Chapter Text
Designation Update: Per Site Director Leahy’s instructions, SCP-049-3 will be given the new designation of SCP-6830. See SCP Document SCP-6830 for more information.
You could barely move. You didn’t want to move. The only thing that spurred you to try was the ache of your throat and the scratchy pressure around your neck.
Another reason you didn’t want to emerge from the darkness was the fact you were comfortable. You couldn’t remember the last time you were comfortable. You couldn’t remember… much of anything. All you knew was you were lying on a firm mattress, a pillow supporting your head.
You attempted to sit up before your eyes were open, not understanding the urge to move, to get away, but a familiar soothing, mechanical voice spoke to you.
“Do not move, please. You are still healing.”
Gentle hands pushed on your shoulders until you were lying down again, the voice adding, “You have been through quite a trauma.”
It was wishful thinking, your mind playing tricks on you. But when you opened your eyes, 049 was sitting on the edge of the mattress, closely watching you. You were back in 049’s containment cell, lying on his bed and unable to remember how you got there.
You greedily took in the image of the SCP, as if starved of the sight of him. The shock collar had been replaced, as had the chains at his throat, wrists, and ankles, but 049 was otherwise unharmed. Definitely alive, which was more than you’d been expecting.
The relief was flooring and undeniable. 049 was all right. Leahy hadn’t made good on his threats, not yet anyway.
But the relief faded, replaced by something pushing at the edges of your thoughts, brought on by 049’s last words.
And then, it all came flooding back.
You scrambled upright and hunched forward, clutching at your head, breath coming in ragged gasps as you fought against the tide of memories.
The creatures with scythes for arms, typically invisible but made manifest for all to see when you put on the stereoscopic glasses. The security team had descended on them immediately, as if expecting them to appear.
The machine that could refine or degrade any object placed inside, harmless itself but mired in a dark origin that you somehow understood as soon as you saw it. The bloody history arose from it like a stench that only you could smell.
The endless stairwell and what you found at its core—a child that was no longer a child, lost down a normal stairwell that became twisted and anomalous by the child’s terror and eventual death. The Foundation had given you amnestics, but they hadn’t worked.
And then the crying man. You should be dead. Maybe one day, you would be, and he would seek you out to end your life. But you didn’t think so. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you.
Not like the other one. The old man. He’d desired to take you into his realm, but as soon as he’d touched you, the black ooze that covered his skin had receded, and he’d been forced to let go. He wouldn’t easily forget that you were the prey he couldn’t trap.
The sculpture nearly succeeded where the old man had failed.
Your hands went to your throat, fingers trying to tear away the cloth bandage wrapped around it, but that same gentle grip pulled them away before they could cause any harm.
“It was not my intention to upset you,” 049 said, voice low with concern, but you shook your head. Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, all you could do was tremble.
049 released your wrists but his hands remained close, extended and hovering in the air. Any other day, you might have had the strength to resist. But not today.
You took one of 049’s hand and pulled it toward you, gripping it like a lifeline as you pressed your face against his forearm, practically hugging the limb as you tried to find stability. You’d known it could get worse, that Leahy could be so much crueler, but you hadn’t expected him to dump you into the cages of some of the most dangerous SCPs the Foundation possessed.
Holding onto 049 wasn’t nearly enough to stop the horrors flickering behind your eyelids. Your breath hitched as you struggled to breathe, as if your lungs fought against the knowledge they could still draw oxygen. That you still lived, even if you shouldn’t.
You were pulled upright into 049’s arms. He held you against his chest, fingers tentatively brushing your hair, almost meek at first. When he caressed your head fully, without caution or hesitation, your gasping stopped altogether. The terror began to melt away, thawed by the touch. You went nearly boneless in his embrace, forehead resting against his shoulder as you now contended with trying to breathe while surrounded by his warm, soft robes and unique scent. It was clean, almost sanitized like his containment cell, but a hint of musk underneath.
“Physical touch can be quite effective at calming patients, though this is not generally a method I practice,” he said, his words soft due to the close distance. “In this case, I will make an exception. After all, your kind is a social one. They do not fare well in isolation. You are not meant to be alone.”
You closed your eyes, completely absorbed by the gentle stroking of your hair, his other arm across your back.
“Humans?”
He said nothing, only continued to hold and caress you.
049 was very tactile, you were coming to realize. You wouldn’t have expected that from someone whose touch caused instantaneous death, but once he started, he seemed reluctant to stop. It gave you a few blissful minutes as he petted your hair, even venturing further down, just enough to lightly stroke the back of your neck.
