Synopsis: Direct sequel to Day 3 - Stitches and Bandages! Isaac doesn't get a break! He gets to be interrogated on his past crimes with a piece of glass stuck inside him :)
Content: Stress position, hanging by wrists, dislocation, I don't know if there's like a term for this but there is a glass shard literally embedded in Isaac, also there is gore here, organs go outside the body, immortal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, implied past murder and cannibalism, past vivisection, very informal interrogation, delirious whumpee, sleep deprivation, some rough like wound stitching
The blanket sat crumpled in the corner, unused and abandoned.
Not that Isaac wanted to leave it that way. It was just a little hard to use it when he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.
He couldn't feel his hands. His muscles ached, and his shoulders had dislocated… when? He couldn't tell how long it'd been.
He was so goddamn tired.
And yet he couldn't even fall into blissful unconsciousness, on account of the shard of glass lodged in his abdomen. The smallest movement pushed it deeper into his liver or his stomach, overtaking his world with bright pain. Isaac wanted to scream, but he had no energy left for that.
He hadn't got a moment of sleep since he was strung up.
So he was awake when Kasumi sauntered into the cell with that smile Isaac had come to despise. He wanted to do something, anything, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain he was feeling right now—but he was the one chained to the ceiling, and she was the one with the key.
And he needed to convince her to let him down. Let him rest.
He'd kill for an hour of sleep.
“Please… I’m sorry…" Isaac croaked in despair. "What did I do wrong?”
Kasumi stroked his cheek with a patronizing smile and he flinched away as far as he could muster.
“Well, where to start…?” She mused.
“Hm. That ring. The one I found on you. There was something engraved inside.” She stared at him straight in the eyes like she was expecting an answer. Isaac was… confused, to say the least.
Getting closer, so close he could hear her breath, she asked him, “So what does the name Marcelina mean to you?”
Isaac winced. There went his hopes of ever being let down.
This isn’t going to end well.
“Just a friend I had,” he quickly lied.
She grabbed his jaw and gripped it tightly. “Oh, really?” She breathed into his ear.
Isaac strained to get away. “Yes,” he whispered in a small voice.
A punch landed on his chest, sudden and violent, right where the shard of glass was lodged in his torso. His world exploded into pain, bright colors flashing, obscuring his vision, and he screamed until it turned into sobs.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Kasumi whispered.
Isaac nodded frantically, breaths ragged and torn.
A finger pressed into the skin above the glass, not enough to really hurt, but enough to send a jolt of vibrant fear through his body. He couldn’t stop shaking, his muscles were giving out, he couldn’t—
“So,” Kasumi started, and Isaac was listening.
“Who was Marcelina, and what did you do to her?” Her smile was gone, her eyes cold and grave.
Isaac tried his best to not remember the nights before he woke up in this latest basement cell. Because in the darkness lurked endless amounts of guilt. Guilt over what he’d done and the blood he spilled. And horror that, despite everything, he’d do it all again.
Marcelina was a wonderful memory, one now tainted by whips and shock collars and endless starvation.
He still remembered what it felt like to rip and tear and devour and eat. And it felt good, it felt right, like everything was falling into place. And he wanted to do it again.
He couldn’t bring himself to admit that to the one person who’d destroy him for what he’d done.
Fingers brushed his throat, gripped, and started to squeeze. Isaac bit back a scream—he couldn’t waste air—and stared at Kasumi with a pleading look and tears in his eyes. I’m sorry. Don’t do this.
Kasumi returned his gaze, unrelenting. “You killed her, didn’t you?”
Isaac nodded and closed his eyes.
"Desecrated her body too, hm?"
He nodded again, more slowly this time.
“And that’s why I do this.” She let go, and Isaac only had a moment to breathe before she kicked him in the ribs.
He swung from his wrists and he cried, desperate and broken, as the shard of glass inside him jolted and cut through his stomach.
She turned to leave, and Isaac’s mind overfilled with blank panic.
“Wait, wait—please! I’m so tired—please, I’m sorry, let me down, please—”
Tears blurred his vision and it was getting hard to breathe. “I can’t, I can’t take it anymore, just take the glass out at least?”
