Everything was white. Like he was swimming in a white abyss. Floating through the memories of his life that would soon be no more. The memories of Emma...that would soon be no more.
He hid his face behind his arms, working hard to force back tears. The lump in his throat grew anyway.
He was a fucking idiot. A goddamn imbecile. Screw all those perfect test scores, he didn't know what the hell he was doing. Everything he'd planned. Everything he'd worked for. All the pain. Meaningless. It all fell like a house of cards. So many friends dead and nothing to show for it. Some boss he was.
Giran's army? Wiped out in the blink of an eye by royal forces. There was hardly even a fight. The home he'd made for all of the children he'd saved? Found within days and burned to the ground, killing nearly everyone on site. His brilliant plan to kill the royals? The mission killed his whole team; the people who depended on him so much. He'd killed the queen, but others took revenge. She and her forces were far stronger than any of them could have imagined and they were sitting ducks to the other demons.
Some God he was.
He let his rage lead him and neglected to take into account that the creatures he was fighting had loyalties and relationships too; that they'd want revenge. He failed to plan for everything; he just wanted retribution and quick. Maybe he and the demons really weren't that different, despite what Ray and Emma told him.
He was just a mess. Keeping secrets because he thought it would protect people. Keeping his feelings bottled up so as not to burden others with them. Keeping others away because he was so determined to do it himself. He didn't think about the feelings of others..
If not for Emma and Ray, he would have been dead already too. He couldn't even die himself. He felt pathetic. Now he was just facing a purgatory of white, alone.
He felt more alone than he'd ever felt before, and that was saying something.
He's sobbing now, arms covering a face tear stained and ashamed. Like a child…
Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic...
He lost her. He couldn't protect her or anyone else. He couldn't bear losing her. But she was gone.
NO! EMMA!
His voice from that time still echoed in his mind. Ray is pinning him to the ground, partially holding him back, hands gripped tightly around his shirt and the back of his head, and partially wanting to run to her himself. He can feel Ray ready to launch off his back at any moment, face is pained and tears are spilling from him freely, but he's pleading with Norman because they'd made a decision.
They'd made a decision without him.
He wants to take over his body in that moment and fight Ray off him but all he can remember in that moment is his screams and cries. He wants to be the one to die. Not her. God, please not her.
Every muscle in his chest ceases up and he struggles to hold back his tears as he remembers her response which came with a smile.
It's okay Norman. I have to do this so everyone will be safe. So we can all be happy. And even if I don't make it…even if I don't remember…
I had so much fun, Norman! Ray!
…
Everything is warm. Not warm in the comfortable way, but warm in the feverish way. Every muscle aches and he's too heavy to even move a toe.
It's a familiar feeling. He used to get sick like this back at Gracefield too. Then…Mama would come and stroke his hair, sometimes humming a lullaby.
His eyes are too heavy to open. His ears feel like they're crammed full of mud, but he hears the distant beeping of machines. Machines he's heard before back at Lambda. And there's a hand stroking his face, gently pushing the hair back from his forehead.
Norman really wants to open his eyes, but everything is heavy, like he's being crushed by pressure deep under the ocean. The only difference is the machines getting louder.
There's a voice too.
"Norman…?" it's a man's voice, he can tell by how deep it is. It sounds like he's underwater, but the voice is gentle. It makes him feel safe, he doesn't know why though.
Norman really, really wants to open his eyes.
"Norman…? Norman, can you hear me?" the voice is getting clearer and a bit more desperate. The hand stroking his hair back is gone too; instead he feels something sink down next to his head.
His body finally allows him to move and he shifts slightly. He's laying on something soft, and he assumes it's a bed, although it feels foreign and completely uncomfortable. Perhaps that's the smell of disinfectant.
It smells like Lambda. It feels like Lambda.
Oh god I'm back at Lambda.
Who is this? Who's here? Who's touching me?
His body locks up in exhaustion as he tries to move once again. His breathing is frantic as he fights off sleep, but his eyelids won't budge. He hears the voice again:
"Norman, don't worry, daddy's here. Everything is going to be okay. Don't worry, just try to rest."
