Chapter Text
Blood. Lots of it. Red was pooling in his hands, slipping down his palms. He was trying to stem the flow. He was failing.
Pandemonium had run off (because of the Angler that came, no doubt. Sebastian didn’t have to worry about them, thanks to his messed up DNA, so he could mostly ignore their rampage).
He lowered himself to the floor, trying to ignore the burning pain all along his tail. The worst of it was his torso. (The bleeding won’t stop, why won’t it stop, please stop.)
What a bad time to not have a medkit on him. He had sold it to an Expendable earlier.
He should have kept it for himself. He should have known to always keep an extra on hand, like he usually did. What a stupid way to go down (not die, you cannot die, not when you’re so close, not with Painter and Michael relying on you).
His vision was failing him. His body was too. He let the side of his head hit the floor with a dull thunk. The pain didn’t hurt. Not with the numbness rapidly spreading from his waist up to his head.
He let his eyes fall shut and his esca flickered out.
o o o
Another day, another strange conversation between Expendables. This time it was about a song.
“Ugh! I can’t remember for the life of me! Jim, you’ve gotta help me out here man!” one pleaded to another, much taller one. The other two accompanying them glanced back briefly, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge them. “It goes-“
“I know ‘how it goes,’ Rich. You keep telling me over and over,” ‘Jim’ groaned. “Can’t you ask one of the girls for help?”
“You know they won’t help me.” After that, he started to sing— sort of. Chant? Michael wasn’t exactly sure what to call it. “Nah nah-nah ay nah nah, ah-ah-ah ah-aaaaaah~”
“Dude, I don’t know what song you’re trying to make me guess,” the taller man grumbled again. Finally one of the two girls sighed and glanced back.
“It’s that one song from Frozen,” she informed him in an accent that Michael couldn’t place. Rich gasped.
“Yes! See, I knew I could rely on you ladies.” Based on how she turned back around again, Michael could only assume she was rolling her eyes.
Michael was busy holding back a snicker when the lights softly flickered. As the Expendables panicked below him, Z-98 curled up into a tight ball, making sure that none of him was visible from below. He could hear the Expendables scrambling into the previous room, since this one had no lockers.
Only, the second they’d left Z-98 could hear the door to the room slam closed. His face scrunched up in confusion before a familiar voice filtered into the room.
“Ay, Michael?! You with this batch? No? Okay, I’ll-“ Michael quickly leaned his head over the edge, facing Painter with a smile.
The flicker had been a ruse.
“I’m here bud,” he eagerly corrected. It had been a bit since he had a chance to chat with Painter: he’d just been so busy, and was sure that the AI had been in a similar bind. “How’re you-?”
“Ugh, finally! You are so hard to find!” Painter loudly complained. Michael was about to note that yeah, that was the point, but the words died on his tongue. “I need your help. Can’t find Sebastian.”
“What?” He hopped down from the ceiling pipe and hurried over to the door, staring up at Painter’s screen. “What do you mean you ‘can’t find him?’ Don't you have full access to the Blacksite?”
“Yes! Well, no, but basically yes!” he fumbled. “I checked all his shops and I’ve been looping through the sectors and you’d think someone so huge would be easy to find, but noooo-“
“Painter!” He stopped talking. Breathe in, breathe out.
Okay. Okay.
Michael took another deep breath. Don’t freak out, it’s fine. Sebastian’s tough. “Are you sure he’s not just… y’know, in a blacked-out sector? You can’t reach those, right?”
“Sebastian doesn’t stay in stupid power-outage rooms, he said that he tries to stay where I can access him!” the AI exclaimed, but sounded a little less anxious than before. It was a start.
“What about flooded sections?” Painter’s expression fell.
“Same thing. Can’t access him there, so he doesn’t dilly-dally in those spots. Not without tellin’ me.” Michael frowned, turning away from the screen momentarily with a hand to his chin.
“He’s probably just passing through one of-“
“An hour, thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds.” The experiment froze. “That’s how long he’s been gone, only counting the time after I realized he was missing.”
“What? Why didn’t you lead with that?” Michael cried.
“I thought you’d be more sensible if you didn’t know, and I was right! You’re already freaking out! You can’t freak out, you’re older!”
For a split second, Michael genuinely short-circuited.
A broken vase, pieces scattered across the floor. The porcelain object was important to mom. And they had broken it.
Lizzy was panicking, Evan was crying. Michael was struggling to stay under control. These idiots were gonna get him in trouble again, Evan was injured, and there’s no way that father wouldn’t ground or punished him in some way-
Lizzy grabbed his arm, squeezing it tightly. “Stop! You can’t panic, thas’ my job! Youw’re not s’posed to panic! Youw’re older!”
Michael shook off the similarities. Focus.
Z-98 turned to Painter’s screen with a tight nod. “Alright. You came to find me. What do you want me to do?”
“Easy,“ he began. “You can look where I can’t.”
o o o
Z-98 was beginning to panic. Again.
Every dark room Painter opened up for him, every underwater sector he swam through at top speed, every caved-in side room he searched, only to come up short? It made him pick up the pace, despite his racing heart and aching lungs.
