I uploaded chapters 18-20 on the same day, so be careful not to skip anything!
Chapter warnings:
Self demonization (Light-ish)
Kind of graphic (?) description of scars and wounds. Not much, but it's there
Unhealthy mental states and description of panic attacks.
—*—*—*—*—*
I was in an unfamiliar room, but Clint's scent was on me so that narrowed down the options as to where I could be. Also, the general design of the room was similar to that of Pete's room at the Tower, though it was smaller and not nearly as personalized as Peter's.
Therefore, I deduced, I was likely in the Tower. And, I figured by the other scent on me, Karen had been the one to bring me.
That mug of tea must have been drugged, I thought with a grimace. Normally I might have been able to smell or taste a sedative in food or drink before I actually ingested it, but I trusted Karen and Foggy enough to not second guess anything they handed me. Plus, I was far too focused on Matt. All my energy was going towards making sure he was as comfortable as possible, so I hadn't paid any attention to myself.
I couldn't even bring myself to be annoyed. I knew they were just trying to take care of me, but I was fine. Matt was the one that needed the attention.
I peeled myself up to a sitting position in the admittedly very soft bed, blinking the last remnants of sedative-induced sleep out of my eyes.
Matt's face flashed through my mind every time I closed my eyes, as if it was tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. His eyes closed, mouth slightly open, body laying eerily still in his silk sheets. It looked too similar to the way I had found Mommy, to the way I had shot or stabbed too many people in their sleep. To the way I had poisoned Remmy way back when, in the middle of the night.
It was too similar to some of my nightmares.
His pulse was the only thing that kept me somewhat lucid, in the moment. It was the only proof I had that he was alive, because I couldn't hear his breaths and his body heat was unreliable… any moment it could drop if I didn't keep my eye on his heartbeat.
Being so far away from him was making my chest ache. Pinprick, staticky pain started up around my heart, and I soon could only gasp. I needed Matt. I needed his heartbeat. If I could feel it, my own would calm down to match it.
I needed him. He needed to be alive. I needed him.
I neededhim I neededMatt
IneededhimIneededMattIneededMattMattMattMatt
What if he died?
Nononononono.
I lunged the rest of the way out of the bed, tripping over the blanket that had twined around my ankles in my haste. I just snapped my legs apart, ripping it to free myself enough so I could run to the door.
"Hebi, it appears you are having a panic attack. I advise you take deep—"
"Friday, the door is locked," I interrupted the AI, not caring about the tremble in my voice as I fumbled with the doorknob that wouldn't. Move. An. Inch. "Why is it locked? What the hell is going on, Friday? I need to get to Matt!"
"The door is locked so that you do not leave before you get your health back up to par, Hebi. It appears as though you are dehydrated and your body is starting to show signs of malnutrition—"
"I don't give a fuck! God damn it all," I knew Foggy and Karen would get drastic eventually with trying to get me to take a break from taking care of Matt, but they didn't get it. They didn't see what I saw.
If only I had been a little faster to notice that knife on patrol, to block that strike for him…
I was Daredevil's partner for a goddamned reason, I should have been able to keep him from getting hurt like that while actually on patrol with him.
Inadequate. Inadequate. Weakweakweak idiotidiotidiot, you'll get him killed just like everyone else you stupid cursed demon. Idiot idiot, idiot.
I put a hand on the door—solid metal, maybe iron? I didn't know or care. If I wanted to I could decipher the smell from beneath the paint to figure it out, but it didn't matter. It wasn't Vibranium obviously, which was the only thing I really cared about. As long as it was a common metal, I was able to break it down.
Don't be stupid, some rational side of my brain chided. You still have an identity to hide, a past to keep from them. From Peter. You can't just warp a metal door and expect your secrets to stay secret.
I hated myself sometimes for being logical. Okay, old school then. I went to the furthest back edge of the room, positioning myself.
"I can deduce that you are about to try ramming the door down. I have to advice aga—"
I calculated how much strength I could get away with as being adrenaline, and rushed at the door without waiting for Friday to finish. I had already figured out by the placement of the door frame and the design that it opened outwards, otherwise ramming would be much harder or impossible. Careful to slam my shoulder as close to the opening as I could without hitting the wall, I banged all my body weight into the metal as hard as I could.
