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He’s falling.
The wind screams through his ears, scraping past his skin and knocking the air out of him and he can’t breathe through the sheer speed of his fall, numbness returning to every fiber, every muscle of his being and he can’t fucking move anything as he plummets -
He can’t breathe.
It repeats.
It’s a vicious cycle, the immediate pain of every bone in his body cracking upon impact with the unforgiving ground giving way to the wind whistling through his ears again, the sudden change in altitude sending nausea curling up his throat, choking on vomit thousands of feet above the ground.
(Those are the better deaths.)
When he hurtles into the sea, he doesn’t bother getting up. The bubbles surround him, blocking his view like a pearl smokescreen, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he can remember bubbles being a reminder of a happier time.
Now, he just closes his eyes and feels his lungs fill up with water.
Sometimes, when he has a long ways to go until he hits land, he vaguely thinks about the phantom pains of respawning, how after a death he would lie in bed for a while, his heart burning with the pain of being alive - and then, as he watches the ground rapidly approach, he thinks about how much he’ll hurt after surviving, because he can’t fall forever, can he?
The pain is constant. It winds its way around his bones, a reminder of the constant toll his body takes, the way his skin is falling apart at the seams - his eyes won’t open anymore, his red bandana slipping off every single time he falls and reappearing every time he spawns back up at the very fucking top again -
He hurts.
It never ends. He knows it will never end.
… which is why he’s so surprised that it does.
Bdubs hits a mountain.
Lady Luck, for all that she’s looked elsewhere for the years of falling he’s gone through, shines her light on him for a split second, and he hits the peak of the mountain, his ankles getting crushed under his weight, ribs splintering like twigs from the impact - but he doesn’t die immediately.
He flops his arm a little, before collapsing face-first into the rough stone, and he trembles with the anger boiling up in his stomach because of course, of fucking course that even when he survives the impact, he’ll die from starvation because he can’t move anyway. Of course.
A horrified shout registers, the sound foreign after months of fucking falling, but he can’t summon the energy to move.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy fuck -”
The pain slams in full force and he screams, suddenly very aware of his broken ankles, and that’s when the phantom pains kick in - he’s died over two hundred times, maybe three hundred, and the sparks of hurt spiral through his body, digging their nails into every square inch of skin and muscle and bone, and his throat feels like a bloody mess but he can’t stop screaming.
“Oh my fucking god, gotta call X - hey, are you okay? Oh my god -”
His eyes won’t open, starbursts of color flaring to life behind his eyelids.
“Okay, okay, this is fine, this is fine - can you - of course he can’t, you’re so fucking dumb - hi! My name is Grian! You need help, uh, I don’t know what to do?”
Bdubs tamps down a scream, curling in on himself with a muffled cry and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Okay, Xisuma’s not answering, okay, uh. Potions! Duh, I’m so stupid - here, can you open your mouth for me?”
No, my jaw feels like its wired shut, Bdubs wants to say, but his throat screams in agony when he tries to speak. He settles for slowly (painfully) moving his head from side to side, pressing his forehead against the cool stone surface.
“Cool, cool, okay. Yeah. Um. I’m gonna pour it on top of you, okay? Hope that that’s cool. Okay. I’m just going to do it.”
The liquid sinks deep into his skin, mending and dulling the aches, and he opens his eyes to take a look at his savior. It’s a kid, short blonde hair and kind but wild eyes, and Bdubs stops. Heaves himself up to take a better look, because this is a kid.
Said kid opens up a communicator and hisses, “I didn’t mean to call everybody - oh my god I’m such an idiot - okay! Hey guys! I need Xisuma, stat! Pronto! Right now! I didn’t do anything, I was just outside and this guy just fell right in front of me - he’s in really bad shape, and I have no fucking clue who he is - can you just send Xisuma over? Please?”
There’s a sudden burst of sound from the device, a jumble of different sounds, voices and then Xisuma, familiar and far away, gets a hold of the frequency. “Okay, Grian, this is important. What’s he wearing?”
