Work Text:
THE STORY
His ears were ringing, head pounding like he had just slammed it into a wall. His breath was coming fast, rushing in and out of his lungs, scraping in his throat, chilling his teeth. It felt like his heart was shuddering in his chest - not beating - trembling. Vaguely, he was aware that his hands were shaking, his legs were slumping, losing all strength, his whole body was filled with tremors. There were people around him, saying too many words and talking too much and not doing enough.
Nothing passed through his mind. His only perception of his body was the pure sensation he was struggling to process. No thoughts. No knowledge of words or time or anything of the sort. Xisuma finally came back to his senses. Cliche enough, but it felt like he had spent years in that chair, shaking and crying and… Well, he deserved a breakdown.
He glanced wearily around the room, but it was cut off completely from anything that would tell him the time. He had forgotten to strap on his watch today. It had made him late to several of his meetings, including this visit. This horrible visit that he truly wished he would have never attended. But then again, at least now he knew, even if knowing was the heaviest weight he had ever had to bear.
A nurse ran to grab him a glass of water at his request. His mouth was terribly dry and after that weeping he knew he had done from the itchy tear tracks on his cheeks, he figured he was dehydrated. He would be of no use to anyone if he was stuck in the private hospital getting fluids when he had other tasks to complete.
The doctor made his way back in a few moments after the nurses cleared the room out. Xisuma was more than a little miffed that the man had just dropped the worst news of his life and then left him to deal with it. He distinctly remembered the man backing out of the room as his heart had started to speed up.
“Just a couple of formalities,” The doctor said in a stiff, emotionless tone, “Some paperwork. You need to schedule another appointment soon. I’m referring you to the treatment technicians for discussion on what your further steps should be. Once you’re done settling that with the nurse at the desk, you are free to leave Mr. Void.”
It was an uncharacteristically nasty thought that had Xisuma gleeful that the man would no longer be his doctor. Maybe it was leftover shock from the news. Maybe his unbending, almost inhuman, nature that had made Xisuma so uncomfortable with his operation.
He stumbled his way through scheduling yet another appointment. He wasn’t feeling entirely present. Who would blame him for it? He drifted out of the building and to his car. Once the doors were locked, he just sat in the driver’s seat, not making any move other than tilting his head back and letting tears roll down his face again.
He was dying.
It was official now. The doctors had done their tests, poked and prodded and looked around for any other solutions to the problem.
Xisuma was dying and there was no cure.
There were treatments, ways to make him live just a bit longer, ways to keep his body from deteriorating and being in debilitating pain, but he had a terrible, terminal illness. It was just a matter of time.
He leaned forward, slamming his hands into his steering wheel. Once, twice, and then a third, accidentally honking his horn. He screamed. There was nothing else to do. He let it out, muffled against his hand so no one would come to his car and investigate.
When he had finished, he took a deep breath, smoothing his features and wiping his tears. It would be alright. He would be fine. He drove away, back to the office. He had so much work to get done and so little time to do it. His tears had dried by the time he was five minutes down the road.
His face had returned to its normal color by the time he was a few minutes out from his office. His expression was smooth and unbreakable by the time he hit the security checkpoint. He didn’t have the energy to really chat with the security officer like he normally did when he handed over his work badge.
By the time he had parked in the lot and pulled a coat over his normal clothes, no one would be able to tell anything had happened. He ducked his head and cut through the chilly wind as he trekked to his building.
He passed by a few people, his coworkers but not his better friends, waving and doing all the normal motions. It still felt normal, like nothing had changed at all, but Xisuma knew better. His entire world had shifted entirely, he was viewing it through a whole new lens. The world looked grimmer now that he knew he would be in it for far less time than he had originally planned for.
He made it to his private workshop, locking the door behind himself. The room was a mess, papers and machines and all sorts of random projects that looked like junk were strewn about. Some people said that it looked like a tornado had swept through, but Xiusma knew that it was organized chaos.
Xisuma had - what? - two months, a few more? He needed to set everything in order, lay out his whole mind and his creative process, he needed to make sure that everything could be understood. He didn’t want to leave his friends without his notes, without a way to figure out what he had been thinking, just in case he left anything unfinished. The last thing he would want to wish upon the people he left behind was to leave them unprotected.
That was his job after all, designing and building the perfect support items, armor, and weapons for the heroes of Hermitcraft. They had such a large, bustling community, so full of life and desire. It felt like the city lived and breathed as a whole being, so lit up and bright with joy. Of course, there were the troublemakers and disasters that came about, and it was X’s job to protect those who protected others.