Doubt after doubt plagued his mind: where was he? Was he even in the Blacksite anymore? Had he escaped, left them behind?
He didn’t believe any of those. But he wanted them to be true. He much preferred them over the alternative.
Because, if Sebastian was missing somewhere in the Blacksite for over an hour… What if he was hurt? What if he was unconscious?
What if it was worse?
Z-98 swayed as he stepped into another blacked-out room, desperately taking in every inch. No Sebastian.
But there were two other doors, and they were both already open. “Expendables, most likely,” he told himself, trying hard to avoid the heartache of another false alarm.
“But…”
Eager legs carried him down the path with a higher door number, not caring if he ran into a band of Expendables. Even exhausted, he knew this facility better than they did. He could hide from them at the very least, and (in all likelihood) even escape from them.
Soon, with the sound of voices bouncing against concrete walls, that was looking more and more likely. Already Michael’s bravery was beginning to fade, a hand subconsciously rising to cover his shoulder.
If there were voices, that meant Expendables had opened those doors. All he was doing by getting closer was feeding his future disappointment.
He slowed down and turned around. He should really just leave, and start to leave is exactly what he did.
“C’mon man, it’s hurt! It won’t be able to do anything.” Michael stopped in his tracks, gills twitching as he listened. “Those pouches on its tail could have stuff we need!”
“Pouches on its tail?” He whipped back around, bolting in their direction like he hadn’t been running for the past half-hour. His steps were loud and obvious to anyone who bothered to listen, but knowing just how often Expendables died to his oh-so-generous DNA donor, he wasn’t worried about that. Besides, if he was right, he didn’t care if they heard him or not.
The closer he got, the more alarmed he became. There was a trail of blood staining the concrete, and it led to the same place he was going. Z-98 skidded to a stop outside the room where the Expendables’ voices resided, looming in the doorway without a care as to who turned around.
There were four of them, three guys and a girl. They were standing around something in the corner that let out a low warning growl. It had three glowing eyes and an esca. It was Sebastian.
It was Sebastian.
“Fine, I’ll get closer. It won’t do anything,” an Expendable grumbled as he approached the hunched mutant. Sebastian growled.
And Michael moved.
The next thing he knew, Michael was right in front of Sebastian, delivering a sharp kick to the Expendable’s gut. The man fell back with a grunt and clatter as several items escaped his belt. The other Expendables cried in shock, two of them forcefully pulling the eager one further away.
“If you four know what’s good for you—“ Michael glared and opened his jaw threateningly “—you’ll leave!”
The Expendable he pushed looked like he wanted nothing more than to attack Michael back, but the other three had more sense. They dragged him back, hurrying on to the next room, and then the next. Michael stood firm in the closest doorway, glaring bitterly after them until he couldn’t see or hear them anymore.
“…Michael?” a weak voice murmured. Michael immediately turned back around and hurried over to Sebastian’s side, eyes wide with panic.
“Sebastian! Are you okay? What happened?” He didn’t wait for any answers before he was scanning the shopkeeper for injuries. The blood trail had to come from somewhere.
And it certainly had, if the huge red blot staining the side of his white shirt was anything to go by.
“…’m fine,” he slurred. Michael moved over to his tail (which was also coated in scratches and bruises), searching for a medkit. There wasn’t one to be found.
“Where’s your first aid?” Michael asked. Sebastian barely turned his face, eyes scrunched in confusion. How much of this was he even catching?
Okay. Operate under the assumption that there isn’t one. Okay. That’s fine. It’s fine. Maybe there was something in the room? He wasn’t sure what, but hopefully something.
He turned around, only to immediately spot the solution to his problem. Abandoned by the fleeing Expendables were two items, one of which was a code breaker. That one wasn’t relevant to the situation, but the other was. The other was an incredibly helpful medkit.
Choosing not to dwell on that group’s unfortunate loss, Michael quickly grabbed the box and approached Sebastian. He popped it open with a click that seemed to finally catch the injured shopkeeper’s attention.
“I’m gonna patch you up, okay?” He tried his best to sound certain and calm, but his voice wavered. “I’m… I’m gonna have to get your shirt off. It’s a button up, so I shouldn’t have to… y’know. Cut it off.”
Sebastian closed his eyes, muscles relaxing partially. Michael’s heart rocketed at first, assuming he’d… that…
But no. When Michael opened up his shirt, he could feel the beat of… several hearts in his chest. So no, not… that. He could focus on the wounded side instead.
It was coated in blood, though it didn’t look like there was much active bleeding anymore. Z-98 was more worried about the incisions themselves: specifically the brown goop sticking to some of them.
Pandemonium. Z-98 was really starting to hate that creature.
“It’s… it’s fine. I’ll clean your injury, and then we can… we… uhm.” He stopped talking.
What could they do? He wasn’t strong enough to bring Sebastian anywhere, and Sebastian himself was in nowhere near peak condition.
One step at a time, Z-98. One step at a time.
