Chapter Text
The first thing that Grace is aware of, even before he opens his eyes, is that something is wrong.
His thoughts are somehow moving at a snail's pace and yet also slipping away before he can grasp them. He feels heavy and miserable. There’s a lingering sensation of panic from something, adrenaline pounding through him despite having just woken up. So he opens his eyes. Still the feeling persists and then even increases. He is in a room he doesn’t recognize, in a bed that is not his, surrounded by furniture that he’s never seen before.
Everything burns. His throat, his eyes, his skin. Just moving his hand on the sheets feels torturous. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Rushing and loud.
The room is dim, and brings forth the intentionally buried memories of a cell that was designed not to look like one. Of being told he cannot leave, under any circumstances. Kept under watchful eyes and lock and key. Is he back there? Is he imprisoned again? Surely not. It can’t be.
Get up. He tells himself. Get out. If you can leave, everything will be alright. You will be ok.
Just sitting up is a struggle, humiliating and horrifying all at once, and Grace's eyes burn at the devastatingly familiar feeling.
Still, he persists. He digs himself out from under the covers and drags himself to the edge of the bed. He finds his glasses on a side table, folded neatly. He doesn’t do that. He has never done that.
Stand. Walk. Get yourself to the door.
So, step by step, he gets himself closer to the door of this unfamiliar room. He feels unbalanced. Every shallow breath he wheezes out makes the room feel smaller. Each limb weighs more than it should. He stumbles once, but finally makes it and yanks the door open. Unceremonious, but he tries to be efficient when his life is at risk. Sue him.
Again, he is greeted by unfamiliar surroundings. Completely darn unhelpful. A couple more steps forward and then suddenly, someone is in his space. He jerks back and his heart manages to beat even faster. The feeling reminds him of a hummingbird in a garage, frantically flying back and forth as it tries to escape. There’s a man in front of him, shorter, missing an arm, and still intimidating despite it. His mouth is moving.
Grace squints at the stranger and sound slowly starts to filter in. He hadn’t realized it was missing.
“-dn’t be up, is something wrong? Can I help?” they say, and an emotion that looks like concern flows over their face in furrowed eyebrows and downturned lips.
He’s pretty handsome. Cute eyes. Extra teeth on the side of his face…?
Focus ryland.
“Ryland..?”
“...Who.. Who are you..?” Grace rasps. “And where am I?”
The man's face changes at this, frown deepening, and Grace feels that he has made his first mistake.
He follows the stranger's gaze as it shifts to the side and he tries to inch himself closer to what looks like an exit at the same time. He’s not very good at multitasking right now.
Except what the man is looking at and speaking to stops him in his, albeit shaky, steps.
A large bluish-greenish rock (???) stands a few feet away, shifting in place, and it sounds like it’s humming? Singing without words? That is what humming is right?? Is that how it communicates???
“What is that??” he yelps, fear winning over the initial spark of fascination. The alien (????) is huge, taller than him, and far wider. It’s practically a giant stone bear. With no face. And five arms. And green. Or blue. Both? Whatever.
The rock-alien-thing sinks to the ground a bit and the man locks back onto Grace like a predator locks onto prey. Sharp eyes, dark and piercing.
Grace can feel his second mistake, heavy and foreboding.
“Ok.” the stranger says gruffly, “Let’s get you back in bed. C'mon."
As he reaches forward, Grace feels the fear of seeing an alien get completely washed away as the pushed aside and partially forgotten feeling of being trapped consumes him again in a sheer cold of terror.
Don’t let yourself be trapped. You want to live.
Grace dodges the grab by flinging himself back into a wall.
You want a choice.
“No! You can’t make me!” He shouts. “I’m not doing this again!”
Not again!
Three strikes, you’re out.
Run.
He makes a break for the door, tears already building in his eyes and animalistic instinct coursing through him.
Drugs and grasping hands be damned, Grace will get out of this repetitive hell.
The creature makes a sound akin to a child blowing into a recorder as hard as they can and the stranger? Guard? Shouts something loud and desperate sounding as he lunges forward.
They make contact and the two men go thudding to the floor, Grace on his stomach, and the hunter on top of him.
- No. NO
NOT AGAIN.
Grace does what he can, the only thing he feels he has ever been able to do, and screams. Shrill. Loud.
It’s animalistic. A desperate cry for rescue, full of fear and tears and pain.
He thrashes back and forth, whipping his head around as he tries to bite his jailer, claws at the floor, and sobs.
He wants to escape.
But the executioner keeps a tight grip. He’s saying something, yelling, and Grace can see the giant rock scramble through the door.
Why not me? Why can’t I leave? Why am I the one that has to die?
He won't let them send him to die, not again. He wants to go out on his terms, not because someone else says he must. He’s a coward. He’s selfish. But he’s accepted this.
So he stills.
Raises his head and takes one last look at the outside world. The sun and waves and trees.
Tears run down his cheeks and glasses lay fallen from when he was tackled.
And he bashes his head into the floor.