Chapter Text
The bright lights bouncing off the pure white walls overloaded his senses, but this blank dark atmosphere was more blinding than the lab.
He couldn’t feel anything. Cold and hot mixed in his body, shocking his system. He looked around, but could only see the hard rock ground in front of him. Nothing looked familiar. He attempted to stand, but upon planting his foot on the ground a sharp pain shut up his leg causing him to stumble and fall back down on his ass. He let out a sharp breath which quickly turned into short little breaths, then into full gasps. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. He coughed and weezer, drinking in any breath he could manage. Tears welled in his eyes and his vision began to blur (not like he could see anything anyways). He felt himself growing weak and began to panic.
The thought of his death scared him more than anything. 16. He never got to experience the life of a normal kid. He would die at 16, and no one would know or care. He let out a broken sob, burying his face into his open palms. His short bloody nails dug into his skull. He ignored the throbbing pain in his forearms and dug harder.
Dead. He would be dead soon.
Every breath was forced. His lungs hurt.
He bathed in the knowledge of his death quickly approaching. He truly thought it over… and to his surprise he found he actually didn’t mind all that much. The grip in his hair weakened, and so did the pain. He was still scared, of course he was, but perhaps this was a long time coming? Maybe this was even a good thing, a new start. Maybe he’d get reincarnated into someone better. His grip loosened a bit more. Maybe he’d turn into an animal, like a dog or a cow. He sighed. He’d always loved cows. Suddenly he could breathe again. He did not gasp or look up or soak in his new power to breath, he just sat there silently. He supposes he doesn’t care what he gets reincarnated as, just that this time- in this new life- he could live like a normal kid. One without the running, the hunger, the fear, or the testing and drugs and machines. A life where he could just be someone’s kid, someone’s son, instead of someone’s patient. Patient.
…Patient …Patient zero… That's who he was. He wasn’t a person, he was just a patient. That’s how he got here. Slowly it all started to Floyd back into his mind. “It’s an important task” the man had said “a task only you can do” it had just felt so nice to be needed. Now he wishes he could go back and tell the man no. That if he wanted this he could do it himself. That’s how it always went though. He just loved knowing he was important, even if it might have been a lie or a detriment to his health. He kept saying yes because no one had ever told him he was needed. Needed. Needed. Needed.
The word echoes in his mind. Bouncing off every surface in his skull making him wince on impact.
He needed to be needed . He needed him. He needed to get back to him. He needed to finish whatever this experiment was. He needed that feeling of euphoria after he finished a task. He needed the head pat and he needed the “good job zero!” He needed to be needed.
He’d put up with the hurt. He'd stay for the apology. He needed to be needed. That’s really all he cared about.
He rolled over on his hands and knees, wincing from the sharp pain. Slowly he stood up. First the left foot, then the right. Slowly, ever so slowly. Every small brush of contact hurt like hell. He powered through, letting out dramatic gasps at every small inch. Now he laid there, his ass in the air and his feet planted on the hard rock ground. He felt stupid. Even though he knew no one was around to see him, he still imagined how silly he must look right now. His face flooded with heat, his eyes let out a few more tears. Suddenly he was hit with a wave of adrenaline. Desperate to be anywhere but here and in this position, he used all the fight left in him and pushed himself to a standing position.
It hurt. It really hurt. But he didn’t care. His nails dug into his palms. They bled but he didn’t care. He felt faint, he knew any minute he’d fall back down and that pain would hurt 1000% more than the pain getting up. But he did not care. He wanted to be back at the lab. He needed to be back home.
So. He took a step.
The pain was blinding. But he has felt worse. He knows he has. And everytime he would hurt he’d say that to himself.
He took another step.
He didn’t even know where he was going, he just knew he needed to move.
Every step caused him to cry out. His face was soaked with tears and snot. He couldn’t see anything in front of him, although he doubted he would be able to see anything anyways. This place, whatever it was, felt like it had no structure at all. Like this place was just black.
He took another step.
Soon he was walking, though he was only making a few steps a minute and was wobbling at every one.
He continued.
Once he got back to the lab he could rest. Once he got back to the comfortable beds and scratchy sheets he would be ok. He needed the blinding lights and the smooth white floors and that medication that always left him feeling numb but healed him nonetheless. He needed the loud speakers that overloaded his senses and the constant beeping of that one machine he couldn’t stand.
He
needed
to be
home. He
needed
his
dad.
So, he pushed through the sharp pains and the deafening sound of every pop, crunch and squish.
He’d be home soon. Then everything would be ok.
He would be needed soon. Then he would be ok.