The clang from the impact was loud, echoing down the hallway outside the door. Otherwise, nothing visible seemed to happen. I grit my teeth, the pinprick feeling just getting more intense in my chest. If it went on too much longer, it would crawl up my neck and I'd pass out. I needed out.
Outoutoutoutout.
Outoutoutoutout.
I repeated the ram two more times, the flesh on my shoulder (which was only covered by the short sleeve of my t-shirt) already undoubtedly bruised and irritated.
"Hebi," a familiar feminine, accented voice called from outside the door. "You need to take a deep breath, you are panicking."
"Shut up, Wanda! Just let me the goddamned fucking hell out of this room!" I growled, running and slamming my body against the door again. That time, the wall shook slightly with the impact. Maybe I was getting somewhere. I backed up again.
"You need to take a deep breath," Peter's voice that time, sounding plaintive. "Please, you're just hurting yourself! You can get back home as soon as you're healthy again!"
"I'm fine!" I yelled at him, shifting my weight and running full-tilt at the door. "Absolutely—" I groaned at the impact. "Peachy! Matt's the one that needs me!"
"Matt will be fine," Wanda tried to soothe. I could feel something like warm honey starting to seep through my skin, setting my instincts on fire and making the buzzing feeling in my head worsen.
"Stop, Stop it!" I bellowed, gripping my head with both hands. "No magic! No magic!"
The feeling immediately vanished, leaving me crumpled—when did I fall?— on the ground gasping for breath.
"—I don't know," Wanda was saying on the other side of the door. "I was just trying to soothe her mind, but she pushed me out. She is far more sensitive to magic than anyone I have ever met. I do not believe it is safe to try that again."
"Okay, well…" Peter's voice was much softer and slightly further away, preventing me from hearing the rest of his sentence.
It didn't matter anyway. I need out. Hearing Peter there did help a little of the pain recede, but not nearly enough. I needed out, I needed Matt.
I needed my Dad.
What seemed like a second later, I was back at the back of the room already taking my first frantic steps towards the door with my shoulder aimed out. Except, the door opened right as I was about to crash into it that time and I was sent flying into a pair of very familiar arms.
Peter wrapped me in a tight hug, doing his best to pin my arms to my side as he did.
"You're okay, take a deep breath please. Calm down— you're hyperventilating," he whispered softly to me, barely audible even though his head was almost flush against mine. Trapped and frustrated, I hissed.
"I. Can't. Air is for the weak," I snapped. His arms just tightened around me, and I could hear him and Wanda huffing out a slightly disbelieving, mostly sad laugh.
"I'm pretty sure we all need air, Hebi," Wanda said gently. "Please, you're worrying Peter."
A plan unraveling slower than usual in my foggy brain, I decided to comply. Slowly, I tried relaxing enough in Peter's arms to take a slow breath. My chest, still tight and feeling like wet concrete was hardening around it, didn't cooperate very well and cut my breath short. Frustrated, I tried again. That time my chest allowed a little more give, and I got a little more oxygen into me.
A few more breaths, and my head was significantly clearer. It was as if someone slapped my brain cells awake when they were in the middle of sleepwalking, my clarity allowing me to asses the situation much better than I had been.
For one, there was a vent I had completely ignored earlier because the door was the most obvious exit. Had I actually been in trouble, I would have completely given up my main escape route.
Dumb, stupid mistake. Stupid mistake. Amateur mistake.
Inadequate inadequate inadequate.
"Better?" Peter asked gently, pulling away so he could look at me, but he kept his hands on my shoulders. "Cold?"
I didn't realize I was shivering until he mentioned it. I blinked. The room had been pretty cold. Clint knew about my partial cold-bloodedness, and how snakes instinctually slowed down or stopped moving when they got too cold. He had probably adjusted the temperature like that to keep me from moving too much.
It might have worked on any other day.
"I… I don't do well in the cold, that's why I'm already starting to wear heavier sweaters," I decided to answer Peter. "Not… Not a big deal right now. I just need to—"
"You really shouldn't Hebi," Peter protested before I could get another word out. "You're being really unhealthy. What would Matt do once he's lucid again and sees you half starved to death?"
"You don't und—" I stopped myself before I could finish that sentence, looking between the two specific people with me. "Holy hell. They picked you two to come up here first specifically because you understand, didn't they?" I asked rhetorically, scrunching my nose.
