Chapter Text
Medkit tossed and turned in his bed, contemplating his next step. He always wanted Subspace dead, for what he’d done to him, but when he thought about it- it was him that made his face rot away, no? The reason his rot infested his very soul, corrupting his heart and mind, making the inventor’s words splutter and fizz when he wasn’t putting up a show and rotting his arm to nothing but actual bone- that was all Medkit’s doing. Maybe Medkit owed him something- and he was a doctor, right? So he had to help him? Medkit would allow himself to admit- Subspace wasn’t the only guilty person between the two. Medkit did a thing or two as well. He cursed under his breath frustratedly. His mind was playing tricks on him to get him to- to allow him to feel anything but contempt to Subspace, to allow himself to wish to make amends- and he could almost hit himself for his own stupidity. No, Medkit would not visit Subspace. He made that decision, though as he thought of it he felt the largest wave of dread wash over him than he’d felt in a long time. His stomach sunk, and he immediately felt- guilty. If Medkit left Subspace there, no matter what happened to him, he’d be as guilty as the inventor. For allowing someone he- the words weighed on his mind- previously cared about (even if they were rivals at best), to suffer and- and decay- from his doing, he wouldn’t forgive himself. He wouldn’t ever be able to sleep again.
Medkit threw on his clothes and a jacket, his gun and gear, and opened the door, welcoming the crisp air of Crossroads. This was so fucking stupid. As he drove over to the icy region of Blackrock, he cursed himself silently. If he hadn’t acted so impulsively in the moment he wouldn’t be obligated to Subspace anything. This was another impulse decision. History repeats itself , he mused to himself, eye focused on the road. Medkit was thankful for Subspace's hou- apartment?- being near the outskirts of Blackrock. Medkit could have sworn that Subspace lived in a house. He looked around the drab, dull building for any signs of life and all he saw were cigarettes on the floor and footsteps through the snow. Medkit could have winced at that- doctor he was, he couldn’t help but recoil at the sight of anything like drugs or smoking. Natural health worker instinct, he supposed, and went into Subspace’s apartment. The place was run down, noises all around him and yet strangely empty, and he felt a similar feeling of dread from before pool in his gut and weighed him down. He hated stairs, so he opted for the elevator, though pressing a button led to a spark of light and it’d go dim again, forcing him to trek up the stairs, sighing as he realized Subspace was on the top floor. Medkit could have sworn Subspace hated heights.
After some long, winding, flights of stairs, Medkit reached Subspace’s room. A Biograft stood stationary outside of his room, signaling to Medkit that this was, indeed, his room. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that it was the Biograft that always attended the phights, signaled by a large gash in its torso where Katana had severed it. “YOU CAME.” “How could I have not?” Medkit motioned to knock, his hand hitting the cool material with a loud thud. He tried again, met by silence through the apartment building. He huffed under his breath. But nobody came. Guess I gotta go home. But as he took a single step away from the door, a wave of discomfort shot through him, and he had no choice but to open the door. Medkit felt the cool metal under his hands as he twisted the doorknob open. The first thing he noticed was how dark the room was. Guess nobody really was home. It felt odd to be intruding, but SFOTH knew that Biograft would not let him through without at least checking the entire place.
Medkit approached a room at the end of a hallway, door slightly ajar and he could peer into the room. He saw what looked like a bedframe, and he moved to push the doorway open. Medkit blanched at the sight. There. Subspace’s eye was closed and his body was absolutely covered in his bedsheets and blankets, almost rolling himself up into a ball. Medkit approached him cautiously, careful not to trip on or step on any prototypes or blueprints for inventions he’d planned out, as he almost feared the inventor’s reaction to his hard work being messed up when he… awoke? Subspace sniffled under his blanket. Medkit approached the lump on the bed, almost considering poking it with his gun to see if he was alive, and the bump shook. “Biograft,” Subspace warbled, raspy and unstable, “Go back to charging.” Subspace was always a light sleeper, wasn’t he?
