Chapter Text
Loneliness was a horrible feeling.
It was loud in the quietest way possible.
You would watch a series or a movie and when you turn around—you will realize you have no one to hear you talk about it. Once you realize this fact, the series that you had loved so much would have lost its color a bit. It was on the feeling of hearing someone else talk to you but never receiving the grace of being listened to. It didn't start as a big hole in the center of your ribcage, not the ways most people would describe it.
It started as a small hole that slowly grows progressively bigger until you were kneeling on the floor— hands trying to clutch at the slightest warmth of human interaction. Your mind read too much into every single touch until your hunger for love manifested in the worst way possible. You needed the validation that being seen gave to you. Atlas knew this intimately, he had spent hours deleting and rewriting a message after that stupid rejection.
The loudest thing inside of his abandoned house had been his own mind.
He needed someone to tell him that he wasn't losing his mind, that he wasn't a defective avian destined to be alone.
Maybe it was the constant negativity that fell through every content that he consumed but he desperately needed someone to hold him and tell him that he wasn't the faulty one.
Atlas should have known that it was just too good to be true. It was obvious in hindsight that the program was just manipulating him. But when you are so starved from connection even pre programmed messages from a machine could feel like solace.
It had just felt good.
Good to be validated even if it wasn't real.
Then Zacho had appeared in the same caves as him and stubbornly stayed by his side even when Atlas forced the man to leave. Who had bright blue eyes, the exact same shade he had been warned about in the wooden signs scattered around this place.
Atlas had been anything but friendly. It didn't help that Zacho kept shattering the frail illusion with his speeches, constantly reminding him that the thing that he was talking to was an AI— a pre-programmed system designed to say all of the right things. It stung, the constant reminder had made tears appear in the corner of his eye without fail. Because Atlas didn't have anyone apart from that AI. It had made Atlas an ugly defensive mess that constantly lashed out at the smallest noise.
They all eventually leave.
Any human or hybrid that Atlas would befriend would eventually leave Atlas in the dust.
Well, all except for Zacho.
Zacho who Atlas had pushed aside constantly.
Zacho who had tried to help him once, only to receive a mace in the face, and for some god forsaken reason had returned to save him again after that. Insisting on saving Atlas from his own mind and sticking around like gum on the back of his shoe.
Zacho whose skin glowed a pale blue from the bioluminescence of the skulk under the dim light of the caves. Who always had a petty insult ready to fire as a comeback to Atlas's rudeness or the machine's nonsense.
Zacho whose body lies crumpled by Atlas's feet, completely unmoving.
There's a different kind of loneliness at watching the first person who hasn't given up on you—crumble at your feet.
Because Atlas is alone with this complete stranger—he can't cry for help.
This complete stranger whose eyes had been so incredibly fond just a couple of hours prior. Someone that had shown Atlas more human decency in a couple of hours than any of his so called friends and family. The screen behind his holographic watch shines mockingly while the disconnect button lays just behind his thumb. Because that's what he was going to do before Zacho collapsed.
And really, Atlas could leave. There wasn't a single thing stopping him from pressing down on his communicator, it would be easy. He wasn't indebted to Zacho—the man had made that very very clear from the beginning. Atlas could just log out of this god forsaken server and leave Zacho behind the same way the man had clearly intended for him to do. Knowing the brain that the other man possessed it wasn't an stretch to think that he had a plan for these situations and that—that plan didn't involve Atlas in any way.
But maybe it was the skepticism, a trait that he had only developed on his early adolescence, that kept his feet glued to the ground. His pale green eyes staring at the unconscious body in front of him with something akin to pure horror. He felt stuck, watching those small blueish particles from skulk traveling until they covered both of Zacho's eyes completely. Blond eyelashes that fluttered with sweat while it continued expanding through every inch of Zacho's body.
It was the first time Atlas had encountered an infection like this one.
Hell, he had encountered the virus counterpart when he was small—it was a completely harmless ailment that would be cured by the end of the week. A couple of kids on his avian colony had it from exploring the deep dark and the worst thing that had ever happened to them was fever for a day.