"Bingo," Wanda admitted with a small, soft smirk. "Also probably because we are closest to your age. But Peter has a point, what would Matt say when he wakes up and sees you like this?" She nodded in the direction of my shoulder, the one I had been ramming the door with. "Your shirt needs a replacement now, or maybe a bit of tailor work."
The short sleeve where I had hit the door was already worn through, coming apart from the rest of the shirt in places along the seam. The middle of the sleeve looked thin enough to come apart with a simple touch—it would rip into a giant hole in the washer for sure.
Peter made a face, removing one of his hands to pull that sleeve up carefully, exposing my very red skin underneath. Peter hissed in sympathy—there were scrapes and bubbles of blood coming up in the center of the impact spot. There was already a huge rim of color that told of the whole shoulder being a pretty bruise in a few hours.
I barely felt the sting.
Seeing my opportunity, I launched to the side. Peter's grip was just loose enough to slip away from me at my sudden movement. I managed to turn towards the elevator before Peter's Spider-enhanced reflexes managed to catch me by the wrist.
"Hebi!" He scolded, voice equal parts surprised, angry, and concerned. "Didn't you hear me? I get it that you're worried, okay? You have every right," he tried, stepping closer in case I made another attempt to flee. "But you're hurting yourself. You need to be able to take care of Matt in a way that isn't overboard, in a way that is healthy. He would not be happy to wake up and realize you're malnourished because you spent all your time on him."
Oh yeah, I would be grounded and coddled for life if he found out. But it was worth it. I needed to be there.
My eyes found Peter's hand on my wrist, my thoughts rushing through my head even faster than the blood from my rapidly beating heart. I bit the inside of my cheek, weighing the pros and the cons.
My secret identity meant nothing to me if Matt wasn't okay.
That realization in hand, I gritted my teeth and shifted my stance. In one solid tug of superhuman strength, I could be out of Peter's hold and in the staircase right beside the elevator. I couldn't trust the actual elevator, Friday ran it.
It would be tight, but if I used my abilities I would be able to escape Peter and the others and get back to Matt.
I took a deep breath, clenching my hand into a fist—
"Hebi, don't," Bucky's stern voice echoed down the hallway, snapping my gaze up to the now-open elevator. The familiar super soldier walked out, Steve and Tony close behind him, with his eyes on me.
I froze.
"I know you could get out of Peter's grasp, I've seen you do it to me in training, but don't. You need to calm down," he continued, his tone giving no room for argument. His words drew Peter's gaze down to my fist, but I didn't look back to see the reaction on his face. Bucky was covering for me, erasing the potential side effects of what I had almost done.
Right. I was keeping my identity for a reason. If they found out about who I was, they'd question why Matt was able to take care of me so easily especially as a blind guy. If they found out he was Daredevil and that was leaked on accident?
His career as a lawyer would be ruined.
I looked down at the ground, shoulders sinking in defeat. Bucky came closer, nodding to Peter who let go of me at that signal. Bucky placed his flesh hand on my left shoulder, the uninjured one. I didn't meet his eyes.
"You're a little too dependent on Matt right now. I get that you're close to him, we all know the fear of losing someone close to us. But you can't keep doing this self destructive shit, Hebi," he scolded gently. "It won't solve anything. It won't magically make him better, to stop taking care of yourself. Karen, that woman that came—"
"She's one of Matt's best friends," I confirmed, sighing. "She and Foggy are the only real friends Matt has, really. He… doesn't open up to others very easily," I shifted from foot to foot. "It's just the three of us. Me, Foggy, Karen. Sometimes our doctor friend who's prescribed his medicine and stuff, but she can't be there all the time. And either Foggy or Karen— they've been helping a lot, of course. One of them will spend the night to keep an eye on Matt but…"
"But, What? Can't you trust them?" Bucky asked, sounding dubious. "You think they'll hurt him, or—"
"No! No, of course not!" I vehemently shot down what he was saying, looking up at him with wide eyes. "But it's my fault. I should have been faster, I should know better than to let Danger Magnet Murdock alone for more than two seconds at night, let alone near an alleyway like that. What the hell was I thinking?" My hands started clenching at my hair, pulling slightly but not hard enough to rip out hair. Just enough to ground me.
