Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It doesn’t even cross Techno’s mind to think that this is the worst day of his life.

Not because the day is any good. No, it’s awful. Almost unbearable, generously. In fact, he didn’t really think he would live through it.

But Techno’s had many days like that throughout his life. It’s only natural to assume that a horrible day must be the worst you’ll ever have. To lay awake all night, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day, if only because you’ll meet your soulmate. Even Techno fell into that cycle, for years and years.

Eventually that fades though and starts to feel less like dumb hope and more just flat out dumb. Maybe not for all people, or even most, but it sure has for Techno. There’s no moment to pinpoint as the day his hopes got crushed, but it must have been somewhere alongside his parents dying and being shipped away to some of the worst people imaginable for the rest of his childhood. 

There’s just something special, in the most distorted sense of the word, to go through the day after a mind shattering tragedy and not meet his soulmate. Because it means that it’s going to get worse.

So, Techno doesn’t find himself deafening himself with cries that this must be the worst thing to ever happen to him nor clinging onto the hope of what that means when he wakes up to the smell of smoke. That makes sense, if smelling smoke was that bad, everyone would meet their soulmate the day after their college roommate somehow burns popcorn on a stove that barely works. The thing that’s really concerning is that Techno’s on the subway.

His head pounds and an involuntary groan leaves his lips. The first impulse that claws over Techno is actually to plug his ears, because what the hell is that ringing?! But as pain starts to spasm over his limbs, a bit more of awareness manages to creep in.

The subway train car is dark and he realizes that some of the confusion in his skull is because he’s turned the wrong way. In fact, the whole car is. Somehow, they’ve flipped in some sort of direction. That sure makes the bitterness of smoke at the back of his throat burn all the worse.

People are screaming around him too. Techno blinks thickly, trying to make out where people are and what’s happening. It’s a bit of agony to turn his head to the side, causing a wave of dizziness to fall over him. But when Techno does turn his head, he manages to make out a face only a few inches away. A woman, seemingly, expression loose and skin covered in dark stains that Techno can only think of as blood.

Somehow, that makes Techno panic more than the active pain and danger he’s in. He’s hurt and someone else is too. Probably a lot of people. What the heck is happening?

As if hearing Techno’s thoughts, the ground gives a violent quake beneath him as a breaking sound adds itself to the chaos within his ears. It’s not quite glass, though Techno can definitely feel some rain down and add to the sharp collection below him. It’s as though the entire world around him is breaking apart.

The screams pick up at the shaking and booming sounds. Distantly, Techno can hear a man yelling, but can’t quite make out what he’s saying. A part of him hopes that it is somehow an emergency service person coming to save them. The rest of him dreads that it could be someone making this much much more dangerous.

A cough suddenly yanks itself out of Techno’s chest, forcing him to curl in on himself a bit. From his nose to his lungs, all of him burns. Worse than second hand cigarette smoke or even the tips of cigarettes pressed into skin. It feels like death.

With weeping eyes, Techno forces his hands beneath him and pushes up. The motion makes him sick, face twisting up tight to keep it all contained inside him. Still, the dim car around him fades away to nothing from lightheadedness. Techno just forces himself to stay sitting and breathe, no matter how much it hurts.

After all, if he doesn’t, he’ll die.

The shock of adrenaline running through him is familiar and relieving. There’s a reason that the human body evolved to have a fight or flight response. Sure, it’s annoying as all get out when Techno feels ready to pop a blood vessel while ordering food, but when it actually matters, that’s when it matters. Makes sense.

Fueled by his pounding heart, Techno shakily climbs to his knees. No amount of panic can keep his lungs from spasming with the smoke dirtying them. A sputtering wheeze pinches up his throat, sending liquid dripping out of his nose. Techno wipes it away absently before he sets about standing.

It’s hard when the ground feels like it’s swaying. Techno can’t help pushing his hands to the floor while panting, trying to figure out if they’re actually still moving. He doesn’t think that they are. But his head also hurts a bit too much to think it through properly. 

His knees feel like weak rubber when he finally stands. They want to collapse below him and he only manages to stay upright by locking his legs. The first step he takes is small, more of a jolt. Then he stumbles another time and—

A burst of pain shatters over Techno’s front as his arms and nose smack into the ground with all of his weight behind them. With a groan, Techno rolls over and pushes at whatever caught the tip of his foot. Only, the object beneath his hand is soft.

Faster than Techno would normally be able to do even when he wasn’t probably concussed, he recoils his hand and struggles to get away from the thing. Because it’s not a thing, but a person. Or the body of one anyway. Techno had forgotten somehow in the fog of his body that there was a person collapsed by his side.

The ringing in his ears picks up as heat courses through him. He can’t— What should he even—

A cough ends up cutting off his panicked thoughts. It was probably brought on in part from the quick breaths alongside the seemingly thickening smoke. The pain behind Techno’s skull has started to bloom into a star, burning and bright and agony.

He needs to get out of here. The thought is there to guide him and the adrenaline to manage it. 

But something keeps him stuck to the floor. Techno’s going to die. Going to die, just like the lady before him is dead. Probably dead, or will be soon from the smoke. They’re both going to die.

The whine that Techno bites down on tastes like metal. His jaw shakes around the force of it, but he just tenses it further. The pain shocks down his neck and then he’s able to move again. Techno leans forward and loops his arms around the woman’s body.

It feels clumsy, holding the limp fleshy thing. It makes him want to shudder, nearly gagging at the feeling. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s disgusting to him. It makes the smoke in his mouth grow sour as he swallows around it.

A bigger problem arises though. Techno can barely budge with the person in his arms.

Normally, it would probably be a bit of a struggle. But the pain throughout him is worse than the adrenaline can cover and there’s barely any oxygen left in his body to even keep him conscious. Holding his own weight is borderline impossible, let alone another person’s.

Pained sounds bubble up as he yanks the person a few inches closer to where he hopes there’s an exit. It feels like the glass is scratching his bones with how he’s dragging himself against it. The woman’s probably not faring much better, but he can’t care for that. They need to get out. It’s too hard to breathe. They have to escape!

“H–he–p,” Techno tries to scream. The sound dies in his throat, feeling like razors and salt. “H—help!”

Something seems to pop at the back of his tongue at the almost scream and for a second Techno just sits there and coughs in breaths. A part of him begs that someone respond. That someone helps, or tries to, or is even stuck here and dying too.

But no one answers.

All of his insides are churning hard. Too much to even think, let alone move. But Techno tightens his arms around the woman till it hurts. Then he sinks his knees into the ground and pushes.

It’s more akin to crawling or inching than anything close to walking, even on his knees. Techno ends up collapsing most of his weight onto the woman’s body, leaning on her to move his lower body before dragging her behind. It’s slow and painful and practically useless. Techno’s face falls against the woman’s shoulder and the breath he manages is clearer than any he can remember, smelling like perfume and detergent and only a little smoke.

Right. With numb trembling fingers, Techno yanks the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose.

The distance seems infinite. Techno doesn’t even know where he’s trying to end up. A door, he thinks. But is there even a door over here? Is there a way out anywhere? Maybe he’s trapped within the burning metal, a coffin far more than six feet below the earth.

It’s just then that the barest hint of a breeze blows against his face. It feels like imagination, but Techno swears that the sweat dripping down him cools just a bit. It makes his eyelids flutter, before he pinches them shut and continues crawling all the faster.

The door is there, forever away but also only a few feet. It feels like forever, but Techno reaches it eventually, chest raising and falling far too quickly. But the smallest scraps of air that are getting in, fueling the fire and his lungs equally. It feels magical, even as he shakes all over.

