Chapter Text
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Keats was mindlessly mumbling the disjointed lyrics to a song on the radio as his hand tapped the steering wheel. The music was cranked up, maybe to ensure there wasn’t an awkward silence, or maybe he was just zoned out. It was good to have the truck back. They’d gotten it after the computer helped them in-and-out of the EX since that whole showdown with Sentre.
It was funny. In the past week or so, what was once a dead zone seemed to thrum with life—robotic and human alike— after that video the kid made went out. It got a lot warmer, a lot safer, even if it still looked like a dump with the deteriorated buildings and scrap all over the place. It’d probably clean up with time, but it was hard to imagine it becoming a home.
Herm got his body patched up at whatever was left of Blue Sky Acres. Honestly it was a wonder there was anything to patch Herm up with, but it did relieve Keats a little. Maybe not as much as he wanted to admit, but it did.
As for right now, they were doing a supply run outside the EX to grab some shit to eat, you know, for the people who needed to eat, and some other essentials. Other than that, medicine, mostly parts, anything worth salvaging for this new “oasis” for men and bots, “to start over”, as the girl put it.
“Are we going to talk about it?”
The smuggler, former smuggler , really, scoffed.
“Psh- Talk about it? Talk about what , there’s nothing to talk about-”
There was this tremor of a chuckle latched between his words.
“You know what I’m talking about Keats-” the construction bot’s voice probed teasingly. Without knowing any better, you could argue it wasn’t any different than their normal banter, but the subject was a little touchy for a big ol softie like Keats.
Keats did that awkward laugh thing where he rolled his eyes as if it wasn’t a big deal, avoiding the topic by the vehicle of sarcasm. “You sure they actually fixed you? ‘Cause I think you still have a couple screws loose.”
“I know you’re not lecturing me after you spilled your guts pretty boy; crying and whining cause you thought I was dead and shit-”
Keats let out a breathy laugh and deflected. “Well- yeah I thought my best friend was gone. How is that a weird reaction? We’ve been together for what? Four years Herm? I-”
“You mean your ‘more than a friend’? ” Herm cut him off, and he was wearing the smuggest smile on that stupid screen of his.
A cough escaped Keats in retaliation, a shudder in his chest. His ribs were still sore from the fall he’d taken in that fight, and there was only so much of this wheezing and sharp breaths he could take. “Fucking hell Herm-”
“ What?! I can’t address the elephant in the room?!” the bot flung his arms up in a defensive shrug from the back seat.
It’s not like Keats was expecting Herm to hear all that before. And at the moment they had other shit to deal with- like finding Michelle and.. well.. what was left of her lemon-headed brother trapped in that Kid Cosmo-bot.
“Could it wait till we’re out of the car? Do you want me to crash us into a ditch?”
“Look man, you’re the one making this weird, not me. Also take it easy or you’ll bust your fragile air sack.”
“Pretty sure my ‘air sack’ is already busted,” Keats mumbled with another quiet cough. This one was more suppressed, and painful.
Herm rolled his eyes.
“You’re so dramatic .”
“Well unfortunately Herman, humans can’t just get their parts replaced.”
“Hey, don’t blame me. I don’t know! Go see a doctor or somethin’. Pretty sure they got a few of those at Peanut's place.”
There was a slight pause as the truck rolled into the dusty lot of the mall. Keats unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over the seat, arms hung loosely around the head rest. “What do you even want me to say Herm?” he flicked his hand, “You want to see me cry again? You want me to tell you how much I need you or what?” There was a long emphasis on the ‘need’ in a sort of gripe.
“Well kinda - but- no!” Herm shook his head as his eyes blinked into a different expression, slanted almost with annoyance, almost. “That’s not the point, I’d just like if you’d at least acknowledge it happened, asshole.” He pointed at Keats before smiling again and drawing his hand back to a more lax position. “And you do need me, let’s be real.”
Keats only turned around again with a groan. He dragged his fingertips down his face before yanking the keys out of the ignition. On his way out from stepping out of the truck he slammed the door shut.
A clang followed as Herm's feet hit the ground and he ambled to meet Keats around back. “You’re twisting my wires. Come on, you and I both know we’ll go back in there, and you’ll find some way to avoid talking about it. For someone so emotional you sure hate admitting it.”
