Work Text:
Your hands were shaking when you called out to him, down deep in that cave, shovel at your feet and sweat shining on your face. Your eyes looked tired, bloodshot with pinpricked pupils as you read aloud the words to call him to you.
When you walked into his world, drinking in his words and looking at him like he was a god, he felt like one. Strong, powerful…maybe he drank in your words, too.
Did you notice, then, how your shoulders sagged and your breath heaved in the long nights spent together? He did. He didn't say a word, but he knew. He knew the stress you were under, were putting yourself under.
Neither of you could say the words, but you knew them well.
He was killing you, and you were all too willing.
You liked that he didn't come with judgment, that he didn't care about your upbringing or education or quirks or appearance. He was above that, and you liked feeling like an equal to something greater than you felt you were.
But he could see, late at night, when your eyes would gloss over and your hands would tremble from coffee, that same look you had in that cave he first saw you.
Your eyes were sunken, vacant, your smile not reaching them. You were tired, always tired, yet never resting.
He knew, and maybe you did, too. You would gladly work yourself to death for him, and he would gladly bring you there.
“Sixer,” he'd said one night, “Maybe you should get some sleep.”
You shrugged, too busy pouring over schematics and punching numbers into your calculator so hard you knew your wrist would feel it the next morning. “Sleep can wait. I've nearly figured this next part out.”
He sighed, and you turned to him, pen tapping rapidly against your desk. “Can you help me? Like the last time.” You asked, both cringing at the memory of the last time you let him puppet you beyond exhaustion.
“I don't know, Fordsy.” He said, and you stood from your chair fast enough to make him recoil, even if he wasn't in your plane.
“C'mon, Bill. A few hours. One, even. Just give me the strength to keep going.” You asked, hand outstretched.
You both knew it wouldn't be the last time you needed his help to keep going.
He shook your hand, the blue flames a welcome warmth in your cold cabin, and shuddered when you felt him take root in your mind. He poked and prodded around, less uncomfortable than the first time by far, but still enough to send a tingling numbness trickling down your spine.
“Let's see what you were up to.” His voice came from your lips, cracking a smirk wider than your chapped lips appreciated. Reclining back in your chair, he lifted your documents one by one while you let your subconscious slip into a restless sleep.
When you awoke, you found your desk in disarray, coffee spilled and stained sticky to the surface and chair tipped over, documents in two scattered piles across the floor. A note scrawled along the wall in thick black marker strokes told you all you needed to know, he had finished your work for you, and then dealt with his boredom at the expense of extensive ache to your body.
Your arms ached, legs wobbled when you stood, and the headache was immeasurable. But still, your work was one step closer to completion.
From then on, it was a simple arrangement the two of you shared, an act of trust between two like-minded individuals. He could test the limits of your body, and you could let your mind rest. It was unhealthy, unnatural, but neither of you would comment on that for years to come.
As time went on, you would wake up in less pain than you'd expect, in your bed or on your sofa rather than the cold, hard floor or atop your desk. Your coffee refilled by the cup or even pitcher. Your clothes changed, your hair brushed, your teeth cleaned.
You weren't sure how to feel about knowing he had gone through the effort to shower for you, but you wouldn't mention that to him.
Your lab partner found your arrangement with him odd, but you brushed off the other man's concerns at every step.
He's using you. You said he could.
He doesn't care about you. You don't care about him, either.
He's controlling you. You happen to find the arrangement beneficial, thank you very much.
Your lab partner eventually learned to let it go, but you could still see the other man's eyes looking at you with worry and pity when he was around. It made you squirm, knowing someone else could be so uncomfortable by something that made you feel so important.
He made you feel like you mattered, why couldn't your lab partner see that?
Who cared what you were willing to give up to achieve his vision? What were some sleepless nights in the face of a future you helped shape with your own hands?
You told him of your doubts, your worries, the words your lab partner spoke of that refused to leave your mind despite how quick you were to shut them down when first brought up.
His replies were like honey, smooth and rich, sliding down your throat and swimming through your ears until you truly believed them. You didn't need your lab partner, not when you had him.
Right?
Then your lab partner…saw something. You weren't sure what. And it was enough to make your old doubts resurface. What if his plans for the world were more than he'd made it seem? He tried to assure you that it wasn't so bad, that he thought you were different, and those words did little to dispel the terror from your heart and mind. You didn't mind the thought of letting him kill you before, but now that was the last thing you'd let him do.
You rushed to put an end to his plans, your work, even as his laughter echoed in your mind, a sound once able to bring color to your cheeks now draining them of it.
You scrawled across your research, big broad strokes written with shaky hands.
Trust no one.
You'd been a fool to trust before, you wouldn't let yourself again. Not for many, many years.