"Hey, you got there in time to save him, right?" Peter tried, coming up so he stood next to Bucky and I couldn't really avoid looking at him. "He's sick and a little hurt, yeah, but he's alive."
"No thanks to me," I muttered dryly, moving my hands down and crossing my arms tightly. "I help Matt practice boxing and stuff on our Saturday training sessions. All I did was knock the guy out, even if he's blind Matt was still able to defend himself well enough," I admitted. "He's the one that got rid of the knife and knocked the man down," Okay, maybe stop being so specific about a cover story Hebi, my inner voice yelled at me. Foggy, Karen and I had already agreed on a basic cover story so I wasn't worried about that. It was just fact that adding too much detail to a lie was often the downfall of said lie.
"But he's alive," that was Steve, who had drawn up on Bucky's other side. I sighed in frustration. Two super soldiers and Spider-Man less than three feet in front of me, Iron man with a single gauntlet on his hand standing right by the elevator, and a witch at my back. Yeah, I wasn't getting out any time soon.
I rubbed at my forehead. "How long am I being kept here?" I asked grumpily. Steve and Bucky shared a glance.
"At least a day," Tony spoke up from down the hall, hands at his side so that he could whip out his gauntleted hand at a moment's notice. "We need Bruce to do a check up on you, he can probably give you a more accurate time frame. We need you back on a healthy routine, and some gross emotional talk will probably benefit you. That whole self blame thing you have going on?" He waved a finger in my direction. "Not gonna cut it. We're gonna have to address that."
"Hypocrite," Peter muttered, but he didn't catch Bucky looking over at Peter and mouthing the same word in his direction. My lips twitched. I guess self-blame was a common thing in the Avengers, which wasn't that surprising when I thought about it. If they put it upon themselves to protect the world, there had to be a reason. Guilt over a past failure to protect something was a pretty valid reason, and feeling responsible for everything that went wrong was probably a side effect of naming themselves one of the primary protectors of an entire planet.
I took a deep breath.
"Okay. I'll… try," I agreed reluctantly, scratching at my arm subconsciously. "I can't really keep any large meals down. So, uh…"
"We'll work with that," Steve spoke up with a decisive nod. "We can make light meals, soup maybe. Work a little at a time. Four days isn't long, but long enough to have an effect. Right now though, it's late. I'm pretty sure you don't want a guard put on your room, so could you agree to go to sleep without trying to slip out?"
"FYI, the stairwell door is also solid metal and locked," Tony pitched in from down the hallway, making me rub my forehead.
"Yeah, I guess," I groused. "I'll try to sleep, but no promises."
"We can get you a sleep pill if you think that would help," Wanda offered. "Usually I'd try to use magic to help you fall asleep, but you didn't react very well earlier so I do not think it is safe."
"She reacted oddly?" Steve asked, looking slightly alarmed. "What happened?"
I turned to see Wanda. She was frowning, arms crossed as she thought back to a few minutes earlier.
"Hebi was in the middle of a panic attack and trying to break her door down, so I tried to use a little bit of magic to calm her down and soothe her panic. I didn't even use much, but she immediately felt it and her body reacted negatively to the energy. It seems the feel of magic actually made her panic attack worse. She even yelled at me to not use it, so she consciously recognized what was happening," the witch summed up.
"Nobody's been able to sense your magic before unless you've done it on them several times," Bucky mused out loud, Peter nodding grimly.
"Hebi must be really sensitive. Doctor Strange did say that she always curled up next to evil artifacts in the Sanctum, right? Maybe she just feels magic really easily," Peter mused out loud, looking to me for confirmation. I looked up at the ceiling for a moment, the idle discussion annoying me but knowing I couldn't get out of it. I just wanted to be at home next to Matt's side. What if he woke up and was hungry? Would Foggy or Karen be okay making him soup? What if they burnt the—okay even in my overly worried state I knew they wouldn't burn the building down, but still.
"I guess," I muttered. "Magic feels… physical, I guess," I told them. "I'd sleep next to some stuff in the Sanctum that I didn't know was evil because it felt like a campfire, and I was always in the Sanctum in winter. Wanda's magic…" I tilted my head as I thought about the sensation. "It didn't feel hot like the stuff in the Sanctum did. It felt like warm honey or melted chocolate. So I knew it wasn't dangerous or anything, but…"
"But feeling something physical in the middle of a panic attack didn't help anything," Bucky guessed out loud. I nodded, knowing he knew the truth— the idea of anyone affecting my mind or emotions like that terrified me. I couldn't go through that again, no matter how nice it felt.