The metal is jagged and strange around the door, but Techno can’t care. Instead he sets about rolling the woman through, shoving her roughly and uncaring. He needs out. She needs out. Now. With all of his weight behind his shoulder, Techno shoves her over and gasps in relief when he hears her body hit the ground.

Then it’s his turn to fall after. The distance to the ground isn’t too far, but it’s enough to feel a rush of air and for his body to try to correct itself. His feet come down to catch him, but the second that his body lands on top of them, he’s crumbling quickly. It makes the soot in his lungs try to fight upwards.

Wheezing, Techno blindly bats his hand about till he feels the woman’s body. He can’t even tell what part of her it might be, but it’s warm enough to burn. That’s good, he thinks. Still alive, she must be. The air is so much clearer, even if it still feels like fire. Or maybe he’s the one burning…

For a minute or so, Techno just lays there. His brain feels thready, one snip away from floating off. But part of him is holding in. The part holding the woman, he thinks. Her skin beneath clothes feels odd, more so than pain or fire or exhaustion.

He realizes, when the waiting grows on, that he’s expecting someone to show up. Help.

Something happened, and people must know. Where are the paramedics or fire people? Where is the help for them? It doesn’t seem too dangerous outside and it’s too silent. Where could they be?

With difficulty, Techno pries his eyes open. They pound and sting, like he’s opened them in chlorinated water. Pool water up the nose and out the eyes. They’re blurry too, noticeable even in the near darkness.

No one is around, at least from what Techno can see.

It feels like a knife to his head and something like a sob comes up. It’s too much now, to have gotten out and not be saved. But as it passes through his nose, Techno swallows. Because he’s used to it. There is never a savoir at the end of his torments. With arms that he can barely feel, Techno pulls the woman to his chest and shoves his toes into the ground till he moves.

The fresh air helps, even if it makes his pains sharper. The coughs are coming more often now, though he’s not sure why. Eventually he has to take the cloth off his face, choking too hard. 

It makes his body fall, too weak to manage crawling and coughing at the same time. His head feels so heavy, and yet it’s as though his brain is floating away. 

His cheek is pressed into something soft and that is wrong. A blink and swipe of his fingers show that it’s the woman. Suddenly he feels bad for surely bleeding on her. That, and the warmth beneath his skin, motivates his legs to give standing a go again.

Verticalness is bad, but so is everything, so Techno forces himself to keep doing it. The woman feels so heavy in his arms and her legs are still trailing on the ground, but he thinks it’s faster. Even if his feet shuffle more than step. Techno keeps putting one foot forward, and then the other.

Light glows through Techno’s eyelids and he can’t help blinking in confusion. For a second, he thinks they’re just bright blobs on his vision playing tricks in his head. But the more he stares the more he convinces himself that it’s true. There’s light before him and he’s getting closer.

It’s enough of a burst of relief to have him staggering faster. Every step nearly has him falling over, the woman clattering along roughly, but he’s so close! There must be a subway stop and there will definitely be people there and finally they can be helped and—

“Don’t move! Put your hands up!”

The scream is so loud his ears ache, despite the fact that it’s hard to hear around the ringing. And even though Techno’s eyes are open, he can barely make out what’s before him. What? What—?

“Put your hands up, now!”

There’s people standing on the ledge, close but not quite. And Techno realizes that they’re cops. But they’re yelling at him to, to.

With a sway, Techno drops the woman and tries to raise his arms. But they’re so heavy. Did he drop the woman? He must have, but he can still feel her. So heavy and pulling him down. Right to the ground. His legs spasm to join her.

“Get on the—”

Techno doesn’t know if the yell is actually cut off or if his mind just doesn’t hear it. It doesn’t really matter, because someone has grabbed him . Their arm is tight and forces his chest to cough, weakly and lame as his chin dips to his collarbones. W—what?

“I’ll blow his brains out! If, if you don’t let me go, I’ll do it!”

That scream comes through, but it’s so close to Techno’s ears that it’d be impossible not to. It makes Techno jerk away on reflex, only for his temple to hit something hard and cold. A jolt of pain runs through his brain from the soft spot. When he’s able to squint his eyes open again, Techno can see the cops’ guns clearer. And it makes him realize that there must be a gun pressed to his head too.

Oh.

The voices go back and forth, and the man behind him jerks. It jerks Techno about too, earning more and more coughs as nausea and faintness creeps higher. A part of Techno is pissed though. Why’d he do all that, only to be put here? Maybe, he should have just laid there in that subway car.

With his head hanging limply, Techno can see the woman at his feet. The man holding him is standing on her hand. Despite the fact that Techno must have hurt her much worse dragging her out here, it strikes him as very wrong. 

The man leans forward, and it makes the woman’s arm bend strangely. Her face is just about visible to Techno, all white and red and black. It almost looks like it’s twisting in pain. Almost like—

A bang splits the air, heat on his temple, and then— nothing.

—

Shockingly, waking up in the hospital isn’t too dissimilar to waking up in the broken subway cart. For a second, Techno thinks that’s where he is. His body jerks up, gasping for air and desperately trying to get away. The hands that meet him and hold him down only make the panic worse.

“ —lax. You are at the hospital. You are safe.”

The voice is stern and sounds almost angry. But maybe that’s the thing that gets it through to him. Either way, his brain finally starts taking in the sight around him and sluggishly his limbs stop fighting too.

The doctors move on quickly, spitting questions at him so quickly that it makes him nauseous. They only pause to shine lights into his eyes or to shove him into a scanner once. It’s disorienting and Techno finds himself almost unable to answer.

“What’s your name?”

“What’s your birthday?”

“Do you have any allergies?”

It all slurs and blurs and Techno’s unsure if he answers them or not. He must have, considering that all at once, he finds himself alone. It’s bizarre, making him blink and look around in confusion.

The sight of chaos that greets him is almost relieving, even more so than the doctors and nurses. There are flimsy curtains set up around the large room, but hardly anyone can be bothered to keep them closed when they’re constantly running in and out. Techno watches as someone splashed in red and spasming gets wheeled off down a hallway with at least ten people stuck to them.

Somehow, Techno came out okay. More so than some people at least. 

That’s just his luck really. Left to die in the subway car and then taken hostage, but somehow okay enough. Everything hurts and he’s all taped up and full of ivs, but not dead. Not dying, at least right now. Not everyone can say that. Techno wonders if the woman is among them as he presses the tips of his fingers to the side of his head. There’s bandages, but nothing else. Guess the bullet missed, or mostly. What luck.

He’s still tired, so badly. And the pain comes in overwhelming waves. Techno wants to sleep, now that he’s certainly allowed to. If anything happens, the doctors can sort it out. So he should just sleep and let them.

But the chaos around him drives adrenaline through his veins. It burns, like his throat. Maybe some of the soot has managed to drift into his bloodstream and is clogging up his heart. It kind of feels like it.

So instead of relaxing and sleeping like he should, Techno lays on the bed and tries not to cough through the panic. Cold air licks at his lips from a plastic mask strapped there, but it doesn’t hide the taste of blood still sticking. Techno’s tongue dips out and finds his skin cracked and bleeding.

He’s thirsty. It must be from the smoke inhalation and blood loss. A wide glance to the side shows that there’s a couple bags of something stuck into his elbow, but he doesn’t know if any of that is water. It must be. But he’s still so thirsty.

For a moment, the only sounds around him are groans. People in similar states to him, he’d think. Hope. At least they won’t die then…

With a wheeze, Techno slowly forces himself to sit up.

That makes his head angry. And his chest and abdomen and arms and somehow his legs too. Yeah, all of him hurts like hell. Shocker, considering what he just went through, he knows. But Techno’s thirsty and the sound of someone crying is slowly growing louder and louder near him.