Kasumi stopped in her tracks, and Isaac breathed a silent sigh of relief.
It shattered as soon as he saw her smile, cold and hungry like a predator catching easy prey.
“Oh, well, if you insist.”
She unsheathed a knife, one that glinted and shined in the bright fluorescent lights.
—
His thoughts had long since melted away, dripping to the ground like the blood pouring from his chest.
Kasumi cut the shard out.
She didn't bother to sew him back together.
His guts were spilling to the floor—god, that was fucking disgusting—and he wanted to vomit but he had nothing in his stomach to throw up.
Isaac coughed violently, and his vision turned white for a second, his broken ribs crying in pain.
He just wanted to sleep, but this? This just felt like dying.
He was sweating from the warmth, yet paradoxically he felt much too cold. Vaguely, Isaac remembered the blanket in the corner.
All this for a stupid fucking piece of fabric.
He should have never tried to get it back in the first place.
—
Isaac was released from the chains eventually—he knew because he crumpled to the floor the moment they were loosened and hit his head on the concrete. The world was blurry, all the sound drowned out by the pounding in his head. And he didn't know what was happening—frankly, he was surprised he ever was let down at all.
Someone—Kasumi, he supposed—was sewing him up. Little pricks in his skin, pulling it back together.
It felt too much like when he was on that table, and he squirmed and tried to get away—but a hand roughly pushed him to the floor, adding another bruise to his skull. He managed a weak cry of pain. Stop it. Please.
She hummed as she worked, ignoring Isaac's muffled whimpers and fever-hot temperature.
Eventually, she tied off the last stitch, and Isaac wanted to cry in relief. He didn't get any chance to. She forced his arms back into their sockets, quickly and brutally, disregarding his screams.
Leaving him on the floor, she exited the cell without a word. He relaxed the smallest bit. A break. That was all he wanted.
He could finally breathe a little easier.
The abandoned blanket laid in the corner of his gaze, and with what little strength he had, Isaac reached for it. He had no energy to drape it over himself, instead hugging it tightly to his chest.
He gave everything to have it.
And it wasn't worth it. Not at all. But as he drifted off to sleep for the first time in ages, he realized just how much he had missed its warmth.
—
AN: I love being mean and evil to Isaac and oh man this isn't even the worst thing that's happened to him in this plotline
Here's a scene from The Prince of Thieves that fits the Day 6 prompt and that ultimately changed quite a lot from first to final draft! This was written at some point in October, when I realized TPOT was a bigger story than just some Whumptober pieces and ended up writing all the way to the end.
Context (spoilers): Bree escaped; Will didn't; Hatchett ran after her; Michaelson is pissed off and power-tripping. Sound familiar?
This is how the scene was originally written (and then I pretty much never looked at it again except to change it completely for the revival).
To be clear, I don't think this is particularly well-written or a great example of my writing. But TPOT readers might be interested to see what this moment between Will and Michaelson originally looked like. [I'm very glad it didn't stay this way.]
“You should show some respect, there, boy,” he says, sinister promise in every word. “I’m in charge when Hatchett’s not here.”
“You sure you’re gonna be able to feed and dress yourself without him telling you what to do?”
Silence.
“Let’s see,” he says quietly. “How about we try a new game, hmm? How long can you go without food or water? I’ll give it to you when the constable returns…” His voice trails off, then strengthens again. “Or when you beg me for it.”
My stomach drops. I didn’t think anyone could be worse than Hatchett himself. Maybe I was wrong about that.
“Fine.” What else is there possibly to say? He can do whatever he wants. He waits, though, eyebrows raised, like he’s expecting more. So, sure, I give it to him. “Have fun gravedigging, then, because that’s never going to happen.”
“So brave. So brave now.” Michaelson chuckles. “We’ll see if you’re so full of courage in a day. In a few hours, even.”
Definitely not the monster I thought it would be, but this is all gonna be horrendous when I put it together lol, but that's a 6-snippets-i.e.-an-age-from-now problem. (God, why is the spacing on tungle acting so weird? Maybe I actually need to let this thing do all of the windows updates it wants... so inconvenient).