He couldn’t leave them empty handed.
—
It helped now, to have a goal in mind. It was a bit ambiguous, but Xisuma had never been one for hard, fast rules. His goal was first, to organize his space and lay everything out in a way that could be understood by the other technicians in the building. The second goal was simply to prototype and create as many items as his people would need.
It was Xisuma’s mission to inundate the testing teams with all his creations, let them go ham on his inventions and work out all the tiny flaws and leave his friend, practically his horde of children, better protected than before.
That was all he wanted out of his sad remainder of a life.
Xisuma had done a lot of crying over the singular day that it took to figure out his loose plan. It was cathartic. He was pretty sure that he was finally… well, he had mostly come to terms with his mortality now. He was pretty sure that once he had a treatment or two that it would all come rushing back.
There was a thick anxiety that hung over him now, an urgency that he had never had before. It was suffocating, choking him like smog low over a city. He hoped to use that urgency to boost him forward. He had never been one to wallow. And to not wallow, nobody needed to know that he was on his way out. The testing teams and coding teams and engineering teams and costuming teams that all worked under him didn’t need to know that he was dying. His friends definitely didn’t need to know. They would waste all their time trying to fix something that was unable to be fixed. They would lose focus on the people who actually needed their help and guidance.
Xisuma’s mind was made up. He was going to work his butt off in isolation to prepare the world for his absence. This was the best option.
—
It wasn’t odd for Xisuma to spend hours upon hours and days upon days in his workshop, hammering ideas out and putting them onto paper and then onto metal. He got caught up in his workflow and forgot to rest.
It was odd for him to leave the building regularly, especially at the same time every week.
News of his odd behavior had swept through the engineering and testing teams. Luckily, it hadn’t reached his hermit heroes yet. Well, it wasn’t completely luck because Xisuma was keeping his engineering the testing teams very busy with all the new prototypes he was spitting out.
He had designed new swords for False, new wing guards for Grian, and new shock absorption technology for everyone . In fact, he was starting to pull the costuming department into the chaos to see how he could alter the various sets of armor to the hermits' specific outfits and styles. He was keeping them too busy to gossip outside the building.
He finally had his first treatment. He had two separate meetings with a specialist the previous two weeks. Xisuma had to listen to the doctor go on about how he was lucky to have the less aggressive version of the disease and how there were so many treatment options open. The doctor, to her credit, gave him a list of all possible treatments and their pros and cons. He skipped the list, skimming for the one that would keep him alive the longest, screw the consequences. So long as he could think and design, he didn’t really care what would happen to his body in the process.
The doctor had seemed a little appalled by his cavalier attitude. She had asked him why he had made his decision.
“It’s classified.” He said carefully, “But I have a lot of people depending on my work. I need to last as long as possible for them.”
“How noble,” She had responded, with an oddly pinched expression on her face.
Now Xisuma had a standing time to go to the hospital and get his treatment. It had been explained to him, but all Xisuma really knew was that he went to go sit in a room and have an I.V. of some random medication shoved into his bloodstream to slow the progression of this debilitating disease.
It was simple enough. The bonus was that he was mobile enough to bring his notebook and brainstorm while he was at the hospital.
He knew that it wouldn’t be too long before one of the Hermits noticed that something was up, but he could play it off. He could always play it off and lie to them if it meant seeing them happier for just a bit longer.
—
It wasn’t until the end of the first month that Xisuma realized a flaw in his plan. Well, it wasn’t a flaw per se… It was just an observation. He hadn’t realized before he started paying more attention, but he acted as guidance for most of the heroes. They came to him with worries and questions and concerns and he soothed them and gave them advice and made them feel safe.
He hadn’t stopped working long enough to consider the ramifications of his death. Grian’s visit put a stop to his ignorance.
Grian was a joy to have around. He laughed loudly and made jokes and lived life to the fullest. Grian was a newer addition to the crew, not so new as Gem or Pearl, or even Skizz and Joel (Joel had actually transferred from another bustling city, but Xisuma was glad to add him to their little horde of heroes). It had taken a while for Xisuma to get close to Grian. The man was somewhat withdrawn, almost shy, at first.
Xisuma finally understood why when he got to the root of the issue. See, Grian was a shapeshifter. He was a mimic, uncanny with both voices and faces. Xisuma knew that there was some tragic past that pushed his powers to the surface and made them so powerful and versatile. He knew that there was something or someone that Grian was afraid of and running from. Xisuma vowed to protect Grian the best that he could, both physically and mentally.