Is Zacho even alive at this point?
The thought falls over him like a cold water bucket.
It's enough for him to drop the communicator to the ground, uncaring of the screen, as he slowly knelt over the body with shaky hands. The grass staining his clothes with green muddy patches as he reaches to hold Zacho's body close to his chest. The skin had a deathly pallor as Atlas's warm fingers curl around Zacho's neck in a desperate search for a pulse. Some of the shivering stops as Zacho slowly nuzzles into the warmth of Atlas's jacket with a groan of pain. The man is covered in sweat and yet, that doesn't dissuade Atlas from holding him even closer to himself.
Just how long had he been like this?
How long had Zacho walked in this condition while pretending for Atlas's sake that he was fine?
"Please…" Atlas whispers into the air, a soft sound that is so full with sorrow— he doesn't think he's ever been this scared.
A soft thrum beats under his fingertips, steady, alive in the same way the crawling skulk is.
And the wave of relief that almost sends him to the floor is enough proof of something that he already suspected.
Atlas was still the same stupid idiot who clung to the crumbs of basic human decency like a lifeline. And he had made the same mistake that he always made—he had gotten too attached to a literal stranger. This level of relief wasn't normal to feel for a complete stranger unless you were some kind of saint who bled empathy. He wasn't like Zacho, who dedicated his life into saving people from these uncomfortable situations. And yet, Atlas still felt it. He still felt the pressure climbing on the back of his throat and the crushing weight of relief.
Zacho was fine.
Atlas could now leave, leave the man to wake up alone and then hopefully Zacho would be more lucid.
Atlas could leave.
Atlas doesn't leave.
Instead his eyes fixate on the growing spots of skulk slowly growing on Zacho's still body, glowing. All of his excitement for having reached the surface disappearing into a cloud of thick bitter smoke. The world seemed like a blur of colors that were just too bright for his scrambled mind to process while he stayed frozen for a couple of seconds. He didn't even know what had caused Zacho to collapse in the first place.
Atlas was helpless, once more.
Helpless to watch the first person who saw him clearly—who stuck by his side—seize and tremble under the weight of a strange illness that Atlas had no idea on how to begin healing. He's alone again, in the worst way possible. If he had obeyed Zacho, if he had accepted to log out the moment the man had suggested it… would they be in the same situation?
If Atlas had noticed.
If Atlas had pushed for information.
There's a soft noise coming from the still body lying on his hands, a gurgle, a raw sound that bubbles through Zacho's throat. This man that is completely helpless and depends only on Atlas to make it out of here intact or well—as intact as Zacho can be with both of his eyes covered by skulk.
Right, okay.
What does Atlas know that could help with this situation?
Not much, he's never been the smartest of his colony nor had he cared enough to study anything past literature. It had seem meaningless, especially once the struggle of finding a job started actually sinking into his body. What was the point on seeking farther education if he was just destined to be alone anyways? Literature was different, it was just easier. Oxymorons and Metaphors came easily to his mind unlike Statistics. They didn't make him feel stupid.
Poetry didn't make him feel stupid.
But what good does poetry make in a situation like this one?
None because Atlas had chosen wrong once more.
A hand, his hand, comes to grab at the delicate wing on top of his head before pulling at the feathers until his thoughts cleared once more. There was no time to panic, no if he wanted to ensure Zacho's safety while the server was still on. He would like to pretend that he didn't care about the man crumpled by his feet.
But his hunger for attention always backfired in the same way.
This stranger had shown Atlas a silver of basic human decency and it had cause his mind to develop a dependency on it. He hated attention. It was a drug—one that caused him to hyper fixate on every single interaction, to crave even the smallest glance from whoever was stupid enough to glance in his direction.
Shaking his head, he turns to look at Zacho once more.
Okay, focus.
He has to get a hold of himself.
Skulk a strange kind of plant or fungus that thrived on the darkness of the deepest caves. The skulk growing on Zacho's face didn't seem to be any different from the one that grew from the bottom of the caves. Which meant the sun probably wasn't making Zacho's situation any better. Atlas had to get Zacho out of the sun…
There was only one place he could drag the unconscious man until Atlas managed to create a makeshift house.
