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Scapegrace can't feel his hands. Or his face. He's numb all over, really. He stopped feeling the cold of the van hours- days- years? ago. Nothing in his line of sight looks quite correct either. Not that he can really bring himself to care.
There's a disconnect between himself and his limbs, as if they belong to someone else and he's simply observing them from over his own shoulder. Just for fun, he tries to wiggle his fingers. No dice. Oh well. Feeling will come back eventually. It's not like this is the first time this has happened.
Something shifts to his left. A second person in the room with him. What's their name? He feels like he should know their name but his brain is fuzzy and cold and his thoughts are garbled and his head hurts so much. He closes his eyes.
"[ ]?"
Scapegrace winces. Human voices don't mix well with these episodes. The person repeats itself, slightly louder.
"Sir?"
He recognizes them now, and feels relieved. It's only Thrasher. Thrasher is real, for the most part. With great effort, he tilts his head slightly, but doesn't offer an answer. Thrasher will figure it out. Or not. It doesn't matter.
"Sir, are- are you okay?" His voice could be soothing if it weren't being filtered through three layers of brain fuckery. Same with the hand he rests on Scapegrace's shoulder.
Scapegrace recoils.
"Thrasher," he grunts. "Don't. Touch me." It sounds perfectly clear in his head, but Thrasher frowns. Idiot. He tries to shrug his hand off but his movements are still sluggish. He doesn't look at Thrasher. He's scared. Scared he won't really be there, or that he'll turn out to be someone else, someone malicious.
He suddenly feels like crying. He hates crying. Crying is a weakness, a vulnerability. He wishes Thrasher would leave. "Go away, moron." He tries again. His voice is clear but he can't feel his mouth moving. God damn it. Stupid Thrasher makes a noise, or maybe says something, but Scapegrace can't be bothered to listen.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when Thrasher hugs him. His vision sharpens, just for a second, and he sees Thrasher in his peripheral, small and cold and real. He opens his mouth, for real this time, and tries to say something scathing. All he can manage is a dry sob.
Just like that, life turns fuzzy again. Scapegrace can't see Thrasher, he can barely hear him. What an idiot. What a moron. He doesn't need human touch, and it's stupid of Thrasher to think he does.
"Twpsyn," he mumbles, then sobs again. Thrasher says.. something, and it's almost reassuring. He closes his eyes again and slumps against the formless body clinging to him. He doesn't need this. But he can't bring himself to really hate it, either.