Hizashi stirs, trying to chase the warmth beside him. Even though the smell is wrong, the texture slightly off, it reminds him of cuddle piles back home, where he could fall asleep next to his clutchmates and wake up tangled with twenty See'krtshes from different broods.

The illusion can't last long. He opens bleary eyes, blinking away the remains of sleep blurring his vision. See'krtsh sleep cycles were shorter than a Human's (even though it wasn't evident with the way Shinsou always seemed to wake up right before or at the same time as him, even when the lights hadn't turned on yet). He was used to napping throughout the cycle; it was one of the few biological similarities Shouta and he shared.

Today, Shinsou doesn't show signs of rousing yet, even though the lights are on. The eye-leaking must have exhausted him. Hizashi tilts his head slightly to take a peek at his cellmate's face. To his relief, the skin around his eyes is only slightly red, and the dried trails on his cheeks are the only trace left of last cycle's fright.

He takes his time to look at the Human's features. He hadn't been able to observe one from this close, not without Shinsou being aware of him staring. That's just a recipe for a cultural misstep.

It's… in his sleep, Shinsou looks soft. There's still some tension in the line of his back, but the space between his eyebrows is smoothed out, the tight wrinkles around his eyes and mouth nowhere to be seen. It's almost cute, if he disregards the tangled hair and the whole human Deathworlder thing. Even his skin devoid of fur or scales or feathers makes him look younger. Like a hatchling. Hizashi resists the urge to reach up and preen his purple crown.

The few testimonials reported from even fewer survivors about Humans' impressive height must have been greatly exaggerated by the terror of meeting a Deathwordler. While Shinsou towered over him when he stood up—and it's not like that was a great feat, every bipedal beat him in the height department—he was a lot shorter when he was laying down, even more so when compared side by side with him.

His tail unconsciously slides closer to the body heat. To his surprise, it curls all the way around the Human's feet, until he can touch Shinsou's knee. If his cellmate tucked his limbs closer to his chest, it would almost look like Hizashi was… He quickly moves his tail away, mortified even though no one witnessed him wrap himself around a Deathworlder like Shinsou was a baby See'krtsh.

The others would never let him live it down if they found out about this.

He takes a moment to calm his racing heart, biting off his laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The warmth he's leeching makes him almost doze off again when the Human's breathing pattern stutters. He can feel the almost relaxed muscles tense once again. Shinsou stays still for a moment, before giving up the pretence of sleep and lifts his head.

To Hizashi's delight, pink climbs his cheeks in what he now knows is embarrassment. He made a Deathworlder embarrassed via cuddling.

Shinsou quickly averts his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

He doesn't lean away.

His amusement fades when Shinsou's head fur shifts. With the way he tilts away his head, the raised skin and clumps of red is very visible.

"What's that on your neck?" He regrets his words as soon as he blurts them out.

Shinsou squirms uncomfortably at his very nosy question, what was he thinking asking about something so private. He's about to apologize, tell him to forget about it, when Shinsou pulls his garnement out of the way to expose his bared neck.

Puckered scars line his skin, with clusters of fresh scabs spread out mostly on the back of his neck, where his hairline stops. The upper part of Hizashi's back starts itching, where maroon flecks stain the hoodie.

He doesn't understand how Shinsou has fresh wounds when they were constantly in the cell. Weren't Humans supposed to heal fast?

Shinsou just shrugs. He does the terrifying diaphragm spasm that's supposed to be a laugh, and mimes gouging into his skin with his tiny claws. "Annoying. Bored. I take off."

Hizashi isn't sure what to say to that. When they'll get out, he'll make sure Shinsou gets assigned to a reputable mind healer. He has multiple favours he can call on.

Shinsou obediently lets him inspect his neck without protest. The healing wounds are surrounded by streaks of red, where Shinsou had scratched too much. They lost their initial form, and there's not much information he can gather from them. The scars that seem to have been mostly left alone form almost circular shaped starbursts.

"How did you break the collar?" he squawks incredulously. Multiple times too, if the overlapping starbursts were to be trusted.

The Human lifts his shoulders, bemused, as if he isn't just admitting to snapping almiun with his bare hands.

"Can you break mine?" Excitement bubbles in his stomach, overflowing into his limbs. He bounces on his feet, too giddy to stand still.

Shinsou startles, taking a step back, like he hadn't even considered the idea. Several emotions, too fast to understand, flicker through his face, before settling on something Hizashi can't decipher. "No."

His tail stills.

"What do you mean no? I know I don't look like it, but I'm actually really strong, you know?" His gestures are more snappy than he intends them to be, but he can't help the spark of annoyance. "If you help me, we could get out together."

He doesn't understand. He thought he could consider Shinsou an ally, or at least a well liked acquaintance. Did he just look too pathetic, without his feathers? Shinsou's skeptical expression flames the outrage burning through him, bright and uncontrollable. It comes out ugly and warped, and for a moment, he believes the venom he's throwing whole-heartedly.

Shinsou's frowning now. He's signing too fast, not using the words he taught him, but his lost-hurt expression makes satisfaction curl languidly in his chest. The rational part of himself is whispering at him to stop antagonizing the Deathworlder. That he'll regret trying to hurt his friend. He doesn't care.