It was sad to realize that some days, Grian forgot who he was. He forgot which face was his own, and which ones were forced upon him. He forgot which faces were characters he was made to play, actors on the grand stage of life.
He tended to forget his voice, his grand wings, his lovely laughter. All Xisuma did was help him remember which one of him was the one he usually wanted to be. So, when Grian came back from an undercover mission wearing the wrong face, it was only natural for Xiusma to help.
“Heya X,” Grian had called as he crashed into the workshop, “Wow, you’ve really cleaned up around here.”
It was true. Xisuma had successfully completed step one of his plan and was constantly re-completing it as he systematically created more messes.
“Hey G,” He grunted. He had been startled awake and was too concerned with peeling the blueprint from his cheek to notice what Grian was looking like. “You’re back from your mission. How was it?”
Grian hummed and X turned to look at him. His stomach sank down to his toes.
“Aw, that’s not the Grian I know and love. C’mon, what did you do to him?” X asked playfully, finally awake enough to play their usual game.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Grian said, starting to perk up a bit more, “I know a lot of Grian’s. Guess you’ll have to describe him so I can figure it out.”
“Hmm,” X grinned, “The Grian I know is a little short. He’s got sandy hair and lovely black eyes. He’s got some freckles too, and a mischievous little smirk. Here’s the kicker,” X leaned a little closer, “My Grian has these large, beautiful parrot wings on his back. I’ve recently made some new wing armor for my Grian.”
He blinked and it was like the world blurred for a moment, pausing to repaint the person in front of him. X felt his grin become real as he finally looked his Grian in the eye.
“Thanks X. What are you working on now?”
X looked down as his slightly drooled upon blueprint. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had been working on the night before. He had been functioning on very little sleep and a great energy drink. He was probably manic or something.
“It appears that I’ve figured out how to upgrade Gem’s weapons.”
He squinted harder at the page.
“Oh wow, it looks like some of these modifications can apply to all the ranged weapons. Look, I’ve figured out how to create energy shots that work as a paralyzer, a little bit like a taser but not electricity based. But here’s the thing, it means no finite ammo. You can just keep firing forever and there are no spare bits and bobs lying around for civilians to pick up. This is brilliant.”
Grian laughed, a real, cackling thing. It warmed X’s heart to hear.
“Way to toot your own horn there buddy. Well, I’ll let you get back to your designing and innovations. Just don’t forget to use an actual pillow sometimes instead of your blueprints.”
Xisuma laughed and shot him a look. With at least half of the hermits, he could return a jab about sleep. Grian was one of the few that actually had a legitimate sleep schedule, but since he had a family too, X guessed that he had some external reminders in place to do so.
It was a shame that X would never get the chance to fall in love. Not like he would have anyway. He was married to his job. Addicted to it, even.
—
The thought hit him just a few minutes after Grian left. It was all he could do to make it to his workshop door to lock it, and then back to his chair.
He slumped down into it, preparing to feel the buildup of tears that usually accompanied emotions weighing on him this heavily. They didn’t come. X supposed that he really had finally come to a place where he had no tears left to cry. Like his body was a desert, like every drop had evaporated under the intense heat of his overwhelming emotions. Like the drops had been swept up in the tsunami of his coping, to be lost and so far gone that they never made it out of him.
He was really going to leave them behind. Who was going to help Grian center himself after a mission? Who was going to remind False that killing was not worth the toll it would take on her mind and set her back on the correct path? Who was going to remind Skizz that his progress could only be compared to himself and that he shouldn’t compare himself to others? Who was going to be best friends with Keralis and ground his terrifying powers in reality? Who was going to keep Impulse and Tango and Pearl and Gem from overworking themselves? Who was going to make his crew take breaks?
Xisuma had never really considered all the roles that he played in all their lives. Mentor, guidance counselor, therapist, friend, boss, protector… the list went on, farther than the eye could see.
Who was going to do all those little things for them when he was gone?
Which one of them would take over and help Joel tackle his cynicism? Which one would step up to help Etho with his confidence? Which one of them would be equipped to help ground Cleo and Joe in the present?
There were so many little, overwhelming things. What happens when he finally leaves? Who fills the crater he leaves behind?