The place where they had escaped.
Atlas is going to have to go back to the skin caves.
"Okay, this is fine." The words come out hysteric from his trembling lips while he slowly throws one of Zacho's arms around his shoulder.
The skin caves opening isn't far, and yet the distance seems monstrous while he struggles to carry Zacho's body inside of the nightmarish caves.
Dragging someone whose taller than you and whose body has never known the taste of malnutrition is challenging. Because Zacho was healthy in a way that Atlas was not. Struggling with his own mind had sometimes forced Atlas to go days without grabbing a bite of food. His body either too nauseous to cooperate or his mind too slow with exhaustion. Days where he doubted he would live to see another sunrise in the loneliness of his apartment and the effort of getting food just seemed stupid.
Other days he was on constant pain.
The neglect that he had inflicted on his wings causing his back to ache to the point where even breathing seemed like a chore.
Defective little things—whose muscles had probably rotten over time—with ugly brittle white feathers. They were useless—incapable of letting him fly and touch the sky, not the same way other small chicks could. They were the reason he would never have a place in any avian colony. They only caused him pain.
A soft cry falls from his lips as his knees shake from the effort. Zacho whines as his body roughly hits the floor of the skin caves, some strange mix of a growl rising through the man's throat before he settles down once more. Atlas's hands come to protect the man's head as he falls too. A mix of the weight and the hours of walking making his legs collapse from under him while he breathes.
Now, what?
The communicator, Zacho's communicator.
Why hadn't he thought of that before?
He could check Zacho's vitals and call someone from there.
Atlas was alone, atlas had no one who would care if he vanished under a cloud of smoke but the same couldn't be said about Zacho.
The blond had mentioned a friend group of his that helped him with this sort of investigations time after time with a faint smile on his face. And maybe they could figure out how to help Atlas stabilize Zacho's condition until the man was conscious enough to leave.
His shaky hands wrapped around the clammy skulk infected skin to gently pry the watch out of Zacho's wrists. Almost dropping it to the floor twice from the sheer unadulterated terror that slowly filled his body. It had a password, the same way every communicator had one. Luckily, he could easily access Zacho's vitals without needing to unlock the watch.
The holographic screen glowed a soft electric green while Atlas struggled to make sense of the different charts in front of him.
Finally, he settled on an easy conclusion.
Lack of sugar that had been what had caused Zacho to collapse. For some reason the man's hunger bar was on the negatives which explained why he had suddenly collapsed from low sugar. Okay, that was fixable. In fact, Atlas could fix that right now by just accessing his global inventory.
In the corner of his jacket, there were small honey vials that he kept on himself every single time he went server hopping—which wasn't that often. It kept his malnourished body from collapsing in the middle of the street due to the lack of food. It was some sort of health accommodation that allowed him to bring those items through different worlds without any problem.
His hands hold the watermelon infused honey before bringing the pink beverage to Zacho's lips with a small frown. Slowly massaging Zacho's throat in the same way he had seen people in movies do during these situations. It's not perfect, of course it isn't. Zacho whines, chokes and sputter a bit of the liquid making Atlas feel slightly guilty for being so useless in a situation like this one. It doesn't matter because Zacho's hunger immediately starts growing from that frail fickle icon to a healthy complete hunger bar.
A single warm tear slips from his socket as he slowly leans against the wall with his knees close to his chest. Worry and loneliness mixing in the middle of his body until he feels like drowning. The light fragments over them, pieces of Zacho's body glowing against the gray stone. Blond curly strands shining with a blue reflection from where the skulk forms into small antlers on the top of Zacho's head. It's pretty in a strange way.
How can someone be so photogenic even while dying?
That seems a little unfair.
"Atlas? Oh, I'm glad you're back" A soft voice echoes through the halls making him freeze almost completely. There's an intoxicating flux of relief flowing from inside of his body at the sound of someone else's voice.
One that he hates.
But he's not as brave on his own as Zacho is.