"Okay, that's something to tell Bruce then. At least we know now so that we know better than to ask Wanda to use magic on you in the future," Steve concluded with a nod to himself. "It's past midnight, everyone should go to bed now. Peter was supposed to be asleep already," Steve's words reminded the boy that he had stayed up late, making my friend yawn.
"I'll be here if you need me," Peter made sure to remind me, eyes still worried. "Text me if you need anything, even if I'm in school okay? I mean it. Anything."
"Take me home," I deadpanned, but Peter's eyes only got sadder as he shook his head.
"Goodnight, Hebi," he whispered, turning to go into the elevator.
"Goodnight my friend," Wanda parroted, smiling at me kindly as she walked past me to go join Peter.
"This is mainly the guest room floor," Tony told me, his gauntlet suddenly gone. "Peter and Wanda are on the floor above this, where the common room is. I have the highest floor, you should know that Bucky and Steve's floor is two above this, Nat above them, then Clint. You can ask Friday if you need anything. Sam has the room at the end of the hall," Tony pointed to the room. "Right there. He didn't want a whole floor to himself."
The door opened slightly, Sam's head peeking out. "I am regretting that decision at the moment. I'm too tired right now, but I got the basics from Friday. Fill me in in the morning, and for the love of good food, please let me sleep now."
I rubbed the back of my head, not realizing I had actually kept someone up. "Oh. Sorry, Sam."
The guy waved me off. "'S fine, from what I hear you're going through something so I get it. But maybe no more shaking the whole wall?"
I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I can do that. Goodnight, Sam."
After he closed the door, I turned back to see that Tony had disappeared and left me with Golden Boy and Robocop. Bucky ran a hand through his hair.
"I, or both of us, can stay down here if you need us to," he offered softly. "Stevie's good at helping with nightmares if you need it."
I looked down at my feet, just noticing I still had shoes on. Come to think of it, when was the last time I took my shoes off? Or showered? I opened my mouth and took a small breath—oof. That was at least three day's worth of funk. Yeah, shower first and then bed.
"Um. Do you have any clothes that I can wear?" I asked tentatively. "And, um, as for the offer… I…" I forced myself to take a deep breath, thinking about myself seriously for the first time in a few days. If Matt knew what state I was in, he'd be angry and worried and probably blame himself.
If it kept him from blaming himself for one extra thing, I should probably fix the issue I caused in the first place, right? And that… that probably included the nightmares I was almost guaranteed to have. I sighed. Bucky did have a calming effect on me. I didn't know Steve all that well, only having had a few conversations with him, but if Bucky vouched for him…
"I think I'd like it if you guys stayed down here," I admitted softly, feeling myself blush at the admission. It sounded so weak, but… but if it kept Matt from blaming himself for my own mistakes…
"Okay," Steve agreed softly. "Do you want us in the room across the hall, or in with you? And the closet should be stocked with plenty of sizes of clothing, you should be able to find something that fits no problem."
"Uh, I'm gonna take a shower first, so you guys can go ahead and take the room across the hall. But if I have a nightmare I might want you to stay. Feeling someone's pulse helps me calm down, usually it's Matt's but…"
"We get it," Steve assured me with a small smile. "We'll be in that room until you need us then, goodnight Hebi."
I nodded, and Bucky ruffled my hair. They stood there for a moment and I realized they were waiting for me to go back inside first, probably thinking I'd try to run again. I sighed, turning and going back inside the still-open room. I turned right before I closed the door, looking up at them. "Goodnight, guys."
Once I was back in with the door firmly shut, I looked up at the ceiling. "Friday? Could you keep the door unlocked please?" I asked, scratching at my arm again restlessly. "I don't like being locked in anywhere, and there's plenty of Avengers nearby, right? If I tried to get out they'd stop me before I could make it more than a few floors."
"... Alright Hebi, I will keep your door unlocked for now. However, if you try to leave again I will be forced to lock it."