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CONTENT and WARNINGS: Panic attack, flashbacks, broken bones, crush injuries, spinal injury, mild description of gore, multiple whumpees, fellow whumpee acting as something of a caretaker
wc: ~1.3k
As if it could sense Cole’s distress, the debris’ weight atop him seemed to increase, forcing more air from his straining lungs than he could replenish. Each breath hurt like nothing else.
Jagged points of broken ribs dug into his muscle, while the smooth lengths dug into his lungs. Knives were the only thing comparable. He could hardly think.
Why was his ability failing him now?
Instead of the steady, reliable strength and vitality, an uncomfortably warm weakness coursed through his veins.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe.
It was all too much.
It’s not real! he cried inwardly.
It had to be another of his mind’s evil attempts at dragging him back into the past. That’s all this was, just another dream. He wasn’t laying here, on his back crushed under the unforgiving weight of concrete and steel, losing his mind.
Strained, scared grunts escaped his lungs as he gave everything he had and more to budge the weight with his free arm and twisted his broken body to free a leg to help, and broken whines built in his throat when he failed. In any other circumstance, Cole would’ve been embarrassed by such pitiful sounds, but the pain was so uncontrollable and immense that he couldn’t help them.
More sand hissed and fell onto his face, and rock slid against rock; a sure sign that whatever pinned him was shifting, gifting him a heavenly inch across his chest. Greedily, he gulped at the dusty air despite the agony that rent his body without his ability.
The relief that flooded him was immense; it was worth the pain.
Now, he just had to move from under it. He’d made it this far, surely…
Cole wriggled his torso, trying to cock a leg to help take the weight.
The load did not get lighter.
Oh no, oh no no no.
He wriggled again, but nothing he did or thought could wake his dormant limbs.
It’s not real, it can’t be real.
He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t…
Move.
Cole couldn’t move.
The strain was fast catching up—pain lanced and bled through every bone from his head, to his shoulders, to his ribs, and through the arm that propped the hunk of debris off his chest, but everything past his waist was… eerily peaceful.
There was no pain; not even discomfort.
Just… nothing.
Nothing.
He couldn’t feel the entire lower half of his body.
Cole’s mind raced. His chest, despite the small relief, constricted sickeningly tight. Fear ripped through his pounding heart, tearing his mind to shreds and stealing more air than the debris ever could. Around him, the faint din of machinery replaced the groans and cracks of the collapsed building, and the faint echoing voices of workers and his own, muted screams reverberated through the open floor of his old factory. The hazy ghost of a man had wondered beneath the pipes, still suspended by ropes that refused to retire. They had corrosion, Cole had seen it.
The sound of straining steel cords whipped through Cole’s mind.
The man had a partner, a kid… or was it two?
What good was he id he left him under the—he had to get him out from under—he was under the pipes and they were going to fall…!
The ropes snapped and the pipes fell and landed with a sickening crunch.
The man was safe, thrown to the side so harshly that Cole was sure something broke, but his kids would still have a father.
That was the only thought left in Cole’s mind as he fought for life, broken, pinned under the pipes in that man’s place, eyes burning neon blue for all to see.
“Call the hunters!” came a murky voice. It was soon joined by more.
It was going to happen all over again.
Cole struggled harder, unable to stop the cries that spilled from his mouth. He had to get out, he had to get away, they would go after Mel and Penny…! He couldn’t let that happen!
Something in him snapped, lending him the strength to push harder still, causing whatever was above him to groan.
A broken shriek tore through the fragments of memories that plagued Cole’s mind. A familiar voice whimpered and groaned, stumbling over his words. Cole couldn’t make them out over the thundering of his heart in his ears, and his too-fast, shallow breaths, but he was sure he heard his name. It hurt to wonder.
He just kept panting, he couldn’t get enough air, his chest hurt, he felt sick.
He was going to die under here. The hunters would find him, hurt him, and prolong his suffering.
Cole’s body shook now. He couldn’t fail, not again, he couldn’t let the pipes back down, but, slowly, the strain was becoming too much. He tried to breathe, but a cough rattled his chest, cutting his breath short.