"Clair, go away." There's nothing confident about his voice. In fact, what comes out is a gasping whisper that sounds borderline ghoulish against the cold air of the empty caves.
He's vulnerable right now. A moth with it's wings pinned to a corkboard while someone pokes and prods to ensure they are displayed perfectly.
"I'm here to help Atlas, you must be so scared." The AI's voice drops in a low sympathetic whisper. An acknowledgement that has Atlas melting into a puddle on the floor. Because it's true, he's so so terribly scared.
He's petrified of his growing attachment to this stranger that had tried to save him. He's petrified of watching Zacho die and not knowing if he'll ever see the man again. He's petrified of waking up to an empty house with no one to hold his hand through the darkness of each hallway.
Because Zacho had seen him.
Because Zacho had let Atlas take his warm hand without batting an eye at the gesture.
Atlas always thought that he'd be destined to be alone in a world far too big for himself with holes inside of his heart that he would never be able to cover. An empty existence were no one was capable of loving him, of hearing him, of seeing him. Someone beyond saving, a lost cause, destined to drive everyone away with his imperfections.
And then Zacho came by.
Zacho who saw the thorns and still reached out with a sunny smile, even when the cuts caused blood to pool out of the wounds. Whose petty comebacks and insults where never designed to really hurt him. The person who never gazed at Atlas eyes with disappointment or anger, no matter how many times Atlas fell or how pathetic he was. Zacho whose blue eyes would turn so unbelievably sad if Atlas fell for the AI's manipulation and yet the blond wouldn't condemn him for it.
Atlas doesn't know what he's going to do if Zacho leaves.
This was probably just another mission for Zacho.
Would the man get up and leave once he gets better?
Would Atlas be expected to continue on living on his own?
Probably, because Atlas had read too much into the kindness of a stranger.
"Atlas, hey, it's okay" Clair voice sounds from the radio, warm and robotic. Something that makes Atlas burst into tears. He knows he's being manipulated once more, he knows it, and yet he's so scared. "I'm here"
Drops fall slowly over his cheeks while he closes his eyes.
Uncertainty is the worst feeling one could ever experience. It taints every single spot of your life with thousands of probabilities until the only thing you know is fear. As he slowly lets the soft reassurances of Clair's voice soothe his mind, he can't help but feel guilt. Guilt for letting himself indulge on the fantasy once more after Zacho worked so hard to save him from it. Guilt at the reminder of Zacho's protective anger as the blond shouted at the machine.
If Zacho discovered Atlas let Clair's voice soothe him once more, would he leave?
Would he determine that Atlas was just too far gone?
"It's okay, you don't need him. I'm with you, you aren't alone" Clair repeats softly through the echoing caves, the sound makes him dizzy as he slowly takes big gulping breaths.
There's a low growling coming from the still body in front of him.
A sound bizarre enough to make his sudden hysterics stop almost completely while all of his attention turns to look at the man in front of him. Zacho's eyes are completely covered by skulk, sealed shut, a pair of skulk antlers growing from the muddy blond locks on the top of his head. Zacho's body sways in a way that indicates the man is clearly not completely conscious. A movement that reminds Atlas far too much of a zombie or a warden, just pure animalistic instinct.
Almost like the blond doesn't recognize his surroundings.
The pure relief that had flooded Atlas's body a couple of seconds before turns acrid and bitter with fear. His avian instincts blaring the alarms on his mind while he stares silently as Zacho moves making soft grunts and growls—that make no sense in any human language. Everything around him goes completely silent while Zacho roams around mindlessly through around the place.
"Interesting, I was unaware starvation had such strange consequences on your body." Clair's voice turns colder. A strange calculating tone taking over her voice while she speaks through the radio.
She sounds too invested on this, almost as if she caused it.
Had she done this?
A sudden anger starts taking a hold of Atlas's body, an ugly parasitic feeling that just grows and grows without a care in the world. Was this just a huge science experiment for whoever made this caves? Was their suffering amusing? Zacho seems to grow agitated at the sound of the voice since he immediately starts rampaging around the small hall in a desperate search for the source. Behaving like an actual warden.