You reluctantly pulled away, interrupting the peaceful moment as something else grew within your chest, warm and taut.
“How are you feeling now?” 049 asked once contact was broken. His arms dropped away from your shoulders, but you remained close enough that his proximity was like a constant tingling on your skin.
“Better.” Your voice was a husky rasp, leftover from your injury from 173’s failed attempt to kill you. “Thank you.”
His eyes warmed into a smile. You glanced away, unable to meet his eye for long. Not when he was this close, looking at you that way.
“What about you?” you asked, using the opportunity to visually look him over. “Did they hurt you? What happened after I fell unconscious?”
The shock collar drew your attention before he could answer, and against your better judgement, you reached out a hand, placing it on his chest just below the collar.
“I hate that they found another one of these.”
It was cruel, inhumane. If you could rip off the collar yourself, you would. Your fingers traveled upward, brushing against the cold metal before continuing, your hand coming to rest against the side of his hood where his cheek would be if not covered by the fabric.
His eyes widened at the touch, but then he leaned against your palm the smallest amount.
“I am improved, now that I know what has become of you. I feared you would be punished for what I had done to those jailors. It was not my intention to put you in harm’s way.”
The way you stroked your thumb against the soft fabric of his hood, wishing you could touch his face instead, it was a reckless urge. But the temptation was strong, curiosity along with it. Underneath the maw of his hood was covered in shadow, and you didn’t truly know what his face looked like beyond the chitinous beak.
“They took me for more tests, but that would have happened eventually.” Your voice was unsteady, and not from the subject matter. “It’s not your fault.”
His expression turned mournful, heavy with regret, and you retracted your hand. 049’s hand twitched where it rested on his thigh.
“I cannot help but bear responsibility for what transpired.”
“But you’re not responsible!” You let out a sharp breath, taking the next one in slowly to speak more calmly. “You protected me from the guards, and I’m grateful for that.”
The sorrow didn’t leave his eyes.
“You only drew their ire as a result of my presence," he said, quiet. "Being associated with me, remaining in my cell, it puts you at risk.”
You took his hand, the one that had twitched before, and held it between yours. 049 tilted his head at the contact before meeting your eye, more curious than mournful now. It was an improvement.
“Leahy is to blame for everything,” you growled, the name distasteful on your tongue. “Either directly, or because he placed us in these circumstances. He’s the only one I blame.”
You squeezed his hand in emphasis, just enough for him to feel the pressure, and his fingers twitched again. You held on, curling your fingers around his, and some of the tension left his broad shoulders.
It was a small victory. 049 seemed as responsive to touch as you were, and you filed that away for later.
“Speaking of,” you said, moving the subject forward, “why… am I here?”
049 let out a noise suspiciously close to a snort.
“Those so-called medical practitioners brought you to me for treatment. It was fortunate they did; not only did you sustain a neck injury, but your mind was in a state of extreme exhaustion, and I had to perform a correction to the balance of humors.”
Which was 049-speak for injecting you with all sorts of unknown syringes from his black bag, but regardless, it had worked. You did feel better, aside from the soreness of your neck. You weren’t even thirsty, and there were only small pangs of hunger. Besides the hyperventilation upon waking, you were in a better state that you should be considering the hell the Site Director had put you through.
“May I inquire as to who harmed you so?” he asked with a tilt of his head, his pale eyes descending down your neck. “From the bruising and damage, I would say the goal was to crush your cervical vertebrae.”
It was your turn for your fingers to spasm, but 049 steadied them with his own gloved ones.
“It was 173.”
“Ah,” he said, his eyes narrowing with genuine hostility. “That abomination. The fact you are still alive is no small miracle.”
It continued to slip your mind that 049 would have come into contact with many of the Site-19 SCPs, especially during the infamous containment breach. It wasn’t hard to imagine 173 would have been a considerable threat during that time, even to other SCPs. But 049’s dislike of this particular entity was minute compared to the hungry hatred you’d sensed emanating from 173 seconds before it had struck.
You shuddered.
“It couldn’t kill me. It wanted to, but… it couldn’t.”
You had no idea why you knew that, or what it meant, but it was yet another example of the strange, intuitive thoughts you’d been having lately about the SCPs you come into contact with.
Instead of questioning this, 049 simply said, “Hmm, yes. I suppose it can’t. No more than my touch can harm you.”
You blinked. 049 always proclaimed his touch was a cure, not something to cause harm, and you weren’t sure if this shift was intentionally or subconscious.
