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Agent Stone has never died before. Well, that's not entirely truthful. There was one mission with Rockwell, in a former Soviet territory that no longer exists. But his heart had stopped for less than a minute so he doesn't really feel like it counts. And he had been unconscious so he didn't even feel it happening.
Point is, he's never died. Sure he's come close, that's the nature of the job he does. He spends a lot of time in proximity to death, be it his own or others. Doles it out like an executioner. Spills blood and lets it stain his hands and soul long after the red has faded. Death preoccupies more of his day than the average person, the idea of mortality, his own and in general sits at the edge of his mind.
It is a constant assurance, this morbid companion and he sits with it, knowing his own will come probably sooner rather than later given his line of work.
Still, he hadn't expected it quite like this.
Hypothermia is a real son of a bitch.
He's got a bullet wound on his side that he did a quick repair for earlier. Just muscle tissue damage, nothing important and certainly nothing that would kill him. The bruised ribs are annoying, more than the bullet wound, making his breath come short and his vision go blurry. Apt to give himself pneumonia with the short, shallow breaths he's taking.
But all the physical wounds would be manageable if it weren't for the damn weather.
He's been around the block with missions in bad areas, with extractions and runs and getting himself into places no person should reasonably be. There's a number of things he tries to remember when it comes to surviving on your own with minimal resources.
A human being can survive around 3 minutes without oxygen, 3 days without water and 3 weeks without food. Those numbers can be fudged a bit but it works as a good rule of thumb. None of those are a major concern right now.
The biggest obstacle to survival will always be the environment. The world around you will kill you before dehydration or starvation ever gets the chance. Prioritize a safe, dry and warm place first. Everything else comes after.
Good rules to live by, not so easy to put into practice.
Especially not while injured and stranded on the side of some snow-coated peak in some god-forsaken country he can't remember the name of.
Stone's no stranger to cold weather. He spent a good portion of his life in Canada, which while not the entirely snow covered landscape it is frequently depicted as, still gets pretty damn cold. Especially in the winter months.
He remembers frostbite warnings, and not taking off your gloves for fear of getting it in the short jaunt to the bus. The bite of the wind and the sun setting so early and rising so late. Its all familiar.
That doesn't make this experience any more pleasurable however.
He's still shivering, which is a good sign. Its when he stops that it becomes a real concern. Most of his clothing is damp, from the snow and running over a partially frozen stream to try and cover his tracks. He has managed to lose the pursuers, and has the data file neatly tucked inside his jacket. Just about the only good thing right now.
He's cold and he still feels cold which is important, hasn't hit the stage of warmth and undressing which marks the real turn for the worse. Still, he doesn't think GUN will be finding him any time soon. Given past retrievals and extractions, plus the botched nature of this whole adventure. Its more likely they'll find his frozen corpse somewhere, tracker still pinging to the servers wherever his body has fallen.
Stone keeps himself moving, does his best to cover his tracks and get a scope of the area. Movement is important, keeps the blood flowing, keeps him from stagnating. Helps him resist the urge to just curl up for a minute and sleep.
He can't do that right now, its too dangerous. Has every likelihood he'll drift off, get too cold and never wake up.
Stone coughs, rough and pained into his elbow. Takes in a deep shuddering breath that pulls at his slip-shod stitches and makes his ribs scream. Reaches over to pull down the jacket sleeve and cover any exposed skin.
His hand brushes the band of the watch the doctor gave him. Slim, black and utterly unremarkable to a standard person. He still doesn't know why the man had handed it to him. Secured the band tight around his wrist before he was sent off on this nightmare.
He's been working for him a little over a year. Far past the expectancy of any agent under the doctor. Still doesn't know what makes him so special to keep around but he won't complain. Its an exhilarating experience, the doctors work is incredible and Stone is more than happy to facilitate it where he can.
This is the first long-term mission he's been sent on since arriving in the lab and what a disaster it has turned out to be. Stone certainly didn't miss this part of field work and GUN's in-competencies.
There is an outcropping against the slope, where formations of rocks and the wide trunks of old trees provide some buffet against the wind. Stone makes his way over there while his mind wanders.