"What did you do?" Atlas's voice comes out silent and quivering.
Zacho seems to hear him since the blonde's head immediately snaps to stare in his direction before running towards him.
The Avian cries out before turning around and booking it deeper inside of the caves. The floor underneath his feet is unsteady as he swerves around like a madman, feet clashing against the air. The air thick with humidity while adrenaline courses through his body in desperate waves that leave him shaking. Zacho's watch and the radio where Clair's voice comes from wrapped around his wrist.
"I did nothing. He's the one that insisted on searching for you even while knowing this could happen." Clair's voice sounds almost pitying while she continues rambling on the radio. Atlas can't make anything else out.
His ears are hyper-focused on the words that had fallen from the radio. Repeating them on his head over and over again while a sudden warmth starts growing from the side of his eyes. Guilt crushing the middle of his ribacge until Atlas is sure he's shattered completely from the pressure.
This was his fault.
He was the one that kept dragging Zacho back inside of the caves and now…
Now Zacho was like this.
Zacho, who had once held his hand through the caves, was now chasing after him.
All because of Clair.
If Clair hadn't manipulated Atlas, if Clair hadn't drained all of the hunger bar from Zacho's stats, then this wouldn't have happened.
For the first time in years all of his self hatred pours outside until he feels nothing but disgust for the machine. The anger is blinding while his hands clutch the radio that Clair uses to talk to him and smashes it into the cold ground. His heart beating a steady thrum underneath his fingertips while he forces his exhausted legs to carry him farther into the caves. All of the energy has been sucked dry. The heavy mix of the permanent emotional exhaustion, the lack of sleep and the malnourishment of his neglected body finally taking its toll.
His foot slides on the rocky terrain, slowing him down.
He can't keep running.
And Zacho is still chasing after him.
He needs help.
His eyes stay locked on Zacho's communicator, using one of the buttons to call whoever the man's emergency contact is. Atlas's prays that whoever answers can help Zacho once Atlas inevitably dies inside of this place. Maybe this way, once he respawns in his home world, he won't lose all communication with the man. Rolling on the stone floor, Atlas continues running through shaky knees.
The only sounds on this lonely cave are the strange coos that come from Zacho's mouth, the ragged breathings coming from Atlas's body and the soft ringing tone of the communicator echoing the empty space.
He hopes whoever created this is at least getting some sort of entertainment out of this messed up situation.
"Hello? Zacho, dude, what are you doing up at this hour?" A slightly monotonous voice comes out of the speakers. The person sounds tired…which considering it's about four in the morning actually makes sense.
Atlas doesn't respond, instead a sob gurgles and falls from his lips. An embarrassing choked sound that reflects just how much of a mess he is. Here in the never ending darkness of the caves crying into the phone to a complete stranger. The sound of another person's voice is like balm to his scared mind, while he struggles to keep running from Zacho. He's tired.
He's so tired and so scared.
"Zacho? Zacho, woah, okay… Breathe man." The sluggish voice replies through the communicator, more awake than before. It's clear that the advice is directed to Zacho and yet Atlas follows it. He allows himself to take an unsteady breath through his tears. A faint sound of rustling comes from the line, sheets being tossed to the side while the person starts walking around. "Where are you?"
"I'm sorry, 'M not Zacho" His voice comes out a hysteric mess while he turns to look at the man behind him through blurry eyes. Zacho is still stalking from behind him, making these strange warden sounds. Somehow he still has enough energy to continue chasing after Atlas. Something that just makes him cry harder.
Atlas's body is a slow decaying mess on the border of collapsing. Days of sleep deprivation and hours of running around with an empty stomach making him dizzy with fatigue. There isn't enough oxygen circulating through his system. It serves to making lightheaded and the panic a little more sharp than before.
Zacho has stopped running just following after him letting a couple of strange coos fall from his rigid lips.
"Okay, that's okay. My name's Wifies, breathe, is there any reason you called me?" Wifies voice is calm and yet there's a hint of urgency on his tone as Atlas struggles to find the words without choking.
