Chapter Text
As Derek very slowly woke up, he felt like he had just been stabbed countless times. At least he felt something, right? Maybe his consciousness was back.
When he finally heard his own heavy breath, his eyes opened in shock. This wasn’t supposed to happen, was it? How was he breathing? How was he feeling pain and being blinded by light? How was he slowly coming back to his senses, if dead people do not feel?
Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?
His face was paralyzed. Felt as if his body suddenly remembered that it was made of flesh, trying to cope with the environment. His eyes were burning while trying to understand where he was, adjusting to the blinding white lights in the ceiling. His hand and fingers trying to move coordinately, as if doing something forgotten long ago. The back of his neck feeling pure numbness, his legs and feet begging for his brain to command itself to get up. His nose smelled the unmistakable scent of hospital cleaning products, used in an attempt to hide the odor of sickness. His mouth dry and open, begging for water, his ears buzzing as if it hadn’t heard any noise in forever. The skin of his face was processing the tears his eyes dropped running down his cheeks. Derek's whole body begging for command, for action, for his brain to acknowledge its own entirely existence again.
But his mind was somewhere else.
Get up. We have things to solve.
…
— Mom?
No answer.
Reunited all the forces he didn’t know he had.
— Please. Mom?
Again, no answer.
Hospital. Derek was in a hospital, obviously. Lying in a very uncomfortable bed, with catheters connected to his exposed arms. His black skin looked dried and grey, his body screaming that it was very sick, and the repetitive noise coming from the fan over his head was making his senses overload abnormally for such a small inconvenience. But his mind wasn’t really paying attention. In fact, it was not forming a single thought.
Wake up.
Something inside his head told him. But nothing happened.
Oh, please. Just wake up, shall you?
Again, no answer.
Derek, wake up. They are coming!
Avery's voice.
Just as he pictured in front of that screen, facing the incomprehensible and forbidden to the human mind. Lovely.
Someone knocked on the door.
White door.
Someone opened it.
White door on the white walls with a white ceiling.
And someone got in.
Someone in a white shirt, but black suit. And black hair. And a beard.
And whatsoever.
Put yourself together, someone thought.
He was trying. He could tell, but it was not enough.
A man in a suit approached the bed in slow, but confident steps. Had a warm, but kinda fake smile. And green, small eyes.
— Hello, young man.
…
?
?
?
??????
Answer him.
What’s your problem anyway?
The effort his eyes made to visualize the picture was useless if his brain couldn't process it.
— Derek? Can you hear me?
Answer him. Or I will do it myself.
— Yes — His voice was so hoarse, and that single word hurt so much to be pronounced that for a brief moment it seemed as if someone had ripped his throat apart.
— Oh, good. Are you in pain? Do I need to call a nurse?
Yes. Yes, I am in pain,
Deny.
— No.
— Perfect. Do you remember me?
Do you?
Should I?
Of course you don’t.
Derek slowly moved his head, denying. Felt like his neck would break at any moment.
— … Ok. Does this mean anything to you?
The man took a wallet out of his suit jacket, and from inside it, a small card. Held it right in front of Derek's eyes, which trembled to read: Department of Metaphysical Sciences, U.S.A. Government. A weird symbol, a blue logo with a squid. Most of the information was covered by the stranger's fingers.
Pain.
It meant pain.
Deny it again.
— … No.
— … Good to hear that.
?
— Can you understand everything I say?
Not at all.
But I do.
— Yes.
— Perfect. Derek, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this in such a delicate moment, but you were a victim of a terrible thing — The man felt weird looking at the sick-looking young boy, noticing a slight yellow tone in his eyes — But... please know it was none of your fault. A domestic accident after you passed out, cause you couldn't deal with... how can I say — He stopped for a brief moment, thinking cautiously about his next words — with weird things happening in your computer, which affected your psychology dramatically. The police were involved, and you got into a coma for months. Doctors thought you were completely brain-dead. Some neurological tests were done to understand your trauma and the reasoning behind your health and mental state, and the information was not quite what most of the professionals would have expected. Your brain and cognitive functioning were very hard to read. Peculiar, even.
What?
— It’s already been five months of coma. But a few days ago, you started showing signs of finally waking up. And here you are. Your mind definitely ain’t for the weak, my respects.
Tss.