I smiled, relaxing. "That's fair," I agreed before heading to the closet and shuffling through everything inside. There really were most sizes covered, from kid's clothing to extra-extra large men's size. It wasn't hard for me to pick out some slightly baggy sweats and a sweater— the room was still cold—since baggy clothes were more comfortable for me than anything more form fitting. I was even able to grab some underwear, which was a bit embarrassing but not the most awkward thing I'd ever done. Clothing chosen, I walked into the attached restroom.
It was large. I was used to the cramped little thing that Matt and I shared, so the fact that there was space was a bit of an adjustment. For a guest room, everything was pretty spacey—like a luxury hotel room. Which, again, Tony Stark was the one who owned the building so I really shouldn't have been surprised. There was a bathtub and a shower, and a really long sink. The toilet was nothing special, but still somehow seemed worth more than an entire year's salary for WickedTea (even if it hadn't been operational for a whole year yet, it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon for sure so I had estimates).
I set my pile of clothes on the counter so it was easy to change into them when I was done, and then I turned on the shower and stripped.
I spent a long moment in front of the massive mirror over the sink, just taking in my body. I usually tried not to whenever I bathed, but with everything going on I felt I had to. I had to remind myself of everything I had survived so that I could remember that I could survive this, too. This anxiety, this worry, it wouldn't win. Both Matt and myself, we'd emerge just fine.
With that thought in mind, I raked my eyes down myself. There was the bullet wound from several months earlier in my side, one of the newest scars. I had a few minor knife wounds that were more recent, but nothing too bad. The old scars were the bad ones.
There was a long pale stripe curling along my right hip, following the bone. It made almost a perfect arch from the front of my pelvis to right down the middle of my right buttcheek. It wasn't pretty, jagged around the edges from where I had moved after the initial wound and tore the skin. There was a large burn scar running down the middle of my chest, the top of it brushing over the bottom of both my breasts and the bottom barely managing to cover my belly button. I soaked it all in, allowing every knife wound and bullet mark—of which there were several on my legs and waist and one on my left shoulder, thankfully not the one that was injured and Peter had been able to see. Luckily that one was placed where it was easily covered by a thick tank top strap, so I doubted anyone outside of Matt, Foggy, or Karen knew about it. I had another burn scar covering almost my entire right knee, going from about two-thirds across it and around the left side, curling about an inch around the back. There was my favorite, three separate stab wounds on my lower left calf that somehow managed to overlap and look like a heart. A very misshapen, lopsided, asymmetrical heart. But still a heart.
After cataloguing each one, the steam from the shower had already begun to fill the room and cling to the ceiling. I took a deep breath, and walked under the stream.
The scalding water immediately stung the open scrapes on my shoulder, making me hiss a little. I rolled it, not allowing myself to step to the side and give my shoulder a break. After a minute, the pain faded into a dull ache and I sighed in relief. With the water cascading over my short hair and battered body, it felt as if a lot of my worries were evaporating and joining the steam above my head. I let my eyes drift closed, soaking in the way the heat slowly worked at the knots in my muscles and coaxed them to loosen, coaxed my sleep-deprived head to soften and grow fuzzy with exhaustion. Conscious of the very real risk of falling asleep in the surprisingly relaxing shower, I sped through the washing of my hair and body so I could get out before I succumbed to the admittedly tempting idea of just sleeping on the tile floor under the pleasantly hot spray.
Getting dressed in the sweats and sweater after the shower was another layer of comfort all together. They were warm and dry and soft, making my eyes droop even more. After making sure everything was turned off, I exited the bathroom. I'd grab my dirty clothes in the morning. In the end, it was just past one in the morning by the time I got out and climbed into the queen sized bed (who kept beds that large in a guest room? Tony Fucking Stark, apparently). It wasn't really any later than the time I would get home from patrol, earlier in fact. And nightmares would often keep me up or disrupt my sleep pretty badly too, so I had long since gotten used to getting by on three or four hours of solid sleep a day. Maybe less on a particularly bad night.
So, with a significantly fuzzier and calmer head than I had had almost an hour earlier, I let myself drift off.
—*—*—*—*—*
Tanned eyelids hung heavy, the lacy lashes of those eye-curtains hanging a shadow over the edge of where they were delicately closed. Sweet, cornmeal-blond hair framed his face slightly, feather-clumps of bangs just barely brushing above the eye. Every strand was more stagnant than death itself, as if suspended in time or sealed in clear resin.
