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It’s almost impossible to see anything through the shroud of blood misting around his eyes. Someone’s screaming, he doesn’t know who, it might as well be him. He’s shaking and trembling, breath heaving as as a coppery tang fills his mouth. He spits, the ground is spattered in even more red than before. He cannot feel his legs as he frantically wipes at his eyes, trying to clear away the haze. The sky is dark, thunderbolts striking across the vast expanse, green and blue in tandem. An unmistakable roar echoes from the horizon, dragons.
Cold steel slides over his skin and he whimpers as his eyes meets his tormentor. The twisted visage of someone he used to hold dear grins, its teeth long and sharp. A hand with curved claws grips his chin, only to sink said claws deep into his neck after. The visages hair is long and black, wispy as it flows in the air currents whipping around them.
“You have dishonored us. You do not belong here. Accept your fate.”
No. NO!
He lashes out against the apparition, his fists swatting at nothing. He stumbles as he tries to get up on his feet, only to find his legs missing. His insides twists as he rolls over, clutching his stomach as horror permeates his every pore.
“Perish with your sins.” the voice says, his brother says.
A million tiny invisible needles strike him from every direction and he howls, scratching at his skin, desperate to make it all end. There’s more blood welling up in his mouth and he is nearly choking.
The image of his brother blurs as he steps closer, katana poised and ready, the blue dragon snaking up his arm glowing, ready to pass down the final judgement.
There’s a loud slap and a jarring pain in his arm as he is brutally dragged into consciousness. He growls as long, slender fingers press against a point in his neck and he can feel strength gradually leave his body. There’s a syringe jutting out of his arm, contents drained. He stills as lucidity forces him to look at what he has been doing. The hand of his still human arm is locked around the neck of the only person he doesn’t totally resent in this dreary place. One by one his fingers loosen and the woman falls back with a gasp, rubbing her neck.
The fingers on his neck disappears and he scowls weakly as his eyes focuses on Doctor O’Deorain. She regards him with similar distaste, however she says nothing, only removing the syringe from his arm with the barest minimum of care. As if he doesn’t exist, or at least isn’t worthy of further acknowledgement, she turns to her colleague, frosty demeanor in place.
“Do you still insist that you do not require my assistance, Angela?” she says plainly, regarding the other woman still hunched over. “You might as well have gotten your windpipe crushed had I not decided to come by again.”
Angela swats a hand weakly at her, straightening her back and tucking a lock of honey-coloured hair behind her ear. His heart lurches in his chest when he sees her skin has already begun bruising.
“I do not believe I do, Moira. Thank you for your assistance, I have no further need of your presence.”
“As you wish.”
Doctor O’Deorain’s mouth is a flat and displeased line as she casts another glance at him. She bows to Angela, in what might as well be mocking her and not saluting her, before she is out the door, leaving them in a silence that couldn’t possibly be heavier. He drapes his flesh arm over his eyes, weariness seeping into his bones. It had been a dream, no, a nightmare, too vivid, too close, and he had almost hurt someone innocent over it.
“Genji.”
Angela’s voice is tender and soft, not a trace of any reprehension. She walks calmly to his side, a hand on his shoulder. He flinches at the warmth. Yeah, he can still feel, because it’s still an original part of him. His eyes meets hers, and he almost wishes he hadn’t looked. All he sees is pity. He doesn’t need pity, doesn’t want pity, but… Right at this moment, nothing feels more right.
Angela pours some antiseptic on a cloth and that’s when he realises he has been hurting himself. He’s scratched up his chest and parts of his own neck. The needles.
Angela frowns as she pulls at a tube, and inspects a few loose wires, one of them sparking.
“Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, voice so soft he can barely register it. She sounds… sad.
“Yes.” he answers simply. What exactly is there to say? She already knows. She knows what happened to him, in all too vivid details.
She cleans all of his fresh wounds in silence, hooking him up to some more IV drops and carefully removes the one sparking wire from inside its compartment. Mustn’t have been a very important one.
“Would you like some tea?” she asks, her electric water boiler already humming to life on top of her small office desk. He would actually like some tea. Nevermind that he won’t actually be able to hold it in.
Angela hands him a steaming mug of what he now knows is her favourite tea. Imported from Switzerland, expensive, something she stashes away and rarely indulges in… He searches her face for something, she smiles somberly, drinking daintily from her own mug.
The first sip he takes is like heaven on his tongue. Scorching hot, a sweet blend of cherries and hibiscus, ruby red in colour. He thinks red fits Angela pretty well. Red is the colour of warmth, of fire and passion, of love and willpower. Angela is all of those things.
He coughs, placing the mug on the table by his bed, far out of reach. His insides contracts and he curses, a burst of anger bubbling in his heart. No. He should be able to have this one thing, just this one pleasant little thing, to distract him from all the turmoil, hate and bitterness.
As per his request, Angela doesn’t intervene. She stays in place, silently watching him from her office chair. His hacking finally subsides and he breathes in relief. One sip of tea is currently in his shriveled up and angry stomach. He manages to swallow three more sips of cherry tea before a slight nausea kicks in.
“Well done.” Angela murmurs softly. He hands her his mug, meeting her eyes and her smile is one of tenderness now, and not of sadness. His own heart skips a surprising beat.
“Angela?” he says quietly. Angela turns around from where she has put down his mug on her desk, just about to pick up some papers.
“Yes?”
“I’m…” he hesitates. His mind is threatening chaos again. Nightmarish hate and gloom. He wipes at his tired eyes, taking another deep breath.
“Can you stay with me? I mean, just stay close, til I can fall asleep again?” There. He said it. Angela nods in understanding, holding up a finger in a signal to wait. She discards her lab coat and pulls on one of her warm sweaters instead. She takes a seat in the chair by his bed, and to his surprise, she takes his hand, lacing their fingers together.
“I got you.” she says softly. There’s a possibility that a warmer smile than hers doesn’t exists in this world right now. He nods to her, not quite finding words to speak. Before he knows it he’s dozed off, her hand soft and warm in his palm.
He yawns as he stirs a bit later, not really sure why he has woken up again. The curtains to the lab were left open and it’s dark outside. There’s movement beside him and his reflexes twitches for a nano-second. The only thing he gets from turning his head is a mouthful of honey-coloured hair. Somewhere down the line Angela has crept into his bed with him. She’s curled up by his side, an arm slung haphazardly over his stomach. (Which he cannot feel at all, the protective layers of armour is to blame for that.)
She looks so peaceful (and if Genji thinks about it, she hasn’t really had much sleep lately, always working overtime, sacrificing herself for everyone else.) In a moment of boldness he reaches out and strokes her hair with his flesh hand. She murmurs something quietly but doesn’t wake up, just snuggles flush into his side. He looks away, conflicting emotions warring in his heart. He shouldn’t feel this way, feel so ashamed and lost. He should just accept the kindness and the care she pours out over him.
He takes a deep breath, and focuses on everything calm and nice around him. The blanket of darkness, Angela warm and cosy by his side, the tea he managed to drink and hold down. Progress. A smile tugs at his lips before he can stop it and he chuckles quietly. Progress.
“Tea…” Angela murmurs in her sleep, and Genji tightens his other arm gently around her. Tea indeed. He imagines the Swiss Ruby Red currently in his stomach as a glowing, warm orb. A serene addition to his bitter being. A beginning of healing perhaps?
For the first time in months he drifts off into sleep somewhat content. And for the first time no nightmares accompany him. The little angel on his shoulder makes sure of that.
Fin~
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