The doctor will probably need a new agent when all this is said and done. Someone else to breach the sanctity of the lab. Break apart the careful little routine he had managed to cultivate with the eccentric inventor. He won't be happy about that new development, and Stone isn't either.
But there isn't much he can do about it at this point.
His limbs feel lead heavy right now, and the shivering is coming in fits and starts. He sits down against the wall of the outcropping, mostly concealed from the wind. Tries to focus on keeping his breaths deep and regular even if it hurts.
If he's not moving around he needs to keep himself awake. Try and resist falling into the oblivion of unconsciousness as a respite from the cold and the pain.
Looping back to think about the doctor. The man probably hasn't even realized he's been gone longer than expected. Stone bets he's relishing in the silence and the isolation he prefers. It's not that the doctor hates Stone. They've shed the animosity of the early weeks for comfortable silence and an easy workflow. The agent is just also well aware that the other man far prefers working alone. He'll get his wish at least for a little, until GUN decides to saddle him with a new agent once this fiasco is over.
Stone wiggles his fingers in the confines of his glove. Tries to work feeling back into the cold flesh. The allure of sleep is strong but he needs to try and resist. Starts counting backwards from 100 in as many languages as he knows.
He's mostly resigned to dying here. Feels a little foolish wasting his energy trying to stay awake as the warmth saps from him. It's not so bad a way to go all things considered. Stone always expected his death to be more bloody or violent. He's less cold, knows that's a bad sign but can't bring himself to be too bothered.
It's peaceful, more than he ever expected from the end of his life. Leans his head back against the rough rock he's sitting against and lets himself be.
The momentary stillness and peace is broken by a loud metallic trill. He winces, blinks his eyes open (when he had closed them?). Against the foggy gray of the overcast sky and the dark backdrop of the trees dotting the place is a bright white oval.
It would blend in against the clouds and snow if it weren't for the brilliantly red lens sitting in the center front.
What on earth.
That's one of the doctors badniks. Drones which he knew were not a part of the failed mission. Drones which should be safely back in the lab with Robotnik himself. So how the fuck did one end up out here?
The drone makes another noise, a beeping at regular intervals. Stone focuses on the sound as he struggles to get to his feet. His limbs are uncooperative, cold and heavy. Lacks the dexterity he normally carries himself with. Still he manages to get himself upright and moves toward the badnik.
He sways slightly in place, the wind pushing hard against his frame. It is definitely one of the doctors drones. Hallucinations are not a symptom of hypothermia from what he remembers and he hasn't lost that much blood. The only reasonable explanation for it being here is the utterly absurd assumption that Robotnik himself is out here in this hell-hole.
"AGENT STONE!" The words are sharp, cutting through the howling wind and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. He might need to revisit the hallucination theory.
The doctor has appeared, bundled up in all black. Snow clings to his mustache and his exposed cheeks and the tips of his nose are red from the wind and chill. It's endearing, he thinks. The man is grabbing at his arm, shaking him. He's talking, Stone can see his mouth moving but the words are coming through muffled.
"Sir?" Stone manages to get out, then doubles over as a cough racks his frame, burying his face in the curve of his elbow. The hand on his arm doesn't move, he can vaguely feel the sensation of it tightening on him, keeping him upright.
The next breath he takes in is ragged and tinged with iron in the back of his mouth. He might be a little worse off than he thought. Still, that takes a backseat to the sheer and utter insanity that is the doctor being here, in the snow with him.
"You really shouldn't be here sir," Stone blinks, tries to get his eyes to focus. Manages to catch the look of utter defeat and the eye-roll that has him seeing the whites of Robotniks eyes.
"Neither should you Agent," Then the doctor is tugging on his arm, leaving him with no choice but to stumble after him through the snow. The badnik follows suit, trailing just behind Stone and nudging him occasionally. It is slow going, his body is cold, uncooperative. He just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. Manages mostly well.
The doctor never takes his hand off of Stone. Is mumbling to himself and into his little wrist device, none of it seems directed at the agent. Which is good, he's not sure he has the faculties to respond right now. The part of him not focused on tipping face first into the snow is still trying to wrap around the puzzle of the doctor being here, with him.
