Work Text:
Everything hurts.
It’s disorienting, watching his body move without him, being able to feel every action with a layer of numbness coating his senses. It blurs together, the screams of his friends, the labored breathing his chest involuntarily takes. He begs for it to stop, shouting pleas for it to end in his mind. But his body doesn’t respond, it just keeps hurting them.
There’s so much blood. All of them, gone in a puff of smoke. This can’t be real. He couldn’t have-please no. Tears slide down his face and he can’t wipe them away because his body is his and yet it’s not; it’s not it’s not it’s not. No matter how much he wills himself to, he can’t do anything.
He notices Orange’s body. Unconscious, half-dead, yet still alive. He almost made it to the recycling bin; they almost did it. Red can only hope that whatever’s controlling him doesn’t care enough to hurt Orange any further.
He feels it climb out of that stick-like structure, bruised knees hitting the ground as it scrambles for the block like it’ll never get this chance again. He hates it, he wishes they never found it. Red watches his own hands take hold of it, back hunched over protectively. It scrolls through the items manically, a crazed smile wrongfully tugging at his lips. And once it’s done, he feels it leave.
A searing pain cuts through him as something rips itself out of his body. Claws dig at his insides as if pulling his skin apart to escape, uncaring to the way it rips him limb from limb. He opens his mouth to scream but nothing comes out, so he bites down as hard as he can. Blood drips from his back as he feels his skin tear apart—feels that thing climb its way out of him, nails digging into his flesh. The fabric of his shirt tears and his wounds are exposed to the cold, empty air. Red tries to look behind, so that there’s at least a witness to his friends’ murderer, but he can’t make anything out. All he sees is a blinding white light accompanied by a terrifying sound.
And then it’s gone.
Fled to the depths of the PC. If it’s even still on the PC. Red didn’t see where it went. As soon as it was out, he fell to the ground, face first and heaving. His limbs are heavy, aching with every attack the others threw at him. But they can move. His fingers twitch as he struggles uselessly on the floor. It takes every bit of strength he has just to crawl to Orange.
His friend’s face is battered, ugly bruises covering his skin and blood dripping down the side of his head. Short uneven breaths come out of his mouth, whistling through his now broken teeth every time he wheezes. Bones are snapped all over, bending his limbs in unnatural ways. He wants to throw up. He doesn’t know what to do; none of them have ever been injured this badly before.
He can’t do this alone, he needs help.
How did Alan revive them the first time? They were deleted, so he doesn’t know what exactly went down between him and Orange, but he remembers being reloaded in their website. Would that heal him? Wait no, Orange isn’t from their site so it wouldn’t help, but the others might be. The others…
Their stuff is still scattered around, broken pixels littering the desktop floor. The remnants of their builds tower over them. They were so excited when he saw them earlier, looked so happy to include him. Looked so scared when he….
His vision is blurry.
No. No no, he can’t cry now. He needs to- Orange is still—bloody bruised battered broken—hurt… Red tears his gaze away from him; he feels sick.
He swallows the lump in his throat and wipes his eyes. It’s hard to push himself to his feet, feels almost impossible, but he manages to stand and stagger over to the search engine, swaying with every step. He clicks it and climbs to the top where the pinned tabs are kept. He tries not to think of how tired he is, pushes every thought of falling out of his mind until it’s not even an option.
Their home is empty when he clicks on it and for a second, he’s worried that it didn’t work. That they’re dead for good and it’s all his fault. But it can’t be; no, this has to work. He doesn’t know what he’d do if it doesn’t. He hits the reload button, and his friends appear.
Relief pours out of him at the same time as his tears. He watches them from above, they haven’t noticed him yet. They’re clearly startled, still disoriented from having just died and adjusting to their new environment. They search through something Red can’t see, but when they come up with nothing, they huddle back to back. The tension from earlier rests over them, paranoia riddled in their stances as if something’s going to crash through the site window and kill them again. Red doesn’t blame them. For all he knows, something could.
Which is why they should help Orange while they can.
Red quickly slides down the side of the window, stumbling once he meets the ground. He holds onto the tab until his vision stops spinning. Maybe he should rest too. After Orange is taken care of, at least. Red makes his way over to the door.
The wall is a 2-way mirror, so they can’t see him standing outside. He breathes in to calm himself, wiping the tears from his face. He can’t cry yet, no matter how much he wants to. But he takes a minute to remind himself that they’re here. That they’re alive and not gone forever. A part of him wants to pull them close and never let go; hold them in hopes that next time, he’ll be strong enough to protect them all.
