Chapter Text
It took him far longer than he would have liked to admit to realize that he was alive.
Perhaps the term “accept” was a better fit here.
Everything was supposed to have been completed. Finished. The story ended, the curtain closed. A post-credits scene would be inappropriate. It would fly in the face of the significance of the story’s previous events.
His was a fitting end. In what way could his actions be justified to where his survival wouldn’t contradict the themes established prior? The other antagonists could be forgiven. They had been controlled by an outside force, or brainwashed, or simply didn’t know any better than to obey the commands of their superiors. But him? He knew exactly what he was doing. Even had the audacity to enjoy it (well… to an extent).
It’s not as if he liked killing people. (It didn’t really register to him as “killing”, but that’s beside the point). He was simply swayed by the progression of the story. The rising action filled him with anticipation and brought him to the edge of his seat. He was not only the director of this play, but he was also a character in it. Why wouldn’t he get in-character and have some fun with it?
Yes, that was all it was to him. Being “in-character”. Purposely acting antagonistic to give the cast members a villain to hate and blame their hardships on. Showing brief moments of mercy to encourage their development while never allowing them true victory. Involving himself in ways that progressed the story while his actions were ultimately temporary. At the end of the show, all of the actors would come on stage and take a bow, even if their characters had perished during the production. Because that was all it was. A production. Fiction.
How utterly foolish! Childish! Immature!
Death was the only fitting end for him! No matter how many excuses could be made, no matter how pure his intentions were, his crimes could not be forgiven!
What more was there for him? He had reprogrammed the bedframe in his final moments of life, in order to protect his sister. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried about her well-being, but he knew better than anyone her capabilities. She would survive no matter what. And though it wasn’t perfect, it was his goal. His ultimate objective was achieved.
That should be it. The impact of his death and the emotions surrounding it would be rendered meaningless if he somehow returned to life.
And yet…
Yet…
…he was incredibly selfish, wasn’t he?
Maybe…
Maybe it would be okay to be selfish.
As long as he recognized it.
Yes, he wouldn’t ask for anything. He wouldn’t deny his sins. Even if the guilt ate him alive, he wouldn’t bend. Because this was his choice. His selfish, selfish choice.
And so he would accept it.
Accept the fact that he was alive.
---
The very first sensation he experienced was pain.
Was it pain? He couldn’t tell. He had never been awake for it before. Never allowed himself to feel it when he was asleep. Senses were functions of the brain, signals to communicate danger. He was never in danger. Denied any incoming signals. They were useless to him.
The feeling didn’t fade. It was as if a harpoon had lodged itself in his skull and was pulling him somewhere.
He opened his eyes. He opened his eyes? They were closed the whole time? His mind was a mess. Self-reflection wasn’t his current priority, but he couldn’t help it. Put things in order. Put them in order.
Movement. Flexing his fingers. Blinking several times. Breathe in and out. The rise and fall of his chest was alien to him. He wasn’t doing it. No, he was controlling his breathing. But it didn’t feel good. It felt unnatural. The expansion and compression. Stop it. Get it out.
Come on. Let’s be logical here. Take things one at a time. Process. It’s hard to think with that pain in his head. The rope was pulling his mind someplace. No, it was tethering him to something, and that something was moving, tugging him along. He wasn’t moving physically, but it was the sort of pain that made it feel like he was. Did that make sense? No, likely not.
Get back on track. He’s awake. That shouldn’t be possible. He had accepted his resurrection, yes, but he expected to remain asleep even after reviving. Someone must have interfered. Limited his power to allow him to function while awake, much like he did for his sister when he awakened her. A third party? That was concerning. Such an act of goodwill could only have come from a place of ill-intent. Someone must want to use him or take advantage of him.
Getting distracted again. That could wait for later. Focus. Focus on the present. The here and now. The pain in his head. Still moving and pulling on him. Still making it difficult to think.
Stop meandering. He was awake, yes, check that box. Already established that. Next.
He opened his eyes. He had closed them without thinking earlier which is why he had to open them again.
Sight. The sky. The burning light. The pain in his head throbbed. It was overwhelming. Real sight, real use of his eyes. No longer was he convincing his brain that he was seeing something. In his dreams, all of his senses were the result of telling his mind to “feel” things. Simple assumptions based on how he thought it would feel. Nothing compared to the real thing.
Everything was so… so physical. He swore he could feel the photons hitting his eyes. He couldn’t, but how else would he describe experiencing sight after pretending for so long?
He was still overwhelmed, but he needed to keep going. Organize everything. No, don't dwell on organizing things. Push onward. Push. Go.
That tether. That line that was yanking his head back. Was it really pain? It was so incredibly distracting.
Investigate. Lift an arm and feel the area. Lift an arm. Lift an arm.
He couldn't lift his arm.
He was weak. So incredibly weak. It took all of his strength to crane his neck to look at his body. He saw the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing turned from automatic to manual and he cursed himself for thrusting himself back into the uncomfortable feeling of breathing in and out.
From this angle he could see the ground. He was in a field someplace. Not too rural, considering the silhouettes of buildings in the distance. Would he be found? He couldn’t move. He needed to be discovered by someone or he would starve to death.
Go back a few steps. Sure, he couldn’t move his body with his muscles, but what about his magic powers? Limited as he was, he should still have enough left to move himself.
Unsure of how exactly to go about it and still incredibly distracted by the overwhelming amount of information (and that throbbing pain in his skull), he tried teleporting himself into an upright position.
Bad idea.
It worked, but his body could not support his weight. He crumpled to the ground with a painful thud. Everything ached.
