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It's not often his own memory fails him, nor something that should be entirely possible in the slightest.
Of course, living as long as four hundred years would have a toll on the human mind, but he had stopped being one from the moment he left his mother's womb, or more-or-less was never one from the very beginning.
Tiny black wings sprout from his tiny person, and another pair in place of where his ears should have been.
A bad omen, they yelled.
A sign of illness, they frighteningly say.
Of course, humans wouldn't understand a thing when it comes to those different from them. Especially something that is a mixed species of them, and even if they were to spare kindness, that same kindness comes right back and stabs them.
But to think the villagers would be cruel enough to chase out a child, unbelievable.
But…
Was that really what happened?
As a former citizen of the land of wisdom, he too does not dream, whilst the Akasha Terminals had a hand in that reason. But even then after being expelled from the Akademiya, he continues to have dreamless slumbers.
But why now?
Why now, does he dream?
Why now, does he dream of being chased out of his hometown.
Why now, does he dream of being chased out, not for his inhuman features, but for his ■■■■?
"Hahaha…" His unhinged chuckling bounces off the walls of the empty lab.
To be doubted a heretic was nothing new for him, but it certainly came as a surprise as he recalls none from childhood.
It begs the question if his memories are even correct.
The Doctor didn't realize he had fallen asleep until a sense of awareness was brought on to him.
Letting out a yawn, the Doctor stretches out the singular wing attached to his back, and the feathers on winged ears are slightly ruffled. If he could he would have glanced at the other wing, or well, the pathetic excuse of one to be precise.
It was particularly mechanical because of his attempts to modify it but he gave up halfway due to sheer boredom, and he questioned why he even started working on it in the first place, he didn't care about his wings. Oh how much he wants to clip them off his back, it was a hindrance to him, it no longer served a use, with one wing broken beyond repair that not even the simple act of molting can save it, battered and ruined and a disdainful reminder of what it used to be.
But even if they were in perfect condition, that blasted disease known as eleazar destroyed all of his nerves connected to his wings, they would be nothing other than just 'pretty decorations' on him.
If he were something more akin to a crystalfly, then the thought of being put in a photo frame would have been more of a reality to him.
Clipping off his wings would do him more good than just leaving them on his person but alas it would be a waste and serve his research no good, after all, he's yet to find an individual that is quite like himself, someone who wasn't just a fragment of his life made from machinery with an attempt to mimic his appearance.
Oh well, the Fourth seemed to find them pretty, so perhaps they're not entirely useless.
The number of times he kept falling asleep was starting to get alarming, the Doctor never needed sleep, it was a waste of his time and he could spend his hours on experiments and research.
Something must be wrong, but he can't pinpoint what was wrong, he knows he's close but feels so out of reach.
His claws twitched and started gripping at the hem of his shirt, if he didn't stop he would tear it with the amount of force he was using, but he didn't care he had plenty to spare.
He hears the door to his lab open, and a familiar pattern of footsteps makes itself known.
"Careful doctor, I wouldn't want you ripping your artificial heart out for me again."
The Doctor snarled, he may be partially blind but he knows the feel of the Regrator's gray eyes on his form without having to see them for himself.
"Now now, no need for all the hostility, I'm only looking out for a fellow Harbinger."
"Fuck off."
He knows that this bastard of a banker is smirking at him, he can sense it, and his tone says it all. His clawed hand goes to grip the Regrator's wrist which was aiming to rest a hand on his shoulder. He grins to himself when he hears the other take in a sharp inhale due to the pain.
If he had to guess, his co-worker by now would be trying to mask the pain with a cheeky smile.
Fucking bastard.
"Dearest Doctor, I wouldn't be able to do any work with a crushed hand."
What kind of work the banker was referring to, he doesn't care nor wants to know.
"I thought you liked the pain?" The Regrator
chuckled,
"Voluntary pain my dear, now please unhand me." He would have rolled his eyes if they were open, but nevertheless, let go.
"What are you even doing here?"
"My my, am I not allowed to visit my favorite Doctor without reason?" What kind of bullshit-
"The Tsaritsa's goal is nearing and we cannot afford to waste our time with useless human desires, Regrator." The other's smile twitched downward for a split second, but he paid no mind to it.