Everything in the room jumped a good fifty degrees to my heat pits as I ran my tongue over my chapped lips. I could not hear my breaths, but I could feel them. They shook my whole chest silently, every exhale coming in hundreds of tiny shivers instead of the solid waves of air they should have been.
My sins slithered over my skin, the old and the in-progress, as if wrongdoings were mucus that was excreting from my very flesh to blanket me, drown me, devour me. The viscous matter was icy as it crawled against my body, suspending my arm hairs in it's liquid as it went and raising goosebumps as it sucked at my limbs. It fed off of depravity and demons, and I was it's favorite delicacy.
Clack clack clackclackclack
I had to slam my palm over my opposite fingers, their trembles causing the tiny metal and plastic parts I was holding to clatter against each other and make noise. It was a tiny sound, a tinkling that my disabled ears could barely pick up, but more than loud enough for my friends to be able to hear in clarity. Had they been awake, they would have been instantly drawn to it.
Conscious of the evil I was doing, of how I was only feeding the gelatinous sin monster that had slithered over every inch of me already, I pressed the needle slowly into the crook of his tanned arm. His veins were easily visible, the marks from the countless times he had already been pricked by the Experimenters giving me an easy bullseye to target. The metal slid in easily, following the pathways already accepted by his body.
Separate. I couldn't do this as normal, I had to separate my emotions. Soft, blush pink was packed away into a box. Friendship. Shipping-crate navy blue was next, I folded that into an envelope and tossed it like a frisbee. Loyalty. Blood red, melted down and poured into a juice box. I crushed it, tossing the thing away in the opposite direction of Loyalty— honor. A black as deep as my hair was next, I packed that into a box as well. Identity. Lastly, grass and weed-leaf green. I stared at the color for a while with my mind's eye, soaking in the rarity that I only caught glimpses of through the cracks in the wall and on missions. And then, I hung it up on it's hanger and placed it in the closet of barely-worn colors. The softness of it was already fairly foreign. I closed the closet door— Joy.
That left only concrete-slab gray. Obedience. Mercy.
My thumb slid over the syringe button, slamming it down violently. I needed all the liquid out, I couldn't dally. I didn't need to be cruel.
Ninety-eight degrees. I pulled the needle out.
Ninety-six degrees. The tiny vibrations through his metal bed slowed, then stopped.
Ninety-degrees. I fled.
Two of the Monsters carried him out the next morning. Seventy-two degrees, room temperature. I leaned forward on my bed to grasp the last view of his features, I needed to cement him in my head. There was his tan skin, his red—
Red hair?
The air around me solidified into viscous jello once again, settling around me with chilly finality as I stared down at Matt's stone-still face. The body lengthened and paled until, instead of fellow Experiment, it was my dad being limply carried away to the Dump.
No.
No, I didn't kill him.
Not Matt.
The sin-mucus around my started to harden, sealing my arms to my sides and my legs to each other as I rocked from side to side. It took a long moment for me to realize that there was a scream ripping itself out of my throat— Matt was alive, I didn't kill him. How could I kill him?
Oh my god I killed him.
Demons are as demons do, the mucus sung to me as it dived through my open mouth and started filling me like wet cement. It would make me a statue inside and out, immortalizing my sins.
"Hebi."
I killed him
"Hebi!"
I killed Matt.
"Hebi, you need to wake up,"
Why wasn't I dead already anyway?
"Hebi, it's me Steve. You're in the Tower, your dad is okay. It's three o'clock in the morning, you're just waking up from a nightmare…"
Steve?
I slowly cracked my eyes open.
Who was Steve?
Blonde. Blonde hair hit my eyes first, and a whine pulled itself out of me.
"I'm so sorry," I gasped out, my face warm and wet— I must have been crying. Steve's face crinkled, and my memories slowly trickled in with the rest of my clarity as I woke the rest of the way up.
Oh, right. Steve. Steve, not Remmy.
"It's okay," he whispered, "can I touch you? It might help ground you," he asked, hand hovering over my shoulder. "Take a deep breath, you're okay."
I did as he said, slowly reaching up with one hand to wipe away the salty water on my face. He said it was three, hadn't he? Heh. I couldn't even go two hours without a nightmare. I wished I was surprised.
"I'm, a-actually," I cursed my post-nightmare stutter, clearing my throat. "Actually, could I… can I just hold your wrist?" I whispered my question, knowing speaking too loud would make my voice wobble far too embarrassingly.