Not enough, not enough.
He gasped again, greedily inhaling the staling, dusty air with a shudder.
“C—Cole—!”
Coles body failed him, sending the flat, concrete pipes crashing back down onto his body.
Already cracked ribs splintered further, but the chunk slid off him, releasing his chest.
He could breathe. He could finally breathe.
But that was the only thing he could do.
Darkness still surrounded him, and his injuries hadn’t yet healed. He could not stop the panic that clawed its way through his chest, and crushed his dry throat, refusing to relent. He didn’t move again save for the uneven dips of the breathless, shallow gasps which wracked his body.
The other voice spoke again, but Cole couldn’t comprehend a single word. All he could hear was the hazy yelling that echoed through the warehouse, and the sickening, humming laugh of a man clad in black, face adorned with a golden mask. It glimmered like the stars that swam in Cole’s vision, concealing the identity of a man whose eyes were filled with an unmistakable cruelty and ambition.
That look sent a shiver down his spine.
“C-Cole—” the voice said, “ye’re not—he’s not here—b-breathe—”
Fragments.
His mind refused to hear more than a few words at a time, and those he did, he couldn’t understand.
Suddenly, a cool, inhuman hand found his. The grip was shaky and weak, but, all the same, it wrapped its webbed fingers around his dusty palm and helped ease the uncomfortable heat of the stress and strain.
Cole’s breath shuddered in his chest, and he choked out a sob.
No one held his hand in those hazy memories, no one extended him even an ounce of comfort; no one cared for the demon broken and pinned under the pipes, but… the young belunae that laid beside him, trapped in the same, suffocating darkness did.
“Th-that’s it, I—think… yeah,” Pete said, voice hitching and strained, “just—breathe, l-long, slow b-b-breaths. Th-that’s what T-Timmy—w-what Timmy says.”
How he’d even begun to succeed, Cole didn’t know, but the smooth indentations of scales, the sharp but gentle claws that rested against his skin, and the steady shake of Pete’s hand seemed to act like a tether, softly pulling Cole’s mind back to reality whenever it strayed too far.
Cole couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel his legs, he still could barely breathe, but he wasn’t alone.
He coughed, fouling his mouth with dust and who knew what else.
“You—you okay, kid?” he rasped.
The young belunae would probably never know how much what he did meant to Cole.
He was content to leave it that way.
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The streets were quiet as Nova walked. His hands in his pockets, he did not really care where he was going. It didn't matter where he went. Everything would probably end up the same way.
He could smell it in the air.
This entire part of town had been abandoned. The people that they got out of the town, had to table to the hospital for sleep deprivation, malnutrition, which did not make sense since it has only been a few hours, other seemed to suffer from some kind of sound or light sensitivity.
Lightning flashed in the skies, making Nova frown. He did not want to walk in the damn rain. Then again.... He could just go home, but that wouldn't resolve the problem of what the hell is going on.
As the rain started falling, the strange smell in the air became worse.
Nova covered his mouth and nose with one hand. He did not like the smell. It made him feel physically sick.
"Have you found anything?" Max's voice asked through their link.
"Except for this fucking terrible smell?" Nova asked back, disgusted "There's nothing here.... I can't even find the fucking source of the smell"
"Careful, Nova" Gale said "This can be anything.... Some of the people at the hospital started to get very violent"
"Lera there?"
"No... she's out... I can't reach her"
"Fuck...."
"Agreed... Where are you?"
"In the middle of Urathia district... There's not a single damn thing here"
"Maybe you should get back... I don't like this"
"Neither do I" Nova said, shaking his head as his eyes flickered around. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, it felt like he was being watched. His instinct was usually right and at the moment, they were screaming at him that something was wrong. "I'm heading back.... We need to fucking figure out what's going on here"
"Nova... that gas is expanding" Max said "It's almost the entire Urathia district now... if we don't figure out where it's coming from it's going to over the city in...."
"Three hours" Nova interrupted "With with the princess squad and get the people clear"
"Yeah, yeah... we know how to do our jobs"
With that his brothers disappeared from his mind.
