again.
Agony. His blood rained on the techrot growths behind him, making them gurgle and shift.
Again.
It hurt. His bones shattered by an explosive blast.
Again.
It really hurt.
Again.
He wanted to curl up and cry, but-
Blades.
Again.
She was growing frustrated, and-
Acid.
Again.
He could see her losing patience-
Acid again.
Again.
And he was slipping, the pain dulling to a faint haze-
His organs, splayed across the floor where he could see them.
Again.
But that was alright, because if it kept them safe-
An electrical something, overclocked, stopping his heart.
Again.
He’d sit here until the moon was ripped from orbit-
Did it matter? How he died?
Again.
And he smiled as she killed him, opening his arms, welcoming-
No.
Again.
Laughing, softly at first, then louder, the pain never pausing, every echo compounding in on itself-
Again.
She was snarling, hateful, desperate, but what could she do-
Again.
He’d been through all this before. She was no worse than Thrax-
Again.
No worse than the monsters he himself had made-
Again.
He was a drifter, a nobody, no King, no God, but-
Again.
Sol above, it was good to see her growing desperate-
Again.
Scream. Cry. It didn’t matter. Ten seconds. That was all he allowed her-
Again.
Perhaps he was a King of this tiny domain. Even if she didn’t kill him this time, he reset everything anyway. Even if it meant that, since he wasn’t dead, they’d feel ALL of it, their memories as pure as his, bodies jerked back in time painfully-
Again.
His domain. His domain. His. He was the one with the power here, even as she ripped his throat from his neck-
Again.
He grinned at her frustration as she slid down, her soldiers not even coming through the glass anymore, remaining in their ships. What was the point? He hit his fist against the stage-
Again.
She grasped the rope tight, not sliding. Climbing. Coward-
Again.
Again.
Again .
No time for her to recover from the shocks that heralded a reset as her nervous system rewound rapid fire, he laughed, lounging backwards, as she lost her grip on the rope, fell, body shattering like fired clay against the concrete-
Again.
Yes, this was his domain. He was the King here. She deserved this. Her troops deserved this. And… Something… Reached out to him. Touched his mind, he was only faintly aware of it. Was it trying to be… delicate? Regardless. Let it come. Let it see-
Again.
It felt good. Sol above, it felt so good, the words slipping from his lips in a language he’d never learned, the language of the power he used. The power that was his. The touch came again, and recoiled away as if burned, scalded by centuries of death-
Again.
Duviri was his, he’d made it. His own personal heaven, his own personal hell. Owned every inch by him and him alone. He’d given it up.. Why? Bah. Who cared. For now… This… He could do with this. These were his subjects now, weren’t they, ruled from his throne upon this stage-
Again.
She didn’t even come down this time, terrified, he could feel her, sense her, SEE Her, in front of him, saying something, begging with her hands up, five seconds between resets now, death? Why die? Why suffer ever again? They would bend to his rules. His whims. They would understand him. His pain. His power. It was his story, it…
Movement. Something brushing against his mind again. He hesitated…
Again .
Something was off, this time. He was struck with… A feeling. Something… Heavy. Suffocating his thoughts, like a cloth pressed over his mouth.
Something… He could feel… The major didn’t… What was this…? Who… Dared? His hand lifted, fingers making a fist... And the heavy feeling grew razor sharp, puncturing through the haze like a bullet through tissue paper.
The drifter doubled over and SCREAMED, Eleanor’s claws sinking deep into his psyche, his body twisting, muscles spasming as she fought him for control of his mind, ribs popping out of place under the force of his own spastic contractions. Blinding sound, voices, then hands, arms, far stronger than his own, clasping around his body and holding him, immobilizing him in a hold that shocked his nerves into submission. No. Tried to, it was too weak to last more than a moment. He writhed in that vice grip, until it shocked him again, all his muscles going stiff, vision going white. He… He couldn’t… He was unable to focus, unable to think, everything hurt, everything was AGONY, the hands in his head, around his head, pressure on his temples, on his brain, pulling him with force back into the present, back to the pain he’d tried so hard to ignore, to stop feeling. He didn’t- He was sobbing, he fought to stay away, aloof, every heartbeat STABBING through his body oh void oh void it hurt it hurt so much, he could see them, see their faces, their pain, their desperation, his fault, please start again start again start again please please oh mother please-
One final push from Eleanor, one final shove, and his body and mind connected fully. Locking together, like they were supposed to, every defense and protection he had from his own actions and the accrued pain picked apart by her power. It was too much, far, far too much, even for him. And… And he fell. Vision going black, body falling utterly limp.
--
It took him some time to wake up.
He didn’t want to, was the problem. It was… So much easier to drift, curled up in the blackness. It was… Quiet, here. Peaceful. Painless. He could… Ignore the shame. For… just a little while.
