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God, life in the apocalypse is horrid.
He feels like he's been fucked over. Majorly. Being real with himself here. Who the hell else gets nine other clones of himself and devolves into being trapped in a fight for identity (other than the other clones themselves)? And he's not even the real damn one. It's exhausting.
...yet, despite the tire, he can't really bring himself to sleep. Knowing the others, he'd probably wake up with a knife in his chest or being boiled in turpentine.
At least he's got the bedroom to himself. A good decision, he considered it to be. Not only is it a lot more private than other parts of the apartment, but he can get a bit comfortable too. He's just a little alone in here. They kind-of called dibs on portions of the place early on- first come, first serve. He doesn't leave. He knows they're out there. Right in the hallway, even.
A groan, and he fell back onto the bed. He didn't care about staining the sheets. Why does it matter, anyways? Not like the original was gonna be in here anytime soon.
His wings shift and stretch out across the mattress. Elongated eyelids closed over clusters of eyes, painted feathers overlapping them. He made sure to turn off the light anyways. For whatever reason, those eyelids in particular were translucent. Because god forbid he wanted to minimize the amount of sensory input he got 24/7. It was annoying.
He stared up at the ceiling. Faces were furrowed. He didn't think he actually needed to rest, but... now that he laid down, he didn't want to get up ever again. He knew he had to, it was going to happen sooner or later, but he sure didn't want to.
Might as well take what chance he has to relax. He let himself sink into the bedding beneath him.
He won't actually sleep, of course. He wouldn't put it past some of the others to be quietly stalking him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Even if he hasn't really heard something like that from them- not a full-fledged plan, anyways- he still considered it to be possible. Even if he was tired, he needed to stay alert.
.
..
...
...when had the rest of his eyes started closing? He wasn't THAT tired, was he?
He forced his eyes to open. Hm. Well, it seems he can't exactly trust himself to stay awake, eh. Promptly, he sat back up and against the wall and bed frame. Can't even rest without being vulnerable. Too vulnerable. The others... have a chance of also being asleep, but he couldn't be too cautious.
Well- he could. That's why the blue one in that closet exists.
Besides the point.
He leaned over to the nearby desk where cigarettes and a lighter rested. He left them there before. Might as well. He scooped one cig and the lighter up using one wing (one thing actually useful his body had) and dropped them into his hand.
The lighter and an extra he accidentally picked up were dropped back to the desk after lighting his smoke. A bit messy in his process, but he really didn't care that much. Those wings idly curled around himself.
Breathe in...
...and breathe out...
...
...that's better.
He let himself loose focus without thinking. Sure, whatever, just a different way to relax.
His eyes slowly wandered around the dark shadows of the bedroom, more sluggishly now--
What the fuck is that.
Tiny white eyes stared back at him.
Oh. It's the black painting?? Why is it here? Isn't it supposed to be in the workshop? Was it WATCHING him???
"Don't--" A soft voice from across the room. "Don't look. Don't look at me." He blinked stupidly, but didn't close his eyes for too long. Uh. Fuck. Uhm.
"Don't look..."
"DON'T-!!" It abruptly goes to lunge at him. A yelp escapes from him, taking little time to react as he shielded most of his body with his wings, flinching and squeezing his eyes shut instinctually. He knew this was going to happen, damnit, he never should've let his guard down...!
...He was... expecting some pain by now? He didn't even feel it touching him.
He hesitantly peeked one eye out from over his wings. And jumped at the sight of it in-front of him, right at the foot of the bed. Ooookay.
"...Don't...-"
"O- okay, okay, I won't," His eye was covered once more, trying to placate it. "I won't look. See? Not lookin'. It's fine."
It got uncomfortably silent. He couldn't see and one of the others was right in-front of him. Right there. Literally. And he was just telling himself that he needed to stop being so vulnerable. And it just had to be the one that he could barely hear in his mind. That any of them could barely hear. He had no idea what it could be thinking.
"...Why, uh," Already yelling at himself for speaking up. This is going horribly. "Why are you... in here?" He wasn't even sure if it would answer. When he was only met with silence, he was going to speak again, but it finally replied before he could. "Didn't... feel safe... in there..." Did he mean in the workshop? Tch- of course he did, where else would he mean?
"...I saw it... again... the painting..."
...Oh. If the thing wasn't ingrained into his memory, he would've taken the precious time to ask what it was talking about. Right. That.
"And you decide to go to the room that... I am in?" His words came out with annoyance this time. A small noise came out from it- a whimper? "...Dark... and safe. Much safer."
It thought of this room as... safe? Even with him in it? Or did it think it could just hide in here and not get noticed?
Ugh. Maybe if he turned the lights on, it would go away...-
"Please don't, please," Aaaaannd he only just reminded himself of the lack of privacy within his thoughts. "Please. I can't... feel safe, anywhere else." The dark painting pleaded with him. It's not going to even let him if he tried, isn't it? He's stuck. Even if it felt safe, he sure fucking didn't...
"...Fine. Just... go sit in the corner, or something..."
Another small shift. Just to be safe, he waited about ten seconds before slowly uncovering and opening his eyes. It was gone from its place at the bed. He didn't want to look for where it was. Just assumed it was in a corner, like he told it to be.
