Work Text:
The light hurts. It hurts even though Kylo has screwed his eyes shut, piercing through his eyelids and burrowing into his brain. A whimper escapes his throat, and his sluggish mind registers the indignity of it several seconds after the fact.
The light hurts.
Bright and unyielding, it burns his body and soul. Kylo feels himself peeling away, disappearing into nothingness layer by layer, stripped bare and with nowhere to run. There is no safety nor balance here. No cool shadows to rest in, no soothing darkness of the night. Kylo tries to tap into the Force, into the familiar Dark but the light surrounding him is too bright and the even the smallest attempt at reaching out becomes immensely painful.
Kylo is no stranger to physical torment. He has learned to endure it. Embrace it, even, as a way to gain greater command over his powers. He does not shy away from the battlefield for the fear of injury, nor does he beg his Master to ease his punishments - at least, not any more.
And then there’s the other sort of pain – never, ever confessed to anyone - white-hot and exquisite. The kind of sweet agony which leaves him wide-eyed and panting, craving for more.
He tries again to connect to the Force, but he’s cut off. It feels like his beating heart was rent from his chest, suffocating and blindfolding him. None of this feels right. This is not the Light his uncle told him to embrace and his Master taught him to shun. This is hard and merciless, almost like the purest form of Dark but not something Kylo can bend to his will. He doesn’t know where he is or how he got here. There’s nothing left but a waning sense of self, no memories of the past, no hope for the future. All of his senses scream in warning but there is no enemy to fight.
Panic settles in. He trashes, rebelling against the horror binding him in place, desperately trying to break free and return home from this featureless void. He feels tears stinging his eyes and on some strange level he is grateful for the tiny sliver of pain. It ties him to his body. He’s not completely vaporized, not yet.
“Ren.”
The voice, somehow familiar in its sharp, clipped tone, reverberates in Kylo’s skull. He shrinks away. It’s too loud and too close.
“Kylo.” The voice is softer now, and the sound of his name feels comforting. There’s a light touch to his skin, a hesitant and awkward pat on his upper arm. “It’s all right. Calm down. Just calm down. I’ve – I’ve got you.”
Kylo reaches out with all his might to send out a message of pain and bright and burn. He hears the hissing intake of breath and feels his own torment echoed in the other being.
“Out of my head, Ren! I can’t help you if you don’t stop that right now! Your eyes are injured but the doctors are confident that the damage is only temporary. Here, let me –“
Something heavy drapes over him, engulfing him and trapping his floating spirit into his body.
It covers his head and darkness and peace and solace.
Gradually Kylo calms down. His breathing becomes easier and the pain subsides. He begins to drift into sleep.
“You probably can’t hear me, so first of all, with all due respect and so forth, fuck you, Ren. Fuck you. I understand that your presence on the battlefield is vital and believe me, I do understand how you need to go down there from time to time. I just wish that for once you’d listen to my advice. You absolutely had no business being so close to the explosion. Have you any idea how important you are to the Order?”
Gloved fingers cover Kylo’s hand. They linger there, a thumb moving in a slow arc across the back of Kylo’s hand.
“You had no business being there and getting hurt.” It’s a whisper now, the voice, barely audible. “Have you any idea how important you are -”
Sleep tugs at Kylo’s consciousness and he allows it in. He must already be dreaming because for a fleeting second, he imagines his hand being squeezed, fingers almost entwining with his before it is abruptly tucked under the covers. The presence withdraws from the side of his bed and the sound of receding footsteps is the last thing Kylo hears before he drifts off.
He wakes up slowly to the sounds and smells of the Finalizer’s busy but organized medbay. The Force is slowly returning to him and that makes him almost shudder with relief. He tries to open his eyes, but something is covering them and keeping them firmly shut. His fingers feel uncommonly clumsy as he attempts to remove the bind across his face. There is a sound of rushing feet, a sense of concern mixed with a certain amount of fear drawing closer and cool fingers wrap around his.
“Sir! Please let me do that.” It’s a feminine voice, professional and soothing. “We’ve been treating your eyes with bacta and hopefully surgery will not be necessary. I’ll remove the patches, sir, if you’ll allow me. I am going to touch your face now. There’s no danger.”
The bind is lifted and Kylo blinks his eyes open slowly. He squints when the dimmed lights feel too bright and stings. For a brief moment he panics when his vision remains blurry but gradually his surroundings begin to swim in focus. The doctor turns his head carefully towards her and shines a small flashlight into his eyes. Kylo stifles his automatic reaction of attacking her, merely warning her with a frown and a growl that he is not yet ready for more invasive treatment. She seems to understand and withdraws with a notice that so far he is healing as predicted but a more thorough examination later will yield more details.
Kylo closes his aching eyes, nods slowly and as he waves in dismissal his hand entangles in the layers of blankets covering him. He tugs his hand free and begins to push the covers away he pauses at the odd texture of the topmost layer. He runs his hand over the sturdy, coarse fibres, until he encounters a pair of narrow, smooth ribbons, one after the other. He pulls the object closer and the smells of antiseptic and bacta are instantly replaced by a combination of pomade, soap and First Order-issued aftershave overlaying a strangely familiar and comforting scent which makes Kylo think of rain. He scowls at the feeling that he ought to recognize the scent, and the thick black oddly shaped piece of fabric.
Kylo scrunches the blanket in his hands until the clues add up in his foggy brain.
“The General told us not to remove his coat while you were unconscious, sir. I can take it now, if you will, and have it returned to him.”
Kylo grabs the gaberwool tighter. “No,” he manages after a couple of false starts. He is drugged and sluggish and still not able to properly wield the Force but at the core of his being is a rock-solid certainty that if General Armitage Hux has entrusted his priceless greatcoat in Kylo’s care, it is his solemn duty to see to it that it will not be manhandled by droids or clumsy troopers. Besides, he’s still not entirely sure that he will not be flung back into the horrible brightness, so he clutches the greatcoat to his chest and buries his face under the fabric until he’s sure he’s back in his body for good. The doctor’s presence in the Force flares lightning-quick with a sudden revelation before being suffused by approval and quiet amusement. At the forefront of her mind flutters a thought of the substantial sum of credits she is due to collect soon. Kylo wonders about this but he’s still too exhausted to probe deeper.
“Very well, sir. I shall inform the General that you are awake. I surmise he’d be glad to – “ she pauses for a bit and clears her throat, “glad to collect his coat himself. Meanwhile, I suggest you rest now.”
Kylo lets himself relax as he shifts into a more comfortable position under his blanket and Hux’s greatcoat. Comforted by the weight and the scent and the darkness he falls asleep.