But reality was insistent. It always was. He hated it for that. Reality always had a way of worming through the best of his illusions. All of his stories. It just… Kept coming. An extra child in the classroom. An extra face in the crowd, smiling with eyes like obsidian. Reality came like chains from the heavens. Like another soul, linked to his own. Like a meteor. Like… Right now, it came like a voice. Soft. He couldn’t quite tell what it was saying. Something… meaningless. Some… story. All stories were meaningless. Just ways to run away. Ways to flee inevitable reality, for a little while. The voice… was consistent. Rambling on and on. Didn’t seem… Hateful. Or… spiteful.
Odd. Was he… Hallucinating it..? No.
“Anyway,” It was… slightly nasally, soft, as if the speaker wasn’t really trying to disturb. Just… Talking. Only vaguely did he understand it, his thoughts flowed like molasses, his comprehension matching its pace. “In BattleGear Four, the whooole story gets way more clear, because- remember how I told you about that one group who tried to overthrow the government? Well- in Four, you play as Agent Fox- Remember him? I think I mentioned him when I told you about BattleGear Two, he was the guy with the crrraazy hair and like, no moral code to speak of, unless of course you were rich, in which case his morals were whatever yours were- anyway, so Fox, and he goes and needs to infiltrate that group because now he’s starting to learn how to have morals, and-”
His ears were ringing, just a little. But… It was… Nice. To hear the flow of the words. It was something soft to come back to. Perhaps reality wasn’t so scary, just yet.
“So you get into their secret base after that, and its like, huge, especially since this was the 1980’s, right, so they really struggled with making big games, but boy did they try, and you’ve gotta see the lighting it’ll blow your mind- well maybe not your mind because you’ve probably got wayyy cooler games- I’ll ask you about those later-”
He wandered along with the voice, considering as he became aware of his own breath, filling his lungs, emptying them. Filling… Emptying. Did he… Have… Games? Komi didn’t count. Sol, he hated Komi. But… He’d… Known about… Some. Like that silly little one, Frame Fighter. Ordis had told him about that with some embarrassment, but… If the.. Cephalon liked it, well. The drifter had gone out of his way to find and collect every character he could, for Ordis’s sake. Maybe… Maybe the speaker would enjoy playing with Ordis.
What was the speaker’s name… Where.. Was he?
He lifted his hand to rub his eyes, hoping to ground himself… But no. Wait. What? His fingers only twitched, the absolute extent of his current ability… Odd, and the speaker paused mid-way through his in-depth description of the full hierarchy of the enemy forces.
“Oh. Oh! You’re awake! Wait, uhh… You’re… Yeah don’t try and move too much, Lettie had you tied down so you’d stop punching people. You should have seen Quincy’s face, I think you like, broke his nose last time. It was WILD!”
He’d… What? Last time? He hadn’t… When? He fought. Fought… Harder. Summoned every… Every ounce of effort, a muted panic thrumming through his chest. Tied down? He’d hurt people? What? What was…
He opened his eyes, and… Immediately shut them again. That… Hurt.
Amir must have seen his attempt and following wince, because the man immediately made an ‘OH!’ and a crackling of lightning heralded his quick trip to the light switch (bless him, he turned it off) and then right back. “Better?”
The drifter… managed an undignified grunt. It’d have to do for now. Another attempt, eyes fluttering open with difficulty. Yes, that was better, and he managed a bleary stare in Amir’s direction. The lad was… Not as… Angry as he should be.
“Sorry about, uh… Waking you up. Got real bored since I haven’t had any missions for a day or two and I just had to tell someone something, and you were right there, so like, I dunno.”
Amir seemed… Chipper. Not scared, though he’d learned by now the lad could hide it shockingly well, but the way that he rocked back and forth in his chair didn’t seem like a nervous tick. Chipper, upbeat, and… healthy enough, he supposed. He even had the gall to throw the drifter a smile when he saw him looking, which… Well. That was infectious.
“I dont… Mind.” He managed, his throat feeling like it was full of glass. Sounded like it too, from the way Amir winced, and then zipped off, and… Returned walking at normal speed so he wouldn’t spill, carrying a glass of water. Aand… Hesitated, taking in the fact that yes, the drifter was still strapped down by his limbs, and laying down, and therefore couldn’t drink shit. Amir chewed his lip, ‘hmmn’-ing as he did, and, “You’re not going to punch me, are you?”
“I… No…?”
“Good! Great, actually! The others wanted to talk to you when you woke up, but I was all like, nooo, he needs someone he likes to wake up to, or he’s gonna start decking people again, and like, Sol, you got Quincy good. Totally shoulda recorded that,” Amir chirped, all too friendly as he quickly undid the simple, soft restraints.
Dread pooled in his stomach. “Have I… Been awake before..?” He asks softly, and Amir nodded. A little more serious this time.
“Y’woke up twice, I think, you don’t remember? Just like yesterday. You were up for a couple minutes, yelling something about those uhhh… What did you call em? Eh, whatever, y’thought we were coming to drag you off or whatever until Lettie knocked you out again. She’s an angel, lemme tell ya.” An utter storm of words, as he helped the drifter up a little further in the bed, stuffing pillows behind him. “First time we had no idea you were up until you’d snuck out of bed. That was when you hit Quincy, ‘cause he tried to grab you. Total newb move.”