Techno swings his legs over the edge of bed and stands up. 

It’s a near thing for sure, but the pain meds and clean oxygen go far in keeping him upright. A part of him feels almost too light without the body and blood of someone else dragging him down. Pinching his eyes shut at the thought, Techno grabs some of the poles propped up near him and starts staggering away.

It’s not exactly smart, he’ll admit. The doctors definitely want him to lay down and not move. But he just wants some water. Then he’ll go back to the room full of pained noises and phantom explosions.

Techno’s not really watching where he’s going, more focused on staying upright and not yanking out all the things hooked up to him. The floor is cold and sticks to his bare feet a bit with each step like over polished linoleum always does. It makes him shiver, trying to curl into the thin gown around him like there will be any warmth to find there. The only warmth in the whole building seems to be from the fire burning up his lungs and throat.

The glass of a vending machine shines beneath the blaring lights of the hospital, shoved into the little corner of a room full of chairs. A waiting room, probably. Luckily there’s no one behind the desk right now. They’d probably get mad at Techno for wandering around with medical equipment or whatever.

Without the thought of money crossing his foggy mind, Techno stumbles his way over to the vending machine. He just needs water, then he’ll feel better. A part of him is sure of it.

Though, obviously being closer to water isn’t making him feel any better. His shaky legs nearly send him tripping in the middle of the little room. The pole beside him lets out a high screech sound, making Techno screw his face up in slight pain and annoyance.

Of the people in the room, only one person looks up at his intrusion and breaking of the silence. A young looking man, face streaked with tears and reddened behind some brown curls. He looks up as Techno slowly rights himself, clutching onto the iv poles, and for a second their eyes meet.

Everything goes away. The pain and the panic and the sickness of medication. It’s all gone except for the something blooming inside Techno’s chest, foreign and soft edged. The strange feeling and brown eyes.

“Oh.”

That’s the man, though Techno could half think it was himself. His fingers come up, trying to feel if his numb lips are open or not. They end up just knocking on the plastic of the mask, shocking him enough that he blinks and finally the connection is cut off.

It lets Techno breathe again, though that just starts up a coughing fit. The pain doubles back on itself and the fire roars to life within him, an inferno eating him alive. Distantly, Techno can feel his fingers slip from the pole and start to fall with the rest of his body,

“Woah! H-hey, you should sit.”

Hands grab Techno by the arms, not too dissimilar to how he held the woman earlier. It smolders into his skin, every fingertip like a bright ember. He can’t quite open his eyes when he’s still coughing so hard, but he tries nonetheless, desperate to see who is there and where he is.

“Sit down, man.”

Those words are punctuated by something like a laugh, though it sounds more like a sob. But Techno is pushed lightly into a chair and then all he can do is try to breathe and fight back the charred beasts within him.

The hands are still there as Techno blinks the tears from his eyes. A glance to the side shows that it’s the man, and his face is arranged so strangely. Screwed up somewhere between a smile and a grimace. Somehow, that’s the thing that hits Techno over the head and makes him realize that the man is his soulmate.

“Oh.” Now it’s Techno’s turn, though it tastes like ash.

“Y-yeah,” The man chuckles again, and presses his hand to his forehead before glancing behind Techno. “12:07. You’ve got good timing.”

Techno follows the line of sight and sees a clock hung on the wall. The numbers don’t register in his brain, but he takes the man’s word for it. After all, it must be the next day. That’s how it happens…

“Oh. Oh! Um, I’m Wilbur.”

Wilbur uses one of his hands to start mopping up his face. More tears just replace them, so there’s not much point. It was the worst day of the man’s life, only seven minutes ago.

“What’s your name?”

Right.

“Techno.”

“Techno. I, I should get you a doctor, I think.”

And then Wilbur starts to stand, his hand loosening around Techno’s arm in a precursor to its loss. That manages to make it all burn worse, somehow, and his own hand flings forward and lands on Wilbur’s shirt sleeve. Techno tightens his fingers and leans forward till his face presses lightly against the cloth. It smells like perfume and detergent and smoke.

“Don’t. Please.”

“O-okay.”

Wilbur sits back down beside him, arms closing around Techno. Equal parts agony and relief to it all. The shoulder beneath Techno’s forehead jerks occasionally, and it makes the pain in his brain climb. Till, finally, his own tears spill over.

And then the both of them cry, strangers and soulmates.

Chapter Text

Later, Techno will be embarrassed. 

After a doctor does find him and drags him back to his bed, because even if the bullet didn’t go into his skull, it’s still bad that it touched it and he is not cleared to walk yet. 

And after he’s put under a deep medicated sleep while rolled into an operating room and wakes up what feels like days later, finally feeling a bit closer away from the edge of the razor. And even after that passes too and he’s back to feeling like he’s a second from jumping out of his skin despite the almost quiet walls of his room.

After all that, he’ll wake up and be embarrassed.

Not right after waking up though, because first he struggles through taking a couple sips of water and some questions from a nurse. One of those questions is if he knows a "Wilbur Soot" and if he wants to put them on the visiting list. Then the embarrassment hits pretty hard.

All the fogginess of that day—or, two days, technically—lifted right at the moment when he locked eyes with Wilbur. A part of Techno was always curious how people knew when they met their soulmates. Couldn’t the human mind trick you into it, especially after you’ve suffered through a traumatic event? Maybe some part of him even held the thought to his chest, that soulmates as a whole were a bust and just some weird stress induced delusion people go through. That would explain why it never happened to Techno.

Until now…

It makes Techno want to groan and fall back into his sleep for a few more days. Or weeks. Maybe by then his soulmate will have forgotten about him and Techno can go back to normal.

The nurse clears her throat at his obvious mental stumbling. “He mentioned being your soulmate, but…”

“He. He is,” Techno says with a short nod. The words feel like a lie, even though they’re not.

“Right. Well, he doesn’t have a right to visit you without your approval.”

That makes Techno almost smile. It’s a nice thing to say. So much of society crows about soulmates, constantly. And it hurt while Techno was not a part of it, but it’s still nice for someone to lay it out like that too. Hospital policy still holds stronger than soulmate bonds.

“It’s alright. He can visit, I guess,” Techno eventually says.

Because he supposes that he should, right? Wilbur held him while he cried and all. Even if the thought makes him nauseous with embarrassment—and totally nothing else at all—it sure was something. 

And Wilbur’s had his own worst day. Most people haven’t jaded their hopes so thoroughly that they wouldn’t want to be around their soulmate after that. It would be cruel to at least not talk to the man a bit. 

Still, Techno expects to have a little time to himself to sort through his head after that. A couple days if Wilbur even visits again. Then he can… figure it out. Or at least recover from the concussion a bit.

But Wilbur seems to like breaking Techno’s expectation to little itty bitty shards of glass pieces. Since the man pops up before Techno has managed to even get through fixing his disgusting hair a bit.

“Hey.”

The intrusion makes Techno jump, eyes darting to the side. It’s a bit of an overreaction for the slouching man standing there, smiling a bit awkwardly and waving his hand. He looks out of place in a hospital, with his baggy sweater, that’s probably only that way for fashion, and equally swanky glasses. It makes Techno realize that he was wearing a hospital gown when he met his soulmate. And is still wearing one.

“Hello,” Techno says after he internally fights off the humiliation.

“Can I come in?” Wilbur asks. Techno can only nod, even though it makes his head hurt. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” Techno mumbles, dropping his fingers from his hair. It’s a lost cause anyway, all the glass and soot and dirt mixed up in it. He might just have to shave it, even if it took forever to grow this long.

“Was it— I mean, did you get injured in the subway… accident?” Wilbur asks, sitting at his bedside.

