Chapter Text
"Run."
Those were the last words Pete ever said to him. And by the Flow, he was trying his darnest to follow them. His claws screeched on the floorboards, pushing against the unstoppable pull of the vortex like there was any hope of him outrunning this- whatever this was. A hurricane, a tear in the fabric of reality, a creature. It hardly matters; he'll be dead either way.
One wrong step and Carlos' grip slipped, sending him hurling towards his imminent doom. He didn't pray. Instead, the last thing that crossed his mind was the face of Vulpin when he assigned him this mission, knowing that he would fail. A failure. That's all he was, in the end.
~
...It's odd.
There was no transition, no feeling of passing out or waking back up, no tunnel or the light at the end of it, no gates nor a judge. One moment Carlos was falling, and the next drowning in the icy water of the Flow. He barely managed to close his mouth in time to prevent most water from getting in. The little amount that did, however, he was desperately trying not to spit out like his body was begging him to. Coughing is a death sentence underwater. So he kept it in, feeling the magical burn start to develop on the insides of his mouth.
The rat blinked to try and orientate himself in his surroundings. Water. Water, as far as the eye can see; an endless ocean with no bottom nor sides. But it was Flow-water; he could feel it, so where-?
Carlos' heart panged in his chest – a reminder to not get caught up in the questions. But escape. Get out. Run.
A light, faint and blurry and yet present, shined above. His saving grace. Carlos' hind legs went into motion first, then his arms, and the longer this desperate race went on, the more of his thoughts were replaced with the loud booming need to survive.
Except the light never got closer. Ratkin can hold their breath for far longer than humans, and yet the surface was still out of reach. The water burned his eyes, his throat and his skin; the lack of oxygen made his vision darken; and yet. No matter how much he swam. He could never get out.
Finally, his instincts won out over his brain, and the tight hold he had on his jaw loosened with a sudden gasp. Water came rushing in. This was surely the end for him, he thought.
It was another kind of quiet terror that overtook him when he realised that he wasn't dying. It hurt; it hurt so much, and yet it's like his body was continually deteriorating and regenerating back together. The release of death never came.
This must be hell, then. He failed the Flow and this was his punishment. Albeit unfair, it was.. the Flow's will. The Flow. The same river he sacrificed years upon years of his life to. That he sacrificed his life for, practically, by going on this mission. Now punishing him for failing. For failing an impossible mission?
Carlos' fist tightened. He died for it. His friends died for it. His fists relaxed ever so slightly, surprised at the use of the word 'friends' in his own thought, but now was not the time. It didn't matter who they were to him; what mattered was that they got unfairly sacrificed for his own mistakes, and it was unjust. The rat started moving again, determined to- to do something. To make up for his cowardice and his weakness, for the fact that he chose to run away like a traitor and abandon them all. Maybe it would've been futile, but no more futile than what he was doing right now. Arguing with a god... But he had to. Because he won't die a goddamn failure!
When he had no strength anymore, he screamed. Carlos screamed silently with the air that should not have remained in his lungs; he screamed until he was certain that the Flow could not simply turn its attention away.
"LET ME GO! LET ME TRY AGAIN! I WON'T FAIL YOU! I WON'T FAIL THEM! JUST GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE, I BEG YOU! PLEASE! Please..!"
~
"Oh! Bloody hell, almost missed ya there, Carlos!"
The soft moonlight trickled down rooftops and into the alleyway, bathing all of the individuals present in the cool colors of the night. Wind sneaked into this space in gusts, only to dissapear again, just as fast as it came. The salty smell of the Flow-water still lingered in the air, and yet..
He was out.
That is the information Carlos processed while coughing his lungs out, bent over on the cobbled pavement. There was no water in his lungs, but, by the Flow, it certainly felt like there was.
"Holy shit mate, are you alright?"
Carlos felt the heavy hand of Cheeky on his shoulder and immediately grabbed onto it like onto an anchor amidst the rushing waves.
"Maldición-"
Breathe. No pasó nada. Todo está bien, todo está bien, bien, bien, BIEN. Estoy BIEN. They're all looking at you. TODO ESTÁ JODIDAMENTE BIEN.
Carlos finally managed to even out his breathing and, with Cheeky's help, get back upright. There was a small bloodstain at his feet. He averted his gaze from it, instead looking up only to be met with all of his friends' concerned gazes.
Cheeky at his side, Pete a little further away with the same old expression he has learned to read despite a lack of any discernible features, Rover with hands on his hips and Maureen, even further down the alleyway. Alive. All of them. Alive.
On the horizon line, he could see the boat approaching. Their first mission together. A chance to start over. To do better. To fix everything.
One last chance.