“Shut up and just help me move the crates, since you know, I’m so fragile and injured right now.”
“Yeah yeah, I got it .”
Keats chose a smaller bin, hoisting it up into his arms as they began to walk to the entrance. They dodged a few different robots, also moving things for the rebuild. It got busier as they got closer to the hearth of this broken civilization. It seemed that since Sentre was shut down, it was the first time bots and people had taken up a unified front without the fear of breaking some “treaty”. Well, not that there were many humans to begin with. For the time being, it was still just Michelle and Keats. It seemed that even with the war over and that creep Skate rotting away in prison, there was still some apprehension about joining a broken civilization like this. It’d take time, but Blondie seemed optimistic. She’d always rub it in their faces that if she could find people like Keats and Herm, others would find them. She sure was stubborn, Keats could give her that.
When Keats set the box he was carrying down, a wet, sore cough broke from his chest. It was one of the nasty coughs, like you had some junk stuck in your throat.
“Damn Keats that’s disgusting-” Herm set the crate down amongst the others on the other side of the warehouse, dusting off his hands as he headed towards Keats again. “Ya got some sort of leak or what?”
But then the construction bot’s usually passive expression suddenly became surprised. “Shit Keats-”
“What- what is it?”
“I’m starting to think you really should go see that doctor ‘cause your insides look like they’re becoming your outsides -”
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“How is he?”
Michelle was standing in the makeshift clinic room, arms crossed with this look on her face that tried not to seem worried. She took a sharp breath, glanced at Keats before looking at PC again. There was medicine, and Amherst’s PC, but beyond that there wasn’t much else out here. This was the best they could do in the former Exclusion Zone.
Keats sneered as he stared up at the ceiling, flailing his arm with annoyance. “You guys are being paranoid,” Keats laughed quietly, “I'm fine .”
“He is not,” PC put it bluntly.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? What do you mean he’s ‘not fine’? He’s been up and around just fine before this -” Herm cut in.
“Aww so you do care about me, nice to know.”
“I almost died saving your ass, and I don’t want to hear about it from you, we still aren’t done talking.”
“Guys- shut up- ” Michelle snapped at the bickering pair before she sighed and looked at PC again. “Tell me what’s wrong with him.”
PC fiddled with his hands as he began to explain. “It seems. He suffered strong impact trauma, to the ribs- causing the bones to fracture. and puncture, his lungs. A condition called, pneumothorax. Symptoms include: sharp pain, difficulty breathing, fatigue, and cough. The blood also suggests- internal bleeding from additional, injuries.” PC showed a cartoonish animation of the condition, a blunt force trauma causing ribs to break and the lung to eventually collapse, before his face flickered back on and he pushed up his screen-glasses.
“ Okay… so, how can we help him? How are we just learning about this now?”
“Adrenaline can hinder patients, from noticing injuries at first. Pro-longed injuries can sometimes. go unnoticed if they aren’t immediately, critical.”
Michelle stared at one roughed up Keats with a look of sheer un-amusement.
“I thought it was just a bruise-”
“Well that explains all the coughing,” Herm muttered with the roll of his eyes.
Michelle sighed again. “Then how long will it take for him to get better?”
“I’m not- sure. I will need to run further, diagnostics. It depends on the gravity of his. condition.”
“How long will that take?”
“Approximately four- hours.”
“Great, so I’m just supposed to fricken sit here?”
“Never seemed to bother you before,” Herm remarked as he rolled his wrist pensively. Though, the bot did draw his gaze elsewhere.
“You will if you know what’s good for you.” The bed made a creaking sound as the kid plopped down towards the end of it. Michelle had that fiery look in her eye, the kind that not even the leader of robot rebellion could dissuade, Mr-mother-fucking-peanut, let alone Keats right now. To be honest that’s how they got roped in this whole thing, Michelle’s spunk and vigor, her drive and determination. She didn’t let anything stop her before, let alone now. “This is serious, Keats. Internal bleeding? A collapsed lung?” Michelle’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I can’t lose anyone else.”
“Geez kid, you should think about starting a hustle with that guilt trip. I’ll be fine.”
“You did fall off onto the ground like- several times Keats. And basically got blasted by those drones.”