Now he actually could rub his eyes, and he did, pinching at the bridge of his nose and massaging it. Digging his fingertips into the corners of his eyelids. He’d… He didn’t have time to think about it, because warm hands grabbed his shaking ones and then promptly stuffed the cool cup full of water in them. He nearly dropped it, but Amir helped balance it until he’d mentally parsed through the sudden motions. Yet... All he could do was stare at it, for the moment. His haggard reflection, more of a silhouette than anything, backlit by the soft blue neons that lined the back of the room. He pressed his eyes shut. He’d rather not see himself right now.
A faint knocking, and footsteps, heralded two new arrivals.
The drifter wanted to vanish. He could do that, now, he probably should have, no, what he should have done was summon his frame, back during his idiotic, hairbrained plan to drive away the Scaldra. It might have galvanized them to bring greater forces, sure, but it also might have scared them off if he’d been able to kill enough of them. Should have… Shouldn’t have… Let himself get lost. Again. What had he been thinking.
“Dios Mio, about time he’s awake properly,” Lettie sighed, tutting as she strode closer. “He is, isn’t he, Amir? You’re lucky I’m not the one punching you for letting him up.”
“He was thirsty!” Amir complained, but Lettie merely waved him off, rolling her eyes, as she gently took the drifter’s chin in one hand and tilted it up. He complied, straightening his back a little as she examined him. She pulled out a small flashlight, shining it across both eyes, then let go of his chin as she checked both sides of his neck, pressing into various spots, lips set, and then taking one of his hands and pressing a thumb against the inside of his wrist. He... Had no idea what she was doing, or what she was checking, but he let her do it anyway. If this was how she wanted to deal with him, he'd take it.
Movement caught his eye as she wrapped something dark around his arm, and began inflating it, ordering him softly to relax. It was vaguely uncomfortable, but… A little kuaka jumped onto his lap, squeaking softly… No. No, that… Was called a mouse. Or… A rat? One was probably a sub-species of the other. He lifts his free hand to pet its tiny head. These were Lettie’s, and he lets it distract him as she sets his arm down and looks him over disapprovingly.
“Your vitals seem… Okay. Blood pressure is low, but other than that, you’re fine. Stay here anyway, until you’re sure you’re feeling yourself again.”
He nodded. What else was he supposed to do?
“So.” A deeper voice from the doorframe. Arthur. He stepped in, and gestured with his chin to get Amir out. The younger man saluted, and left. “Want to explain what that all was? In your own words.”
And here was the fun part. He opened his mouth, pulling his arms into his stomach, cradling the mug like something precious, and then shut his mouth. What could he even say? ‘Oh, I’m sorry, pain makes me a little bit funny on Wednesdays. You remember that Thrax guy I said was such a nightmare? Guess who he’s made in the image of!’ Yeah, no.
So… He turned his head away. “I’m sorry.” He offered. “I…” Sol. What did he even say? What did Arthur want to hear? How could he possibly salvage such a horrible mistake. He wanted them to trust him, but…
“We know some of it.” Arthur lifted a hand, softening his tone, likely sensing the drifter’s struggle. “Eleanor… Said she felt… A lot of pain, when she connected with your mind, but also something very wrong, and you sure as hell weren’t acting like yourself. So.” He marched forward, and set his hands on the end of his bed, leaning close and looking him in the eyes. “What happened?”
He winced away, breaking eye contact, thumbs running over the flat, smooth surface of the ceramic. “I dont know what to tell you. I thought she’d… Lose her nerve faster. They usually do.”
“You thought she’d lose her nerve faster.” He repeated flatly, studying him from behind quite the frown, and then sighed deeply. “Look. Marty. Or… Whatever your actual name is. I won’t lie to you. What you did worked, her gaudy ass hasn’t been back, and we’ve caught orders to leave this area alone on comms, but it also hurt. I’m sure you’re well aware of what it feels like, but don’t ever,” He stabbed a finger against the drifter’s chest, earning a genuine wince. A phantom lance. Not that Arthur knew. “-Ever do that to us again. Not without some serious express permission. It was fine, sure, the first twenty times, but it got bad. Aoi was throwing up for an hour or two after we finally took you down. Got it?”
He nodded, drawing his knees up to his chest, sipping his water. It did feel good to drink, and eventually Arthur got tired of staring at him once he was silent for long enough. A quick grind of heel on tile as he pivoted, and marched out. Lettie followed, leaving him alone, stewing in his uneasy silence. The drifter wasn’t at all sure if this could count as a success or not. He’d… He’d protected them from the Scaldra, hopefully for the foreseeable future, yes, but… This did not feel at all like a victory should have. He’d hurt his… Were they… friends? Could they ever be, after something like this?
Sol, how could he possibly fix this.