Author's note 4/3/18: This story was originally published under the username 'auronkae' on July 25th, 2009. I was 12 years old when I wrote these. I'm reposting them under this account to keep some continuity between accounts and also to showcase writing I'm particularly proud of. I will update the chapters every Tuesday until I run out. Thank you for checking it out!

A/N: This began as a writing exercise, and I don't know if I'll finish it or not. This is just a way for me to keep my mind sharp while I'm writing.

A

.acceptance

Night was just another stage of the day. It stretched on and on, bringing with it its own unique dangers. It wasn't comforting, because with every night there would always be a tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that…

For once, night on Sera wasn't dominated by the shrill shrieks of the kryll, and Marcus Fenix was unnerved. His body had taken such a beating in the last few days that his mind had detached from the pain… or maybe it was the morphine in his bloodstream, taking the edge off for him so he could sleep easier. He'd refused to be knocked out by the drug, as did the other surviving members of Delta Squad, and he could sense that they too were awake in the unnatural stillness that pervaded the hospital's semi-white hallways.

They were each listening for something that wasn't there.

Marcus didn't dare to hope that the Lightmass Bomb had actually worked—if it had, he'd celebrate when the last Locust was dead under his feet. Until then, he had to be alert, and he had to be steady.

He wondered how long it'd been since he was in that dingy jail cell. One day, two, three? It felt like somebody else's life right then, because this could have easily been just a point in time just before his court-martial. In the hospital with is squad, getting treated for whatever injury they'd managed to sustain this time…

Cole's light snore eased its way into the backdrop of noise, unexplainably comforting. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to sleep without the backdrop of kryll screams, or if he'd ever be able to turn off the light at night. Even now, the hospital's lights were on. They ran on some sort of solar power that had been installed before E-Day and had somehow survived all this time.

Marcus couldn't sleep. Even with the morphine dulling his senses, the adrenaline was still pumping through his system and for once he couldn't turn it off. His body, acclimatizing to the sudden changes that had been made, was telling him that he should be fighting. He should be hiding under cover, shooting at grubs, or maybe walking through a Stranded camp, desperate for light.

It was a fight or flight response that made his pulse quicken, his trigger-finger itch. He couldn't calm down, and he knew that it wasn't his instincts telling him there was trouble. It was a mental thing.

Just go to sleep, bro, Dom said. We need it.

Marcus opened his eyes to the bright light, looking over at the hospital bed beside him. Dom looked smaller without his armor, dressed in only a hospital gown. He'd gone into the OR the same time Marcus did and for the same reason—the treatment of the wounds they'd sustained in their final, desperate stand on the train.

The train.

Even thinking about it caused Marcus's heart to speed up.

Everything that had happened since his breakout, every little drop of sweat and blood, had climaxed on the train ride to Hell. The Berserker—easy. The Wretches had been a bit harder, the Reavers doubly so. When the Wretches decided to play with the train's power, any doubts of them being stupid, mindless creatures had left his mind. But it was RAAM that had freaked him out. It was RAAM who'd scared him shitless.

He was tougher than the Berserker, tougher than the Corpser, tougher than anything Marcus Fenix had faced in his life. It was only pure luck that they managed to kill him.

Pure fucking luck.

Baird's own light snore accompanied Cole's.

Dom moved slightly, moving his left shoulder a bit experimentally. His eyes were still closed, but Marcus knew he was awake… and if he knew his friend as well as he thought he still did, he knew Dom would be having the same problems he was.

Fuck, he hurt. All fucking over. Every tip, every fall, every roll, every hit seemed to be catching up with him. He groaned a little in the back of his throat, a reflex, and Dom moved a bit more on his cot.

He closed his eyes, turning over to lay on his stomach and to block out the light. The screeching of the kryll was in his mind this time, and he could still feel the movement of the train underneath him…

He was half-asleep when he heard, very softly, "Yo, Marcus."

"Hmm?"

"Your ass is showing."

Marcus froze, turning his head on his pillow to glare at Dom. His eyes were still closed, his head facing the opposite direction, but there was a sly grin on his face. Muttering soundless curses to himself, Marcus pulled the drawstring on his back shut and took the unused blankets set out for him and placed them over himself.

Not because he was afraid of Dom's teasing, but Baird and Cole had already proved more than once that they were very, very skilled at pissing him off in less than two minutes. He didn't want to give them another thing to rant on about.

Still, though, even that short exchange helped, just a little bit. It broke him free from his thoughts, allowing the snores of his companions to bring him into a deep, coma-like sleep. He had to accept the near-death experiences as a part of life. He had to.