Steve smiled gently, his perfectly white teeth almost blinding in the dark room. He nodded. "That's right, you said feeling a pulse helps. Here," he held out his hand easily, and I carefully pushed myself up with shaking arms until I was sitting. That arduous task done, I let my fingers gently wrap just under his palm.
Thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud. Thud-thud…
"Heh," I found myself let out a weak chuckle, sniffing. "You're pulse is a little quicker than Matt's," I muttered, my usual mind-to-mouth filter a bit skewed. I felt rather than heard Steve's answering breathy laugh.
"It's the serum," he assured me. "Me and Bucky's hearts run a little faster, but they don't speed up nearly as easily under exercise or strain as a normal person's. Guess it's just a super soldier thing," his voice was gentle and smooth, the combination of his casual tone and steady heartbeat allowing me to take full breaths without feeling strangled. I slowly calmed down.
"Uh, speaking of Bucky," I tested slowly once I was a bit more under control. Steve smiled knowingly.
"He's still in our room. He had a nightmare of his own, so I wanted him to stay asleep a bit longer. I know you're closer with him, but I'm not a bad substitute am I?"
I winced, not having thought about everyone else having their own issues. All of the Avengers had been through more than their fair share of horrible shit, of course they'd all have nightmares and issues of their own. Why should they have to deal with mine, too? Why didn't they even hesitate to offer to do that for me?
I licked my lips, allowing the slight shock to my heat sensing to ground me again before my thoughts could get too dark. "No, I get it," I answered out loud, offering Steve a bit of a vulnerable smile. I hadn't really ever wanted Captain America to see me in such a weak state, but I guessed the universe didn't really care about my preferences. When had it ever? "You actually helped me a lot, thank you Steve," I admitted shyly. "I guess Bucky was telling the truth when he said you were good at helping with nightmares."
Steve laughed quietly, using his free hand to pat mine gently. "It's no problem, Hebi. All of us know what it's like to deal with things like this, so we want to be able to help other people deal with it if we can. The worst thing you can do is try to deal with it alone," his voice grew slightly stern st the end as he leveled a knowing look at me. I flushed what was probably deep red with embarrassment.
"I'll keep that in mind," I hedged, before giving the older man a glare of my own. "Have you gotten any sleep yet?"
It was Steve's turn to blush, and he placed a very fake cough in his fist, looking away from me. "I've gotten about an hour. Don't worry about me, the serum made it so I don't need that much sleep anyway. Three or four hours and I'm good to go for the day."
Oh hey, we're the same in that regard, I thought idly. Though, in his case it was just natural after he got injected with the serum. In my case, it was just years of only being able to get that much sleep that led to me just adapting to short nights.
"Well, um," I started after a long moment of comfortable silence. "I'm better now, Steve. Thanks again."
The blond shook his head with a soft smile. "Don't worry about it Hebi. Think you can get back to sleep?"
I looked up at the ceiling, biting my cheek in thought. My heartbeat was calm, I didn't feel any signs of a panic attack… I nodded.
"I don't usually have that much of an issue getting back to sleep, just staying that way," I admitted. "I should be fine for now, go back to sleep. Please."
That earned me a chuckle and a hair-ruffle.
"Alright, kid. I hope you only have good dreams for the rest of the night. See you in the morning."
I nodded, smiling as I watched him go.
"See you."
I laid back down after he left, hugging the blankets close to myself. It had been a long time since I'd dreamt of Remmy, but it made sense. He had died in his sleep, and Matt was constantly sleeping. I mentally cursed my brain out in every language I knew, closing my eyes.
Leave me alone now, I pleaded to the universe. Isn't living a nightmare when I'm awake bad enough for now?
—*—*—*—*—*
hey! It's been a while since we've had a chapter completely from Hebi's point of view, huh? Have we even had one before now..? I can't remember.
You guys might notice a little detail that seems a little weird. Keep in mind guys, Hebi is extremely frantic and not nearly as observant as usual in this chapter so there might be a few things that happened in this chapter that she legitimately didn't notice. That is purposeful, and one detail in particular will come into play in later chapters. I can't reveal what it is though, you guys can do detective work ;)
Thank you so much for reading, please comment, and as always;
See you next chapter!~
