Work Text:
Subspace had been trying to smother his feelings for as long as he could remember.
His claws gripped the counter of his bathroom sink, scratching the polished black marble. A venomous glare met his gaze when he looked in the mirror. Anger bubbled beneath his skin. Deeper underneath that- he choked down a quiet sob.
It was something he learned at an early age. Blackrock had no place for the sentimental and the soft. He had always been happy to comply as well- small talk, social get-togethers, pointless chatter and boring events never interested him. They were useless distractions that stopped him from working on things he cared about. He had been so content for a long time.
Bandages wrapped around his bad arm and his thighs. His chest was barren as he wore only his boxers, glaring down his own form. The rot crept from his arm and sprawled over his chest, leaving it blotchy with sickly pink patches. He was covered in scars, new and old.
Back before the disaster, he was the closest he’d ever get to being happy. Of course, the bitter hunger for advancements never left. He always craved improvement, efficiency, to be the best, but he was more stable then. He would only come to realize how much his idiot lab partner mattered after the bastard had gone and tore his eye out.
Bite marks from the night before littered his neck. More reminders of Medkit to haunt his reflection. Not that Subspace would ever be rid of that. The rotting of his body was caused by the traitor after all.
Lines of blood trailed down his good arm. Dripping from claw marks he had dug into his own skin in a moment of frustration. More marks to add to the list.
Medkit was the only person to ever reach Subspace’s level in his eyes. The only person he felt he could speak to. Of course, he thought Medkit was a blindsided fool- too busy trying to cure the sick instead of focusing on the truer pursuit like preventing them from even getting sick to begin with- but Medkit was a smart fool. Medkit had theories and ideas that impressed Subspace. Medkit was the only one able to understand Subspace's work, even if Medkit never agreed with it. Like two sides of a coin, they were always opposite- but undeniably linked .
Nausea twisted his stomach. Made bile rise and his chest burn. He felt sick. A brief moment of rage made him twitch, but he held himself still. Wouldn't want to have to buy yet another mirror. He had broken it enough times.
Tears that the scientist fought back made his bad eye burn. The sinuses in that area had been all sorts of fucked for a long time now. Crying only ever made it worse. He hated being like this.
And now he was gone. Not fully, no, Medkit was stolen. Twirled around the finger of some sand dwelling cult. And he took Subspace eye with him. More than that, but Subspace never wanted to linger on the idea long enough to figure out what. As his body decayed- so did his mental state. Obsession gnawed at his bones. Sent him into fits of rage. He spiraled at the lightest of thoughts. He never wanted to care for Medkit, so why did he have to suffer like this? Why did he hate that traitor yet, mourn him so much?
Subspace turned his gaze away once he saw the tears begin to stream down his face. Instead, he slumped down, pressing his back against the wall of his bathroom. His horns chipped the paint as he looked up. The white of the ceiling frustrated him more without reason. He was so tired. He was so livid.
A quiet voice in the back of his head wanted to say sorry. One he snuffed out and maimed like a rabid dog. That quiet voice wanted a friend. Wanted anything. Wanted to stop feeling so alone. Wanted familiarity. Wanted what was long gone. This is why sentimentality was so dangerous. This is why Blackrock told him to crush unnecessary emotions under his heel. These feelings, these thoughts, they compromised him. This anger, this sadness, this grief, it all made him weak. It got in the way of progress. It got in the way of the future he had to build.
Subspace brought up a shaky hand to his face, covering his eyes with his forearm. When he inhaled, it was unsteady. The tile he sat on was cold and uncomfortable, but he couldn't get himself to move. His body ached from rot and overuse, but he’d never do anything about it aside from maybe take pain medication.
This would kill him. If it wasn't the rot that got him, it would be his own head. It was so much simpler before Medkit ruined his life. And even then- it had been so much simpler before Medkit came back into it. Their hookups- on some level, Subspace hated them. He wanted to tear out his own throat with his teeth for letting Medkit near him. Both his biggest comfort and most painful ache was the coldness Medkit met him with both before and after their little events.
He tried to even out his breathing. Pain shot through his chest like his body biting back. He pressed his bad hand to the ache. A light pressure to try and ease the pain. It was better as a constant droning pressure than a sharp flash. If it wasn't so painful, the phenomenon would be fascinating. Some cruel mixture of his naturally produced poisons and the energy from the crystals produced a rot that tore through his body, that lingered after respawn.
Most interestingly, in a morbid sense, was how his gear had changed. Subspace dragged his claws along the patterns of his skin. The patches of falling away flesh. His gear had suffered similarly. A crystal once encased in a box frame- now sat solo, for the most part. The box frame had decayed alongside him- leaving only particles and patches left. Barely visible to most.
The coldness he was met with, at the very least, was familiar. Medkit wouldn't ever hurt him worse by pretending. He was honest about his hatred. It also meant Subspace wasn't forced to confront his emotions anymore than he did now. They didn't need to be resolved. He could fester in his decaying mind.
Issue came when that cold treatment wasn't constant. Medkit's lingering touches and concerned glances. The healer stopping to address his pain. Subspace knew it was just the traitor's morals and sense of pity that caused these things. But he ached because of it. Subspace felt his beaten sense of hope snag on these small things, only to get burnt again. He was being undone thread by thread yet kept putting himself in a position that'd get him hurt. Then again, he had always been self destructive. He liked the way danger felt in his lungs. And he never cared to keep himself safe if it got in his way.
Subspace dug his claws into the soft tissues of his chest, wincing as he did. A wake up call. He needed out of his own head. Work awaited him at every turn. Biografts to be repaired. Research to be done. Reports to be written.
He'd have to get up off the floor. Put himself back in that box he made when he realized he couldn't kill his emotions. Start the cycle over again.
The light of the room burned and his legs felt weak as he stood up, but he did it anyway. Numbing his head until it was empty aside from the calculated list of tasks he needed done. Putting back together his mask and ego for when he had to face the world. He didn't have time for any of this.
So he splashed water on his face and went to patch up his wounds. Day starting not with a bang but with the silent crawl of him dragging himself forward again.