X considered what he would feel if Keralis died tomorrow. It hurt too much to think about it for too long, but he was horrified at even imagining the implications. He had no idea how to fix it. He didn’t know what to do now that he was going, he didn’t have a solution, he didn’t have a single thought in his head other than - how are they going to get through my death? How are they going to handle it?
—
As it turned out, his solution was to work himself even harder. He had food and water brought up to his shop, along with the occasional energy drink. He brought a cot and some bedding in as well, to cut down on travel time. He slept very little. There was little time for it in between the nightmares, oppressive dread about what his family was going to do when he died, and the project ideas that were flowing forth, unfettered.
On top of that, the first of the treatment symptoms was finally starting to show. X was losing a lot of weight. Of course, the disease and his terrible sleep schedule was probably contributing to the weight loss, but X was now wearing his normal clothes and feeling the bagginess a little bit. It was disconcerting to realize that his body was getting a little weaker too.
He was starting to pass off more construction to the engineering team to assemble. It was better if he stuck with blueprints and shoddy prototypes that didn’t really have to stand up to any significant damage.
He was stubbornly trying to ignore his approaching death. It was looming on the horizon like some Lovecraftian horror deity, just sitting in the sky like an omen. It was getting harder to ignore. Lots of people were starting to notice that he was spiralling.
False knocked on his door, letting herself in before X could respond.
“You look rough.”
He glanced up at her, noting the bruises and healing cut on her cheek.
“So do you.”
“I heard that you were overworking yourself. I figured I would come chekc it out for myself.”
Xisuma laughed, as genuinely as he could even though he felt like there was little humor in his life. There was just so much to do!
“What else is new?”
“I heard some of the builder - engineer? - guys complaining about the recent workload. What’s that about?”
X shrugged and turned his full attention to her. He had just found the perfect alloy for the new classic sword he was planning on forging for Etho. He had figured out how to imbue energy in the blade in such a way that it was nonlethal for most, but could be disarmed if Etho happened to need the sharp edge or a killing blow.
“I’ve been on a creative streak. Do you like your new swords?”
False’s hand drifted to the hilt at her waist.
“I do,” She confirmed.
“I think I’ve got another upgrade anyway. I’ll try to keep them as similar as possible to your preference.”
“I’m worried about you, X.” False said, voice dropping, not quite to a whisper. Her tone was still tense, but False was one who struggled with gentleness. X would never hold it against her.
“I’m flattered,” X responded, desperate to remove her worry, “I’m trying to take care of myself, but… there’s just so much to be done.”
False nodded. It was stiff and she was still eyeing him like she didn’t quite believe him. There was little X could do about that.
“Just… Try to get a full night’s rest. For me?”
She got him there.
“I can try.” X conceded, “I’m glad you care.”
False scoffed and the tender moment passed, “Of course I care,” She said loudly, cuffing his head gently, “Why wouldn’t I care?”
X ignored the slight headache that flared up at the contact and grinned up at her. Gosh, he really loved his hermits so much.
Over the next few days, the hermits filtered in, most thanking him for the new armor and tools, others bringing filling foods, and the rest bothering him about sleeping more. He bantered with each, ignoring the ache in his chest at the thought of leaving them, and leaving them alone. His smiles felt faker and faker. He didn’t know what he was going to do without them or what they were going to do without him.
—
X started writing letters. Any time the ideas weren’t flowing or when he was stuck on some project or other, he would open his computer and start pouring his heart out to his hermits. He dated his entries and kept a letter for every single one, as well as a collective letter for anything he wanted to tell the group.
It helped a little with that pressure and impending sense of doom. It helped him feel a little better.
Another thing he started to do in the lulls of activity was research therapists. He was desperate to get together a good list of candidates. His friends needed someone to be there when he wasn’t and if they weren’t ready to take the load for each other, then he would search up some good third parties.
He hoped that his efforts would help them.
He hoped that this wasn’t all for nothing.
He felt like the world was going to collapse without him in it, but that was really egotistical of him. He felt like he was really blowing his importance out of proportion.
He turned it into a spreadsheet. The therapist’s name, their practice, their specialty, and his friends that he thought were best suited. It was all ambiguous, based on descriptions and internet ratings and all that, but it was a good start.
—
He updated Doc’s mechanics. It was difficult to sit there, trying to focus on reconstructing his friend’s face and arm while said friend was badgering him about his health. It was worth it to give Doc a much-needed upgrade. He couldn't believe that he had almost forgotten about him in the rush.
