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There is a long winding trail of black behind her. Metallic. Iron. Blood? Where did that come from? Van’s nose twitches as she readjusts to smelling, to pulling air in. Her top set of eyes blink, then the bottom ones. Why is she hiding in the corner of the mess? Last Van remembers she was in the captain’s quarters watching Marya tinker with something or other.
The blood is black, and she thinks hers is now. When she lets Monty take care of her it looks that colour - a lot of her is stained by ink now. Van likes Monty, he doesn’t look all squirmy when he sees her like a lot of the others do. She still has not looked at her reflection, does not know why they seem to fear her. She doesn’t like being feared, doesn’t like that they all act like they can’t understand her.
When she speaks to them without Monty they will say they can go get him, and she doesn’t know why. Sometimes she wants to say things just to them, not to Monty who just repeats it. Surely they understand her, the words are quite simple. She isn’t like Comfrey or Gotch, using big fancy words to describe simple things, honestly it can take away from the point when they do that.
With a little sigh Van uncurls the tentacles wrapped around her and shuffles out from under the table she had wedged herself beneath. Small places are nice, even if they hurt to sit in. Makes her feel like no one is behind her - she feels that way a lot. The tickling of breath on her neck, a command waiting to rip her mind and body apart again. No one likes commanding her now, that’s nice, but it makes it hard to do things. It's not that she doesn’t want to do things, but when she tries to move on her own accord a deep existential fear fills her.
So much choice, so many options on what to do. Bert has stopped giving her options on what to eat and just gives her one meal so she doesn’t freeze up. People still ask questions where she has to make a choice and when they do she tenses up and has to think far too long and hard about it. Everything is jumbled up in her head now, feels like it was taken apart and put together all wrong.
That doesn’t matter right now, there is a big puddle of blood under the table where she had been sitting and a big trail of blood leading to it. Her head spins, she feels woozy. Looking down she sees quite a few puncture wounds on her torso. Again. Ow. Pain isn’t nice, she doesn’t like being hurt. It makes her remember the shock of pain before the nothingness. A low whimper escapes her throat as she trudges towards the door of the mess.
It creaks as she opens it, only to be met with Marya’s hand hovering right at the handle from the other side. Van knows Marya had taken her disappearance badly, and honestly even now she doesn’t look much better. Tired, heavy bags under her eyes, looking more like she had back in Gath without the rest they had been getting. It makes her feel guilty. They stare at each other silently for a moment before Marya clears her throat.
“Ah, I was just coming to get you. Monty said you got quite hurt… I see that he was right.”
Van looks down at herself again, nodding. She looks at the big messy blood trail and frowns a little. She’s made a big mess, hopefully the others aren’t annoyed. Looking at Marya again she speaks, feeling the words in her throat.
“Sorry, I can clean it up.”
Marya looks at her for a long moment, as though trying to parse the words. They were simple words.
“Do you want me to get Monty?”
Van moves her arm and tentacles in exasperation, wincing at the way she inadvertently stretches her wounds at it. Why does everyone insist on Monty translating what is understandable? Are they stupid? Did they start speaking a different language while she was away?
Marya furrows her brows at the upset motion and lets her eyes roam over Van like she is some complex puzzle that needs to be solved. She probably is now, even Van doesn’t really understand herself anymore. There are a few facts that could not be erased - She is Vanellope Chapman, she helped invent flight, she has two fucked up arms - but other than that who is she? Hardly a strong bosun now as her blood weeps over the floor of the mess.
“You don’t want Monty, okay. Can I patch up your injuries then? It won’t be as good as his work, of course.”
Van hesitates, choice hurts her head.
“Sorry, I will patch up your wounds.”
Her gills flutter in relief and Van allows Marya to guide her over to a nearby table. It’s nice, letting Marya be in charge for a moment - even if she is hesitant to use said control. Van had always looked to Marya for affirmation before this, why should it have to stop even if control feels weird now? Van trusts Marya, Marya won’t hurt her. Monty wouldn’t hurt her either, but she is so sick of him being there all the time when she just wants to have a moment with someone.