Michelle’s lips furled into a smile that she was trying to hold back. She wanted to be annoyed, but she was glad Keats seemed optimistic about the ordeal. Maybe a little arrogant, but casual. She supposed that was better than him being crippled and cold, despondent. “You’re a moron ,” Michelle chided, followed by a sucker punch to Keats’ shoulder. He flinched, and coddled his poor, poor arm while he collected his bearings.“Uh- ow - I thought you wanted me to get better? That seemed a little counterproductive.”
“That’s your shoulder, not your lung. Just don’t be stupid, let PC figure out how to help you and you’ll be fine, probably. You’ve made it this far. Better safe than sorry.”
PC shuffled to the side and clasped his hands together. “I will let, you know. when I am finished checking, his vitals.”
“Thanks PC,” Michelle got up from the bed and tied her fluffy blonde hair into a half bun, leaving the rest to dangle on her shoulders while she spiffed up her jacket. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Peanut and see if we have anything else we could use and rummage around the warehouse. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Oh that’s reeaaalllll funny -” Keats quipped. “We got a real comedian over here! ”
Keats didn’t get to see Michelle’s simper or the shake of her head. She just kept walking as if she didn’t hear anything to begin with, despite the hoarse echo that travelled down the hallway. Of course, the attempt to yell rendered Keats into yet another coughing fit like he’d just had the wind knocked out of him all over again. “I’m fine-” he coughed again. “It’s cool- I got it.”
“I would. advise, against. yelling.” PC raised one of his fingers with a concerned expression and furrowed brows.
Herm shook his head and sauntered over to look at Keats pathetically. “Just take it easy man… You helped me get repaired, now it’s your turn. We got plenty of muscle to deal with the supplies and gear. I’ll swing by later to make sure you’re not dyin’.”
“I mean, I’m not dying.”
“You better not be,” Herm snickered as he lightly rested his hand on Keats’ shoulder. “Just take a nap or something, just try not to snore too loud or he won't be able to focus.” Herm jabbed his thumb in PC’s direction.
“Ha- haha- yeah, sure, Herm, sure.”
After Herman left, PC began to ask Keats various questions. What were his symptoms? When did they begin showing? What sorts of injuries and traumas did he sustain before the onset? Were the symptoms progressively getting worse? How was his energy, was he fatigued? Where was it most painful, did it hurt when he touched ‘here’, or ‘there’. PC took heart rate and blood pressure. Take a deep breath, hold still, usual procedures.
Some of the questions were already ones PC asked before, maybe just a little more detailed, all so that PC could make a more comprehensive diagnosis. At some point Michelle came back to bring some more medical supplies, but by that time, Keats had already passed out. Of course, not really passed out, more like fell asleep. He would periodically cough, sometimes bloody. Not that it was reassuring in the slightest.
Michelle took a seat in the room and leaned against the wall, using her arm as a cushion to get comfortable. It seemed, there wasn’t much else to do other than wait. It was like… waiting in the dreariest hospital room ever.
When Herman did come back and found the scene, he took a moment to scan the room. The kid was sleeping and so was Keats, but, well, let's just say he did not in fact tone the snoring down. He couldn’t help but grin a little. Keats looked so stupid when he slept, mouth hung open, and flat on his back like a brick, hands on his belly. Not even the coughing managed to change that. Honestly Herm would’ve liked to come sooner than this, but considering the amount of bots left, it helped to Have an HRM construction bot’s help with all the rebuilding. It also kept him distracted from worrying.
“How is he doc?”
“I am almost done, with. diagnostics. But technically- I am not a doctor. I only know, what Dr. Amherst knew.”
“You’re close enough,” Herm mumbled as he pulled up a chair next to Keats. He didn’t bother looking away “So how bad is it? From what ya can tell.”
“In addition. to. the collapsed lung, he seems to have- slow internal bleeding; hematoma. Blood pooling, outside, of his vessels.”
There was a scratching noise from a printer-bot sitting on a shoddy table in the corner of the room, indicating it had finished. Herm only snapped his gaze to the sudden noise for a moment before turning to Keats, then to PC again. “Ready!” her voice chimed. PC adjusted his glasses on his screen and waddled over to a pile of papers, adding the latest one to the pile.
“Thank you- Printer. Patty.”
“Happy to help!”