He also gave the same update to Iskall’s cybernetic, and endured a similar lecture while doing so.
He stored it away as something to remember and give him comfort. It made him laugh, how similar they acted in that situation. They were so starkly different, yet both cared enough to tell him how to take care of himself.
—
Halfway through the third month, the symptoms worsened. X was starting to have a lot more trouble trying to hide them or power through them. Sure he could handle weight loss and headaches, but the respiratory struggles were really challenging.
It was worse when his doctor told him that closer to the end, he would likely have to be wearing some breathing support full time. That was when X had to come to terms with the idea that he couldn’t hide his illness forever. The truth would come out. It was just a matter of time.
—
He kept working. He ignored the tissues covered in tiny flecks of blood that he coughed up. It was probably just the irritation in his lungs. He could feel it itching and burning all the time and he wished he could just shove his hand down his throat and scratch it. He felt the same about his esophagus that felt approximately the same.
X was also noticing a definite decline in his work. Not the quality, but the quantity. He was slowing down. It wasn’t noticeable to most yet, and it helped that engineering was backlogged, but X could tell.
It was terrifying to realize that he was finally slowing, finally crawling closer to the end, finally getting to a point where he was actually going to have to face the facts.
X was starting to come to terms with the fact that he never actually processed that he was going to die back when he first got diagnosed. He had several breakdowns and cried about it, but he threw himself into his work so quickly that he never really… sat with the idea. He never quite steeped himself in the reality that his life was ending quickly.
He was being confronted with his mortality in a terrifying way every day now.
He didn’t know how he was going to keep hiding this. It was fine. Just a little more work and then he would tell them. Just a few more projects and then he could give his time to fielding their concerns. Just a bit longer.
(just a bit longer, he said, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. When would it ever end?)
—
“Maybe you should take a day or two to rest.” was Gem’s soft, concerned suggestion.
—
“You look ill. I’ll bring you some of my best soup tomorrow. Hopefully it will help you feel a bit better,” Pearl offered.
—
“You’ve already upgraded my armor and my battle axe four times. I think you need a break mate,” Joel said in his sarcastic way.
—
“Don’t burn yourself out buddy, give yourself some space,” Skizz contributed thoughtfully.
—
“Jellie and I came to visit you and make you watch a tv show with us. No complaints!” Scar barged in.
—
“This doesn’t look like the X I know,” Grian joked, playing off their usual game, “He’s far too worn out. Oh wait, I think that’s normal… But really, get some rest.”
—
“Shashwammy you are looking too pale! You need to eat something, and Papa K brought you his best meal. Are you ready!” Keralis gave no room for complaints.
—
“You look like you need a break. Let me tell you about this wild thing that happened the other day. So, Pearl, Etho and I had to hijack the mail system, ok?” Tango trailed off into an entertaining tale that was interspersed with worried glances.
—
“I wanted to swing by and say thanks for all the new gear. You don’t need to burn yourself out on our account,” Wels said in his quiet way.
—
“Hey… I just wanted to ask… If you’re mad at me or something,” Mumbo was wringing his fingers terribly as he stepped through the doorway, “You’ve been brushing me off… I know you’re busy, it's just… Are we good?” He asked timidly.
—
“C’mon dude, you’ve been in this room for like a week straight. Go home and shower,” Doc heckled him.
—
“Costuming has been insufferable! ” Bdubs crashed into his workshop, “I need your opinion on this new color pallet I’m trying!”
—
“Y’know, it’s okay to let someone help you out too, right?” xB offered gently, his quiet voice echoing in the silence of the room.
—
“If you don’t try to get some rest, I’m absorbing your blueprints.” Jevin threatened.
—
“The way you’re treating yourself is illogical,” False leveled him with an intense glare, “You do your best work when you’re not grasping at straws.”
—
“No complaints, ya hear! Now listen to Ren-diggity-dog perform his wonderful new song: Ladies get in line,” Ren shouted in his usual theatrical fashion.
—
“You are acting unusually,” Joe hummed thoughtfully, floaty in a way that made it seem like he was only halfway there.
—
“I’ve been thinking a little about retiring. I mean, we’ve been in the business for a pretty long time. Maybe you should think about getting out of it. I mean, look at how much work you have on your plate.” Beef said carefully, tone perfectly mellow and measured.
—
“I understand the pull of invention,” Cub stated blandly, “But don’t you think you’re doing it at too high of a cost to yourself?”