Red opens the door, pulling it up until they see him entirely. He can’t hide the joy on his face, the tearful smile mixed with relief that they’re alive. He runs over, desperate to feel them so that he knows he’s not hallucinating. He reaches out, but they’re not happy to see him.
Green punches him.
He yelps, tripping over his own feet as he crashes to the ground. He holds his head instinctively, the throbbing pain sending him spiraling once more. He looks up, vision blurred and splotchy from tears he swore he finally got rid of.
They stare at him, terrified. Their fists are raised, ready to fight or defend at a moment’s notice, fear clouding their vision. They stand as a group, just like they always have; just like Red should be a part of, but instead, he’s curled up on the floor. Why… Why would they….
Oh.
Oh no, he-
He’s not! He wouldn’t– He would never–
He opens his mouth to say something, anything, desperate to plead his innocence. Aching for them to know the truth, confirmation on the tip of his tongue, yet nothing comes out. His mind searches for words as their glares track his every movement. Like a herd of sheep to a wolf. They observe him carefully, like a threat. Like a stranger.
And for the second time today he’s scared. Not for his safety—Alan knows how many spars he’s won against them—but for what they think he is. Scared of what they see, because that means they’re scared of him.
He loves them more than anything, yet they’re backed into a corner simply from his presence. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek in a wet stream. They flinch just from the motion.
He rests on his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach, hugging himself tightly so they have two less limbs to watch. He tries to smile when he looks up at them. They need to know it’s him. That it’s just their rowdy, high-energy friend and not that monster. He tries, but the sobs interrupt and his lips press together in a pathetic attempt to make them stop. He feels his throat beginning to close up, so he forces himself to speak.
“It’s me,” he cries, voice barely a whisper, “Y-You, You know me.”
“Stay back, it could be a trick,” Green quietly warns the others.
“Green,” he begs, “It’s not- I-It wasn’t me, I promise. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t… ”
The words pour out in a jumbled mess. Their fists still hang in the air, but they’re hesitant now. A hint of recognition washes over, but they still study him like he’s something to be afraid of.
“Come on, please,” his voice breaks, hugging himself tighter. He hangs his head low, body curling inwards. He can’t bear to see their faces anymore, can’t torture himself any further with their expressions. His nails dig into his arms with how tight he’s gripping. The sobs won’t let up.
Footsteps cautiously creep closer, stopping right in front of him. Muffled voices speak and two other pairs, farther away, run off as quick as they can. He doesn’t have the energy to look up, but he feels a hand graze his shoulder. He flinches at the touch, the feeling amplified by freshly wounded skin. He didn’t realize how much it hurt still.
The hand comes back again, past the walls he built around himself, and brings him out of his shell. Green eyes stare at him, still fearful, but familiar. Green pulls him closer, slow enough to allow Red to back out, and hugs him. Red sobs, body shaking in his hold as everything comes out. He wraps his arms around, holding him as close as possible, as if he’ll disappear again if he doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Green starts quietly. Red feels his breath on his ear. “I thought you were-”
“I know,” Red chokes, “I know, I know…”
He should be happy. He got what he wanted, he should be happy. He wants to be fine, wants it to be over already, but his head is so loud.
What if it comes back? I’m scared. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. I love you all. Don’t hate me, please. I was so scared. I am so scared.
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
He voices none of it; even if he could, he’s unsure if his tongue would work. The tears well up again and he hides away in Green’s shoulder. Trying to block it out, to ignore the reality that he hurt them even if just for a moment. He doesn’t want to think.
He wants to be comforted. He wants to help. He wants to cry like a little kid and he hates himself for that because he needs to be strong. Because he was the one who hurt them, so he should be the one helping, right?
“O-Orange is hurt,” Red stutters, voice rough from crying.
“He’ll be fine,” Green’s hand rubs his arms comfortingly, carefully avoiding the mess on his back, “Yellow and Blue have already gone to find him. And Alan will be awake soon. I’m sure he can help us…”
Green seems to be trying to reassure himself just as much as Red. Red doesn’t point it out, because what’s the use? So he hides from the world again, gripping onto Green like a lifeline. He doesn’t know how long they stay there, how long he holds him when he should be fixing the mess he unwillingly caused. But it’s long enough for Yellow to come back. A trail of bile drips down his chin that he wipes away, and Red knows he couldn’t stomach seeing the state of their friend either.
Blue comes in a few minutes later, Orange in his arms. His pace is excruciatingly slow, pausing at every odd breath in fear that he’ll hurt him more. Red watches him take Orange to their bedroom while Yellow comes out of the bathroom with their emergency kit. It won’t do much, but…
“Hey,” Green calls, pulling his attention away from the door, “You need help too. C’mon.”