Marya grabs a nearby medkit and helps Van unbutton her shirt. Looking down again the punctures are quite deep, pretty serious - but luckily not around any major organs. Marya clicks her tongue and tuts at the state of her. A hand is in her hair, almost like she is a dog. It feels way nicer than it should.
“You simply must stop throwing yourself at spikes. It’s getting quite troublesome for you, no?”
Van frowns and looks at Marya pathetically.
“I don’t mean it.”
There is no proper response to her low whine and Van huffs. Why won’t they listen to her. Why won’t Marya listen to her? Marya always listens to her. Always did before this happened. Marya’s chest heaves with a big sigh, too big for Marya’s little body. Van knows how emotions too big for you feel now.
Gently Marya talks through what she is doing - must have picked that up from Monty - cleaning up the wounds, stitching what needs stitched, wrapping them. Van just lets herself sink into the methodical motions of it all. Marya doesn’t speak much, too focused on stopping the incessant bleeding.
Van watches Marya for a moment as she cleans up another injury, the anti-septic stinging. Van’s vision doubles and Marya is before her twice, young and current. Both feel current. Both feel right. Both feel wrong. She squeezes her eyes shut - no, can’t shut her eyes that’s bad she’ll get in trouble. Opens her eyes. Marya’s hands are hovering worriedly, there is only one Marya. Why had they both been real and there?
“Are you okay? Did that hurt too much?”
“Headache.”
Marya doesn’t understand. Why? Her head hurts. This all hurts. Why can’t she ever remember getting hurt? Mordecestershire isn’t in control anymore, there is no reason to black out like she does. Van understands that this cannot be fixed easily, she cannot be fixed easily, but it feels worse when no one is listening.
“I wish the crystal would let us understand you as well…”
Van tilts her head. What? Why would they need the crystal to understand her? She is speaking normally. Has she been opening her mouth to speak? Is she speaking normally? Monty can understand her but… Oh God has she been silent this whole time. Van forces her mouth open, sometimes it’s hard to remember she has one, and tries to say anything.
All that comes out is a strained first syllable of Marya’s name. It doesn’t sound right, it’s low and rumbling. Catches in her throat like it was foreign. It felt thick and jagged, not like any of the words she had thought she was saying. Van whines at the tension bobbing in her throat, every muscle in her neck feels like it has been strained.
“I am going to continue now.”
Marya says, gesturing to the final wound. Van just nods, head dipped in embarrassment. All this time she has been mad at them all for not understanding and she hasn’t been speaking. Has she been? How could Monty understand her if she isn’t speaking? This is all so confusing. Van doesn’t want to be confused anymore, she hated that ocean but at least nothing was confusing there if you just didn’t think - and it was easy to not think when the ocean provided nothing to think about.
Once Marya is done she pulls back and helps pull Van’s shirt back over the tentacles, buttoning it up again. Van pushes her head against Marya’s neck, letting out the low rumble that she had thought were understandable words. Marya hums back to her, and it is a bunch of nothing. This must be what they have been hearing. Her ink stained hand curls itself into Marya’s silk shirt, fingers twitching, tendons visible. It is disgusting.
“Feeling better now that you’re patched up?”
Van nods against Marya’s neck, a low sound coming from her again. Marya giggles against her hair, breath tickling over it. Not behind her, not commanding her, just there. Just there. Marya is there. Van wants to profess how much she missed Marya, even before the portal. Back in those years where Marya got her own ship, when Van wasn’t in the sky. When Marya wasn’t at the wedding. She missed her. But she knows that she can’t, so she will wait until she is able to speak again.
“Now, you know you can’t go in the hot tub right now, correct? It would mess up all my hard work.”
She pulls back and huffs at Marya grumpily. Not fair. Sure, it is bad to marinate in a big hot tub for hours on end, but also it's so nice and warm and being submerged feels really nice. It's one of the only places she is able to sleep in.
“I know, I know. Gosh, you are like a big grumpy squid cat.”
Van pouts more at that. How dare Marya call her that. Even if it might be a little bit true now. Finally she looks back to the big blood trail and huffs. With a slight bit of effort Van stands and grabs the mop, beginning to wipe it all away. Marya doesn’t stop her because Van is finally doing something on her own.