Swallowing down a wince, Techno nods again.

“Oh... My mom was hurt in it too. That’s why I was here, actually. She was bad off for a while… I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Almost like those two things are related. Wilbur’s mom got hurt at the same time Techno did. Worse than him it sounds. But Wilbur is happy that that didn’t happen to Techno. Even though they don’t know each other. Despite being soulmates.

“Is she going to be okay?” Techno asks eventually, even though he’s not sure if he’s allowed.

“She’s… more stable than she was before. We’re hopeful.”

Wilbur smiles, weak and forced. It’s the sort of smile that has often accompanied Techno hoping for things. The smile he wore the day after his mom died, because he wanted his soulmate to have a good first impression. The smile he tried to soothe himself with after his dad died, because that had to be it! But it wasn’t. And the smile was just as quick to die as his hope.

“I’m sorry,” Techno lands on.

“It’s not your fault! But, thanks.” Wilbur smiles wider. It just pushes the tears in his a bit more visible. They don’t fall yet.

“You can go visit with her, if you want. Don’t think I’ll be much conversation right now.”

“No, as long as you want me here, I think I’ll stay. My dad’s with her anyway.”

And then it’s quiet. What do you say to someone after that? Isn’t it funny, that this is how soulmates meet? The worst day of your life. What do you talk about after that? Not your interests or likes or the freaking weather! There’s silence after a tragedy and it feels cold.

Maybe it’s made worse by the fact that Techno’s head feels like it’s been pumped full of molasses. That’d be a pretty funny prank from the doctors. To steal his brain and leave behind sugar substitute. When he blinks, the darkness drips away from his eyes and he finds himself laying back on the pillows. Whoops.

Something hard is digging into Techno’s scalp. Clumsily, he brings his fingers up and tries to pull whatever it is out. A small piece of glass or plastic shines in his hand when he manages to extract it. The bright lights make it shine, but maybe that’s just because his hand is shaking around it a bit.

“Do you need me to bring you anything?” Wilbur says suddenly, making Techno jolt and drop the glass into his sheets. “I could bring you clothes or even a new phone, if you lost yours. Unless someone else is already getting stuff for you, but, well. I thought I should offer.”

“Oh. I don’t know what happened to my phone,” Techno glances around.

Obviously it’s not just sitting on the table or anything. Did he lose it in the crash? Will the cops give it back? Crap, Techno has not called into work for however many days he’s been unconscious.

“I can ask a nurse for you, if you’d like.”

“I guess so,” Techno mumbles.

His hair is still tangled in his fingers. It feels downright gross, worse than it ever has, which is saying something. Techno is proud of his hair and while he doesn’t take care of it amazingly, he still uses good shampoo and brushes it daily. Right now it feels worse than oily, almost as though smoke has mixed in with it. There’s some sticky patches and it’s just all around disgusting. It makes his fingers itch almost as much as his scalp.

“... I have a comb on me. Do you want that?” Wilbur asks.

“Oh. If you don’t mind,” Techno says.

The smile is quick to rejoin Wilbur’s face as he fishes a comb out of his bag. He seems to have a bit of stuff in there. Well, his mom is also in the hospital. Those things are probably related.

“Here you go. Feel free to keep it till you’re out of here.”

With a few tries, Techno grabs the offered item. His fingers feel a bit numb around the thing. Awkwardly, he raises the comb to his head while still laying down. The second he sinks the tins into his hair, they get tangled and caught up tightly. The small attempt he makes at dragging the comb through his hair just makes a burst of pain poke at his scalp. 

“Uh, do you need help?” Wilbur asks.

He sounds kind of awkward. Probably because this situation is awkward. A stranger of a soulmate that’s stuck in the same hospital as his hurt mother. It’s…

“Are you alright?”

Techno snaps his eyes open as fingers brush the back of his hand. He can’t help flinching away from the other man, even though he backs away and stops touching Techno immediately. 

Like the flinch has wormed its way into his lungs, Techno almost instantly breaks out into coughs. Every spasm pushes up what feels like acid, corroding all the tissues away till he’s half convinced he must be spewing blood. A shaky swipe at his nose only shows off a dull gray sludge.

“Should I get a nurse?” Wilbur’s voice is just about audible beneath the rushing in his ears.

Sluggishly, Techno shakes his head while trying to even his breaths back out. The pillow and sheets beneath him feels a bit damp, probably from the sweat cooling all over his shaking body. Though, the motion is closer to shivers with how rapid they are.

When he can finally pry his eyelids apart, Wilbur’s concerned face is staring down at him intently. One of his hands is hovering close, as if wanting to touch but holding himself back. Probably because that kind of caused the whole episode in some sort of way.

“I promise I usually only act like this after working retail on Black Friday,” Techno says breathlessly.

Wilbur snorts, in that way that’s more shocked than amused. But it at least is enough for the man to flutter his way back into his chair, still leaning close like he’s expecting Techno to explode. 

Well, his mother very nearly died, what can Techno expect?

Not this, if he’s being honest. It makes sense in his brain that someone would be up in arms about their mom being badly hurt. While he only ever knew his mom as alive and healthy and then dead as a door nail, it was still pretty disconcerting of an experience. He does not recommend. But getting all anxious over Techno like it’s any way comparable is… weird.

Man, his head feels way too much like it’s still stuffed full of acrid smoke.

“Shit, sorry,” Wilbur says eventually, breaking the silence.

“For what?” Techno asks. 

“I… don’t know. Just felt like I should say that.”

Now it’s Techno’s turn to huff. It very nearly sends him into another coughing fit, but he manages to stifle it into a choking noise. Wilbur jumps with it.

“It’s not your fault. ‘S just…” Techno trails off, unsure of what he was even trying to say. “Smoke.”

“That sucks,” Wilbur says lamely.

Which is very apt. Techno wants to snort again, but luckily doesn’t. He’s already exhausted from the bout of coughing.

It’s enough to make the plank of a mattress feel comfortable. Or very nearly, aside from the sharp crown digging into the back of his head. No matter how he turns his head, it’s as though the glass and plastic and whatever else cuts in deeper. 

It frustrates him far more than it should, almost to the point of pressure behind his eyes. Like maybe the glass is shoved right through the entirety of his head and into his retinas.

Roughly, he tugs at his disgusting hair. Hoping that it will dislodge the pain or something. Instead, the hair in his fingers tears away from his scalp, far too many pieces sticking to his fingers.

“What’s wrong with your hair?” Wilbur asks.

“Glass,” Techno says flatly. “I think.”

“That sounds very not good. Shouldn’t the nurses have gotten that out?” 

Wilbur has a small smile on his face. Not the happy sort. Nervous smiler, maybe.

“Guess not. They got the rest of the glass out of me during the surgery…”

The smile on Wilbur’s face contorts to something that couldn’t be considered a smile anymore, but no other descriptor really works either.

“Uh, did you want the help?” Jerkily, he points to the discarded comb.

Which, that sure is a question. Does he want this man, who he doesn’t know and also apparently holds half of his soul, to brush his hair for him.

The thought makes Techno want to puke suddenly. He’s not sure what causes the wave of heat to run through him, but it does. Distinctly uncomfortable, maybe even more so than the glass flaying his scalp. 

Or… maybe not? The hair between Techno’s fingers seems to grow even heavier with filth and debris. If it doesn’t get brushed out, he might just yank it all out himself.

“Sure,” Techno says, sounding far less conflicted than he feels.

It’s awkward, trying to figure out how to manage the two of them and the task at hand. When was the last time someone brushed Techno’s hair? Probably a hairdresser at some point during his childhood. Though most adults whose care he was under didn’t bother with all that, simply buzzing it all off in one go. Nothing since he’s stopped being small and easy to shove beneath scissors.