— What… — Derek said just loud enough to whisper.
— I’m sorry?
— What happened?
— …
Derek was never good at reading other people's emotions, but behind those eyes wasn't either a natural, caring and paternal way of speaking, as much as he was probably trying, nor lamentation he seemed to demonstrate.
— I fear that’s all the information I can give, I’m kind of in a hurry for work.
For God's sake, answer me.
But which God are we talking about?
— … But I was one of the responsible people for your case — He sighed — A very interesting one, may I tell you. And though you clearly still need to rest, the team and I who took care of you in the past few months can almost guarantee that whatever happened to you in psychological terms… is now gone.
You can not just leave me here, a supposed victim of something, with no information about what happened to me.
Derek repeated what he was told, but in a very slow, raspy and painful voice, like a sick and vulnerable child begging for medicine. At least that was how he was feeling.
— … Sorry, buddy. But someone will tell you eventually. Does it seem alright?
No. It didn’t.
The man sighed again. Looked at Derek with curiosity, if not something else. Turned his back and before opening the door, said:
— If you feel anything wrong, we will know and we will reach you again.
— What? Who?
Silence.
— The Department.
Of what?
— You’ll be in good hands. Goodbye, Hutchins.
He left and closed the door.
Silence.
For such a long time, silence. And pain, of course. But it didn’t really ever leave.
[...]
Tried to think about the last five months of his life, which were actually missing from his memory. What was the last thing he had done before waking up in such a pathetic way? Minecraft's tab was open, as well as Google Drive. Avery was with him. All the windows of his very small apartment were closed; one of the only sources of light inside was his computer. He had a mini fridge at the side of his desktop, didn't he? And Avery wouldn't stop calling him by his username in the chat, so he told him his real name.
And what about that?
He never intended to tell Avery his name. He never wanted to be directly associated with whatever was happening and his recorded and written evidence of it, though it was pretty much impossible.
He regretted that later. Remembered wanting to be known by Avery, mostly. And to have his name and memory remembered by him. Cause Derek had no one to remember him the way he wanted to, even after his early death. Or something like that.
"I was never really good with endings".
You don't seem dead to me.
But that’s how it felt at that very moment.
Wondered how Avery was doing. How he spent those five months. Asked himself if he was safe.
Why was he thinking so much about Avery? His mother was probably worried. Was she aware he was in a hospital? Or did he just randomly go missing? Did she even visit his apartment in those months? What sort of "tests" have those unknown people done to him?
Derek had so, so many questions. Yet, no answer. Not one that his brain could think of at that moment, still lying down and malfunctioning, at least.
Something was off in a very specific, indescribable way. But what?
His head, in a failed attempt to cover an unbearable truth, increased the pain. Derek closed his eyes, knowing it wouldn’t help, giving up trying to remember those months in a coma and trying to recreate the worst day of his life instead, though he didn’t remember much.
“You’re not a very hard guy to catch, you know? Avery.”
The fact that almost everything he could remember was Minecraft blocks on a low-luminosity computer screen almost made him smile alone, thinking of his own silliness. How silly, with such foolishness. Ignorance. Stupidy. Thinking that being an intelligent guy above average could destroy a God. A God that, simply by existing, could destroy everything.
Felt something very similar to a few months ago, slowly passing out. He could feel his brain trembling, smashing itself against his skull, admitting that it couldn’t handle another second functioning. Too much for the human mind, even though Derek wasn’t thinking much about anything specific. It was like a panicking, broken machine without a chance of fixing it. His breath still heavy, his muscles and nerves softening after a very small attempt of movement, trying to sit in his bed. Gave up and let himself lie down again, feeling the worst things someone could ever feel.
Derek thought he was dying. Again.
But that’s what he wanted not much time ago, wasn’t it?
Not that much, answered no one in particular in his thoughts. Never really wanted to die just for… dying. He wanted to die to kill that thing with him. If in order to kill the King he had to die, he would do that in a heartbeat. Even if it meant not hugging his mother again, not finally having the courage to tell his father how much sorrow he carried because of him. Even if it meant not letting himself be known by Avery, and knowing him the way he wished to.
Maybe that’s what he deserves after all. Maybe that’s the King's revenge.
I wouldn’t be so kind to you, Knight.
The last thing someone, or something, told Derek before his consciousness left his body again.