The littler bot scampered off, and PC handed Herm the papers. Dr. Amherst’s computer companion seemed to look aside and waited for Herm to read over the reports. He seemed awkward. PC had already known what the situation was, but let the construction robot read it for himself.
Herm’s eyes widened. “ Ho-ly shit.. So leaking like crazy,” Herman mused as his eyes focused on the words laid out on paper.
It was bad, bad news.
“Usually, for his injuries, patients administered. to hospitals, quickly- will have treatments for, a few days and can make a full recovery in two. to. eight, weeks. But Keats’ condition has been left. untreated. Not only with his lung, but the bleeding.”
Herm’s thumb pressed against the paper before he carefully flipped the page and looked at PC again. “So it’s gotten worse?”
“Yes.”
“And the movin’ boxes probably hasn’t helped either huh?”
“No,” PC’s expression drooped a little, wheeling back some to give them some room. “Wait- Is he- Keats isn’t actually dying right? That’s crazy!”
“There must be, blood. leaking- into his chest cavity. Without transfusion, repair. or surgery. He can’t make a full recovery.”
Herm’s expression blinked to something more frustrated, frowning. “And, this is where you tell me you aren’t a doctor,” Herm looked at Keats, his expression plain, empty. “You can’t do it.”
“I cannot. I have knowledge, but not surgical. expertise. I am not. made to perform those tasks. We also, don’t have. proper, equipment for. that type- of procedure. The damage may be. unrepairable.”
A silence briefly seeped into the room, but only because PC might’ve been waiting for Herm to say something, and for once, Herm had no witty comeback. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
“Keats,” Herm reached out to his shoulder and lightly shook it. “Keats, get up.”
Keats’ snore sounded like it hit some sort of bump in a road. “Huh? What? I’m up, I’m up- what is it?”A guttural hack squeezed on Keat’s lungs as he clutched his chest. “Shit-”
Herm helped Keats sit up, supporting him with his hand to his back. “Keats, we need to talk.”
“It’s actually- recommended. that you, lie flat. with a collapsed lung.” PC interjected, not that Herm was really focused on this.
“Ugh.. Herman .. this, right now? This is bullshit-” he mumbled. “You already know how I feel about you- I know you heard everything.” Keats deliriously rubbed his eyes.
“That’s not- No man- we need to talk about your condition. It’s not looking good.”
Keats’ brows furrowed with confusion, rubbing his face in between his eyes. “Not good how?”
“Like bad-bad , like we need to make a plan- something-”
“Hey, what’s going on?” Michelle asked, stretching and collecting her bearings. Everyone in the room looked at Michelle, but PC was the first to speak. “Keats’ condition is. unstable. It’s deteriorating.”
“Explain,” Keats inquired; his tone was dark, his eyes honed on the talking hard drive.
PC explained everything. Hearing it all over again for the second time around made Herman feel sick. It just didn’t feel real. That just seemed to be the way things were these days. From their business being blown to bits, to hearing Sentre was being powered by some kid and now this- it seemed wrong.
Michelle was pacing, thrusting her arms. “No- no. No, there’s gotta be something we can do. We still have time. We can find a doctor.”
“Kid-”
“ No -” Michelle cut him off and stopped walking. Her fists tightly curled before she crossed her arms, tucking them underneath. “I just lost Chris, I’m not about to lose you too. You and Herm, you’re all I have. I’m not about to give up.”
“There. might be something we can, do.”
“What the hell are you waiting for, some kind of invitation? Talk .”
“Sentre required high- computing power. to run its servers. But, you don’t need a server, for an individual. unit, if we transplant the neuro-connection. directly. If we use an empty vessel. and specific module- to move his mind, Keats can, survive. We may not be able to save his body in time, but- we can, save his mind.”
“You mean.. kind of like Christopher-” gasped Michelle.
“Yes. In a sense.”
“ W-waitwaitwait - you want to put me into a bot?! Are you insane? Are we even sure that’s agh -” Keats wheezed and doubled over, coughing more blood into his hand.
“Keats, Keats- don’t hurt yourself dude,” Herm attempted, trying to help, but there wasn’t really much he could do other than be there.
“Your chances of survival through transfer. are, higher. than that of your, body. I suspect you have- roughly, three. days.”
“Great,” Keats exhaled, trying to catch his breath. “Three days to decide whether I live or die. That’s just fricken peachy.”
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