The hand on his forehead was there once again. Despite every voice in his head telling him not to, he relaxes.
But his brain is going 100 miles an hour.
Daddy?
Mama had referred to Peter Ratri as "Daddy" but…the man had refused to be addressed as such.
I would never call that monster "Daddy" anyway.
But this…isn't his voice…
It sounds almost the same, but deeper.
I've heard this voice before…
His eyelids finally give way to the world around him. It's white, like he expected. It looks like Lambda.
And there's a man who looks suspiciously like Peter Ratri hovering over his hair is far shorter than the other Ratri, and his features more mature and his smile is gentle and genuine.
There's a mix of emotions on his face: exhaustion, concern and relief, "Good morning, Norman" the man whispers, retreating back a bit to give him space.
Norman can only let out a weak chuckle as he stared at the man whose name he stole. The real William Minerva.
He's too weak to fight off sleep any more and so Norman once again succumbs to the darkness.
…
The beeping of machines comes to him quicker this time. There's something around his finger and tubes in places he'd rather them not be. There are a few in his nose is especially bothersome. With all these tubes in him he can't run, or else he'd be swiss cheese.
His body finally responds to his commands and he'd greeted by the white Lambda room once again. Or at least he thinks he is. Then he looks around.
The room is very large. There's a window letting in enough sunlight to blind him only a few steps away from his bed. The door is closed on the other side of the room, but there's some glass panels next to it hidden behind a blind, giving way to what he assumes is a hallway, due to the numerous feet passing by, on the other side. There was another door just to the left of his exit which looked to be a bathroom. A chair positioned close to the bed on his left told him where that man was sitting the last time he woke up.
That man…William Minerva. James Ratri.
It would be a stretch to say the man was his father. Sure, he was a genetic clone of the Ratri family but that just meant they were related, not...father and son.
Moreover, that man…was supposed to be dead.
How was he here? Was that a dream?
Where am I? This…doesn't look like Lambda. It smells like Lambda…but it's too bright...too busy...
Just then the door opens, and he's greeted by a heavy-set woman. Her dark, curly hair is up in a bun but poking out in a few spots and she's wearing plain pink clothing.
Her expression is tired but kind, "Oh, good morning Norman. Just in time for me to check on you. My name is Abigail, I'll be taking care of you today."
At first, he thought she was a Mama and his body tensed, but she wore no dress or apron or lab gown. In fact, she was completely different from any other adult he'd seen before, both in presence and appearance .
The woman approached him and took to examining the monitor he was hooked up to. After pressing a few buttons on it, a holographic screen appeared much like the one from the pen Sister Krone had gifted him and…
Emma...Ray…
He wasn't sure how but he remembered them. Ray's snarky comments. Emma's brilliance. None of his memories were gone, but there was still a crushing feeling of loss.
The woman continued looking down at a watch-like device before pressing a few buttons, allowing another holographic notebook sized screen to appear on her arm. She tapped on it a few times, comparing it to the monitor in front of her.. Norman could see the screen change with every tap, but somehow could not see the details of each screen.
"Well your temperature is almost back to normal. You gave everyone quite the scare!"
"Wha…" he didn't notice the tube that was in his nose continued down his throat until he tried to make a sound. It scratched against his windpipe and caught him off guard, prompting coughs that further irritated the area and made him gag. It was as thin as a straw and incredibly uncomfortable.
He unconsciously tugged at it a bit before the nurse's hand went to stop him, "No, honey, you don't want to pull them out. You've been out for a few days. Your father is right downstairs in the Café. He'll be back in a few minutes."
Norman wasn't sure he wanted him to come back. He was tired and confused. He just wanted to see his family again. He wanted to see Emma again.
He knew somewhere deep down it was impossible.
The woman continued on with what she was doing, and Norman found that the irritation wasn't just from the tube shoved up his nose, but his throat was for some reason raw and sore on it's own.
What happened to me?
"I'll be back with Doctor Smith in a bit Norman. Just be patient; not a lot of people come back from what you went through."
What had he 'gone through'?