Makes no sense. He knows his schedule, knows for a fact that it is at least three weeks until his next out of state demonstration and that brings the doctor nowhere close to where they are right now in matters of geography,space or time.
But the doctor is here, with a hand on his arm and tugging him through this god-forsaken landscape. He wonders if this is a dying dream. The last desperate firing of his neurons trying to keep him calm as he slips toward oblivion. Not what he would have expected to see as he was dying but certainly not the worst outcome either.
"Finally," The doctor grouses, to the side of Stone. Presses a button on his gloves and the agent watches as something shakes itself free from the snow. Its a mechanical crab?? Has all the markings of something made by the doctor, similar in style to the badniks. Stone doesn't have much time to take it in because he is being unceremoniously dragged forward.
Pulled up onto the ramp and into the interior of this strange creation. The inside walls are lined with screens, flashing reds and blues and text he can't even begin to try and interpret with the state he's in. Its a blur of metal and colours. Stands shakily in the center of the room as the doctor lets go of him for the first time since he appeared.
The air inside is warm, almost too warm for how cold he is. Throwing his body to either end of the extreme, shivers starting up in full force. He's trying to track the form of the doctor, the man having shed most of his outerwear by now. Mostly a black blur in the interior.
His clothes are damp, almost frozen against him. Body stiff. When he turns to cough into his elbow again he can feel the sharp ricochet of pain through his side and idly wonders if he tore a stitch doing that. He'd hate to have to redo those on top of everything else.
"Stone?" The voice is soft, tone has the concerned edge he's only ever heard from the doctor when something is wrong with his babies. Robotnik has both hands on his shoulders when Stone looks up. Swallows against the taste of iron in his mouth and tries to get his brain to co-operate enough to ask a question.
Instead, he is utterly blindsided by the feeling of the man starting to tug at the zipper of his coat. He lets the doctor do so, manages to strip his own gloves off with trembling fingers. His fingers are numb, tingly, knows that's a bad sign. The warmth of the atmosphere inside feels almost too much.
"Doctor, what are you-"
"Unless you are interested in continuing to freeze to death, I recommended getting yourself out of these clothes agent."
"-doing here."
That clearly hadn't been what he was expecting. The doctor stopped, hands stilling where they were fretting over the collar of Stone's long-sleeved shirt. He's still wearing his holster, so Stone reaches up to try and unclip it with trembling hands. His fine motor control is pretty shot from the cold and the pricks of pain as his body is warming up, leaving him struggling to undo the clasps.
Then, the doctors hands settle over his own. Long, fine boned fingers. Warm against his icy skin. Its what really clues him in to how screwed he was up there, the doctor has notoriously poor circulation. In the rare times he's brushed against the other mans bare skin he's felt ice cold, for him to be warm now does not bode well.
"I am here because clearly GUN cannot be trusted to take care of whats mine," The doctor finally says. Pulling Stone's hands away and removing the holster himself.
Stone blinks. That possessive statement, the mine. It should freak him out, the thought of being owned like that. The way the man says it like he talks about the badniks. Instead, he is filled with a kind of warmth, it feels good, nice, like he is wanted. This is not the time to be thinking about that.
Instead, he focuses on trying to get himself out of the shirt, with a bit of help from the doctor. Can almost pinpoint the moment as he tosses the offending fabric to the ground when the other man notices the injuries along his torso. Flinches slightly against the feeling of fingers brushing along his torso. Registers distantly the renewed trickle of blood, great, he had managed to tear it anew. Just what he needed.
He can feel another cough bubbling up, manages to turn his torso and bury his face in his elbow as it wracks his frame. The doctor is still hovering, like he's unsure. A novel thing, Stone doesn't think he's ever seen the man less than entirely assured of himself and what he's doing.
He's cold and he feels terrible and mostly he would like to lay down and sleep even if he knows its a terrible idea given his state right now. Instead, as he's taking in deep breaths to try and combat the lightheadedness the doctor is tugging at his arm. Guiding him toward the front of the interior, to sit on a powered down console.