When Wilbur lightly touches his arms to help him sit upright, he nearly flinches up his lungs again. Luckily, he manages to swallow anything more than a couple weak coughs down, but he feels shakier beneath the tentative hands.

After Techno gets mostly upright with a bit too much help from Wilbur, the two of them kind of freeze. That inelegant way that people bumble around each other when they don’t yet know the way their bodies are meant to move and exist in space. Or, in far less pretty words, it’s awkward as hell.

“I guess I can sit on the edge of the bed if you turn a bit,” Wilbur says.

Techno takes the prompt readily. Well, as readily as he can. When he tries to swing his legs around, a pained hiss escapes him. It certainly feels like he walked through piles and piles of glass. Or maybe like he dipped them into a wood chipper.

“Are you okay?” Wilbur asks, setting a hand on his shoulder.

It’s steadying, which is definitely the purpose considering how the pain made him a bit dizzy. But the almost tight grip sends warmth radiating all the way down his arm. It’s not exactly pleasant, but it sure is… distracting.

“Techno? Do you need a nurse?” Wilbur prods further, sounding concerned.

Quickly, Techno snaps out of his head and shakes it. Which really makes the dizziness worse, alongside the pain. But he probably needed the physical force to knock him out of the weird trance.

“No, my legs are just sore,” Techno says.

“Oh, maybe I can mo—”

Before Wilbur can finish whatever he was going to say, Techno grits his teeth and keeps pushing at his legs. He even gets his hands involved in the process, since they’re luckily less injured than his legs. And his own touch doesn’t make ants crawl beneath his skin.

“O-kay,” Wilbur sounds half amused and half concerned. “I’m going to start combing your hair. Let me know if you need me to stop.”

Hair brushing is not something that needs such warning, especially not when he’s literally just been through a train crash and hostage situation. But when the comb runs through the tangled up locks for the first time and gets caught up, a great shiver runs through him. 

Wilbur grabs his shoulder again, as if trying to get better leverage.

Luckily, the man seems to know a little bit about brushing long hair. It is pretty different from brushing through short hair, taking practice or whatever. Techno definitely nearly put mats into his hair when it wasn’t being shaved off as a kid.

“Shit, there is actual glass in here,” Wilbur says, sounding disgusted maybe.

“It might be plastic,” Techno says. For no reason.

“What?”

“I don’t know if subway windows are made of glass or plastic.”

Wilbur’s hands freeze in his hair. It makes his scalp prickle, right underneath the layer of cuts and glass and/or plastic. A short, heavy silence draws out.

“... I don’t know either,” Wilbur grits out.

Techno’s face drifts upwards as Wilbur continues brushing. He can’t tell if the slight layer of tension is in his head or not. Or what caused it. It’s too much to decipher normally, let alone when his brain is bruised.

A chunk of stained glass bounces off the blankets and into Techno’s line of sight. He can’t tell if it’s darkened by blood or soot. The colors seem to shift before his eyes. Black, then red, then black, then red.

Had there been flashing lights inside the car?

There must have been. How else would he have seen the black smoke?

Oh yeah. Wilbur’s mom nearly died from the crash. He probably doesn’t want to hear about the specifics of just how the windows shattered inwards and embedded into their skin. Techno pinches his eyes shut.

“So… Do you go to college?” Wilbur asks.

Techno clears his throat. It burns. “No.”

“Oh.”

It’s quiet, aside from the ripping sounds of his hair.

“Oh! I work at a factory, packaging stuff. Do you… go to college?” Techno’s tongue feels about as tied up as his head.

A soft, huffy sort of laugh comes from behind him. Techno would level a glare at the man if he could see it. He’s almost glad he can’t.

“Nah, I did for a bit, but it didn’t stick. I kind of just jump between temp jobs since I’m trying to do a music thing.”

College dropout and musician. It about lines up with the hipster-y fashion and general disposition. It also sounds far more interesting than anything Techno could imagine.

A sway goes through Techno, as if his core muscles are giving out. He lists to the side to lean on one of his palms. As if reminding him of the deep exhaustion still running through him, his eyelids begin to droop as he struggles to stay upright.

“Uh, let me…” There’s a shifting behind Techno, till suddenly a set of knees against his lower back. At the very least, the involuntary jolt that runs through him comes with a burst of adrenaline. Wilbur’s pointy knees keep poking into his back, holding his weight even as he leans against them. “There. I’ll be quick.”

On top of that, a hand settles between his shoulder blades like a backrest as the comb tugs at his skull. His whole head jerks with it a bit more, but Techno has bigger things to worry about than all his hair being yanked out. Like how the overwhelming fatigue and warmth of the contact are combining in a very interesting way that somehow makes him downright sleepy and keyed up.

“Do you play any instruments? Or sing? Or, well, just hobbies in general?” Wilbur asks suddenly.

“Uhm.” Techno’s brain is totally blank between his ears and his mouth doesn’t have much more to offer.

Wilbur snorts. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be interrogating you right now. I’m just pretty understandably eager to get to know my soulmate.”

Soulmate. How does he say it so easily? Like he’s never gone a single day doubting the word or the concept or the person attached to it. Is that normal? It can’t be, right? Though, it’s very few and far between that Techno is the normal one and someone else is being strange.

“I think you’re good,” Wilbur says.

Right before he sinks his fingers into Techno’s hair and runs them through. They go through easily enough, even if his hair is greasy and broken up. That doesn’t seem to bother Wilbur, since he pushes right past and starts gently rubbing the tips of his fingers against Techno’s scalp.

As if his spinal cord just got cut, Techno’s head and upper body go limp at the touch. The tiny cuts and bruises press heavily into Wilbur’s hands as catches Techno’s weight slightly clumsily. The angle is not very good and he’s obviously shocked considering the “woah!” he lets out. All of Techno simply slumps against the warm limbs and body behind him.

“Did you just pass out? I’m calling the nurse,” Wilbur sounds slightly panicked as he starts laying Techno down on the bed.

Techno wants to tell him no, that he’s fine and there’s no need for doctors or nurses. He’s barely hurt compared to everyone else in the emergency room around him, screaming and crying and convulsing. Or dead, like Wilbur’s mom nearly. And Techno can’t quite complain, when for once he is neither too cold nor hot, but just filled with fuzzy soft warmth.

It doesn’t work though, since his mouth is glued shut. He can’t even let out a single word of contradiction, or lift a finger to push the man away. 

Before Techno’s skin has a chance to lose the feeling of Wilbur’s arms, darkness yanks him down.

—

“You nearly scared me to death.”

As soon as the words leave Wilbur’s lips, he cringes. Probably because of the very timely metaphor. Honestly, it just makes Techno huff in amusement.

“Sorry.”

“You just went all limp and pale, and freaked me the fuck out.” Wilbur says with a sigh.

“Sorry,” Techno repeats.

Wilbur sighs again. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault…”

The man is worrying at his hands with fervor. It almost helps Techno understand a tiny sliver why some people don’t like his constant fidgeting. The nervousness seems to be seeping into him too. Or maybe that’s just from… the entire situation.

Automatically, Techno opens his mouth to apologize again before his mind stalls. It actually hurts, like a gear clunking out of place. Distantly, he searches for something else to say.

“Alright.”

Now it’s Wilbur’s turn to snort derisively, shaking his head.

“Is everything alright though? The doctors kicked me out right when they got in to help.”

“I’m fine, just the meds ‘n concussion ‘n stuff.”

