Chapter Text
If you had asked Noah what he’d expected when he signed up for Total Drama, his first answer wouldn’t have been being thrown out of a plane.
In the end, say what they may about the contracts, Total Drama was advertised to be a one-and-done summer camp reality TV show. A cheap shot at getting famous for most, and a getaway, of sorts, for others.
They’re just 17. Not ready to be recognised while walking down the streets of Canada, and certainly not globally. Anyone who thought this ‘World Tour’ was a good idea had to be insane.
And, to that end, Total Drama on a whole didn’t make much sense. Consider it his cynicism, or maybe it’s just his bitterness as a contestant speaking, but if he wanted to watch a few teens bumbling around and fighting each other, he’d just go back to high school. Whatever entertainment people could get from this – from them – is cheap.
Maybe that’s just Noah’s problem. As basic Total Drama is, he’d come on his own. It’s not like he needed the money, although having a spare hundred thousand or a million dollars lying around didn’t sound too bad. He was here, mainly, just to get away from his grandpa. The usual sob story — his mother never had time for him. It comes with being a prodigy, he supposes, child genius that he was. Is. He has to remind himself he’s still just a child, a teen. No matter how old he feels, sometimes — he digresses.
As a result of his abnormally high IQ, his mother was under pressure from their family – his grandparents, to be specific - to go to an Ivy university, and his mother had to provide, or else she’d be told she was failing her son. The extra money needed meant extra shifts, and extra shifts meant less time home, which meant Noah never got to see his mother as much as his sisters had.
Added on with the fact that Noah was a sick, weakly child, his mother had realised someone had to take care of him. That burden couldn’t be hers, no matter how she stretched herself thin, and she refused to let it fall onto his sisters, no matter which one insisted it would be fine. Instead, he was sent to live with his grandparents.
And that would have been fine, if he hadn’t loathed the arrangement. Loathed them.
It’s a horrible thing, seeing his grandparents where his mother should be, every time he returned to their house. Seeing the house with a property value worth more than six times his mother’s yearly salary filled him with an anger he never dared to show. Yeah, sure, they worked for that house. They built themselves up from the ground after leaving their own parents. But could you blame him?
It was them who pushed for Noah’s education, yet refused to do anything but stand motionlessly as his mother toiled away. Aren’t they supposed to be her caretakers? Aren’t they supposed to help her out when she needs it?
He’d found himself wishing they would die sooner rather than later. His mother was the only one on their will, he’s certain of it since she was their only child, but that’s just another reason they would never make sense to him. The only thing he did know was that those years burned a gaping hole through his heart.
Now that he’s older, he’s come to find a more accurate analogy. He’d been a candle with a flame larger than most, melting into oblivion at a faster pace than others, mature in a way people his age have yet to grow into.
He’s getting off-topic again.
Point is, shitty grandparents who he never wanted to face, so instead he took to school and extracurriculars. Whatever could get him out of the house for the extra few hours: extra credit, language electives, debate club, tutoring, eventually even joining the student council and then, even later, running for president, he’d taken it all. He’d graduated early as a result, so he needed another way to occupy the time. What better way than a summer camp reality show? If he got lucky and won the money, maybe he could send the money back to his mother, so it’d kill two birds with one stone.
One summer turned into taking a gap year. Working as Chris’ intern meant opportunities. It also meant being away from them - well, it's just his grandma now, because his grandpa passed away a little while after Island.
(He didn't cry. In fact, he didn't even attend the funeral. Contracts, he said in a text message back to his grandma. Not even a call. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to.)
Even if he’d ended up fired on account for cold coffee (which was obviously a staged scenario - he was lazy, not incompetent), his portfolio looked good . He’d made a name both as a TV contestant and a celebrity intern, and Chris had set him up with a contract that would effectively null his Total Drama one for life, so long as he took part in just one more season – the World Tour.
He doesn’t really know why he was chosen, of all the participants, though he wasn’t looking to shoot a gift horse in the mouth. Whether that horse was Trojan or not was a completely separate issue; future Noah could deal with the fallout so long as he was never harassed into being on a Total Drama set again. It was fun while it lasted and a good getaway, but he had other things planned for the future.
So, let’s move on to the fallout .