Gently, Green grabs his hands, helping pull him up to his feet. Green slides an arm under his to support him, and as much as Red wants to walk by himself, his feet are too shaky on their own. Too much time on the ground, he supposes. Green leads him to their bathroom, sitting him down on the stool they keep in there. His eyes droop close despite his attempts to stay awake. He lets the surrounding noise wash over him.
He’s woken by a hand lightly tapping his cheek. Blinking slowly, he wearily looks up.
“Take your shirt off,” Green instructs.
“H-How forward. Take me out to dinner first,” he tiredly jokes.
“Shut up,” Green manages a smile, “I got you another. I think this one’s a goner.”
Green pokes at the remaining tatters that are left. Red honestly thought he imagined that part, given all the pain, but apparently not. He does as he’s told and holds onto the extra shirt he’s given, tossing the other to the side. Meanwhile, Green prepares a cloth with some kind of ointment Red’s too tired to name and begins cleaning his back. He hisses at the touch, the medical sting that normally accompanies friendly battles. He wishes more than anything that that was the case.
“I couldn’t do anything…” Red whispers.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Green refutes.
“It was, though,” he takes a shaky breath in, “I should’ve tried harder-”
“Red,” Green says sternly, leaving no room for argument, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Red’s not happy about it, but he doesn’t argue. Green continues to clean his wounds. Blue pops in for a second to steal a roll of bandages before he’s out again. He wanted to ask how Orange is doing, but he feels he shouldn’t distract them right now. He focuses on Green wrapping his back instead.
“It’s not as bad as it feels,” Green claims, pinning the bandages together, “...Or looks.”
He walks around to face him, hand resting comfortingly on his arm, before beginning to address his smaller cuts and scrapes.
“How’re you feeling?” Green places a band-aid on one of them.
“Tired,” Red sighs, “Exhausted.”
“You were never a morning person,” Green quips. It draws a small laugh out of him, one that’s cut off by a cough. They continue in silence until he finishes.
He leads him to their bedroom, where they wait outside while Blue and Yellow work. He leans his head against the wall, vacantly staring at the blank ceiling above. He’s never been a patient person, he knows this, but nothing before compares to the agony that is waiting for them to be done. He can’t stand not knowing how his friend is doing, if he’s even still alive. It’s torture.
Yellow comes out first, and Red almost wishes he didn’t, because the look on his face tells him everything he needs to know. Blue only confirms it, tears falling once he’s out of the room. There’s only so much they can do, he said; they’re not nearly as skilled as they need to be for this. It’s out of their control.
Their best bet is to wait for Alan to wake in a few hours and dig through Adobe to reset Orange’s file, just like Red did. Until then, all they can do is keep watch and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself in his sleep. A solemn silence falls over them.
Blue and Yellow move to sit with him and Green on the floor. Yellow holds his hand, and Blue pulls him into another hug. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but he lets them do it anyway because they need the comfort just as much. Blue cries quieter than Red, slowly soaking the collar of his shirt. Yellow’s no better, eyes glazed over with a far off look. The only sign of his presence is his hand squeezing Red’s; he squeezes back to keep him grounded. He wishes he could do more to help.
Green joins the hug at some point, pulling Yellow in. They haven’t had a group hug in a while, just the four of them. It’s strange, like a missing limb. He feels the absence, sees where Orange would fit in, hugging them just slightly too tight. Red would complain about not being able to breathe and they’d reassure him that they’re fine despite their cuts and bruises. They’d laugh it off and agree to take a break from sparring and they’d relax because the threat from earlier is already being forgotten. Because Orange saved them.
Except he didn’t.
And Red couldn’t do anything.
He holds them as close as he can. Even once they separate, he makes sure they’re all within view. For as long as he can, until they mention being hungry and decide to go to their kitchen. He stays behind and despite the worried look from Green, they let him. He needs to see him.
His steps are sluggish, but he trudges over to the middle of the room. The floor mattress is stained red with blood and it reeks of medicine. Orange lays asleep, still wheezing with every breath and brows furrowed in pain. A blanket is draped over him, hiding his wounds to whoever walks in. Red can see the feeble attempts at healing, the amateur level wrappings and splints keeping him somewhat stable.
He lays down next to Orange, careful and slow, and watches. Watches over him. He needs to. He doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened again. Doesn’t think he could live with himself if he let something happen. At least this way, he can make sure he’s safe. He can be helpful.
Just a few hours, he reminds himself. Alan will be awake soon. He’ll help them, surely.
Just a few hours. It’ll be okay.
Just a few hours.