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How long had he been here? Minutes maybe? Or was it a week? But it felt like a decade had gone by, when in reality it was only two months. But he was drowning in the inky abyss of his mind and he didn’t want to keep trying to raise his head above the surface. The sounds of the heart monitor and the machine that breathed the air into his lungs had long since faded into obscurity.
He drifted back in, and immediately regretted the breath he took. He didn’t have to even open his eyes to know he was back in the same place that had haunted him for as long as he’d been in this never ending dream. Sometimes it would go away, sometimes he would be allowed to just float in the darkness, listening to the muffled sounds of the people around him. The eyes of the trolls that entered his room would bore holes in him if at all possible.
He hadn’t even opened his eyes when he felt the first crack, the first sting of a new weapon tearing up old wounds. It felt like some kind of sword, a modified sword with a hole near the tip that tore clean through his skin. He bit his lips till they bled, a pathetic sound escaping his throat. His eyes shot open and he stared wide eyed at the ground. 'Oh no, no no, I made a sound. Maybe.. maybe they didn’t notice, maybe I’m safe, maybe-'
A laugh rang through his ears, loud, hoarse, and full of unadulterated joy. He knew instantly who it was, and he knew what was coming. They got closer and the smell of cigarettes and cheap booze invaded his nose like a parasite. If he could he would cry, but he knew if he did that what would happen next would only hurt even more.
“-̸̅̐-̸̿̾-̴̚̕-̷̈́̓-̸̓̎-̷̌͘-̷͊-, I thought we talked about this…” The searing pain of the newest weapon ripping through his skin was expected, it always was. He squeezed his eyes shut on instinct, trying to block out all of the pain and put it far away. He tried to think of Tinker, he tried to think of Chello, he tried to get out of this horrible memory that would not end.
The tip of the blade was cold when it pressed against the bottom of his chin and lifted his head. He felt them lean in again, the person who had brought him here, and the very same person who had done the most damage to his body. “-̸̅̐-̸̿̾-̴̚̕-̷̈́̓-̸̓̎-̷̌͘-̷͊-, look at me.” It’s sickeningly sweet, as if they were talking to a child, or a beloved pet.
He keeps his eyes screwed shut, he can’t meet their eyes. He’s so tired, so tired of this cycle repeating over and over again. He didn’t want to be here, he tried so hard to will the people he loved to his brain, to think of anything other than the act the blade dug in and the assailant got closer. His brain was running a mile a minute, he had never disobeyed them here, and the idea of what would happen because he did terrified him.
“Look at me right fucking now -̸̅̐-̸̿̾-̴̚̕-̷̈́̓-̸̓̎-̷̌͘-̷͊-, or I will make you suffer in ways you can’t even begin to comprehend.” They’re so close, he can feel their breath on his face and he wants to vomit. Their breath smells rancid, like week old eggs left to bake in the sun. It takes everything in him to open his eyes and to look at them. To look at the face he had forgotten, the face that had done nothing but continue to mess up his life over and over again. The face that plagued his nightmares in the form of a shape with those horns that he never truly understood
“That’s a good pet, but not good enough.” It’s followed by a harsh slap to his face that sends him on the floor. He was so weak, the memory of Magpie resurfacing and invading his mind. Why hadn’t he tried to fight against them? Why had he just let them continue to beat him until he couldn’t breathe? Why did he have to be so weak and fragile? Tinker had found him in the end.. he had to see him like that. Like a mangled and forgotten toy.
The kick to his ribs was sudden and he was ripped out of his thoughts. The gasp that escaped his throat was raw and it felt like he had just choked down glass. He tried to curl in on himself- wait they had him in chains, bolted to the floor so he couldn’t run. Not like he could get far even if he did, he hadn’t properly walked in sweeps… would he ever walk again? This was a memory, he knew it was a memory… but it felt so undeniably real .
He felt them reach down for him once again, and for a fleeting second he thought the hand on his chin was Tinker. Maybe he’d found some way to break him out of this hell, to bring him back to the realm of the living with him. The rough tug on his chin that demanded attention, and the fingers that squeezed his face so hard they could snap his jaw in half told him otherwise. This was not his matesprit, and he would not be leaving this room.
“Did you not hear me -̸̅̐-̸̿̾-̴̚̕-̷̈́̓-̸̓̎-̷̌͘-̷͊-? You’re a disgusting, worthless, pitiful excuse of a prophecy. You’re a mistake, and it’s laughable that we believed a mutant, like you , could be anything revolutionary. To think you have any right to make a noise near me, after all the damage you caused? You are nothing short of garbage, don’t you ever forget that.”