Nova blinked up at the skies, raindrops falling on his face, before he shook his head and turned around, starting back the way he came from.
After a few steps, he started noticing movement out of the corner of his eyes. Distorted figures that kept on following after him. A wave of exhaustion rushed through him and without warning he had the urge to just go to sleep.
It was as if his mind started to fade, thoughts becoming muddled and confused.
More and more of the distorted images moved over his vision.
Out of reflex he attacked. Somewhere in the back of his exhausted mind, he knew that there were nothing there.
***
Amilia landed in the middle of the deserted street, her eyes searching around. It's been more than an hour since they've lost contact with Nova. Almost like he just disappeared.
Neither Max nor Gale could contact him or track him.
He must have cut the mind link.
Not just that... Now they've been getting reports of fighting happening inside the Urathia district. Strange creatures and things like that. It was like the city went mad.
Animals and people, were fighting like they've lost their minds. Those that they managed to get out, were diagnosed with extreme sleep deprivation, which no one could explain how it happened.
She adjusted the mask over her face.
It was not going to be easy if this gas had the same effects on Nova. He was sure to turn extremely violent.
She had to find him as soon as possible.
Only this was a very big area and it would take some time. She needed to hurry before something happens.
A blur appeared and crashed into Amilia.
The two crashed into the ground. Immediately Amilia rolled to her feet, ready to fight. Her eyes snapped towards the figure that was on the ground, already stalking back towards her.
Through the dust, she could make out a pale face, dirty clothes and just as dirty blond hair.
"Nova..." Amilia said, shocked.
The figure kept on moving closer. Something was of about him, the way he moved wasn't right. Somehow sluggish and unfocused.
Amilia clenched her jaw. "Nova" she said, stepping back. She did not want to fight Nova, not when he looked like that. There was no expression on his face, it was almost like he was in some kind of trance.
"Nova... come on, can you hear me?" she said again as he kept on moving towards her.
Nova's eyes stayed unfocused.
Amilia clenched her jaw. "Don't make me fight you, Dominic..." she said softly.
Before she could say anything else, Nova shot forward. For a moment his power flickered around him before slamming into her.
Amilia slammed into the wall behind her, immediately she had to dodge out of the way. Nova's fist slammed into the wall where her head was moments before.
Quickly, she gathered her magic around her, blocking another one of Nova' punches.
"Nova please...." Amilia said, straining against Nova's power. She'd forgotten just how strong he really was when he wasn't holding back. At least his attacks wasn't as accurate as usual, or as good as usual.
He ignored her and just continued to attack.
Hit after hit.
Amilia defended as good as she could. She would either have to start fighting him seriously or he's going to do something he will regret.
"Come on, Nova..." she yelled as she dodge another attack.
One of the debris sliced open her cheek. Immediately she felt the sting and shot forward. She caught Nova's wrist.
"Listen to me...." she said "Nova... Please!"
She could see bruises on his face. For a moment she just stared at his face for a moment, before he threw her back against a wall.
Her head hit the wall behind, making stars dance over her vision.
A soft gasp escaped her lips.
"....please...." she whispered and reached for her power. She needed to get him out of the gas. If getting rid of the gas was the only thing she did, it would be enough.
Amilia released her power.
It threw Nova back, but also cleared the gas around them. Immediately she got back onto her feet.
"Don't make me fight you anymore...." she said.
But Nova just stared moving back towards her, his eyes empty. It did not look like the removing the gas had any effect on him.
The fighting continued, until Nova and Amilia crashed into another building. Immediately Nova's fingers curled around her throat. He did not squeeze, just held her there.
Amilia stared up at him. "Dominic..." she whispered, reaching out with one hand.
Gently she touched his cheek.
"Come back...." she said softly, quickly taking of the mask with her other hand.
She watched his eyes. The beautiful gold and red, framed by long dark lashes. For the first time she noticed the small golden flecks in the red eye. Slowly his eyes focused on her, recognition appearing in them.
Nova stared at Amilia.
His chest still felt tight, but it now felt like he could breathe again. It took him a moment before he realized that his fingers were around her throat.
"....Princess..." he whispered.
