weddie + 44. “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”
Whoops my hand slipped ;D Thank you for the ask!
In retrospect, he should’ve already gotten used to the all consuming fear. He’d been only exposed to the Morphogenic Engine therapy for a month, and the results have not been insignificant. Doctors and scientists praising him for his amazing progress while he was constantly fed with mind altering medicine that brings nothing but hyper realistic nightmares. Dreams where he watches his wife and children die, over and over again, in every gruesome ways possible.
Then came the time when he no longer knew the difference between reality and his nightmares, and grieved for the death of his family.
As the dreams became repetitive, his numbness halted his progress, and they had to reintroduce a new brand of fear. And while they were testing a new batch of hallucinogenic, the Walrider broke out of confinement and started the riot.
Waylon’s first instinct was to hide somewhere abandoned, where staff and patients aren’t allowed. He’d seen the layout of Mount Massive Asylum back when he was still one of their engineers, and he’d listen to the whispers of doctors. The Project Walrider is too important to waste time on the well-being of the patients, so the recreational area and the vocational block have been untouched for months.
He’d been running, no longer terrified of the doctors after seeing them explode into pieces before his very eyes. Despite their inhumane ways, they were still human. And humans are killed all the time.
He didn’t even think about revenge or even spitting on one of the doctors who would casually touch him inappropriately during testing. All he needed was to run and hide.
He chose the vocational block as his temporary shelter the moment the sky opened and rain poured heavily. The static on the back of his head buzzes as he shivers in a corner, curling on a dirty towel he found on one of the counters.
Waylon jumped, and he glared in the dark. A looming figure approached him, a heavy set man wearing one of the hospital robes. His face was heavily scarred, his bloodshot eyes trained on him like a predator.
The man didn’t reply, just slowly padded towards him. Waylon pressed back against the wall, already thinking of escape scenarios in case this one attacked him. Eddie Gluskin isn’t exactly a friendly face in the asylum.
Eddie stopped in front of him and grabbed one of the towel, dropping it on Waylon’s head. He pat his head twice, before gently wiping his hair in a rhythmic fashion.
All Waylon could do was look up at him in confusion.
“No shit, Captain Obvious.”
Eddie clicked his tongue, crouching in front of him and cupping his face. Waylon immediately recoiled in panic, and suprisingly Eddie let him go.
“You’re freezing, darling.”
“I’m not your darling. We don’t know each other.”
“You know me, though.” Eddie tilted his head like a confused dog. “You know my name.”
“Yeah, and I bet you don’t know me. You’re just popular in the ward, Gluskin.”
Eddie snorted, standing up. “I think I’d like to get to know you. Now’s a good time as any.” He stretched out his hand to help him up. “What’s your name?”
Waylon blinked several times. He stared at his hand for a long while, then burst out laughing.
The former software engineer shook his head, a wide smile on his lips as he accepted Eddie’s hand. He hasn’t felt good in quite a while. “I’m Waylon. Nice to meet you, if you’ll ignore our current predicament.”
Eddie smiled back, but his was a bit unsure. As if he think Waylon is bonkers. Tough shit, then.
“So Eddie,” he began, not letting go of his hand. The heat of his palm is a welcome blessing compared to the manhandling of the doctors. “Do you have any hobbies?”
They spent the rest of the night together. Waylon watched him gather all the available fabric in the vocational block and plop down in front of a sewing machine. They talked about every possible thing that doesn’t concern the asylum or the Morphogenic Engine or the patients and staff killing each other outside while Eddie steadily created a patchwork of an outfit; long sleeved shirt and pants. He offered to make a jacket for Waylon, but the programmer declined.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged as he put on his new clothes.
As the riot continues and the night gets deeper, the gravity of their situation turned for worse. They could hear the Walrider lurking by outside, the static driving both of them to their knees, tainting their visions with madness. Waylon watched Eddie kill the patients and staff who wandered in their area, staining his clothes with blood and viscera. After taking his victim’s life, he would turn to Waylon with confusion and helplessness, like he didn’t understand why he kill. There seems to be two moralities fighting for control in his head, and for once Waylon didn’t felt alone in his suffering.
“Maybe we don’t need to die here,” he told the larger man, as they drag the dead bodies into a corner. “We could… we could go out. Escape.”
Eddie laughed. “There’s nowhere for me to go, darling. I have no one outside waiting for me.”
Waylon shrugged, ignoring the pet name and wiping his hand on a rag. “I don’t have anyone either. But I really want some nachos, and if you come with me I’ll treat you.”
“Christ, Eddie.” He groaned, turning to face his companion with an annoyed frown and his hands on his hips. “Then we’ll steal from Murkoff! It’s not that hard dumbass! Fuck, if I could steal from Jeremy Blaire, that’d be great.”
The larger man just shook his head with a disbelieving smile. “Fine. For your nachos, we’ll try.”
“Good,” he huffed and took Eddie’s hand into his.
The only thing that Waylon didn’t like about the vocational block is that he couldn’t find any working clock. There wasn’t a hint of sunlight outside yet, so he assumed it’s around two in the morning. They walked back to the sewing machine Eddie was using earlier, Waylon dragging one of the ratty mattress close so he could lie down.
He listened to Eddie’s humming and the clacking of the sewing machine, a cacophony of temporary peace as he close his eyes to rest.
When Eddie went silent, he cracked his right eye open to look over him.
Eddie was staring down at him, an unreadable look in his face.
“Dar- no, Waylon… did you… did you really mean it? That we’re going outside?”
Waylon sat up slowly. “Yeah. Why? You changed your mind?”
He bounced his leg on the side, looking down on the bundle of fabric on his lap. “I just… I don’t belong there. I’ve been confined in a mental hospital for years. There’s no place for me outside.”
Waylon stared, contemplating his answer. He got up and stood beside him, cupping his face gently, mimicking their first encounter hours ago.
“There’s no place for Murkoff in this world too, you know. I’ve lost a lot of myself in this place, Eddie. And I’d be damned if I stay here.” He pressed their foreheads together. “If you really believe you don’t belong there, then I’ll make a place for you. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Eddie.”
Eddie didn’t say anything, and he feared that maybe his words weren’t enough. But when he pulled away, tears were welling up on his companion’s bloody eyes, his face looking a little weary and a little too hopeful. Waylon stroked his cheek with his thumbs, a small smile on his lips.
“We’ll just need to be careful when we leave. I heard the guards talking about sending Murkoff Tactical here to clean up their mess.” He pinched Eddie’s unbruised cheek in jest. “That means we have to survive. No dying, okay? If you die, I’ll, um…I’ll… I’ll kill you.”
Eddie laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking as the stray tears fell from the corner of his eyes. Waylon tried not to pout as his cheeks burned with embarrassment, pushing away the overwhelming fondness gathering in his chest because holy shit that’s fucking cute. “Try again, darling.”
