-- @silvanebula asked: “ i’m on your side. ” - for Joey n Quentin
“Right?” Quentin grunted, rolling his shoulders through aches and spittled glass. “I don’t see you getting the knife in your gut.”
Outside of trials, they were all well and good. Easy to be amicable when you carefully section yourself off from certain shared experiences--murdering and getting murdered--and regarded it more like a distant, unpleasant job. Look into his eyes and sever them from the eyes of your eternal killer.
When inside trials, it’s harder to accept that when your guts are halfway to the floor.
He’s slumped partially down the wall, handing trailing blood with the force it takes to keep himself fully off the floor. Hawkins lab was stifled by dust and decay. One dead, one curled up on a floor trying to breath through sliced esophagus, and another halfway gone on a hook. Quentin wasn’t better off than any of them, cornered by the killer, wedged between groaning generator and broken wall. Him squirreled away into the corner, arms wrapped around stomach like a limp stuffed animal, face bloodless, hair stuck to blood-crusted eyelashes and sweat-slick forehead, it perhaps was pitying enough for Legion--Joey--to recollect his mercy.
Quentin’s breath rattled his ribcage.
“I think I’ve taken more than the recommended amount of stabbings...if you’re suddenly feeling to give me the hatch, I doubt I could make it anyway.” He was bitter. That’s how it was in trials that went especially bad, against a killer that he’d made the mistake of finding sentiment with out in the endless fog. Maybe he just didn’t want special treatment at the cost of his friends’ lives--he certainly didn’t deserve it over them.
Finally, his bones weakened and he let himself crumple to the floor. Legs slowly pull up to his chest, converse slipping over the slick of his own blood.
“Might as well get me over with. I know how it goes if you don’t do well in a trial...”