There was a sense of longing in the other's silver eyes, despite it being bleak and dead they never fail to shine and be filled with life whenever his gaze sets on the Doctor. There was silence and then a sigh of disappointment, "I thought we might have had something special…"
He ignored the way his mechanical heart started warming up when the other said that.
He scoffed, "Our collaboration is strictly business Regrator, I thought we both agreed to that." The Liyuen furrowed his brows.
"Strange, I don't recall you stating that in our contract, have all your years of living finally caught up to you?"
The Doctor couldn't mask his genuine confusion, "...What?"
Without warning, a different image of the Regrator began to flicker and overlap with the one in front of him, same glasses, same smile, and same black hair but it was missing its white streaks and was hanging to the other's left side instead.
"Our partnership is strictly business, both of us will benefit from each other, do you find the terms agreeable hm?" It's him again, but- it's different, the bastard gave a closed-eyed smile, the tone of arrogance wasn't present.
The ninth- no- wasn't he the fourth? This doesn't add up- it doesn't make sense- the Regrator was the fourth-ranked Harbinger
He feels his lips moving, he can hear his own voice and the arrogance that was supposed to belong to the Regrator was there- the tone- it doesn't- it shouldn't- why should-
He doesn't -
"I deem working with the second something to look forward to, I'll see you then Doctor."
"-Doctor? Don't zone out on me now."
The image disappears when he blinked. That was worrisome.
He frowned, "It seems like my dreams are blending in with reality as of late- I- nevermind." It has been happening as of recently, and he does not like it one bit.
The other hums, and continues with the original topic.
"By the way, do you really think that little of our partnership? I'm hurt, Doctor."
"Buzz off, you make it sound like we're an item- we are FAR from such."
"Did your dreams revolve around me? I could only guess based on how much you stared at my face just then. By the sounds of it perhaps we're destined to-" He didn't let the other finish his sentence before he shoved past him and rushed to the exit.
He doesn't notice the silver eyes filled with concern as the Regrator watches his retreating figure.
The Doctor was back in his lab once more and the Regrator had the audacity to show his face again.
"Oh my, I forgot how lonely it must be in here, It's a pity you had to trade away the others for the gnosis." The regrator said as he made his way to him, stepping aside some of the corpses that littered on the cold tile floor which he never bothered to clean up.
He groaned, "Don't remind me."
While the whole reason for the Doctor's segments coming into existence was purely for the sake of preserving his perspective in different ages, they also served the purpose of being his many eyes around Teyvat.
As the years came by, his Eleazar grew more fatal, and he refused his death to be caused by something like a terminal illness, which would be a worse irony in itself than being titled as 'Doctor'.
So he combated it by altering his body, there wasn't a point to pretend to be 'human' anymore so why not embrace the monster his peers and townsfolk wanted him to be?
Meanwhile, the other has silver spectacles in front of his narrowed eyes, when both of them know full well he can perfectly see without the need for them, but still wears them for the sake of looking like a 'gentlemen' the doctor can't help but feel like he's being mocked.
He growled but the other remained unphased, and his smile grew.
If he wasn't lacking in segments he would have had an extra pairs of eyes, and he wouldn't have needed to spend useless energy and use actual effort into prying his eyes open, it felt painful, they were heavy and he wanted to give up halfway but refrained from doing so, because he needed to make his displeasure to that bastard clear.
Unexpectedly, the other's eyes softened.
"Eleazar surely did a number on you didn't it?"
Glassy red eyes glared into dead silver ones.
"Shut your trap and leave."
There was a sigh, and then a gloved hand moving blue strands of hair to the side of his face, he would have bitten it off if he wasn't already exhausted from the countless sleepless nights.
They stared into each other's eyes, the Regrator having yet to remove his hand, set aside another strand behind the Doctor's winged ears and cupped his cheek. The gesture was gentle, it felt warm compared to the blizzard weather of this snowy nation, it made him want to lean into his touch and be oblivious to the world.