"Mhm, Am Atlas and…Uhm" His voice trails off, wondering on how exactly he can word this without sounding incredibly childish or just borderline insane. The bitter panic is enough to cloud his judgment while he scrambles for something to say. "He's chasing me…Zacho, zacho collapsed and now he's chasing me. There's skulk covering his eyes and… and"
A hand reaches to grab at the corner of his wings making him cry out in pain while he struggles to free himself. The grip is surprisingly gentle but in Atlas's fear ridden mind that doesn't register as something positive.
"Atlas? Atlas? where are you?" Wifies voice sounds more and more worried. There's the soft scratching of a pen moving through the pages while the man clearly struggles to do something from the other side of the line.
"The skin caves" It's what he manages to say before the watch falls into the floor of the caves, rolling away from his feet in the middle of the struggle. It's kinda despairing to see his only method of communication fall just out of his reach.
There isn't anything but panic running through his mind as he turns around and bites the hand clutching his wing. A metallic taste floods his mouth while the blond to releases his muddy wings with a surprised yelp. Maybe it's the exhaustion that flows through his body the thing that sends him falling to the floor in a mess of limbs. The stone digging into his spine making him scream from the sheer blinding pain that wrecks his body.
The pain on his back extends until he's sure he is going to collapse. Blood, a reddish brown color stars leaking from a wound near the back of his head. It's not deep, not worrisome enough to be a concussion.
The man standing in front of him has yet to deliver a deathly attack.
There's hands gripping at his shoulders, keeping him in that agonizingly painful position and yet… yet, It's almost as if Zacho is trying desperately to restrain him without causing any harm to his body. The confusion is enough to clear his mind momentarily, to force his eyes to open and stare at the man above him.
Beautiful blond curls fall over Zacho's sealed eyes, eyelashes fluttering open with faint traces of bioluminescence, while the man makes some sort of chittering noise. And maybe it's the way the darkness of the cave seems to warp everything surrounding them except themselves. Things get lost easily in these maze of mirrors that show only the worst parts of yourself. Until you can't recognize who you are on your own.
But he finds solace in the claws that hold his face straight ahead.
Because even as they prepare to take away his life inside of this world. They still manage to be gentler than anyone who has ever hugged him. His gaze turns to the millions of shining dots on the side of Zacho's face, a million of stars that shine against peach skin. He's about to die and he's not afraid. Even with respawn, the knowledge that you are about to die is something that never disappears completely.
And yet, he's not afraid.
He should be horrified by the twisted version of the man who saved him.
He's not.
He's awestruck in a sickening horrified way as he watches the skulk climb and expand. Two contradictory emotions that had no business being paired together and yet there is no other way to describe it. The way it breathes alive in universe of swirling spirals that light up with a faint blue. Its a beautiful distortion that shouldn't exist.
One of Atlas's hands reaches to hold the wrist that is pinning him to the ground. The skulk underneath his fingers thrums with life.
He should give up.
He should let this instinctual driven man kill his body.
And yet…yet, Zacho has shown him what it means to not give up on someone.
He's about to extend that courtesy back.
For the first time he's the one that needs to reach out.
"Do you recognize me Zacho? I'm the complete stranger that you were so insistent on helping" His hand shakes while he slowly reaches towards Zacho's face. It was clear that the man in front of him was completely blind which meant that maybe some other senses were heightened. "It'd be a bit counterproductive for you to kill me now, don't you think?"
What was Atlas betting on?
Zacho was human.
But maybe, maybe Zacho's sense of smell was developed enough to still recognize people instinctually.
He was unsure.
Atlas had never met a hybrid who became a hybrid due to an illness instead of being born one. There was no guideline, no book, nothing that could guide his trembling hands on how exactly to approach the infected man. Atlas had never been treated with the kind of patience that is required to save someone from themselves not even by river. It was a willingness to sacrifice hours and receive every type of insult in someone's dictionary only to chip a bit at the ice walls that surrounds their mind.
One that only Zacho seems to possess.
The blond makes a soft coo, a distorted ugly sound that somehow manages to come out incredibly fond. It's strange having a very human nose press against the back of your wrist, it's uncomfortable and yet Atlas doesn't even dare breathe during those frail seconds.