Which is true, but also not completely. Apparently he had sprung a fever at some point during Wilbur’s visit and that alongside everything else did him in. Compared to his other pains, Techno can’t really complain about it. But the doctors are keeping a closer eye on him apparently. Which is. Interesting. And uncomfortable.

“Okay… Well, I couldn’t sit still so I went out and picked you up a few things yesterday while waiting. Hope you don’t mind.”

Don’t mind. Techno’s mind sure doesn’t at the thought and sight of Wilbur picking up a bag. Full of things, just for Techno apparently. For a bit too long probably, he stares. Long enough that Wilbur’s eyebrows get a crease between them.

“It’s not—”

Techno cuts him off accidentally. “Th-thanks. I don’t. Well, I don’t know where my wallet is…”

For a second Wilbur is quiet, looking confused. Then he raises an eyebrow.

“I got them for you, no big deal. Just a few things while you recover, there’s no need to pay me back or anything.”

Which is even more bizarre. Perhaps the fever is getting to him more than he thought. His brain feels sizzling hot. Melting against his skull like plastic windows. He can even smell the smoke.

“Techno?”

“Oh. Thank you,” Techno says again, opening his eyes where they had closed.

Wilbur looks concerned. And uncomfortable? Techno doesn’t know. After staring at each other for a few seconds, Wilbur turns and fishes through his bag.

“I talked to the receptionist and some nurses and stuff, and they did have your phone! So I got that for you too.”

The hunk of junk looks not too much worse for wear in the plastic baggie that Wilbur pulls out. As Wilbur sets it into his hand, it very nearly slips right back out. The other boy has to wrap both of his hands around Techno’s and the phone till his fingers start working properly.

“Thank you.”

“Of course! I said I would.”

It takes far too much focus to open the bag and pull his phone out. Somehow, he’s shocked to find that it doesn’t turn off. It’s been days since the crash, of course it’s dead.

“It’s dead,” Techno says needlessly.

“Oh, yeah, I got a charger that I thought would work,” Wilbur goes back to digging through his bag. A brand new charger, still shiny and everything, is held up in triumph. All Techno can do is blink. “Want me to plug it in?”

With a nod, Techno hands it over with numb fingers.

“Thanks…”

“Okay, no more thanks or sorrys,” Wilbur says with a slightly tense chuckle.

If a brain can physically stutter, that’s what Techno’s does. All of his fancy words obviously got knocked out of his brain and run over by the train. Or maybe blown out of his head by the whole bullet thing. Honestly the dumb repetitions are about all he can manage.

With a large exhale, Techno flops fully back against the pillows. His entire body feels practically limp with exhaustion. Like trying to electrocute cooked spaghetti into moving like a functional body.

Obviously Wilbur does not feel the same. He is practically bouncing in his seat, fingers drumming on his knees and shoulders jerking up repeatedly. All of him sings of nervousness.

Mind struggling, Techno grapples for something to say.

“How’s your mom?”

Well. That’s probably not great. Techno thinks about giving himself another concussion.

“Um, you know. Not any better, but not any worse.” Wilbur tries to force a smile onto his face. It looks like clumsy hands trying to sculpt clay. “She hasn’t woken up yet.”

Automatically, Techno goes to apologize. His mouth hangs open as he stalls. What is he meant to say to that?

Before he can think of someone or catch a fly in his mouth, there’s a giant explosion of noise beside them. Both Techno and Wilbur jump, shock and confusion running through them. Techno half thinks that he must be having a heart attack and that’s what all the beeping and alarms are, but a glance to the side shows his phone screen lit up.

“Jesus,” Wilbur grabs his chest. “Probably should have expected that.”

Techno sure didn’t and he doesn’t know why he would. With a weak hand, he bats towards his phone, trying to grab it. Wilbur ends up grabbing it for him, holding it before his face.

“I think you might have to wait a bit for it to charge before you can take any calls, but I can leave for that if you want.”

A quick swipe through his notifications pops any of the interest that had built up. 

“Nah, it’s okay,” Techno pulls his phones closer to his face, squinting to try and see better. “It’s just work.”

“Your work?” Wilbur sounds surprised. “Don’t you need to call back any family? Or friends?”

Techno just shakes his head a bit. It mostly seems to be his manager texting, and eventually calling him. Probably pissed that he missed his shifts. Well, he supposes that no one was really around to reach out and let them know he was in the hospital. If he has to get a police note or something to excuse his absence, that’s going to suck.

A tiny hiss escapes Techno as he pinches his eyes shut. The phone screen feels like it’s stabbing right through his eyeballs and into his brain. It’s bad enough to make him nauseous.

“You okay?” Wilbur asks.

“Yeah, just the screen I guess.”

“I can reply to them, if you want?”

“Mm.” Techno says vaguely, before nodding. He should really let them know before he’s fired.

After unlocking the phone, Techno practically chucks it at Wilbur before his eyes turn to lava and drip out of his skull. With a hum, Wilbur seems to try and pick through all the different messages. There’s nothing Techno’s worried about him seeing. It’s not like there’s much to see.

“Seems like they’re mostly from ‘Manager Jerry?’ He seems pretty pissed about you missing work. What should I say?”

“Um…” Techno trails off, trying to scrounge something profound up.

“I can come up with something, if you want.”

“Yes,” Techno agrees, relieved to stop thinking. Belatedly, he adds: “Please.”

“Yup!”

While Wilbur tries to quell the beast of his angry capitalist enforcer, Techno prods at the space between his eyebrows. If he could reach through the space and scoop the pain out, that would be much obliged.

“Did you want me to message anyone else? I don’t know who the hospital or police contacted…”

“No, that’s okay,” Techno tries to balance sounding polite and not admitting that no one aside from his jerk of a boss would know or care that he got squashed by a train.

“Okay. Oh! If you need me to leave so someone else can visit, let me know!”

“Well, you’re my only visitor,” Techno admits. “Leave or stay whenever you want.”

If anything, that seems to shock Wilbur more. Techno’s brain is too useless right now to be dealing with this. To be trying to make nice with his soulmate who is a stranger.

“Oh…” Wilbur says quietly.

For some reason, it makes Techno’s cheeks feel a little more hot. Considering how Wilbur’s face seems to curdle, he must feel it too. Or is thinking over what that means. About Techno and who he’s ended up with.

Techno who nearly died and didn’t even want to meet Wilbur afterwards. And Wilbur, whose mom is nearly dead, but not even yet. 

It’s not like Techno judges the hurt the man feels. More than ever, the day that his mom died was the one he expected his soulmate. But it does say a lot about Techno. Maybe he thought the universe wouldn’t pair him with anyone because it would be such an awful deal for the other person. What can Techno do for Wilbur? He’s a man with no family, no real friends, or passions.

Wilbur seems terribly, horribly, normal, in the most envious way. Techno feels bad for him.

“Don’t feel any obligation to stay. Just… I’m fine,” Techno slurs a little.

Wilbur nods, seemingly to himself, before he smiles. “I want to stay with you. Kick me out whenever you get fed up.”

Kind words, though unrealistic to Techno’s life. Experience says so. The universe practically kicks it over his face, like neon paint.

Slowly, Wilbur reaches out and grabs Techno’s hand, squeezing it lightly. Techno doesn’t have the strength to squeeze back.

—

Techno wakes up to Wilbur crying. It’s obvious that the man is trying to hide it, and he’s doing a decent job. Silent and face barely moving. But Techno has far too much experience in that sport to be fooled.

“Are you okay?” Techno asks, or he tries to before his throat spasms and he starts to cough.

It’s all he can do to lay there, shaking as he tries not to drown in the ash and scalding coughs. Then Wilbur is comforting him, hand on his shoulder and soft words. It puts a line between Techno’s eyebrows for a different reason. He didn’t mean that.

