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1) Abel Rango (The Officer)
He’s eight shades darker and ten years younger with a gaping mouth and goggle eyes.
“You’re awake.”
Relief there. He relaxes as Mercury stiffens up.
“… Who‘re you…?”
It hurts to speak. Hurts to breathe, to think, to move…
“How’re you feeling?”
Fuck.
It hurts to hear.
“… Like… like shit…” He coughs. His throat is dry. “… Water…”
The Officer reacts almost immediately, reaching for a pitcher by the side of the bed.
Has that been there the whole time?
“Here you go,” he says, practically shoving the paper cup in Mercury’s face. “You must be pretty thirsty.”
No shit.
He chugs. Drinking faster and faster. Going after every last drop. Before even the halfway point, a skinny-fingered hand goes out and stops him. He looks up with an almost feral glare.
“Easy,” The Officer breathes. “Easy, okay? Take a little time to breathe.”
Mercury does so, only because he fears the man will take the cup away for good this time if he does not heed that…
Threat?
Warning?
… Looking at this man, he is afraid of a good many things.
He finishes the cup and slams it down, grabbing for the pitcher… just beyond his reach. He glares at The Officer once again.
“More,” he demands. “I need more.”
The man pours him another glass.
And Mercury sees the bulge in his pocket when he turns around.
Small and square. A rectangle.
He gulps; a lump forms in his throat and tightens around a chunk of ice. He coughs but doesn’t choke or sputter.
The Officer follows his eyes and just barely remains composed.
“Listen, kid, I think that… you and me, we need to have a… talk.”
Bring it on.
&
2) Bailey Maxwell (The Doctor)
He’s five times quieter and thrice as pale without a shred of… aannygtehring on his face.
“Mr. Black?”
Nothing there. Nothing at all. It makes Mercury feel uneasy. The other man doesn’t seem to notice.
“It’s… it’s Mercury,” he says. Cautiously, carefully-
-warily.
The Doctor is a very large man.
“My apologies. Mr. Mercury, then.” His face is still blank. Hard to read. Like a man too drunk to know it. Too drunk to care.
“It’s fine.”
The Doctor comes a little closer. “I’m here to take your vitals.”
Of course it is only now that he notices the equipment bag.
“Oh…”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
A threat?
“No. Should be fine. What do you need to do?”
“I need to measure your temperature, heartbeat, respiratory rate, and blood pressure. There will be nothing invasive. Nothing like what we had to do before.”
“Just get it over with.”
The Doctor nods and approaches the bed. Mercury opens up and lets him slide the thermometer beneath his tongue. He blinks nervously up at him, once the thing has been taken away.
“One hundred and three.”
“How bad is that?”
“Survivable. Not extremely dangerous in cases of otherwise healthy adults or children…”
“But I don’t really fit that, do I?”
“I’ll see what I can do about bringing that down. I wouldn’t worry. We more or less anticipated this, given your condition.”
“Great.”
He says nothing else as The Doctor readies his stethoscope, only hisses as the cold metal touches skin.
He says nothing when The Doctor measures his breath.
And then he reaches for his arm, and Mercury forces himself not to pull away.
“Are you alright?”
“… Fine. I’m fine.”
He is. He wants to be.
&
3) Cobra Bubbles (The Socialworker)
He’s ten times calmer and dresses nine times better, with dark skin and a head without hair.
“You’re Black?”
Caution there. He keeps his distance. Mercury appreciates that.
“The way you’re phrasing it sounds weird, but yeah, that’s me.”
“Mr. Bubbles.” He reaches out a hand. “I’ll be handling your case.”
“Good fucking luck, man,” he laughs, but doesn’t shake. The Socialworker pulls his arm away.
“I’ve heard that you might have some concerns.”
“Damn right. I mean, hello, look at me.”
The Socialworker’s eyes sweep down…
… to his legs. Whatever’s left of them.
“You’re far from the hardest case I’ve had to deal with.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Really. Do you bite?”
“What? Not usually…”
“Suffer from delusions of grandeur?”