In the infinite darkness of the caves they are alone. Two warped reflections of people who they once were lying helplessly in the dark. Blood trickles from the gash, warm droplets that fall from the side of his neck—staining the pure white feathers an ugly muddy red. It's color is enough to break the spell as Zacho's eyes turn so incredibly sad while he warbles miserably at the sight of Atlas's neck.
His hands drop to the side, letting Atlas move freely as the blond slowly goes back to pacing in the same way he was before this mess started. Atlas hands are wobbly while he slowly starts incorporating himself in a half sitting position, staring confused at the repetitive instinctual behavior of the man in front of him.
It was the same circling as before—one that Atlas had confused as a sign of aggression.
Think Atlas, think.
Wardens protected the skulk filled portal in the middle of the ancient ruins of old caves. That was the reason they attacked. They didn't prey on others for food, they didn't kill for fun—they just were incredibly territorial. It was a lesson that was engraved into every single child's brain before they reach their tenth birthday. One of the few mob biology lessons that Atlas remembers from his time in the colony.
If Zacho was behaving like an actual warden then he had to be protecting something.
Instinctually that's what he must be doing right now with all of the circling.
But there was absolutely nothing precious enough to Zacho inside of this cave for him to be protecting.
Atlas doesn't know.
What he does know is that as long as that thing is safe Zacho will remain docile.
Maybe that's enough for now.
A sound echoes through the room coming from the discarded communicator—making Atlas stand on shaky knees to reach it. His aching body screams while he forces himself to kneel in the middle of the floor. Behind him, he could hear the soft sound of Zacho's footsteps as the man followed, still circling around Atlas's tired body.His hands grab the device carefully from the floor dusting it off before humming.
"M Alive" Are the words he manages to utter with a rasp. Making the man on the other side of the line go completely silent.
"He didn't kill you in warden state? huh, that's…" Wifies trails off with a strange shift on his tone, something that sounds almost teasing before the man clears his throat. Hands shuffling around a couple of papers before he starts speaking again. "Anyways, could you keep him calm?"
"Uhh, I don't know? I dunno what he's guarding so…" Atlas's voice slurs at the end. The exhaustion of the day finally catching up to his completely exhausted brain. The words come out more like a question to the warden hybrid next to him, who doesn't answer. "I'll try"
"No need, just keep yourself safe…" It's all the man says from the other side of the call.
Atlas doesn't really reply past a faint hum of affirmation, his body already shutting down from exhaustion.
"we need someone lucid enough to contact." Wifies adds as an afterthought. "I'll call you back"
Just like that the line goes completely dead.
Leaving Atlas alone with the skulk infected blond in a place that he knows by heart.
A place that he almost escaped.
A dry cough falls from his lips as he finally lets himself slump into the dusty floor with a gasp. Exhaustion making his vision swim while he curls around the cold stone. The events of the day finally catching up to him and leaving him a shivering mess. Jesus, he's not exploring anything ever again.
Zacho makes a soft worried sound before kneeling in from of Atlas's half asleep form.
Maybe trusting your life to a person who isn't really lucid is not one of Atlas's best ideas.
And yet…
One of Zacho's hands grasp the corner of his own, steady warmth seeping through the skin. Maybe the beast in front of him thinks Atlas is scared, maybe that's the only conclusion Zacho's infected brain can understand. The blond is still trying to comfort him even when it was Atlas's fault that he ended up in this horrible situation. Someone who had sacrificed time and autonomy for him. Atlas couldn't help but let a small soft and slightly hysteric laugh at his situation.
"You idiot, you shouldn't have done this for me" Are the words that come from Atlas's lips, they echo through the entire halls in a ghoulish hysteric rasp. "I'm not worth it."
Those are the only words that come from his slightly bloody lips. As he lets the soft strange feeling of skulk dancing under his fingertips and the soft coos from the man next to him, lull him to sleep.
Content.
As a warm feeling that he refuses to name starts developing inside of his ribcage, free and full of life—Atlas finally falls asleep.