The Doctor hates it, he hates how easy it is for the Regrator to reduce him into something like this, he hates how the Regrator makes him feel warm and wants to melt into his every touch. He wants to shove him away, bite his hand, and yell at him to leave, but he can't bring himself to do it, because this bastard is the only one that always manages to calm his nerves, make the tension leave his body and, keep him relaxed.
The Doctor yearns for Regrator and he hates it.
"Do require some stress relief my Bǎo bèi?" That damned nickname but the Doctor can't bring himself to be mad, he's exhausted, "Yes just… let me take a nap first."
A kiss was planted on his forehead, "Of course."
He lets out a soft sigh as, feeling eyes beginning to droop, he paid no mind to anything around him other than the Regrator sweeping him off his feet and making their way to the Fourth's fancy bedroom.
The Doctor falls dead asleep.
The doctor wakes up in the other's bed, the man himself sleeping beside him. He doesn't say a word and just gets up to wash in the other's private bathroom.
When the winged man came back, a towel around his waist, the Regrator was already awake, admiring one of his void black feathers which had fallen off during the heat of the moment.
The regrator's attention turned to him, and his smile widened, eyes slightly crinkling at the several bite marks on his form, "Not up for another round?"
A glare was met his way and the answer was immediate, "No."
"Ah, a shame."
The doctor deadpans at that response, "Do you still have my spare clothes here?"
"Oh dearie me, I must have forgotten, well it looks like you'll have to wear mine again." His clawed hands twitched and suddenly the urge to strangle the banker's neck was starting to seem very appealing to him now.
"I kid you, of course, I still have your spare shirts, besides your pretty little wings are too big and it'll just rip open mine."
The fourth's chipper tone never faltered for even a split second, even if the Third was one moment away from splitting his throat open, it always made the doctor wonder if the other had more loose screws than himself.
He tried to ignore his face heating up at the compliment regarding his wings
He huffs, the other smiles, and starts getting dressed.
Surprisingly, a harbinger gathering was announced, a meeting was held and abruptly stopped just as it started for reasons unknown.
As per usual, the doctor locked himself inside the confines of his underground laboratory, and then he began to wonder. Despite that short time of being in the same room as his co-workers, they all felt… off, in a way.
Was Childe always this easily annoyed? The default scowl on his face felt misplaced somehow, the harlequin's passive expression irked him in a way that made him feel like she should be more aggravated and aggressive. Damselette's silence seemed more eerie than normal, he almost couldn't bear it, and lastly the Regrator.
He clenched the beaker in his hand.
It was difficult to describe him, he befuddled him in many ways, his mannerisms, the way he speaks, and the other's often unhinged demeanor doesn't strike him as odd which was baffling, but if it was a bit more muted than the anomalies he senses around the other would cease.
He felt an uncomfortable coil inside his stomach.
A crack echoed across the room as he gripped the beaker a little too tightly.
He hasn't openly spoken about it yet, but he has a feeling the Jester knows too, why else would the director just dismiss everyone before the meeting even started.
The Jester knows someone is missing, he knows a harbinger escaped their clutches and he knows the sixth slot wasn't vacant all along.
Over their many years of planning, they had attempted to come up with any possible obstacles they could avoid to further their goal, death of a fellow harbinger will be a hindrance but is to be expected. Betrayal is another thing, and would face nasty repercussions if a traitor were to dare show their face once more.
He felt the urge to pluck out his feathers, they didn't feel normal on him anymore- it felt wrong, wrong ,wrongwrongwrongwrongWRONGWRONG-
Another crack and the beaker looked close to shattering, any more pressure and he'd have acid all over his hand.
His lips pressed into a thin line.
It wouldn't have been unusual if everyone's uncanny behavior had something to do with the missing sixth's disappearance, they had to be, it was starting to become insanely complicated trying to comprehend what was real anymore, memories and dreams drawing a blurry line to each other, faces familiar and not blending in, all of this just felt, wrong.
Nothing felt right, his wings didn't feel right, his mind didn't feel right, his existence didn't feel right he-
He ignored the way the acid scorched through gloves and onto artificial skin-
He tried to focus-
He tried to remember-
He-
The next time he woke up on his desk, he had no recollection of what he was fussing about and proceeded to fix the melted-off artificial skin.