With quivering hands Z-98 used up every last anti-bacterial-wipe the box offered, trying to mimic what Sebastian had done for him several times now (those had been small scrapes, nothing like this, not after ‘the incident’). Clean the wounds, cover them up. Rinse and repeat.
The biggest problem was the central wound on his hip. Z-98 had to actually scrape dried… whatever Pandemonium was made of away from the freshly closed wound, earning a hiss of pain from Sebastian.
Truth be told? Michael wanted to be anywhere but there. Instead, he finished cleaning the injury with the last of his disinfectant wipes and coated Sebastian’s entire torso with bandages and gauze, which had some minor difficulty with.
Okay, he had to practically bury his upper half in the shopkeeper’s shirt to even reach his arm around the other’s back. Sometimes he hated how much smaller than Sebastian he was.
After that, Z-98 did his best to care for the damage on Sebastian’s tail, even without any disinfectant at hand. It was hard, and soon he was fresh out of bandages and gauze, too. At that point, he took another good look in the medkit for anything else of use. There was still a good bit in there.
A bottle of painkillers (Sebastian couldn’t use them, his fish DNA had messed up that function), a clean needle and thread, a pair of scissors that he had already used on the bandages, a first aid manual he had scanned for information, a thermometer, and tweezers. (There was also a vial with a DNA-looking thing inside, but Michael steered clear of that.)
He paused his search after noticing something dark and flat at the bottom of the box. He reached in and easily picked it up.
It was a piece of low-quality fabric with a string connected twice to each of the sides. It looked like a medical mask, but in black instead of teal and made with higher quality material.
His fingers mindlessly ran over the fabric. A mask…
Z-98 shook his head. It wouldn’t help him with any of Sebastian’s injuries, so he didn’t need it for this. Despite that, he carefully pocketed it for later use.
With that, there was… well, nothing. He had nothing else to use, nothing with which he could further care for Sebastian. There were surely more first aid kits in one of the mutant’s shops, but the real issue was getting there. Sebastian didn’t seem to fully register anything that Michael did, just that he was there (which was good for him, because clearly he wasn’t so friendly to the Expendables that had shown up).
Carefully Michael crawled over an uninjured part of Sebastian’s tail and sat down in the circle of coils, leaning against his torso. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How are you feeling right now? Stable?”
Sebastian hummed in response. “Mike?”
Michael angled his head to look up into his dimly glowing eyes. “If ‘m being honest… crummy.”
“Oh… well, I… I guess that makes sense,” he mumbled. There had been a hint of sarcasm in Sebastian’s tone, but… he likely wasn't lying. He was in no condition of comfort. And Michael’s anxiety was still pounding, despite his knowledge of Sebastian’s relative safety.
Wait.
“Oh, Painter! I… I have to tell him you’re okay!” Michael exclaimed, sitting up straight. Sebastian flinched at his volume and he immediately quieted down. “Sorry!”
“It’s fiiine…” he drawled, lowering his head to rest on his coiled tail. He winced at the movement, small tears pricking his eyes. Michael’s heart squeezed.
“I… I’ll have to tell him later.” Sebastian looked at him in confusion.
“Wh… Mike-“
“No. I can’t leave you like this, Sebastian,” Michael firmly stated. “You’re barely alive right now! If I go, and something happens to you, your blood’ll be on my hands! I can’t-“
His voice broke and he turned away, harshly rubbing away his tears. C’mon, stop it, this isn’t about you! Sebastian’s in pain and here you are, whining about it!
“Okay,” Sebastian tiredly agreed. “Don’t go, then.”
Michael, despite being vaguely shocked by his compliance, nodded in agreement. He scooted closer and curled up against his tail, this time. He didn’t want to hurt the man’s torso, which had the injured side pointing towards him.
“You’ll be better enough to move soon,” he whispered. “Then we can go tell Painter you’re okay, and everything can go back to normal.”
Michael wasn't sure who he was reassuring: Sebastian, or himself.
“…” Sebastian curled his tail a little tighter, reducing Michael’s space. He didn’t care though. If Sebastian was moving, that meant he was alive. Any sign of life was a welcome one. He’d choose being accidentally crushed over seeing any signs of death.
A small, still hand was clutched in his own. A high pitched ringing noise echoed around the room and pounded in his skull. It clogged his throat, cutting off his endless apologies and replacing them with pure, unfiltered horror.
Evan was gone. And it was all his fault.
A chill ran down Michael’s spine and he rested both hands on Sebastian’s tail. It twitched under his touch. Yet another sign of life.
Not dead. He hadn’t lost another… another…
Another what? Where had that thought been going?
“Stop…” Sebastian murmured. Michael shifted around, sitting up to look at him.
“Huh? Stop what?” he asked.
“Touching.” Michael’s eyes widened and he quickly pulled away from Sebastian’s tail. His hands immediately mourned the contact. He laid down in the center of the coils anyway, curling up in a tight ball to avoid making contact anywhere.
He’d been touching Sebastian over and over while patching him up. Michael… he hadn’t known. He hadn’t realized that Sebastian disliked physical contact. It made sense, he should have known, but… that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t.
Now all he could do was try his best to keep the much larger mutant company without touching him.