—
“I heard you hadn’t been leaving work. Don’t you think it’s time for a day off? Or at least a shorter schedule?” Offered a nervous Hypno.
—
“You’re really trying to pull off the whole mad scientist bit aren’t you?” Zedaph accused playfully, “That’s my bit Xisuma. You stole my bit!”
—
“It’s not healthy what you’re doing luv. You’re running yourself into the ground and your body won’t be able to keep up.” Stress mother-henned.
—
“Coming from someone who has literally fallen apart and been put back together multiple times … Go take a break,” Cleo warned in her usual brash manner.
—
“Hey X. I just wanted to pop in and thank you for the new battle axe. It’s been pretty helpful. But, um… don’t you think it’s time to take a couple of minutes for yourself?” Impulse said in a faux-cheerful tone.
—
“Have you slept since you fixed up Doc and me? You really need some sleep ‘Suma.” Iskall said boisterously.
—
“You’re worrying them,” Etho said without preamble. He said it without any real venom in his voice. “That’s why everyone’s been coming around. They’ve all been trying to tell you in their own way that the way you’re treating yourself is scaring them.”
X floundered. He didn’t know what to say, how to respond to an accusation like that.
“I think it’s time you’re honest with yourself. You know they’re worried and you know you need to take a step back from this work and reevaluate. You’re getting sloppy, you’re getting frustrated. You’re burning out and it’s time to take a minute.”
X sighed. Etho stepped forward, stern in tone and nothing else. Nothing in his body suggested tension. He moved in a languid way, relaxed and easygoing despite the hard facts he was shoving in X’s face.
“Look,” Etho sighed, “You and I have been in the game together for a while. Not as long as some of the others but Joe loses himself more by the day, Doc is too stubborn to really notice, and Bdubs is well… Bdubs. But I can tell that something is wrong.”
X caught his gasp a second before it left his lips, instead croaking oddly.
Etho’s piercing eyes locked onto his for a moment. He shook his head.
“I’m not going to ask for details,” He said, “Goodness knows you would just fight me tooth and nail to keep them to yourself. All I’m saying is that whatever is wrong, you need to figure out what to do with it or how to fix it. Or at the very least, start taking care of yourself. Pull your head out of the sand and stop scaring the others.”
There was a very long pause. They were at a stalemate.
“We’re allowed to care about you too X.”
X’s eyes traced a pattern over Ethos’s face, over his eyes, mask, scars, and back to his eyes. Etho answered his unasked question.
“ I’m a little scared X. Just… All I can do is ask you to think about it. Eat, sleep, drink water, take a break. Just… don’t keep treating yourself like this.”
Then he left with just a final, soft goodbye.
—
X didn’t know what to do with it, he didn’t know how to handle their pity, their care for him. He had gotten so used to caring for them, he didn’t know how to handle the reverse. He was the person who listened to all their problems, solved issues, created new ways to think about issues and tackle them. He was the solver, not the solved.
His mind would echo endlessly over his hermits’ words to him. It was so them how they reached out. Every single one of them came to him and talked to him, tried to bring him away from his work, get him to take care of his body and mind. Some did it through distraction, others did it by forcing his hand, and yet others did it by openly confronting him.
He had known all along that they were worried about him, they were so afraid for him, afraid that he would run himself into the ground all because his body was a failing machine with an obvious expiration date. All because he hadn’t come to terms with his mortality, all because he didn’t know how he was going to tell them he couldn’t help them for much longer, he didn’t know how he was going to tell them that he couldn’t keep solving their problems despite how much he wished he could last forever.
He had known that he was scaring them and he hadn’t wanted to think about it. Of course it had to be Etho to put a stop to his stubborn ignorance. Etho who was so gentle yet so stern. He had this soft and friendly way of speaking that kept X calm until he realized that he was being guided into a trap.
He felt like a forgotten dock, abandoned by all ships and left to crumble as the sea slowly chipped away at him. He felt like a machine, slowly pumping out parts and pieces until he inevitably fell apart. He felt like a well, dragging the last drops of good water up until the rope snapped and the bricks fell.
He couldn't even handle his own illness, how was he going to tell them that he was dying. Because he couldn’t leave it be now . They were worried and he didn’t know if he could stop working. They were worried and he didn’t have an excuse for his unusual behavior. Heck, even Etho had pegged that something was terribly wrong.
—
X ran out of work. It was something that had never happened before. It was a combination of testing being backlogged, costuming being overrun, and X’s brain full of fog and unable to pump out any new innovations, ideas, or efficiencies.