When he can finally take in a real gasp of air, Wilbur’s face is no longer damp where he’s leaning over Techno. But nothing can remove the red irritation around his eyes and cheeks. No amount of concern can fully paint over the utter grief. Like toxic lead paint seeping through the walls.

“Are you okay?” Techno rasps again, rubbing the exerted tears from his eyes.

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that,” Wilbur says, sounding ironically amused.

“Same old smoke inhalation for me. What’s up with you?”

If Techno had enough strength, he would raise an eyebrow at the other man. As is, he can only hope that he doesn’t squirm away from the question. It’d probably be pretty easy considering Techno’s useless concussed brain.

“N-nothing’s up with me, worry about yourself.” Wilbur smiles.

Techno manages to scowl despite it all.

“Did something happen?... Your mom?” 

It’s horribly insensitive, but Techno can’t figure out how to pry better. Considering how Wilbur flinches, it’s obviously the area of hurt. But Techno has no idea how to go about it other than spitting out crude words.

“She’s. Fine. Same as before.” Wilbur shakes his head. “I really am fine. Just, stressed, I suppose.”

“I can’t think of any reason why,” Techno says sarcastically, rolling his eyes despite the pain it brings.

Faintly, Wilbur snorts, though he looks a little cowed. Then he sighs.

“You just need to focus on healing, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Healed as much as I can be. All I’ve got left to do is talk.”

Never before could Techno imagine himself offering to talk, but, well. The gangly man before him is kind of pitiful. And the sight of his upset makes Techno’s stomach hurt.

Wilbur sighs. “I swear, you’re stubborn over the wrong thing here…”

Techno simply blinks blankly, strangely making Wilbur smile. It dies quickly as it came into existence.

“Well. The truth is that… I actually haven’t visited my mom in person, really.” His hands are fidgeting with each, as if trying to pull himself apart. “She’s with my dad! So I know she’s okay and not alone. But, I don’t know. It’s like I just can’t make myself see her…”

“And you feel bad about it?” Techno says plainly.

“Well, yeah! She’s my mom and she’s not well. I—I don’t know if she’ll recover. But still, I just. Can’t.”

Guilt drips from the man, so much you would think that he was the one to blow up the train and crush them all. But, it makes some sort of sense. If Wilbur’s mom does die, Techno knows that he’ll feel bad, little as he knows about the man. And it’s probably not great son behavior to not visit your mom in the hospital anyway, little as Techno knows about that.

Fully laying back on the pillows, Techno thinks for a second.

“You should go visit her. I think… It’d be good if you did,” Techno says tentatively.

It’s overstepping. But he feels like he should say that. Because Techno would give anything to spend even a second more next to his mother, even if it was her barely alive body. It would be better than the totally unalive body, splayed out in a coffin all pretty like.

“I’m… scared,” Wilbur whispers, like it’s a secret. “I know it’s stupid and I should be thankful she’s alive—”

“I think there’s far more to be scared of than thankful for,” Techno spits out crudely.

It shocks Wilbur silent, wide eyed and staring at Techno. Tears pool in the things like they’re nearly overflowing glasses of water. It’s nearly something graphic. He can see the tear ducts and everything, all the far too exposed parts of emotion.

“I don’t—” Wilbur snorts wetly, rubbing at his face. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You can ignore it.”

“No. You’re right. Just… It sucks!”

“Yeah, it does.”

Wilbur sighs. “My dad will be there, but that’s almost worse. We haven’t really talked aside from updates on her health and it’s just—”

A few tears escape as Wilbur bites into his lips, grinding them in a way that must be painful. It’s not something Techno can relate to, not directly. But. Enough.

“She technically did die. Her heart stopped during surgery. Multiple times! And I want her to be okay so bad, but there’s nothing I can do about it but just sit there and stare at her chest being pumped full of oxygen with a machine.”

The imagery makes Techno grimace. His lungs itch and push him to cough. But he swallows compulsively, over and over till it stays down.

“And my dad can’t leave her side. Just, sitting there waiting for his soulmate to die again. I think… I think he could feel it.”

Against his will, Techno closes his eyes and breathes evenly. It’s a bit too much for his brain. His skull feels close to popping with it all. But he tries to shove it all around and lay it out into something coherent. Dead parents and worst days of your life is about all Techno has to offer his soulmate.

“You should go see her, for yourself. No matter what happens… You’ll have wanted to have seen her.”

The silence between them feels gross. Heavy. Techno very nearly drowns with it. But eventually Wilbur’s lips part with an audible click.

“Maybe… I don’t know if I can.”

“I can go with you,” Techno offers before he thinks.

Wilbur looks surprised. Like he didn’t imagine such a thing.

“Well, if you want. And I think. I mean, she’s in this hospital, right? Um,” Techno stumbles to explain himself.

“She is,” Wilbur answers. “And, if you want? You don’t have to…”

“I offered.”

“That’s true.” Wilbur smiles a little. “I would appreciate it. If you’re up for it.”

Techno outright rolls his eyes. It makes his headache flare terribly, enough to stir up nausea in his throat. But he nods.

Luckily the hospital seems to have calmed down since Techno was brought there. It only takes a few minutes of searching for Wilbur to find someone to help them. Or, Techno thinks it’s a few minutes. Maybe he just zoned out for however long it took.

But Wilbur returns with a wheelchair and permission for Techno to leave for a bit. Maybe the man just stole it out of a random closet, but Techno is not currently hooked up to any ivs, so he doesn’t much care. Instead he just focuses on keeping his face very even while Wilbur helps him climb into the wheelchair while his legs scream out in pain and the rest of him tries to fall to the floor in exhaustion.

Large pants force Techno to lean over for a couple minutes after sitting down, long enough that Wilbur is looking at him with an awful lot of concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to do this.”

Techno shakes his head.

“I’m fine. Really, if I don’t get out of this room it might kill me first.”

After blurting the words out, Techno kind of wants to actually pass out again. Because of course he just made a joke about dying in front of his soulmate whose mom is actually in critical condition. Techno shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of human beings with ears.

Wilbur just lets out an incredulous sounding laugh. Perhaps the reality of his soulmate is finally sinking in. Laughter is better than tears. Probably.

“Okay. If you need to leave and rest or whatever, just let me know. Please don’t pass out on me again.”

With a vague hum, Techno tries to focus on his breathing and not passing out. It’s easier than thinking of words and interactions and dead moms in hospital beds. Wilbur gives a short warning before starting to push him out into the hall.

There’s no screeching alarms or people screaming as they go through the different halls. A few people dressed in scrubs look at Techno with raised eyebrows, but Wilbur handles them all easily with smiles and waves. They seem to practically forget about Techno’s awkward existence in the face of Wilbur’s charm. 

That dries up a little as they presumably grow closer to Wilbur’s mother’s room. The two of them slow slightly, like Wilbur’s dragging his feet. It gets to the point that they’re moving slower than if Techno was walking right now.

“Something about pulling off band aids would be appropriate right now,” Techno says.

Wilbur gives a huff, but it sounds more nervous than anything. Chewing on the inside of his mouth in contemplation, Techno slowly raises one of his hands and closes it clumsily around Wilbur’s wrist.

His thin forearm is shaking within Techno’s grasp. Bones rattling together, if there wasn’t all the tissues and sinew in between for sure. Tentatively, Techno squeezes tighter.

“Well, we’re here,” Wilbur whispers before clearing his throat. “My dad will be in there by the way.”

“Will he want me there?” Techno asks. A sketchy stranger is probably not who you’d want around your comatose soulmate.

“Yeah, he’d like to meet you. Just a warning.”