Their words are drilled into his head like a mantra, like a proverb. And at this point he truly believed them. He really was everything they had ever said to him. Every single thing he had done up to this point was his own fault, he should have done what they told him. But he could never kill the little mutated grub, he couldn’t take an innocent life just because some words from someone else eons ago told him to.
“...St..r.. ” He was falling, he was drowning in his own mind.. But… “Ste..lr.. sunsh..ne… pl..se… wak.. up… wake up…” He knew that voice, he’d always know that voice. He could be on the other side of the room and pick up his voice out of the crowd. And he grabbed at it like a life preserver, the only thing keeping his head above water.
“Stellr, you have to come back to me.” The land comes back into view, and his head lifts ever so slightly. “You have to fight.” There is a blood red sun on the horizon, the chains are no longer there. “Sunshine, open your eyes.” And they are, his eyes are open, wide open. And he is staring at them, all the rage he had ever felt soaking into his skin and making a home there. The feeling is foreign, and consuming.
His hands grab the blade with lightning speed, his attacker staggering in shock for a second. “You- but the chains-” They quickly regain composure, standing tall with a grin on their face, reaching for the blade again. “It’s no matter, you’re too weak to fi-” their words are cut off when the blade is plunged into their chest. They look down at it, shock written all over their face. “...What?” It’s all they can get out before he twists the blade and rips it out. They fall to their knees and he grabs them by their horn, forcing their head to look up at him. He is quiet for a long time, there are so many things he wants to say to them, but not enough time. So he settles on the one thing he has always wanted to say to them.
“You know what Reaper, fuck you.” It’s spat with all the venom in the world as he watches the life drain from their eyes, throwing them to the ground like the numerous times they had done it to him. He only has enough time to consider the fact he just killed someone, before the alarms begin to blare. The next person to enter the room was Reaper’s right hand, she was just as bad as they had been. His eyes are clouded with a haze of red as she rushes him. He thinks he sees a glimmer of a knife, but she could never use it because her head is quickly separated from the rest of her body.
All he can see is the color of jade everywhere, it’s stained this room, that once was only stained a vibrant lavender. He knows that he lost some time after that moment, because when he finally has a moment to consider his actions he is plastered in blood that is not his own. At some point he had swapped weapons, he wasn’t exactly sure what kinds were used, but there are a lot of arrows strewn about and various different gashes from different weapons.
His breath was all he could hear, his breath and his pounding heartbeat as he roamed the hallways. There were more bodies than he could count, more blood than he could stand, more silence than ever before. No one in this building was free from his rampage, every single one of the lifeless trolls on the ground had personally beat him in one way or another.
He found himself in the main room once again, like he had been so many times before. The single throne in the middle, a jade painted over the lavender that was once there. His breath catches in his throat, and a sob rakes its way through his body. It’s so hard to breathe, the smell of blood invading his senses like it always does, like it always will.
He falls to the ground in a heap, hyperventilating as he cries before the throne. This room had caused him so much pain, this place had single handedly destroyed him. It had forever altered the course his life would take, and it took and took, until he was nothing. Less than nothing.
At some point he had crawled onto the throne, it was drenched in jade blood, though the stains of that day had persisted. The day they turned on him, his blood was still nestled on the edges, inscribed in the crevasses of it. His body shook as he cried, unable to stop it and lungs refusing to work.
Who can say how long he’s in that position, time is relative in this place. He was so far into his own head that he didn’t hear the walking. He didn’t hear the figure come to stop by the throne, didn’t see them look at him as they reached down for him. His eyes were closed, he was so so tired and he wanted to sleep.
The arms ever so gently picked him up, holding him like they had twice before. He leaned into them, opening his eyes to try and get an idea of who it was. But he had already known, he knew who would rescue him, he knew who would pick him up when he was at his worst. His vision is cloudy by tears that refuse to fall, but he knows that bronze, he’d recognize it anywhere.
He let himself lean in as close as he could to him, his eyes slipping shut. He’s not sure where they’re going, but he could care less at this moment. He is finally safe, after all this time he is finally able to breathe. He’s not sure when the transition from the dream, if you could call it that, turned into the real world, but it was obvious from the smell as he took a breath. The hospital air smelled like chemicals and lavender, but it was so much more pleasant than the smell of blood. He opened his eyes ever so slightly and they landed on the same bronze that saved him, the same one that would always save him. And he felt himself smile, the nightmare was over, and he was ready to start living again.