You also wanted to ask why it was that he and other SCPs couldn’t seem to kill you, but to your disappointment, 049 removed his hand from between yours, giving one last squeeze before completely letting go.
“Rest, Doctor Reid. You have been through much, and you have still yet to fully recover. I am here should you need anything. Rest.”
You didn’t want rest, you wanted to keep talking, afraid if you closed your eyes, you’d only open them to find him gone. But your eyelids were heavy, your limbs equally so, and you suspected 049 would remain sitting on the edge of the bed, unwilling to move from his vigil while you slept.
Settling further into the bed and moving the pillow until you were comfortable, you held off on sleep until you could pose one last question.
“049?”
“Yes, my dear?”
You could barely see him in the dim light, turned down by the SCP while you had gotten comfortable. All you could catch was the faint outline of his mask, pale and curved.
“How many times did the guards visit you?”
You didn’t need to clarify what they had visited him for.
049 remained perfectly still in the aftermath of your question, his words eventually coming out low and nearly flat.
“Enough for it not to matter.”
Your heart squeezed, painful and too tight. You turned on your side towards him, not close enough to touch, but enough to feel the slope of the mattress dipping under his weight.
“It matters to me,” you whispered. “And I’m glad they won’t be coming back.”
You paused a beat.
“They won’t be coming back, right?”
“No.”
There was that, at least. You didn’t think 049 would want to reanimate the security team, not after he’d ripped them to pieces, but it was worth checking. Harvey and Beaumont had been bad enough without being walking corpses.
“For ones such as them, there is no coming back.”
049’s soft, ominous tone would have made anyone retreat to the nearest exit. You shuddered for a different reason.
Despite your fatigue, sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was filled with tormenting images. A spray-painted face, deceptively playful, followed by the scraping of concrete and rebar against the floor before bright pain exploded up your spine.
You woke with a start, nearly delirious in your exhaustion and fear. A gentle hand rested on your head.
“Shh, I am here,” came 049’s voice in the dark from where he still remained on the edge of the bed. “It was only a dream.”
But it wasn’t, not really. How could it be a dream when it was based in reality?
049 stroked your hair, trying to calm you another way when his words couldn’t do so. You swallowed down your panic, but that didn’t help either.
“Lay down with me.”
His hand froze.
“Are… are you certain?”
049 was unsure in a way he rarely was, and it would have been endearing any other moment.
“Yes,” you whispered. If you’d been more awake, you might have rethought your request. But you desperately needed sleep, and there was only one way you would feel secure enough to seek it again. “Please. I can’t… I need…”
Your voice broke, and your throat was tight as you held back the tears that threatened to spill. You were on the edge of losing control, your tenuous grip on your emotions slipping by the constant battering your body and mind took with each passing day.
049 must have understood; he stared at you for only a few seconds before making up his mind. He laid down beside you, over the blankets but still close enough to feel the heat radiating from his fabric-like skin. You’d expected him to lie on his back, or perhaps face away from you, but he was turned fully toward you and pulled you right up against his chest, arms secure around you.
You shivered, not used to such close contact especially in an intimate setting, but you buried your face into the comforting scent of his robes. You were no longer afraid to close your eyes, familiar heat flooding your body to replace the chill. 049 always had this effect on you, and it had nothing to do with anomalous abilities.
“Thank you.”
Whoever was watching through the cameras would have a front row seat to your need for comfort, perhaps finding you pathetic from the comfort of their office chair, but you were beyond caring. Whatever anyone thought of you didn’t matter when all you could see and hear and feel was the SCP in front of you.
“And… thank you for healing me. I can’t imagine how I would have survived all of this without y… your help.” You stumbled over your words as you corrected them. 049 didn’t need to know how dependent you’d become on him, how his absence for even a few hours was growing harder to bear. Perhaps, it was because whenever you were separated, that’s when Leahy inflicted his worst torments on you, but you suspected there was more beneath the surface. You just didn’t want to look any further.
“You would endure, whether or not I was here,” 049 said, his words tickling your hair. “But whatever you need, I am happy to provide. Taking care of you will never be a burden.”
And just like that, his words shattered whatever flimsy defenses you had tried to build. 049 had a habit of doing that.
You shivered again, your sleep-laden mind traveling to places it shouldn’t, but your body was too tired to do more than grow a little warmer. Sleep was quickly taking you, and you left yourself drift away, your fingers still curled into the edges of his coat. Unwilling to let go, even in sleep.