That’s slightly ominous. Before Techno can question further and drag up some fear towards this possibly insidious father figure, Wilbur sucks in another grand breath before rolling Techno forward quickly.

The room is not too different from Techno’s, aside from a few notable things. Mostly the equipment piled around the bed and attached to the woman laying there. She looks practically engulfed by the plastic and metal jabbed into her.

Before Techno can look away for politeness, his eyes widen as his whole body jerks. Hard enough that it hurts, though he can hardly notice. All of his focus is on the woman before him and his pounding heart.

“Techno? Are you okay?” Wilbur’s voice comes, too far considering he can feel hot breath on his ear.

The antiseptic in the air hangs heavy like smoke and the beeping sounds like a blaring alarm. Even the shine off of all the little parts seems right, even if they’re not being embedded into any of them right now. Not that it matters. Techno can feel every sliver of glass cutting into him.

His trance is only broken when there’s a dash of movement in the corner of Techno’s eyes, making him jolt again. Looking away from the woman’s obscured face, he has to blink quite a few times to register the man before him.

He is blessedly unfamiliar, just some man. There’s some confusion on his face, but he’s looking between Techno and over his head. Techno’s own glance upwards shows Wilbur’s own concerned eyes.

Right. Wilbur. And Wilbur’s father. And Wilbur’s nearly dead mom.

Crap.

“Are you alright, mate? Wilbur?” The man asks, concern dripping into his confusion too.

It’s very kind, especially since Techno can finally see how awful the man looks. Worse than Wilbur probably. Eyes red and face pale and just generally disheveled. Like he’s been staying in the hospital as a patient instead of a visitor.

“Techno? Are you feeling unwell?” Wilbur asks.

“No—no, um,” Techno clears his throat. It almost drags up the itching and searing pain. But he just swallows down the coughs. “It’s just…”

Against his will, his eyes drift back to the woman.

“What is it? Do you know Kristin?” Wilbur asks.

“She was… on the subway,” Techno says tentatively.

“You were in the same car?” Wilbur’s father asks immediately, taking a few steps closer.

Slowly, Techno nods. Because they must have been. After all, Wilbur’s mom is the dead lady that Techno dragged back to the station.

The thought sends a shudder through him. Not dead, still breathing. She was still breathing then and now too. 

Though she stopped breathing in surgery, and there’s a tube sticking down her throat.

Techno swallows very roughly.

“Oh, that’s— Oh,” Wilbur’s dad says. And it’s pretty succinct. 

“Dad. Can you—”

“Oh, right.” The man shakes his head. “My name’s Phil. You’re Techno, right?”

Techno nods again, barely more sure of himself. God, he needs to get out of his head right now. He’s here to support Wilbur, to help him face his comatose mom. The adrenaline is making the back of his throat taste metallic, it’s very distracting.

“I’m glad you got out of the whole… accident alright. It’s great to meet you,” Phil says with a smile, holding out a hand.

And it’s so ridiculous. Techno shaking hands with a man smiling in front of his wife’s half-dead body. The sudden urge grabs Techno to jump up and go call a doctor for the woman. She can’t be okay, not like that and not after everything.

Instead he tries to make his lips less screwed up as he hums vaguely.

A bit of awkward silence descends over them. Wilbur is shifting frequently behind him and Phil seems strangely distant, like he’s hardly in the room. Techno’s not any better, though he is painfully aware of the woman on the bed, even when trying to avoid looking at her. The room still seems a little foggy, like smoke is filling the corners.

With a rasping breath, Techno raises his hand over his shoulder and finds Wilbur’s hand again. He tells himself that it is for Wilbur, an offering of support when his tongue is being so dumb. But he can’t even trick himself in his own mind when the touch of warm, unbroken skin makes him feel less close to dying.

Wilbur shifts so that they’re better holding hands before they can creep closer to the bed. The warmth of the hand is painfully distracting. It’s good, in a way, with how anything is better than thinking. It also kind of clouds his head just as much as the woman before him and the memories sticking to the corners.

“Wilbur’s told me a little bit about you, but not much. It’s nice to meet you,” Phil says as he retakes his seat beside the bed.

Trying to answer, Techno opens his mouth. Though, no words come out. Just his creaky breaths, struggling to even keep him alive let alone thinking and speaking.

It’s embarrassing, Techno notes vaguely. How he’s acting around his soulmate’s father. He should really be trying to be polite and salvage the first impression as much as he can. But honestly the man is hard to think about.

Not with the woman before him. But she looks so similar as when Techno saw her.

She could be dead. She could be dead. She could be—

“Is everything alright?” Phil asks.

Techno jolts and turns to him. The man is leaning close to him, concern creasing his face. Only then does Techno realize that Wilbur is much closer too and that he looks thoroughly upset.

Breathing is suddenly impossible.

And the eyes are too much. Or maybe it’s Kristin’s splayed form. She doesn’t look different enough from when she was on the train, all splattered on the ground among the broken glass and blood. A bit more clean, but only in the way that corpses are dressed up for funerals.

A shudder runs through Techno and he has to blink a lot to keep tears out of his eyes.

“Y-yes. It’s just. I saw her on the train.”

“Oh,” Wilbur says flatly. Again.

“There’s not much you could have done, I’m just glad you’re okay—” Phil starts blabbering pretty lies.

Techno shakes his head a lot, enough that his battered brain tries to shove itself out of his ears.

“No, she was right beside me. When I woke up, at least, and she was still asleep—” The words bubble over Techno’s lips. His mind still somehow laughs at the term. Asleep. His lips are still moving. “But the thing was on fire and she wasn’t waking up, so I had to drag her out.”

He’s speaking faster and faster. Is he even understandable? It kind of just sounds like crunching metal.

The others’ faces aren’t quite making it easier for Techno to know. They both kind of look shocked dumb. Or like they’re been hit over the head very very hard till their frontal lobes got crushed.

“Well, I didn’t know if she was alive, but I couldn’t breathe with all the smoke, so I thought she couldn’t either. And there was no one around—I don’t know why! I kept expecting help to show up, but there was no one. Probably because of the guy with the gun, the police were just standing there waiting—”

“Okay, Techno, take a breath,” Phil leans forward and squeezes Techno’s shoulders. “It’s o-okay.”

It’s really not.

“It’s really not.” The words are spilling out of his mouth like a broken tap or a stab wound with the knife removed. “The man kept standing on her hand. I remember, I remember. It looked like it hurt.”

With a start, Techno leans over and grabs his forehead. It’s pounding, feeling so close to breaking apart and splattering everywhere. A sound leaves his lips, though it’s very nearly drowned out by saline splashing onto his legs. He hears them, and doesn’t see them, because his eyes are smeared over.

“Techno, I’m—” Wilbur’s voice is wavering, coming through the water maybe? It sounds far away.

Then a pair of arms wrap around him, tight and hard edged with bony limbs. But terribly warm, like a contact fever. Techno already has one of those though, so it feels almost nice. 

“You’re okay, take a breath. I’m—”

A large calloused hand wraps around one of his shaking ones, squeezing softly. Sluggishly, Techno eyes trail over and find Phil crouched close to him, face very intense. There’s tears on his cheeks, but he doesn’t quite look upset per se. More so just, emotional. Every little bump and uneven patch of the man’s hand digs into Techno’s skin, as detailed as a portrait without him having to even see.

“Thank you for saving my soulmate. I’m so–so thankful,” Phil says.

It’s far too intense. Far too much. Like a body trying to drag him down as he walks along the railroad tracks.

With a shaky breath, Techno closes his eyes and finally, finally, blocks out Kristin’s body before him. And the touch of his soulmate and his family feels unbearable. And impossible to pull away from.