The brain fog was one of his new symptoms. He was getting worse, especially at remembering things that he had done. He was trapped, head on a cloud and unable to resurface, to fall back to the face of the planet and put his feet on solid ground again.
Among the new symptoms that his body was quickly declining, X found that he now needed a breathing device at all times. His lungs were just too strained by his respiratory distress. He was still coughing small amounts of blood, but with this new device, he was doing a bit better on that front. X’s muscles were also weakening greatly. His legs were struggling to hold his weight for long periods of time and his arms were showing signs of muscle atrophy.
X had always worn gear, especially in his lab, that was meant to keep his body safe from the work he was doing. It was fairly short work to modify his clothing and mask to help support his body weight and act as his breathing aid respectively. Of course, both had their failings. The clothing and armoring didn’t take all of the stress off his joints and he still couldn’t stand for very long or lift heavy things. It was also somewhat conspicuous, since it was a pretty vital change from his old things.
His doctor wanted him to stay in the private hospital semi-permanently now. Xisuma had denied that. He still hadn’t gained the courage to tell his hermits about his diagnosis. He certainly didn’t want to disappear before he’d given himself the chance.
With his homemade solutions to his symptoms, something was bound to happen eventually, something that his doctor had probably foreseen and wanted to head off with her offer of staying in a medical setting.
—
His mask malfunctioned and he collapsed.
He was alone in his workshop and scheduled to be alone for the unforeseeable future. His legs were getting tired and he was reaching for a chair when something in his mask clicked and suddenly his lungs were spasming, unprepared to do their job unassisted.
His head hit the floor and bounced, once, twice, before laying still on the hard floor. His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay awake despite the panic and adrenaline that was pouring through him. He was too void-forsaken weak to lift himself up or do anything like call for help.
In his last few moments conscious, he couldn't help but be horribly frustrated with his weakness and helplessness in this situation. Why was it so difficult for him? Why did everything hurt, every option burn beneath his skin, every second that ticked past like a death knell.
It would be stupid and ironic if it wasn’t his illness that took him, but the symptoms instead. It would be ironic if the very thing that he had been desperately trying to ignore and escape didn’t end him.
Who was he kidding? He was probably going to die here, alone on the floor of his lab.
—
(He learned later that it was Etho and Keralis who found him, coming to check in after they had finished a mission. He later learned that they had called him an ambulance and advocated for him fiercely while he was unconscious. It was later that he learned that they had a major fight with the paramedics over his medical history. It was later that he figured out how much they had done for him. It hurt to know just how much they cared, like a thousand needles under his skin.)
—
Consciousness returned to him in waves. A whiff of cleanliness, antiseptics and cleaning supplies and crisp nothingness. The shifting of his fingers across a stiff papery blanket and the twinge of discomfort in the back of the moving hand. The dryness of his mouth and throat, tasting of his saliva. The constant background beeps and clicks. The murmuring of several quiet voices. The hurried steps of people around him.
He finally opened his eyes. Nothing changed for a few moments. His gaze roved over the ceiling, taking in the cheap tiles of the hospital room, then moved down a little to the walls. He choked a little, mouth and throat still too dry to do much else than wheeze. His room was large, and yet was filled with more than half of his lovely hermits.
Some were napping in uncomfortable chairs, some were in small groups chatting. There were four he could barely see without moving his stiff neck, who were playing a card game at a small table in the corner.
It didn’t take long for someone to notice that he was finally awake. It wasn’t so much the volume in the room that rose, but the attention. X felt as if every single pair of eyes was suddenly locked on him, so full of worry and unspoken questions that he felt he might suffocate under the weight of them.
A nurse bustled into the room and started clearing the hermits out, uncaring of the intimidating stature of most of them. Etho had been the one right next to his bed, the one who had first noticed he was awake and cleared his throat softly, the one who had pressed the call button and ushered the heroes out.
The nurse did a couple of checks, offered X a sip out of a long straw, then stood by his bedside. X sighed contentedly as his mouth and throat were now thoroughly hydrated.
“May I sit up a bit?” He asked the nurse.
She obliged easily enough.
“You’ve given that lot quite a scare,” the nurse said, eyeing the large group of worried individuals who were still huddled outside, “You were out for roughly half a day, and they never left. A few came and went saying something about ‘jobs’ or whatnot, but most of them never left your side.”
The nurse gave him a kind look, “It’s nice that you have so many in your corner.”
