Chapter Text
When Diluc wakes, it's to a bright light. For a second, his body relaxes, but the light isn't fading and his body isn't moving towards it, and he starts to feel the twinge of broken neurons firing panic signals straight into his useless cerebrum. His chest is tight, like those chains that once held him down have erupted again, twisting brutally into his exposed ribcage.
He squints his eyes, looks up, and unfortunately realises that the light above him looks far too clinical to be the end. The moment he realises, a deep crevice cracks open in his stomach, and Diluc feels the intense vertigo of looking down into the canyon.
Surely the archons wouldn't do this to him. Surely; he thinks, trying to embed the scraps of comforting warmth from that thought into his shaky ventricles.
Then he turns his head to the side, sees the clinical white of a hospital, and whatever hope he once had lurches upwards and firmly grasps his throat in a choking grip, pressing the carpus into his trachea.
Never mind, Diluc thinks, The archons wouldn't do that. They're doing worse.
He's fucked, absolutely fucked, and to make it worse, he's not even dead. He wants to close his eyes again, but he can faintly hear the monitor beeping and the door opening, and whilst the temptation to let his eyes slip closed again is incredibly powerful, someone's talking to him and it sounds important.
He can't quite catch what they're saying through the pounding in his ears, but whoever it is speaks with such strength that Diluc almost wants to ask permission to go back to sleep, Sir. He mumbles something along those lines, but it comes out muffled and blurred, his mouth refusing to move.
He cracks his eyes open, and the face in front of him blurs again. He hopes the four-eyes are a fault of his eyesight, because otherwise Diluc's been captured by aliens.
Diluc squints up at the figure - and whoever it is absolutely brightens in response. Their eyes crinkle up, mouth breaking into the widest smile Diluc can remember.
"Hi," The person says, and the sound of their voice spoken so clearly shocks Diluc awake, because he swears he knows that voice. He can't put a name to it, trying to recall it feels like wading through sludge or digging through muck, and it's too hard, and Diluc is tired. He's sure he'll find out who it is eventually.
"H'y," he tries to mumble, but his voice shatters like glass and he nearly chokes on the shards. Diluc descends into a fit of coughing, which sends pain rattling through his chest, and really, does everything have to hurt all at once? Honestly, fuck being sick - he'd be much better off if the Archons had just given up and let him kick the bucket.
Whoever it is jumps into action, pressing a firm, warm hand against his chest, pinning him back into the mattress. It should feel scary - and it does - but the warmth radiating into his clavicle and his chest is so nice.
The voice interrupts.
"No, no, wait a bit," the voice is deep and gruff and everything Diluc's been missing for six years, god, he wishes he had all this last time he was bleeding out in a ditch.
"You're, uh, not quite ready to start moving just yet. Maybe take it slow, yeah?"
Fuck that. Diluc's never been slow, not once in his life. He's a runner, always sprinting towards the next achievement, his father sometimes standing behind him, forcefully shoving him forwards. He doesn't want to wait, he wants to die.
Diluc expresses as much, groaning softly through cracked lips.
He feels the soothing cool of glass pressing against his lips, and the water that follows is heavenly.
They never talk about how different water tastes in different regions. Natlan water tastes iron-y, Fontainian water tastes heavy, Sumerian water has a slight sweetness to it, but Nod Krai water is icy-cold and makes for a wonderful sensation when it glides down his scratched throat.
Diluc's limbs lie heavy against the bed, held down by the immeasurable weight of his exhaustion and-
is that leather? He can feel it now, the rough edges scraping against his wrists, the pinch as the restraints connect together in a slight point. They've tied him down.
Like a wild dog, they've chained him to his bed.
He fidgets a bit more, feeling the cotton of the bed underneath his fingers - recognises that means they've taken off his gloves and seen the scars underneath - then stops.
Footsteps, heavy against the concrete floor. Advancing.
The door doesn't creak open, it slides with the heavy rumble of metal on metal. It all sounds too loud to be a nurse, which only means one thing -
those heavy footsteps, that loud, soothing voice, the brightness-
Varka.
Aw, shit.
"You awake now?" Diluc closes his eyes, but he knows it won't do much. The heart monitor gives him away. Varka moves, sits down at his bedside with a heavy sigh. Diluc tenses, expecting reprimands, preparing himself to be disowned like he should've been years ago,
"We didn't want to go against your wishes." Diluc startles. Why would they care about his wishes? He's barely even a person anymore. Varka pauses, the silence heavy. "But, your injuries were too severe. I know you would've preferred we just let you die," it's true, Diluc would have preferred that. Varka sighs. "But I'm selfish. You might not agree, but you are my son, whether you like it or not. And I couldn't carry home another dead Ragnvindr." Varka grunts, standing up, and claps his hand on Diluc's shoulder. Diluc tries to supress the flinch. He fails.
Varka's body depresses, his shoulders sinking down, his face twisting into sadness. "I know. I'm sorry. We'll get you home soon enough." Varka chuckles. "Recovery will be a bitch; but you'll get through it. I know this isn't what you want to hear, I'm sorry."
A couple tears run down Diluc's cheek, and he curses the binds for leaving him so vulnerable, unable to wipe away the humiliating evidence of his emotion. Varka doesn't even stutter, wiping them away with a soft, calloused hand. Diluc doesn't feel ready to speak just yet, but Varka understands all the same. His eyes crinkle with a wistful sadness.
"I know. We'll get you where you need to be soon enough." Varka looks away (satisfying proof that even the Grandmaster struggles to show some emotions), and mumbles something under his breath.
"Anyway," He continues, "I love you more that you can imagine, son. I'm sorry it took so long to find you again."
"Really, I'm sorry."