“It’s not Biograft. It’s Medkit.” The doctor replied, standing above him awkwardly. It was so odd, seeing Subspace in such a moment of vulnerability. “O-Oh. Go back to Crossroads- hic- then.” he sobbed. “No. Do you mind if I see you?” Medkit put a hand to the blanket above Subspace, prodding in a way. “Yes,” Subspace cried. “Don’t. I don’t want to see you- Just leave me alone- I’m not- You-” Subspace seemed to be almost hyperventilating under his blankets and bedsheets, the oddly Subspace sized lump shivering. Medkit was skeptical about the safety of that. “Subspace, take deep breaths.” Medkit murmured. Subspace only whines louder. The dark of Subspace’s apartment almost felt suffocating, so cluttered it’s like parkour trying to maneuver anywhere without stepping on something. “No- no- no no no no no no no-” Subspace cried. “Go away, Medkit! You’re the last person I ever want to see!! Just- Just leave! Like you did all those years ago! I- I hate you!” Subspace wailed, sobbing growing more hysterical and voice cracking, desperation filling the entire room. Medkit didn’t know what to do, or say, he wasn’t experienced in helping others emotionally.
“Subspace. I’m a doctor. I can help you.” Medkit offered. “You’re not a therapist! So much is wrong with me, nobody would know where to start!” Subspace bawled, heaving sobs that shook him to his core, would have pressed his face to his hands if he could move his right arm at all. “Is it your rot?” Medkit felt a twang of guilt. Fucker shouldn’t have taken out his eye. The doctor felt less remorseful. “Oh, you fucking bet- bet it’s the rot! It’s eating me whole! Cracking my soul from the inside out,” he sobbed. “It’s my fault, too, it hurts more than a-anything you could ever imagine! I’m the scum of the earth! Do- do you remember when I ripped out your eye?” Subspace almost sounded manic, delirious, through his shaking and palpable despair. Medkit stares. Of course the fuck he does? “Think of that- but in your arm and your heart, creeping up, up, up towards your lungs and heart, constantly feeling pain, so much agony, pain that will never come to a halt before it kills me!” Subspace is absolutely deranged- Medkit can see that now. “God, Meddy, my time is almost up! I can feel it closing in on my fucking lungs! And my- my throat, ooh, my throat, I can’t even eat! I’ve been living off of fucking tomato soup for weeks,” Subspace cries out, rambling now. “Can’t you try to see a doctor?” Medkit asked. “No. No, it’s over. If my rot doesn’t get me, my guilt will. My fucking- brainrot- I have no reason. To continue. It’s hurt. For so l-long. I’m ready to say goodbye, Medkit.” Subspace laments. “No, Subspace!” Medkit blurts, the voice surprising even himself. Why the fuck did he say that?
“What is it, Meddy? You hate me. For what I’ve done. I hate you too! Why do you care?!” Subspace blubbered. “I don’t know.” he replied dumbly, wishing he knew what more to say. Subspace was really as much of a lost cause as he claimed himself to be. “I’m done. This is it. Are you going to have fun, knowing I’m gone? Feel safe?” Subspace laughed, a sickening mix of a cough and a cackle, as fake as Medkit. He fought off the urge to say yes. “It doesn’t have to end this way.” he mumbled halfheartedly. He knew deep down, it did. Subspace could laugh at the suggestion. What kind of fucking idiot is he? “It does. I’m dead this week. If not after you leave!” Subspace snicker-sobbed. “I can’t move my left arm, Medkit. It really, truly, is over this time.” His voice is more gentle now, trying to get Medkit to- to see, just to see that any effort is futile. He doesn’t know why he cares. “Don't give me a voice, don’t give me tears,” Subspace sobbed, as if he was ending the conversation. “Running away isn’t any good. Withering isn’t any good.” he whispered, voice tired of talking. Medkit now had no idea what he was chattering about. “This is… really goodbye, Medkit. After this, my Biografts won’t attack you anymore. You’re-” a hiccup interrupts him. “You’re free.” Subspace finished. Medkit doesn’t know what to say. What could he say, to someone as depraved as that? “...In that case, goodbye.” Medkit kept his voice to a hush, as brittle as a glass shard, and he turned away to leave. Subspace had one last word for him. “Goodbye, Medkit. I love you.” Medkit faltered.
“I loved you too.”