The door opened before the woman could reach it and the man Norman had seen only briefly in what he thought was a dream stepped through.
William Minerva.
James Ratri.
Who was apparently his father? Or at least addressed himself as such.
"Oh, just in time! He just woke up Mr. Ratri. I'll go get so he can do a follow up." James Ratri nodded and with that, the woman shuffled out of the room, leaving only him and his 'father'.
As his attention turned to Norman, his relief was easily apparent, and he approached calmly "Good afternoon, Norman. Are you feeling better?"
The man leaned over as his hand softly glided toward Norman's face, causing the latter to unconsciously flinch back. A look of surprise lit James' face as he pulled away, "Norman?"
It was quickly replaced by patient resignation as the older man's gaze softened, "Ah I know…you're too old to be pet now."
James Ratri relaxed quickly and walked over to resume his sitting position between Norman and the window. The halo of light cast from the setting sun made it difficult to read his body language.
However, Norman could tell by his appearance this man was a mess. His tie was undone, his vest partially unbuttoned, and his hair was slightly unkempt. The bags under his eyes were alone enough to tell the man been awake for a while. This man looked like he'd been through hell.
"You probably don't remember what happened. Brita tried to wake you up a few days ago…" James stopped, as if choosing his words carefully. He suddenly looked even more tired, like he was recalling something exhausting, "Well, you had a very bad fever." his voice wandered off and he continued in a slightly lower tone, almost like a whisper, "You haven't been in the hospital this long in quite a while…"
The comment made Norman pause.
What?
Norman, to his knowledge, had never been in a hospital before, only read about them in books but he knew they were places that really sick and injured people went to, filled with doctors and medicines that could cure nearly anything. Norman's thoughts drifted to Lambda, which wasn't really much of a caregiving facility, more like hell, but it was the best point of reference he had. And then everything made sense; the smell of disinfectant and the buzzing and beeping of machines, the tubes covering his body.
Well, at least I know where I am now.
But...where am I actually? The demon world or...the human world?
Norman dared to hope for the latter, but the presence of James Ratri and the man's strange, comfortable behavior threw him off from making any assumptions. He had too many questions for the man who'd guided his family to safety, but no way to express them with the intense burning and scratching in his throat acting up.
All he knew was that something was off here.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Norman shifted a bit, trying to get a better view of the world around him. He managed to sit up but quickly lost energy and fell back, though James' hand caught him to guide him down a bit more easily.
"I know you don't like the hospital Norman, but you were unconscious for a week. You need to relax; you're not going to be right back on your feet." It sounded almost like the man was scolding him, but his concern came through more, "Smee will be here in a minute. You remember Smee right?"
Further confusion and panic set in. Norman's whole body felt numb.
Smee is supposed to be dead. I know he'd dead. I saw him die!
First the real William Minerva turns out to be alive and calls himself my dad...then Smee comes back from the dead? What's going on here?!
"Norman? Smee, your doctor since you were little? One of my friends? You've met him quite a few times..." James Ratri's questioning suddenly snapped him out of his contemplation and Norman realized he must not have been masking his emotions well enough.
The man looked concerned, confused even. To appease him, Norman gave a soft smile and a grunt of acknowledgment before being thrown into another coughing fit that once again nearly turned into gagging.
James rubbed his back a bit, "Hey bud, don't push yourself. We'll take the feeding tube out in as soon as Smee and Abigail come back. Just hold tight, I know it's uncomfortable."
Finally able to sit up, Norman could only think of how large James' hand felt on his back. Unusually large. He let out a few more coughs before looking at his legs.
Then he realized. Moving his toes a bit he recognized where his legs ended.
He'd shrunk. It was like his growth spurt had never happened.
His coughing stopped, but he could feel the blood drain from his face as he raised his arm, the one that for some reason had a clamp on it, to inspect it. His hand was half the size it normally was. The door opened from behind Norman's stretched palm and he recognized what he could only reason must be a ghost.
"Ah, Norman! Good to see you again."
While trying to recover, a new thought came to Norman.
Am I dead? Is this some kind of afterlife?