Work Text:
Ithaqua hugs his knees tighter against his body, staring blankly at nothing. He feels cold, though the hospital room is nicely heated and he sits on soft, white blankets. He had done it again. The first? An unfortunate accident. The second? A mistake that he swore would never repeat. This time? An unforgivable sin.
And he hates it, hates how in the midst of the hunt, he grows detached, disinterested, loses bits of himself until he is consumed by it . He hates their sympathetic words and the fear they hide in their whispers. He hates how his carefully formed friendships fray and snap because of his own actions, because no matter how hard he tries, he’s a monster.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, carefully drowning out his despair.
“Ithaqua?” Comes the gentle voice.
His head snaps up, his wild eyes meeting Ada’s. She has her hands out in a calming gesture one might use on a frightened animal, as if she's the danger, not him.
“Is…” His voice quivers and cracks, and he tries again. “Is Emily okay?”
Such an inadequate phrase. He doubts she’s anywhere near ‘okay’ after what had happened.
“Her condition is stable.” Ada hesitates before she next speaks, but her words are resolute. “She’ll be fine, but she might not have been so lucky if it were not for the magic of the Manor.”
Guilt settles even heavier in his heart. He seeks solace in the silence, but Ada’s eyes feel judgemental. He wishes she won’t speak, that she would leave him alone to wallow in his blessed silence, but her patience does not last forever.
“Can you tell me why you did that?” Ada asks. She speaks as softly as ever, but Ithaqua flinches as if she’d struck him.
“I-I lost control. It happens, it just happens, I don’t know why.” The words rush out. Excuses, excuses. “It won’t happen again, please, I know it won’t happen again.”
“That’s what you said last time, Ithaqua, but if we don’t address the source of the issue, it will happen again, we both know it,” Ada sighs, her tone still calm. “You know yourself the best. Take a guess, why do you think you lose control?”
“I don’t know, I don’t remember.” He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his shaking fists against his eyes. “I don’t remember, and every time it happens, I remember less.”
“Okay then, let’s try a different approach.” He latches on to her voice like it’s a lighthouse in a sea storm. “What does it feel like, when you lose control?”
“I…” He forces himself back into that match, where everything had seemed normal, but then, but then…
Ithaqua’s eyes gleamed wickedly behind his mask as he chased after Emily, her breaths loud even from this distance. The thrill of the hunt was overwhelming, the snowy landscape around them both familiar and foreign. He was so close to catching up, so close to finally, finally, driving his axe into her vulnerable back. He cared not for the rest of the game, only for blood. The long chase so reminiscent of those hunts in that distant, snowy plateau, a lifetime ago now, always so bright to him under the glow of the moon.
By the time he had caught up, it was almost like watching a stranger perform his actions. He was but a mere spectator as he watched his axe tear skin. It wasn’t him as he relished in her screams, it wasn’t him as she clawed and cried into the snow, it wasn’t him watching in idle fascination as her blood pooled and spread and spread and spread, long after she had screamed herself hoarse and he had forgotten everything about himself but the fact that he was a monster and he was fading and fading-
“...I don’t want to talk about it.” He croaks out.
Ada purses her lips, though her eyes are soft. She stands from where she had sat in the chair against the wall. “We can discuss this after lunch tomorrow then.” Her tone leaves no room for negotiation.
Ithaqua does not remember much about his time from before the Manor. He does not remember where he grew up, who raised him, if he had friends and what his real name was. He does not remember why he kills, he does not remember being… ‘human’.
He does remember the snow. He remembers the cold. He remembers arriving at some point, already jaded and scarred and so used to killing that it’s a marvel nothing like this has happened until that first time. He remembers being feared. Being lonely.
At the manor, some part of him that he does not remember being alive was slowly rekindled. It’s a little ember that glows a little brighter, burns a little hotter every time he sees Michiko dance, every time Robbie offers him his precious candies, every time Galatea shows him a new sculpture and every time Grace puts the wildflowers she finds in his hair.
That little ember has grown until the monster no longer swallows his smiles, no longer stops him from reaching out in turn and offering them pieces of his own happiness. It became a fire, one that sends the monster retreating back to where it came.
But the monster is bitter. It’s a greedy thing of instinct and habit, and it prowls, angry, wanting nothing more than to drag that ember and devour all that it had become until Ithaqua was once again nothing more than that monster that only hurt and tortured and killed.
There’s an insistent knocking at his door that Ithaqua ignores. He continues to stare out his window, watching clouds drift aimlessly.
“Ithaqua!” He hears Galatea shout, impatience in every syllable, “Stop brooding already and let us in!”
Ithaqua considers replying.
“Grace will murder you if you don’t let us in right this instant!”
That earns a small smile, but he still wishes they would just leave him alone.
“Please?”
Ithaqua stalks over to the door and yanks it open, revealing Galatea’s smug expression and Grace’s impatience.
“What?”
You’ve been avoiding us since the incident. Grace signs.
“Is that what they’re calling it?” Ithaqua mutters, “and no, I’m not… avoiding anyone.”
Galatea and Grace share an unconvinced look.
Ithaqua averts his eyes. “I just… I don’t think any of you should be near me right now.”
Galatea snorts. “Sure. Is this for our ‘safety’ or is it because you want to keep brooding?”
Ithaqua hisses in annoyance. “I am not brooding! I just want some space.”
“Too bad.”
You’re spending some time with Robbie and us. He thinks you’re mad at him for some reason, the poor child.
Ithaqua’s chest hurts with a sudden wave of remorse. “Fine. But only because of Robbie.”
“Come on, Ice Block, we’re your friends.” Galatea says, rolling her eyes, “Ada will fix you up in no time like she did with me, and meanwhile you should stop giving the people who care about you the silent treatment.”
Does he deserve their care?
No, probably not, he decides as he follows them in their quest to find Robbie, but that doesn’t mean that he will not try and be the best friend for them that he can be.
There’s nothing to do but try.