To be frank, Noah has issues. He knows it, and he certainly doesn’t deny it. It comes with years of cynicism and unspoken hatred, but he has a reputation for having a sharp tongue. Matched with his intellect and general lack of effort in socialising, he wasn’t an easy person to get along with. When he had something he wanted to say, he would, especially if it would hurt the other party’s feelings. He takes a sick pride in it, even though it was never towards the people he truly felt bitter towards and he’d end up tasting acid on his tongue from the guilt. A prime example would be calling someone an eel.
In Noah’s eyes, Alejandro deserved to be shittalked behind his back. He looked and acted like a Spanish Justin, which was a red flag in and of itself, just that his words were far smoother. He could afford the hits to his ego. Although Noah will also begrudgingly admit that Alejandro also deserved to be a little proud, it was better than Justin’s empty pride, at least. He was intelligent and charming and absolutely maddening. He was a good challenger and an even better flirt, and Noah would have just called him a snake if he hadn’t been so impressed with him.
‘Like an eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil.’
Alejandro would never know this, but Noah had spent hours on the plane crafting that insult. Usually, he thinks of them on the fly, but given that they were bound to clash heads eventually, he realised it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. ‘Eel’ made sense; bantering with Alejandro was always strangely electrifying, and Noah was certain a full blown argument with him would be even more so. And anyways, he’d called Alejandro a ‘Heather with more social skills’ too, so he couldn’t just give the same description he would for the queen of mean. That’d be insulting for Noah’s reputation as a sass.
The manipulator deserved better than a basic title of ‘snake’ — anyone could think of that. But Alejandro is capable, good at staying out of sight in the water. He would have kept swimming towards Noah, becoming an even bigger threat, if not for the way he got careless, eliminating Leshawna. Moved too much in the water, causing a ripple on the surface. So, eel it is.
In comparison, Noah would perhaps be a leopard, lazing around until he was ready to hunt. In this case, he was willing to play the part of the fool, up until he’d mistakenly opened his mouth in London. Perhaps everything would have been okay, otherwise, but that was his first mistake. Tyler was his second one, and Duncan, naturally, the final nail in his coffin. It’s no secret that he’s ‘going home’ from the competition that night.
It didn’t matter, because this also meant he would never be on Total Drama again. Not unless they were still doing the Aftermath show, but he barely felt anything about it, not when freedom was finally so close to him. And if the otherwise unprompted handshake and hug by Chris were anything to go by, the host knew it too - he's finally free.
—
At the elimination, he did what he knew best: putting on a mask, playing the proud fool. Act a little shocked for the cameras, scowl at Chris and Alejandro, grab a parachute, all that. None of this was unexpected.
He turns back to look at his fellow teammates, studying them while Owen cries over his elimination. He meets Alejandro’s eyes and resists the urge to smirk, instead pulling his eyebrows down further.
“Beware of eels,” he sneers, watching as Alejandro raises an eyebrow in amusement.
He jumps.
—
When the parachute malfunctions, Noah isn’t quite sure what he expects. He should’ve figured it wouldn’t be that easy to get out of Total Drama, that the producers were insane enough to throw him to his death for leaving the contract.
And then he’s submerged by water.
Only for a moment, of course, his instincts kick in quickly, making him burst up to the surface, gasping for breath. He’s not sure how he expected to land, having never used a parachute before, but he’s glad, at least, that it was in water. He’d risk a cold if he got out, but he doesn’t particularly like the idea of staying in an unidentified pool either.
That is when he notices a bigger problem: there are eels. Many of them.
His immediate instinct, naturally, is to book it. He tries to swim as fast as he can – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this desperate in his life – but there’s a sharp sensation, almost like a shock collar, that shoots through his leg. Something spasms violently, causing him to jolt upright, but the feeling is quick to fade into a muted but uncomfortable tingle. He tries again, but it’s like his legs have turned to nothing.
At the same time, one of the eels, hidden below the ripples caused by Noah’s panicked flailing, curls its torso around his other leg, tying him down. He can’t move.
He can’t move.
There are more shocks, one after the other, growing in intensity like some sick torture. He feels his muscles tense, locking up, and his chest seizes. He can’t breath and it hurts, and there’s something building behind his eyes while he’s pulled downwards. It’s burning and it’s cold all at once, black spots fading in and out in the corners of his eyes. Something pricks at his arms, a pain that quickly intensifies as his sleeves are torn away. They’re biting him, he realises. It hurts, and he can barely scream before the sky is obscured by a veil of water that burns his lungs.