Grian pauses and looks over at him, taking in his sorry excuse for an outfit. “Uh, he’s got a white shirt, and ripped jeans -” A sharp intake of breath. “- and a red bandana, but he’s kind of. Bleeding out on this cliff, could you please get over here?”
The answering voice is gravelly, accented and oh-so familiar and it’s Doc it’s Doc he’s alive -
Pain lances through his frame, the aftershocks, his mind helpfully supplies, and he can’t hold it in and tears up his throat again with the howls of agony, spitting up globs of blood onto the stone and slamming his head into the floor.
“Oh my god -” There’s a clatter on the floor, which Bdubs presumes to be the communicator hitting the ground. “Don’t panic, Grian, don’t panic. Okay, um,” Grian, apparently, rolls him onto his side, awkwardly patting his back and making sure that Bdubs doesn’t wiggle his way off of the cliff. “Hey, hey, just try to breathe, okay?”
Grian carefully picks out Bdubs’ communicator from off of his belt, and reads the name. “Bdoubleo-hundred? Um, is that your name?”
“Bdubs,” he croaks out, before almost biting his tongue off when another wave of pain hits.
“Okay, Bdubs, I’m going to pick you up now, okay? Don’t worry. Grian’s got you. I’m going to bring you to someone who can help, you can trust me.” Grian gently picks him up, wary of his ankles that stick out in the wrong directions, and then shakily takes a step off of the cliff -
and he’s falling again.
.
His eyes open when his ribs are jarred from the impact of landing, and he chokes back another sob, taking in his fuzzy surroundings.
“Xisuma,” he croaks out, the grey and purple mask blurring in his vision, “Xisuma -”
“You’re alive,” Xisuma breathes, grabbing him away from Grian and laying him on the table, “Bdubs - you’re alive.”
He chokes, arching his back and coughing blood onto the mahogany table, feeling pieces of his ribs digging into his other organs, and latches onto Xisuma’s shirt with as tight of a grip as he can muster. “X - please - I don’t wanna fall again, please -”
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re not going to fall - someone get potions, bottom left chest - Bdubs, just breathe, breathe, okay?” Xisuma leans in closer, his features barely visible through the violet glass, “Bdubs, look at me, you are not going to die again, okay?”
Blood bubbles from his lips, trailing down the side of his jaw, and he jerks in Xisuma’s hold, a reflexive motion from the torturous fire running through his body. “No, no, no no no Xisuma I can’t fall again I can’t I can’t -!”
“Someone get me a fucking healing potion right now - Bdubs, no, you’re going to be fine, you trust me, right?”
He shudders, the faint motion jarring his shattered ribs, and he struggles to keep his eyes open, darkness covering the edges of his vision. “Xisuma -”
Xisuma uncorks a bottle, drenching him with the shining pink liquid, and it burns so fucking much that for a second, Bdubs contemplates giving up because holy fucking Christ, his ribs tear through tissue to snap back in place and he spits iron with it, the red dripping from the corners of his mouth to the wood below.
“Bdubs,” the voice is quietly horrified, and Doc, staying out of Xisuma’s feverish flurry of movement, gingerly steps forwards and grasps his hand as though afraid that Bdubs’ll disappear if he’s not touching him.
“Doc,” and Bdubs feels a small smile tug at his lips, reaching out a hand and quietly cupping Doc’s cheek with a sigh, “You’re here.”
“Oh, Bdubs, what happened?” His voice is soft, his one good eye fixed onto Bdubs’ own, “Don’t die, don’t you dare die on me, we have to catch up for all those years we missed, okay?”
“I missed you,” the tears rise up unbidden, streaming down his face and mixing with the blood already there, “Doc, I missed - and I fell - this whole time -”
“Don’t try to talk, there’ll be plenty of time for that later, so just focus on getting better, Bdubs.” Xisuma carefully pats him down, checking for other injuries. “You’re going to be fine. Better than ever, probably. We’ve all missed you, so much.”
“Okay,” Bdubs whispers, trembling with the effort of staying still, fisting his hands into Doc’s lab coat collar, “Okay.”
(He survives.)