“Um… no…?”
“Ever stabbed a turtle?”
“What the hell kind of kids are you dealing with here?”
“It was all the same one actually. We found him a good home. For you, I’m pretty sure I can do the same.”
“And what if you can’t? What if whoever I get is just as batshit as he was? What do I do then?”
“You come to me. Got that? If something happens, anything, you call me. Alright?”
Mercury looks at The Socialworker for a long, long time.
&
4) Hazel Rainart (The Fosterparent)
He’s two times bigger and looks as many times as strong, with maple-brown hair and arms like trees.
“Why don’t you have a seat?”
Kindness there. An offer, not a command. Mercury sinks into the kitchen chair.
His legs ache. The parts still there. The ones that aren’t…
He tries not to wince.
Tries.
“So you’re Mr. Rainart…” He speaks slowly, just trying to have something to say.
“Hazel, please.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“What do you want me to say?”
He isn’t being sarcastic.
“Did you read it?”
The Fosterparent blinks. “Read it?”
“My file or my record… or whatever they gave you… You know… about me and… him…?”
“Oh…” The Fosterparent says.
And Mercury doesn’t know that he’s ever heard a heavier sound.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.”
The Fosterparent lets out a deep exhale. “You have a room on the first floor. Thought it’d be easier on your legs.”
“Thanks.”
“Door has a lock on it.”
&
5) Isaac Dillamond (The Professor)
He’s half as big (even without the wheelchair) and not a quarter as imposing with a curly beard and breath that does not smell of alcohol. Without a voice to scream with.
This helps tremendously.
Can I help you with something?
Confusion there. The Professor raises an eyebrow and cocks his head. Mercury blinks back at him.
“Huh?”
It’s after hours.
For him maybe. For students…
… Oh.
“I don’t go here,” he says. “I’m fifteen.”
He knows he doesn’t really look it.
Are you waiting for someone?
“My foster dad. He does the maintenance here.”
Mr. Rainart? I wasn’t aware he had any children.
“I’m sorta new and he’s not my real dad-” Thank God. “-so… it’s not really a huge thing.”
I see. Where’s Mr. Rainart now, anyway?
People talking… parent… danger…
“Why do you wanna know?”
The Professor blinks. Just curious.
Right. It’s okay. It’s okay.
“Some idiot broke one of the vending machines. He’s replacing the glass. Em’s helping. I was too, but…”
His legs are still unsteady. The prosthetics still uncomfortable, still digging into flesh. He must look uncomfortable, but The Professor doesn’t ask. Instead: Who’s Em?
“Foster sister. Short for Emerald.”
&
6) Pacha Martin (The Bodyguard)
He’s two times broader and a thousand times as controlled, with warm eyes and massive hands.
“New here?”
He could break him in half without breaking a sweat.
Mercury takes two steps away.
“Uh… yeah. I’m here with my foster sister. I-I think she’s in the bathroom or something.”
“Foster sister?”
“Yeah. She hasn’t picked a name yet.”
But he has. The Bodyguard’s eyes trail down-
-to the nametag. To his nametag.
“The Replacement, huh?”
He swallows hard.
“Yeah. It probably means what you think it does.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s whatever. I live somewhere else now, so it’s cool.”
The Bodyguard doesn’t look like he believes him. Mercury doesn’t believe himself. Not that a stranger needs to know that.
“This group does great things for a lot of people,” the Bodyguard says at last.
“Did it work for you?”
“Well…” He glances away.
Mercury follows his eyes, over to another man with a thinner frame and longer hair. This one is younger. Closer to his own age.
“… Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Did it work for him?”
“I hope it will. We haven’t been here all that long either.”
“So in other words you’re talking out of your ass here.”
The Bodyguard doesn’t hit him for that.
&
7) Kaa Pamireddy (The Therapist)
He is nine times thinner and eleven times as clean with a smooth way of talking and gleaming white teeth.
He’s different than he was. In so many ways…
… and in others…
… to others…
… he’s exactly the same.
Mercury Black feels lucky for the first time in a long one.