Still, he tries, clawing fruitlessly at the water in one last show of athleticism that even his sisters couldn’t force out of him. It’s too much and too little all at once – he’s certain that he’s still getting dragged down, and the stiffness and stinging keeps building in his limbs.
It’s not enough. It never is.
The darkness that eventually washed over Noah’s vision couldn’t have come fast enough. It was terrifying, in all honesty, slipping under with no idea as to whether he’d ever wake up again, but there was comfort in the idea too.
(Oh, yeah, he’ll be needing a lot of therapy after this.)
For just a moment, everything was serene and perfect.
Then the pain erupts again, sharp and biting, but for some reason he can breathe again. His throat is on fire, but he keeps coughing the water out of his lungs. For a blurry moment, his vision returns to him,showing him someone standing over him. They’re shouting, he thinks, but through the buzzing in his ears, he can’t make out any words.
His vision fades, and this time, the darkness takes far longer to go away.
—
When Noah comes to, it’s in a hospital.
Initially, he thought someone had triggered one of his allergies, or he had another dizzy spell, but looking down at the bandages around his arms and legs, not to mention the ones he can feel around his torso, he knows something else happened. He just can’t remember what.
The doctor that checks up on him doesn’t relay how Noah got here, but she does give Noah a rundown on the injuries he’d sustained. A few bruises, hairline fractures around the ribs and, most concerningly, first and second degree burns. After seeing how utterly confused Noah was, the doctor, Dr. Chen, had tacked on amnesia.
“It’s alright, Mr Nabhomani, although you’re a rather abnormal case, your amnesia will only be temporary. Your memories should return to you within a few days.”
“Nabhomani-Mudaliar,” he corrects her. “But okay. Thanks.”
Dr. Chen scribbles something on her clipboard. “Okay then, you should be getting discharged soon. Make sure to take the medication we prescribed — painkillers. Should keep you numb to those burns for a month.”
“I’m getting discharged? Already? Don’t I have to be put under observation for a day or so?”
“Yes, that is the typical procedure.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, we were told your accident had already caused a major delay in production, so we’ll have to send you off and hope for the best.”
He wants to ask exactly what she means by ‘production’, but the door to his room flies open. Pretty quickly, he’s dropped onto a wheelchair and pushed away, too confused to react aside from a squawk and pointless flailing. He’s thrown onto a decrepit van soon enough, although being trapped in a metal box makes him tense, he’s left to wait as he’s sent to whatever 'production' he had apparently signed up for.
The void of having nothing to do itches at him, and no matter how something deep and gut-wrenching tells him not to, he kind of wants to take off the bandages. It’s not particularly irritating – not for him, at least, but likely only because of the anesthetics he was put on. His limbs are all oddly heavy, like a thick blanket was laid over his muscles, rendering him .
He picks at the white gauze anyway, waiting.
Soon enough, someone starts up the vehicle, and they’re moving. Noah locks the wheelchair quickly before the inertia can cause him to crash into a wall, and he’s left to grumble about the lack of concern for his safety.
After complaining a while under his breath, Noah is, once again, left with nothing to do. It’s pointless to try and recall what exactly the gap in his memories was, although that’s the first response amnesiacs in movies and shows tend to have. His memories will trigger one day, or they won’t. It’s a game of waiting, not unlike Russian roulette; not something he can force.
Noah's used to waiting for something to happen, anyway.
—
Embarrassingly, Noah falls asleep to the sound of the engine, as though it was white noise or something. He was anxious about being in the van, although he guessed anyone would if they were abruptly taken out of the hospital and thrown into a vehicle, but something about the sound was… It’s difficult to explain. He’d felt something off about the sound, expecting the whirring to be louder. He heard phantom creaks that he wasn’t sure were real, but the volume, or lack thereof, let him relax just enough to slip back into sleep.
He is then rudely awakened as the van screeches to a stop and throws him off the wheelchair. His arms throb from where they hit the floor, and there’s a burning sort of cold travelling up his leg as he sits up.
The van’s doors fly open (Noah’s getting a sense of déjà vu) and the stranger who’s staring at him looks both irritated and tired to the bone. Without exchanging a word, he helps Noah back onto the wheelchair before pushing him out to see a runway – one for planes, that is.
The sight of the wide road makes a cold chill run down his spine, and the plane makes his stomach churn unpleasantly. He isn’t anxious, he’s afraid. Of a plane. What the hell happened to him?