He snatched his hand back, before slowly reaching out to the bruises on her face. "What did I do....?"
Amilia smiled, touching his cheek. "You're back...." she said.
Nova flinched away from her, stumbling to his feet. For a moment it felt the world was turning, before he managed to get his balance back. All he could do was stare at the bruises and cuts on Amilia's face.
"It's okay...." Amilia said softly as she got to her feet, slowly walking over to where he stood.
He looked down, away from her.
"It's not...." he said "Just.... just look at what I did to you.... Again"
Amilia smiled softly as took his face into her hands, resting her forehead against his. "Oh Nova..." she said softly "It's okay.... I'm okay..."
"How can it be okay?" he asked.
"Because.... I got you back.... You're here..... and you're alright" she said, just focusing on his eyes, which refused to meet hers "And I will gladly pay with a few scratches and bruises, if that means that you'll be alright as well.... This wasn't you fault.... Dominic...."
He took a shaky breath, but did not say anything. He was so tired, it didn't feel like he could keep holding on for much longer.
"Dominic..." Amilia said again "Will you look at me, please?"
Nova just shook his head slightly. He couldn't look at her.
See the bruises and cuts on her face that he caused. Just feeling a gentle touch of her hands on his face was almost more than he could take.
Amilia closed her eyes. Her thumbs rubbing gently over his cheek. "You're okay...." she said again "I was so worried.... You just disappeared.... and we didn't know what was going on.... But you're here now.... and you're alright..."
Slowly almost as if he was scarred that she'll disappear, he placed one hand over hers. Her hand was warm and so much smaller than his.
Without realizing it, he leaned a bit more into her touch.
"... I'm so sorry...." he whispered "Amilia..... I'm so sorry...."
Amilia pulled away slightly. "It's alright..." she said softly "It's alright.... You're alright.... I'm alright...."
Nova shut his eyes tightly. Exhaustion rushed through him and the world started to fade. His knees buckled and both of them sank to the ground. Warm arms wrapped around him.
"I've got you...." Amilia's voice whispered as it slowly faded as well.
***
Amilia stood next to Nova's bed. Now that they were back and he's been treated, she could take a good look at him.
He look exhausted.
They had to reset his arm and shoulder, his arm was in a cast and a sling. Even a few of his fingers were splinted. And then there were the bruises and cuts.
If she didn't know any better, she should have thought that he'd been fighting for days on end.
She sighed as she pulled a chair over and sat down. "You stupid man...." she said softly "What were you thinking? You shouldn't have gone there on your own"
With a sigh, she took his hand, resting her head on the side of the bed. Slowly her eyes started closing.
Nova slowly opened his eyes. It took a while before his mind caught up with happened. He smothered a cough, before turning his head. When his eyes finally focused on the red next to his arm, he realized that it was Amilia's hair.
He tried to move his hand, but it wouldn't listen to him. There was something warm wrapped around his fingers.
Carefully he managed to untangle his fingers from Amilia's. Gently he brushed some of the hair out of her face. Some times when the sun caught her hair just right, it reminded him of a fire.
"...hey princess..." he muttered.
Only when he heard his own voice sounding so muffled did he realize that there was a mask over his face.
When he tried to lift his other hand, it dawned on him that his arm was in a cast and a sling. It was not going to move the way he wanted it to. He wanted to take the mask off, but he still felt so exhausted that even breathing was a chore.
".... princess..." he muttered again, softly poking her against the head "You're going to... get a stiff... neck.... sleeping like that"
Slowly Amilia's eyes flickered open.
Nova poked her forehead again, before dropping his hand back onto the bed. It took to much energy to keep his arm up.
Amilia's head snapped up and she stared at Nova for a moment. "You're awake...." she said, eyes going wide.
"Not... sure I want to be..." he said, giving her a slight smile, before shivering.
Frowning Amilia leaned over him, putting her hand against his forehead. "You feel a bit warm..." she said.
"Hhhmmm..." was all answer she got.
When she looked over at him, his eyes was closed.
