It wouldn't be long before he'd be leaving and it was, honestly, a weird thought. He was nervous about the idea.
He'd been here for what felt like an eternity. This place had become his world.
His home.
Part of him felt like he'd always been here, he'd never lived anywhere else, but now things were going to change. The gears were in motion in preparation for him leaving.
Them leaving.
If he was honest with himself, he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to face the world that had taken so much from him.
He watched the grey, bland hands flex. The too smooth movement of joints he couldn't feel.
They were meant to be his hands.
They weren't though.
They lacked control. Finesse. They had no feeling.
They offered feedback, they had to for him to be able to use them, but it wasn't the same. He couldn't get used to them.
He hated them. He wanted his hands.
He'd mentioned this to Katie and a few others, but all they said was it would take time for him to get used to them, that once he had left he could get better replacements and they would improve things.
They didn't understand. They wouldn't listen.
Once he had them and he'd had enough time, he'd be okay. He'd find those things he was missing. That was all he was told, over and over.
That in time he'd accept them.
He, however, wasn't so sure about that.
He didn't want them.
He didn't like them.
He wanted his hands. Not these… things
He wanted his hearing. He wanted to be whole.
He didn't want to leave. That meant he had to face everything. While he was here he could pretend he was still getting better, that things would be okay. Once he left that was it.
It was done.
On top of all of that, leaving meant facing his family—his grandmother, he corrected. She'd want to help, she'd need to help, and he wasn't sure he could handle that. The thought of her heavy-handed attempts to make things easier for him along with her own selfish search for forgiveness that made his stomach turn.
Shaking the thoughts loose, he carefully reached for the solid plastic cup, the shatterproof kind you gave to little kids.
Brains had, unsurprisingly, apparently already had a few ideas about perhaps being about to return his hearing and Scott's sight at least so some degree. It, of course, depended on the damage that had been done. He had already started on making some new hands for him, Kayo had brought him the schematics for him to look over. Brains knew how to cheer him up, the detailed notes and sketches all over the page. It was a sad subject, one that ached, but it was nice to see the effort he'd been putting into it. He sighed; at least they'd be well made. They wouldn't be his, but they'd be as close as he was ever going to get, Brains would make sure of that.
Nothing was going to change his mind, though. He didn't want to leave.
He was scared.