Stone closes his eyes, just for a minute. Only to be startled awake by a hand shaking his shoulder. The doctor is looking at him, brow furrowed, almost looks concerned or worried. He must be really out of it, Robotnik has made his feelings on Stone clear and never once have they been concerned.
Then there is movement and his leg is being jostled. He looks down to see the doctor working at the laces of his boots. It feels detached, like he is watching it happen outside of his body, a passive observer to what is happening around him.
"Sir?"
"I will not have you catching your death here."
He's removed his shoes and socks. If Stone were in a better state of mind he'd probably be incredibly embarrassed at the thought of his boss undressing him like this. As it stands, he's a little too out of it and focused on the painful feeling of warmth flooding into his body at the moment. He manages to pull himself together enough to fumble his belt and discard the leather.
Being in the army had divested himself of most sense of shame surrounding the human body long before now. That does not make it easier however to remove his frozen pants and leave himself in his boxers in front of Doctor Robotnik. Not the least because the other man seems to have finally noticed just how undressed he is, blush rising to his cheeks that isn't from the weather this time.
Its cute, Stone thinks. Thankful he's kept enough of his mind around to not vocalize that.
"Hold on." Then Stone is being bundled up. Heavy, thick, black fabric. Wrapped tightly around his shaking frame. Its as the doctor is walking away that he realizes its the mans coat wrapped around him. Burrows his face into the collar and lets himself sit in the warmth for a minute.
He's still not entirely convinced this isn't some dying dream. A strange one to be sure, but everything has been so entirely to the left of what he expects from the doctor that it isn't out of the question.
"Here," Stone blinks in surprise. The doctor has returned, carrying a bundle of fabric and a first aid kit on top. Stone lets go of the coat, goes to move to take the items before he tips slightly.
The doctor sets everything down on the console next to him, steadies Stone with a hand on his shoulder.
"Easy," The man mumbles, so soft Stone almost misses it. He's helped into a pair of sweatpants, a bit too long on him but soft and warm. There's also a sweater but the doctor forgoes it for now, instead reaching for the first aid kit.
His hands are still warm against his cold skin, wiping away the blood on his torso and checking over the bullet wound. Robotnik doesn't bother to re-stitch it, only puts a clean bandage over it. Stone's trying to sort himself together while the doctor works, manages to piece up a question that's been bothering him.
"How'd you find me?" His voice is rough and the question is cut off partway by a cough. The silence stretches long enough that he's not expecting an answer. Until a hand taps at his watch.
"Tracking," Robotnik says simply. And then looks at Stone. Like he's expecting something, expression guarded. Stone only hums, it makes sense he supposes. Fits in line with that devastating possessive mine from earlier. Settles deep inside, he likes the feeling of the claim. Will need to interrogate that further when he's in his right mind.
Instead, he lets the doctor help him into a sweater. Thick and warm, sleeves too big and almost covering his hands. Feels a bit like he's in the hand-me-downs of his youth. Stone is still shaking, still not all there. The allure of sleep is strong, especially in the warmth now. Feels his head start to tip forward slightly as his eyes close.
"Ah!" The voice is sharp and he blinks his eyes open, meeting the doctors gaze. The other man snaps his fingers in front of Stone. Robotnik rolls his eyes, then reaches forward and drags Stone down. Directly into the console chair and pillowed in Robotniks lap.
He makes some kind of sound, partway between a gasp and a squeak.
"Sir?"
"Sharing body heat," The doctor says simply. Reaching towards the console and grabbing a blanket from the pile of fabric to drape over Stone. "Besides, I can make sure your heart won't stop from the cold like this."
Stone makes a hum of some kind, "Likelihood of that happening twice is pretty low."
There's a sputtering sound from the doctor, a noise of disbelief. "We're talking about this later."
"Mhm," Stone closes his eyes, lets his head drop to Robotniks shoulder and tries not to think about what this will mean for their future. "Thank you sir," He manages to get out around a yawn. Is slipping into sleep as the man snorts in disbelief.