Chapter Text
He dreamed, for some reason, of Clagger. Saw melted flesh mesh with bone. Dreamed of Vander too. Saw his hands scrape on the concrete, factory ground- then, not just his hands. The rest of him too.
Mylo looked down at his own hands, the one with its fingers blown off, the blast so hot he wasn’t even bleeding. It just hurt, wasn’t deadly at all.
Vi wasn’t in the dream, but she wasn’t anywhere. More of a ghost than the actual ghosts. Leader, his ass. Big sister… she’d probably always been bad at it. He’d just pretended otherwise, because she would’ve hit him over the head if he’d said it out loud. Yeah.
That was it.
He looked up. In his dream, it rained blue powder. It gleamed in the moonlight- there was a hole in the ceiling.
It caught in his hair. Fell where his fingers should’ve been.
Mylo thought it looked pretty ugly- reminded him of ash.
When he woke up, the alleyway was empty and his back ached. He’d been sleeping on a sprawl of sharp rocks, tired of leaning on the brick wall after so many nights of being in the same position.
He groaned, wiping gravel from his cheek with his good hand. Mylo wondered where Powder was, then regretted it immediately. Who cared where she ran off to.
Mylo had to wobble as he got up. There was no other way around it. He rose on shaky feet, reaching for his bad hand instead of the wall. The ragged skin had begun to heal, and the blisters were starting to peel off on their own. But the remaining nubs of his fingers still worked on contracting joints and missing ends, barbecued to bits.
There was no getting that back.
Something small and gentle landed on his head. For a stupid moment, he thought it was blue powder, or maybe even ash. Then he looked up and realised it was just rain.
Little droplets of water fell on him and the rest of the alleyway. Feeling any ounce of energy leave him, he slid back down the wall, back down on the ground- landing in a slump. Like a stray mutt kicked down a few too many times.
(what a stupid fucking joke)
So, Mylo sat in the rain, and didn’t do much else. Waited for Powder to come scurrying back.
(the joints in his bad hand clenched, aching and awful-feeling, though he didn’t really know why)
It was dumb to stay this way. But that was just how Mylo was. Weak against any obstacle. The rain just made him feel depressed. Did he really need a better reason to crumple like a wet sheet of paper?
(he wondered if there were ghosts living inside the walls, or if that was just all him)
“Where were you?” He asked, feeling like a disapproving dad. It made him cringe, but he couldn’t take the question back.
Powder stumbled through the alley, but she didn’t look hurt. She looked at him, but her stare seemed glassy and distant more than anything.
“Around.”
Cool. Great. “Lovely chat.”
“I… um… slowly, she inched towards where he was sitting, slumped down next to him. Mylo almost moved away, just to be petty, but stayed stiff and still. Let her dirty, scrapped sleeves rub against his arm. “I made you something.”
He looked back at her- her gaze was less hazy now. Though she seemed to anticipate something from him, like she was ready to flinch away from anything he could throw at her.
(mylo wondered if she’d really been that afraid)
(why?)
(shouldn’t he be scared of her?)
“…Better not be dangerous,” he muttered, still feeling exhausted from the morning. The rain had let up, but it’d still killed his energy and hung it out to dry.
It came out of her bag- a clunky, ugly thing. The metal grip at the bottom reached out into fingers. All three looked flimsy, but there were metal hinges clearly meant to wrap around his joints. The fingers were pure screws and scrap, uncomfortable looking. Nothing human about them.
They stank of oil.
Mylo’s good hand went to grab them, where Powder kept them in her own, her hold gentle, like she was afraid they’d completely break apart at the slightest touch.
He grabbed it. Didn’t thank her, wasn’t really sure how. If he even should.
“Sorry.” Powder said, and Mylo wondered if it was for the bomb or the prosthsetic.
He took in the word. Wasn’t sure what to do with it.
(maybe…)
“It’s ugly,” he said. Because it was true- even she could admit it. Powder hadn’t even drawn any of her stupid little monkeys on it.
Her face drooped a bit, but she still moved it towards him. Something in her eyes was hopeful now.
And feeling like a beast being tamed (what was wrong with him?), he reached for it. Looked at the way mud smeared on its fingertips.
Mylo looked down, back at Powder. She was still watching. Desperate for his approval- though he didn’t know why. How anyone could even bother with that.
She could’ve just left. Should’ve a while ago.
He was going to get them killed. She was going to kill him. Nothing about them was going to end well.
(something in his chest hurt, but not even his good fingers were good enough to sooth it out. it was a ghost, maybe. multiple. all stuck inside.
there wasn’t enough room for them)
So he asked, “How do I put it on?” and said nothing else.
Powder beamed. Mylo wondered how she could possibly think that was enough.
It was a few days later when he figured that they’d crashed in the alley long enough.
His stupid new fingers still hung limp on his hand, but his knees could bend again without much pain. That was good enough for him to get up one day and say, “We’re leaving.”
Powder listened this time. Probably just happy to be included in the ‘leaving’ part.
It felt weird, to have her following around now, just because he’d let her put the hand grip on. It felt like he was some mother duck, leading its duckling off the edge of a cliff (it made him feel like vi, with a little sister tugging at their sleeves, ready to listen and listen and listen-).
The whole thing gave him chills. Made him want to crawl out of his skin.
“Where’re we going?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t actually know where they should be going.
Powder clung to his arm, tugged on his ear, annoyed. Mylo scowled at her, but she didn’t let up. Not until he pushed her off a little too hard.
“Mylo!”
“You’ll see when we get there. Now shut up and walk!”
He had two working legs, some partly-there fingers, and the whole day ahead of him. Mylo would figure it out.
Maybe.