Xisuma smiled half-heartedly.
“Has my doctor checked me over yet?” He asked hesitantly.
The nurse nodded.
“How’s my… disease?”
“I’m not going to lie to you,” The nurse said shortly, “You’ve not been doing yourself any favors. The doctor estimates that you’ve taken several months off of her original prognosis. With proper rest and medical help, it’s possible that you can gain back some time, but considering your overworking tendencies…” the nurse shrugged, “it’s really up to you at this point. How much help are you willing to take?”
That was the real question, wasn’t it?
The nurse left and the hermits filed in. Most just stayed quiet, a few burst out with rushed questions, but it was False who raised her hand, silencing the others.
“Out with it X,” She said dangerously, “Explain why Etho and Keralis found you collapsed in your workshop.”
He looked at her, considered her dangerous tone, then took a deeper look at her eyes. Those beautiful eyes that were so full of pain and worry that he could hardly breathe.
Tears dripped down his face, trailing around the curve of his cheekbone and then following the lines of the breathing apparatus that was around his mouth. Soon he was crying in earnest, uncaring that the room was staring at him in shock.
Xisuma had never been one for public displays of emotion. Sure he emoted, but fits of anger, tears, panic… it was never for public eyes. In fact, half of his hermits had never seen him shed a single tear. To see him crying now…
They rushed to console him, but their kind words only made him feel worse.
It took a while, but when he composed himself, he only had one thing to say.
“I’m not going to explain this twice. If I’m telling the story, then everybody ought to be here. The city can do without you all for an hour or two.”
The wait was torture. Staring at their faces, all twenty-six of them and knowing that he would have to tell them he was dying… that was the real torture.
But all he could do was start.
So he started at the beginning, reciting his concerns at odd health things, moments of imbalance, being sick more often than usual. He had to pause when he recounted his diagnosis, hating how the memory of panicking in that doctor’s stiff chair surrounded him and threatened to drown him. He covered the time after, his overworking and the treatments. He looked his team in the eye and told them about the side effects. Then he sucked in a deep breath.
“And all this because… Well… I guess there’s no easy way to say this. I’m dying.”
The room, quiet so far, erupted . X languished in his bed as the hermits broke down. Some shouted, some cried, others just stared at him in abject horror, disbelief painted over their faces. He waited for them to calm to explain further.
“That was why I worked so hard… If I only have so much time left, then I need to make sure you are all as protected as you could be. I couldn’t leave you with the mediocrity of my former work. I needed to make sure that you were as safe as you all could be…”
Xisuma sucked in a sharp breath.
“But now I don’t know how I’m going to leave you all behind,” Tear streamed down his face, “Because I care so much about each and every one of you and I feel like I do so much I don't know how much it’s going to hurt.”
An odd sense of tranquility settled over him. It was gone. The stress was no longer hanging over his head. They knew, and now it was their turn to come to terms with his death.
“However you handle it,” X said carefully, quietly, “If you need to talk, so long as I am alive, I am always willing to hear you. As long as I am here, I am always ready to help with whatever you need.”
It was Etho who spoke up this time, “and what if you need us X. Will you come to us then?”
X tilted his head in Etho’s direction, “I can try.”
—
It was certainly hard to come to terms with death. It has its own way of sneaking up on most. So, dealing with grief before one even dies is an odd thing. Most don’t grieve the living, and most don’t get to grieve their own deaths.
It is certainly something to note that X did end up coming to terms with his death. The hermits did for the most part as well. It was incredible that all were so willing to support each other through the hardest of times. Of course, death is hardest to acknowledge when one is facing it alone.
The hermits read the letters that X wrote for them, the ones full of apologies and advice and things that X hadn’t been brave enough to read out loud. They were read while X was alive and able to talk to them about it. The hermits learned to share their burdens with each other and some with the therapists that X had found for them. It was best not to put the load on one person after all. They had learned that lesson the hard way. It is also important to note that the hermits survived the shaking and fracturing of their pillar. After all, a building can have many pillars to stand on if those are equally ready to share the burden.
After all that, how the story ends is up to you. Did X really die in the end or did a treatment or cure extend his life much longer? I think it shall be whatever you decide is most appropriate. What fulfills the story best is what shall be chosen.
It might be up to me to make the final decision, but I am passing the honor off to the reader. The rest of the story is to be composed in your mind. Let that carry how you see this, let it carry how you end this story. Let it be nothing at all if that is what you so choose.
Til Death