How he wished he had his bedframe! The machine would be capable of carrying him effortlessly to wherever he desired, with him being in complete control over its actions. It wouldn’t be ideal, but it would work until he could strengthen his body.
The harpoon in his skull continued to pulse with pain.
The bedframe…
What was it…
Oh.
His sister.
Where was she? Was she okay? The bedframe should be with her, though he did program it to self-destruct once it determined her safety. Was it gone, then? No, that doesn’t matter. He wanted to see her. He desperately wanted to see her.
He knew she was alive. How? Not sure. Not right now. Deduce it later.
Come to think of it, he knew the bedframe was active, too. How he hadn’t realized it before, he wasn’t sure. But if it were active, he should be able to summon it, right?
The machine fit his mind like a glove in the sense that it worked as an extension of his body. It moved when he willed it to move and that was it. It was now programmed to act independently, though. Would that impede his commands? Could he even send commands right now?
One thing at a time. Ack, his breathing turned manual again. Hated that. Why was such a basic human function so disgusting to him? He would have to get used to it. Get used to it now. No, get used to it later. It can wait. Not important right now.
The pain continued.
His breathing quickened.
Every time he thought he was making progress in assessing his situation, he was brought back to the same cyclical thoughts. He wanted to go, but he couldn’t. Arms and legs were inoperable. His bedframe was… somewhere and he wasn’t sure if he could access it. Would he have to teleport his limp body everywhere? That was a possibility, though an incredibly risky one. One wrong move and he would damage his body beyond repair. Yet it seemed to be his only option. Surely there was more? His breathing quickened. Didn’t it do that already? Yes, quick upon quick meant even quicker. Was he panicking? A useless function. Stop it. Get it together. And that throbbing pain. Had he injured his head? It didn’t seem to be a physical injury. A result of his resurrection? No, he had no evidence for that. And who exactly allowed him to awaken during his second chance at life? Where was he? Why was the sun so bright? Why was the air so full of dust and particles and why could he feel everything and why was everything so, so much, so taxing on his mind and senses and so overwhelming and why could he recognize all of these things and still be bothered by them? Why couldn’t he get himself together?
And that pain…
A low hum and a flash of light from behind him. He recognized the noise. Teleportation. At the same time, the tugging pain faded. Disappeared altogether. As if the line was let slack.
There was the noise of hydraulics. Something sparking, clanking, clumsily making its way along the ground. Dragging something made of metal. Moving slowly, carefully. Pressure valves hissing and half exposed wires buzzing.
A faint breathing sounded as well. Stressed, inconsistent, hiccuping. Suspended in disbelief. Trembling. Delicate. Weeping softly.
A voice he never expected to hear accompanied it.
”Brother..?”
---
Their reunion can not be properly put into words. To attempt to do so would be a disservice to them and their emotions. That sorrow, that joy, that relief. All of it was so raw, so visceral, they weren’t sure if they were crying hysterically or noiselessly gasping for air. Likely a combination of both.
Romeo and Delilah were reunited at last. Not even all the power in the world could properly articulate the significance of that phrase.
The bedframe had gently scooped up Romeo’s limp body in its large mechanical hand. He found he could control the machine as he did before, but it also had a mind of its own. Not to disobey him, but to act without orders. It made sense. That’s what he had told it to do.
Romeo’s body was propped up into an upright position by the bed’s fingers while Delilah gave him the most powerful hug she could manage. He couldn’t return the gesture, so her hug needed to be large enough for the both of them. Her intentions rang clearly.
For how long did they stay like that? Physical contact was the only way they could tell this was real. Due to all of the fake scenes and convincing they had done to themselves in their dream-worlds, it was difficult to truly accept this as reality. Only the alien sensation of touch could break through their insecurities and force them to recognize the present as reality.
They couldn’t have stood there for hours, but if you told them they had, they would have believed it. Wordlessly, because everything that needed to be conveyed was conveyed through their hug, their wails, their desperate tears and hiccups. And ultimately, the two smiling faces that recognized each other as brother and sister.
Yet time marched on, and they needed to keep up with it. Delilah was the first to speak.
”Romeo… I…” she sniffed and hiccuped between each word. “I’m…”
”I-it’s o-“ was all he managed to cough out in reply. Delilah’s expression turned horrified. He flinched.
It appears my throat is too dry to speak properly at the moment. Though, this is far more effective anyway.
Telepathy. It felt better than speaking, and it was far easier, too. Delilah recognized it as such almost immediately, barely being thrown off by his voice sounding inside her head. A laugh escaped her.
”It’s been… so long, and that’s the first thing you say…” she managed to choke out between sniffs and coughs, her teary eyes squinting from her smile. “It really is you.”
Romeo smiled in return. You’ve grown. Telepathy was nice. His words weren’t interrupted by his messy crying.
”Yeah…” she replied, still smiling.
Time would continue to march onward.
Where to now?
Delilah let go of Romeo, freeing him from the hug. She looked a bit embarrassed as she fidgeted with her sleeves. “Um…”
What’s wrong?
His direct question was refreshing to her, but it didn’t help with expressing how she felt. “Um…” she sniffed, her nose still runny from crying. “I’m staying with someone… if that’s okay…”
Romeo almost laughed, but contained it as not to embarrass her. Instead, he smiled gently. I’m so happy you’ve found someone. That’s all I wanted. Don’t feel ashamed.
She smiled back. “Thank you…”
Shall we go, then?
”Yeah… okay.”
With a familiar hum and brief flash of light, the siblings went home.