This was... awkward. He wasn't that alone in here now. Does he just... go back to what he was doing or what?? Trying not to look too close at the dark, he leaned back up to the wall.
Well, if he was thinking of falling asleep, he sure as hell won't be able to now. Nor will he really rest at all. He didn't want to doze off with that thing just a couple meters away from him.
Even if he was dead tired.
He heard a hum from its mind. Barely. Had to double, triple-check that he actually heard that. "Don't get any ideas." He quickly spoke, muttering into the shadows. Another small hum came from somewhere in the room, this time out-loud. Easier to hear, if only by a slight amount.
"...You're... tired...?"
"I said don't get any ideas." On-edge, he snapped at it, making it get quiet again. Almost thought it would drop it. Almost.
"You're tired..." It repeated, like it was processing the idea. What's the big deal? "So?" He shot again. He was expecting some sort of cryptic message outlining his demise or something.
What he was not expecting, was a sudden... not hand, but appendage? on his side. He intensely recoiled, even if it was being gentle. When he looked where he felt it, there was nothing but a black stain on the blanket. Oh, sure. Not eerie at all. Yeah. "I can... help...?"
...wait, what?
No, that was a lie. Simple manipulation. He would know.
Right...?
"I'll... keep this place... safe," He didn't want to believe its words. Was very aware it could pack a punch if it wanted to. "While you're gone..." That's a specific way of describing sleep. Almost too specific. "Just... try it... please...?"
He wasn't desperate for rest. Could go without it for one night.
"One night of many..." Well... damn, that's a good point. Did it really know that? "I do... you're... terrible at sleeping."
"Can you stop reading my thoughts?" Easier said that done, but it felt like it was doing that on-purpose. Huffing, his wings shuffled and curled further around himself. That shut it up. Let him think about its offer a little. A night full of sleep? Uninterrupted? What would it do next, just stay in the corner? Didn't think it would leave in one night so easily.
He only remembered going to bed for the night in the... past. That hazy life he used to have. Now that he thought about it hard enough, that probably wasn't very good for him. Considering the heavy feeling he felt.
...
He's not going to agree to this, is he? Jesus. He knew what could happen, but...
"...Is that... a yes?" Ugh.
"F-fine, fine. Just... take it slow." Maybe he could snap himself out of it if he noticed anything off. He wasn't sure how strong its abilities were, but he assumed it wasn't too powerful...
As he was laying down, he felt another one of those limbs brush against his arm. It felt like it was testing the waters.
When he set a few heads onto the pillows, he felt a second. Then a third. More and more. They were slow and light, almost... calming...?
...Scratch the word 'almost'.
Eyes blinked and squinted when the pitch black paint got a little too close, signaling to back off- they may be paint, but it still hurts for something to get in their eyes. His vision was blurring suddenly. Everywhere. Every eye, a ripple until even his own feathers took him too long to identify. It gave him a sense of clamor for just half a second. A bleary, comfortable fog rolling across his consciousness smothered it.
At the back of his mind, he felt the weight of the bed dip. He felt the other painting next to him. Each touch, each caress, just made him drowsier.
He heard indistinct whispers and murmurs in his ears. Despite his hazy mind being unable to decipher them, they felt inviting. Ah, and he thought he was the one with the charm...
He adjusted himself. Did the other hesitate, for some reason...? He was too half-asleep to really process it.
He felt a lot warmer than before now.
Not sure when he was supposed to fall asleep. But he assumed that he did quickly.
Slipping into restfulness in the shadow painting's arms.
...Ehh...?
It felt like he was still asleep. Maybe he was. His body was limp and his eyes refused to open. A lot of things were refusing to work, actually. Like his brain, for example. Still all hazy and... relaxed.
Was there something next to him? On him, even? At that thought, he managed to finally pry one face's eyes open, though his eyelids were still quite heavy. Some sort of dark mass clung to him and...
...Huh.
Why did he have his arms around him...? Wings, too? What... the hell happened? And why did it feel so damn comfy?
Okay, hold on. Retrace his steps. The last thing he remembered was... falling asleep with the shadow painting's help.
Right. The touching. The fuzziness. The whispers. Right.
It worked well, though. Now actually waking up, more and more eyes opening, he feels well-rested. With mindless strokes on the shadowy painting's back, this actually felt... pretty nice.
He only stopped once he felt the other move under his hand. The dark painting groggily looked up. Locked eyes with one of his faces'.
...And yelped. Yanked the covers right over himself, registering that he was being seen. The painting clung to his body anyways, still ever-so-careful with him. "Uh... hey, bud..." Speak slowly. Softly. Don't freak him out too bad.
"Are you--?" The dark painting suddenly escaped from their bed, pulling away he did NOT miss the contact, no, no he did NOT and darting towards the door. A quick click and slam, and just like that, he's gone.
Well. He rises from the bed and sighs.
Maybe he could risk some time out there to wade through the pitch dark of the workshop. He assumes that's where he's going, anyways. He doesn't think he would go anywhere else. Man, what a switch-up, huh?