(From the corner of his eye, he sees a bigger jet, metallic and cheap, falling apart—)
He blanches. The stranger doesn't react to him, seemingly familiar with his discomfort, talking silently into a radio without even a sigh.
‘I can’t afford to show that I’m scared,’ something tells him desperately. It claws at his throat in the form of bile. He takes a shallow breath of air before schooling whatever is on his face back into neutrality.
“Are we gonna get on the plane or what?” He raises an eyebrow at the worker, crossing his arms. He ignores the way his left elbow lights on fire at the motion – the anesthetic must be wearing off – instead focusing on the other man, who only grunts at him in response before carting him into the sleek jet.
The inside is normal. There’s seats where they should be, all spaced comfortably since this is a private jet and not economy class or something. (Noah feels his heart race at the phrase, can almost feel shards digging into his skin.)
“We’ll change your bandages and get you a new dose of numbing agents in a sec, so sit tight– No, Darrell, we’ll lose our jobs if we– Yes, I’ve locked the wheels on his chair.”
Noah raises an eyebrow in doubt, reaching down to feel for the mechanism on his chair. Surprisingly, it was locked this time.
“Do you want to move to a seat?” The man asks, and Noah shrugs. “I’ll just leave you here, then. I’ll be back after take-off, we’re running low on time.”
And then he’s gone, leaving Noah alone in the bougie cabin. Without a seatbelt, too.
—
By the time they reach land again, Noah has seen his scars and is, currently, feeling kind of sick. Not in a good way.
It wasn’t that bad, he supposed, because he’s certain that whatever scarred up his limbs and torso could have killed him with ease. He was never told what happened to him, not exactly, but he can guess. From the shape of the burn scars down to the way some of them overlapped with one another, there was no way this was from a fire.
It’s a bit pointless to dwell, but he wondered if he could sue. His grandfather might provide the money for that, at least.
Moving on from his injuries, he also has no idea where he is. Technically, he shouldn’t be this calm about getting abducted and flown across the sea for several hours when he was already in an unidentified hospital with no familiar faces, but he figures if something bad was going to happen to him, it would have occurred already.
Besides, he’d heard talk about ‘Total Drama’, which he's pretty sure is the show he’s part of. Kind of a stupid name, but if he had to make a guess it’d be a show where they threw a bunch of teenagers into a room and set them at each other, which is better than being at his grandparents' house, assuming he was allowed to sit alone in a corner and read.
After getting off of (read: shoved out of, while still on the wheelchair,) the plane, he was wheeled into a nearby studio-building and left in a reception room with, once again, no explanation.
As he sits there, he tries to sift through the vague recollections of signing up for this show that surfaced while on the plane.
‘Signing up for this during the summer sounds about right,’ he rubs his forehead. ‘But it’s been, what, nearly a year since I graduated, apparently? What reality show lasts this long? Then again, I’ve heard of the shit Chris Mclean can do–’
Before he can finish that train of thought, something loudly clatters to the floor behind him. He can’t even turn around before he’s crashing into the floor and scraping his arms and back harshly against the carpet.
He hisses in pain, unable to ignore the way his assailant clung to him as he glares at her.
“Hi Noah I missed you! Eva did too, of course, but like after watching your elimination and then the way you didn’t come back before even Tyler caused some alarms to set off for me – y’know, the red wee-woo kind– or is that an ambulance alarm?” The orange -haired girl fires off sentences at a speed Noah can barely understand. She keeps going, faster and faster, until his head is spinning.
“What?” is all he manages to get out before the door to his room swings open, banging loudly against the wall. A dark-haired girl walks in, maneuvers past his wheelchair, swiftly plucks the ginger off of him and dumps her at the side before helping him up. It doesn’t work very well – he collapses back onto the floor the second she no longer supports him – so they settle him back onto his wheelchair and then proceed to stare at each other.
She studies him, looking at his bandages, before aptly summing up his situation with “You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks,” he says, rolling his eyes, even though she looks like she could totally beat him up, he was sure she wouldn’t - for some reason.
The girl hums, picking the ginger up from the floor by her collar.
“So,” Noah says, after a beat of uncomfortable silence where the only thing the two do is stare at him. “Who exactly are the two of you?”
The ravenette gives him a blank stare as her partner ‘Aha!’s loudly.