Chapter Text
A really annoying, slow and steady beeping came through the noise in his head. He tried to move, see if changing position would drown it all out, but a sharp pain coursed through him. Instinctively, he tried to bring his hands to his head, only to notice they weren't responding. Panic and frustration flooded his mind, in too much pain to form a coherent thought about why he'd be unable to move. Until he saw something. Two small, flickering yellow lights which he could somehow tell were inside his mind. But he wasn't actively trying to imagine or remember them, they were just there, distant, weak, almost glitching, and so terrifying that he felt petrified within his own mind.
He shouldn't be here. It shouldn't be here.
Something must have gone wrong.
Wait. A doubt formed. Why did he feel like he remembered the eyes? Why did he know that they were eyes in the first place? How long had it been since… Why was he…
You are awake, a thought that wasn't his own said. Good. This time, I was hoping you would be. It means you failed, Derek Hutchins. And it means you can help me once again.
The noise in his head grew louder and louder, and the beeping sounded so much faster and real and there was light behind his eyelids and he remembered his own name.
"Oh my god," an outside voice said from a distance. Someone else! A chair scraped the floor. Derek heard steps grow closer and a door swing open. "Oh my god," they repeated, then stepped back and the door swung shut behind them. Outside, the voice yelled. "Doctor Owens! Hutchins is waking up!"
And this time, the thought that wasn't his began again, even louder than before, unbearable. I know you better. Both of you. You will see how no matter what you try, you will bring my chosen vessel to me. This time, nothing can change his fate, nor yours. There never has been such thing as cheating it.
It was April 8th. A Wednesday, just like New Year's Eve. Exactly fourteen weeks since it had all happened. Around a month before, Avery had started going to a grief counsellor, Ms. Collins, though he knew it probably couldn't do him much good if he couldn't tell her the full story. And unless he wanted to get institutionalized, he probably shouldn't.
He instead only told her that he had lost an online friend. Currently, he was complaining about it.
"I never even got to know him. Like, why is this so difficult? I never met him," he said to her for probably the hundredth time.
"Human connection is a lot more than just the physical," she replied. "You did know him, even though you never saw him in person. Emotionally, it seems to me that Derek was as much a part of your life as any of your in-person friends. And…" she paused, looked at him, reading him. "Yeah, that video you told me about last week, and the letter, they make this all even more personal —it's not an easy thing to go through regardless. Don't judge yourself for still grieving. Give yourself time."
"Uh-huh. Sorry, but I'll ask. I don't care if you can't answer. How many people have come to ask for your help with grieving someone they met in a videogame and never in person? Like, that can't be normal."
"I can't really disclose the details, but you'd be surprised at the kind of cases I deal with. Trust me, it's okay. Let yourself feel what you're feeling. It's perfectly normal."
Avery was starting to get impatient and angry. Nothing about his situation was normal. He felt no closer to a breakthrough in his grief as he had before therapy, this all sounded condescending and superficial and this therapist clearly wasn't grasping the absurdity of his situation. "See, you don't get it. I don't even know what he looks like. Looked like. Whatever. I didn't even know his full name before the video. I don't know. I guess he could even be like, a murderer, or something."
"Probably not."
"Sure, but you know what I mean. I'm getting distracted from my job and my studies and I can't even play my favorite videogame anymore because I'm stuck grieving some guy I never even met, but I still feel like I lo—" Avery took a deep breath, backtracking from whatever he was about to say. "I feel like I owe him my life."
There was a heavy pause.
"Why's that?"
Avery sighed and shut his eyes, and tried not to think too much about the King. He was scared of even thinking about any of what had happened. He noticed he'd been scratching at his nails and fingertips again, and stopped to fiddle with the cords from his hoodie instead. How to put this?
"Uh," he paused again, turned away from Ms. Collins. Her office had a window overlooking the street. "He helped me remember…that I mattered. When I was going through a really rough time. He… helped me move forward."
"That sounds significant," she said carefully. "It makes your grief very much real and understandable. You're not weird for feeling this way. Derek was clearly someone… very meaningful to you."
Avery just frowned and still didn't turn to look at her.
"Tell me about him," she said. "If you want."
"I wouldn't know what else to say about him that I haven't told you already…"
So Avery cried.