"You idiot of a man..." she said as she sat back down again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Webcomic)
Relationship: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain
Additional Tags: Sibling Love, Sleep Deprivation, Worry, Jason is a bit emotionally constipated, ive only read the Wayne Family Adventures, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Drugged Dick Grayson, but don’t worry about it
Summary:
When Dick runs himself into the ground, his siblings gather together to brainstorm ideas on how to get him to rest. Jason resorts to dubious means.
Started off as sleep deprivation but honestly drifted off a little lol. Post-rescue Ethan having a bad time adjusting to being possessed by an alien entity, on top of his general trauma.
---
CN: nightmares, past torture (implied), loss of limb (mentioned), fainting, exhaustion, mild gore
---
Ethan barely slept anymore.
At first, he thought he didn't have to. Out of all the changes his body had suffered, it would be the least strange one. He hardly felt the first sleepless night of wandering the empty campus, pulled along by some distant restlessness, some need to escape. It took him until noon to realize he was not tired. He stayed up the next night, too, and felt no different for it.
But five nights in, he learned that time borrowed had to be returned. Exhaustion set in suddenly, in a rush of faintness that he almost collapsed under. He waved off his students' concern with a lie about a busy week and pushed through the rest of the day in a half-conscious daze of swaying floors and throbbing headaches. When night finally came, he hoped he was at least too tired to dream.
His dreams had changed, too. He was always aware he was asleep; a numb weight in his limbs kept him tethered to his body. But he could neither move nor wake himself up. And knowing that the cold he felt wasn’t real didn’t make it any less biting.
In the nightmare, he couldn’t feel pain. But his throat constricted and he couldn’t breathe, his paralyzed body twitching. Linde’s sheet-white face loomed over him, ice glinting in his eyes, and when he turned around, the back of his head was a gaping, pitch black maw lined with the teeth of shattered bone. Ethan couldn’t scream. Hands pushed down on his shoulders and held him still as scalpels longer than his arm snaked around him and slowly tightened to slice through his skin, then muscle, then bone. Someone dragged him out of the chair he was bound to and both of his hands stayed behind, trickling blood onto the snow.
No matter how the dream began, it always ended with a bag being pulled over his head, leaving him in hot, suffocating darkness. Then Lucy’s voice pushed through it, quiet but clear:
“You won’t get out of here. Not alive.”
The cold devoured his lungs from the inside.
“Not ever.”
The words would ring in his ears long after he started awake.
But as shaken as those nightmares left him, they weren’t the worst that sleep had to give him. They, at least, were his.
Sometimes he would dream of things he’d never seen. His body would ache then, as if something impossibly heavy held it like a vice. Like a skin-tight prison of stone.
It was strange to think that the alien thing he shared a body with was capable of dreaming.
Its nightmares were as vivid as Ethan’s own. There was something deadly under his feet, something that burned and stripped his flesh off of his golden bones. His tears were colder than ice and they left his cheeks ash grey where they trickled. Something wanted him dead. He couldn’t die and yet he was afraid.
He saw his own body through a distorted lens of such disconnect that he revulsed himself. His eyes were useless water; his blood sang so horribly that it begged to be stopped. The only part of him that felt familiar was the hand he had lost and regrown.
Then he would wake up and his hand was once again foreign, and alien, and gold. The seam where metal met flesh stung like frostbite. For hours after, he had trouble believing he was actually awake.
So he didn’t sleep. He spent night after night in a tireless haze until his legs suddenly gave out. It soon became hard to gauge how long he could last. One night he woke up to a panicked security worker tapping his face - he’d collapsed in the middle of a lecture and the students almost called an ambulance. Someone helped him up and though the hands on his arms were gentle, the touch almost froze the breath in his chest. He stared at the security worker, shaking, trying to see her real face through his mind's illusions. She was just a co-worker. There was concern on her face.
Linde was dead and Lucy was in prison. Ethan was hundreds of miles away from what had hurt him.
He made up something about low blood sugar. The students dispersed and he managed to talk the security worker out of escorting him anywhere. With lead in his limbs, he left the lecture hall, grasping at the walls for balance.
His eyes burned. When he got to a mirror he saw that the blood that shot through them was taking on a golden glint.