The Human tugs his garment harshly and jabs at a nasty scar he hadn't seen, discolored skin pulling at the surrounding flesh. It looks worse than the others. He then forms a circle with his fingers, before abruptly bending them inwards.

"Hurt a lot. You die." He takes a shuddering breath, pausing to gather his thoughts. "I am not breaking anything," declares Shinsou, upper limbs crossed over each other to show he doesn't have anything to say. He turns around so he won't be able to look at Hizashi.

The anger sizzles out as soon as it comes, leaving him drained with harsh regret.

He circles around Shinsou until they're face to face. The Human's lower lip is jutting out, shoulders hunched to cover his ears. He's blinking a lot, glaring at the floor.

"Shinsou—"

He turns his head away, refusing to look at Hizashi. He smothers the spark of annoyance, putting himself back in Shinsou's line of sight and clicking his tongue to get his attention.

"What."

Hizashi winces at the flat tone. He deserves that.

"I'm sorry. What I said wasn't true at all." He goes to preen Shinsou in apology before realizing the Human might not want his wings too close to his face, and ends up nudging his thigh to cover his mistake.

Shinsou doesn't respond for a long time. Hizashi is about to go to his own corner to give him his own space, when he finally deflates like a balloon. "You say before. We get out. It is true?"

He's been thinking about it during the long stretches of silence between them, when Shinsou was too tired to learn or talk. His plan is dreadfully simple, but without knowing the layout of the ship, or the number of people on it, a more complicated one would fall apart before he can say 'listener'.

"Without this"—he taps the metal band—"I can help fight off the Feczoits. We can find an escape pod." He pauses, petting the edges of his wings. "Unless they don't respect the Life Saving Equipment Regulation, but even then, I can always hijack the ship."

Shinsou mulls over his words for a while. His sigh is long and drawn out, but he brings his hands up, resignation dripping from his every move. "I do not break. Only look."

He's careful not to do any sudden moves, acutely aware of the trembling under his hands.

They're so close Hitoshi can see—what he thinks are—feathers right about to break skin.

He's deliberately not meeting Hizashi's eyes.

He doesn't blame him for faking an apology; the alien had to save himself. Hitoshi would do the same, would do anything to escape this hellhole. (Would he? Would he actually do anything—?)

It doesn't matter. He knows he's not a coward. He's used to people lashing out in anger, spouting lies about him. Even if they hit a bit too close, even if they echoed his deepest fears, anything anyone says is stupid. Being the target of misplaced resentment is normal.

What's the point of wasting energy and making his captors angry anyways. The urge to stomp his feet is strong, but he resists it. He tried escaping and it didn't work. What Hizashi said doesn't even phase him.

His prickly eyes tell another story.

It's just because of yesterday night, that's all. Everything feels like too much, as if the comfortable fog around himself was lifted.

His whole body is bursting with unused energy from the first almost uninterrupted sleep in a long time. He hadn't even planned on falling asleep, but the comforting pressure on his side had somewhat settled the want under his skin, his muscles releasing tension he hadn't noticed until now, a pleasant fog sedating his thoughts only undercut by the almost overwhelming touch of Hizashi's tail resting against his foot.

It's hadn't been enough to move his leg away. The soft breathing beside him, and the rise and fall of Hizashi's chest had partially filled an aching hollow that had grown by such small increments he hadn't even noticed how big the gap was until he wasn't alone. His face heats up at the memory.

Hitoshi pulls on the collar, gently pushing at Hizashi's loose skin. Goosebumps trail behind where his knuckles brushed. He can barely squeeze the tips of his fingers in the gap, can see even less what's in the space between Hizashi and the collar. He shifts closer to the side so his shadow doesn't obscure his view, and he's rewarded with a glint of light revealing thin strings, connected to the inside of the collar and pulling at a flat disk under Hizashi's bruised skin. The only way they would be able to take it off would be with the key or by cutting everything up.

It's becoming harder to ignore the growing restlessness buzzing right under his skin; he doesn't know if Hizashi noticed that the low background whirring had stopped at one point during the night. If he did, he showed no indication he knew what it meant.

He hopes they're refuelling, or picking up supplies, but…

It's been too long since his last ring fight. He's just waiting for the squirrel-like aliens to come get him, make him entertain a bloodthirsty audience like he's just an animal, the worry running round and round in the back of his head. It's what convinced him to study the electric collar (he's just looking, nothing more, there's no harm in looking).

The image of a thin broken neck and glassy eyes staring accusingly at him pushes to the forefront of his mind. Something unpleasant lodges itself in his throat.

If he gives in to Hizashi's request to break the collar, he'll kill his friend. He wasn't kidding when he told him it was dangerous. The squirrel aliens had given up on collaring him after the fourth destroyed piece, but every time had been painful, jagged metal drawing blood and bent parts crushing his throat, cutting off his airways for terrifying seconds while he tried his best to pull off the folded pieces through the pain and electricity arcing through his hands. Half his fingers still pinprick unpleasantly when they get too cold.

He could try breaking the food tray and bend a piece? Wedge it between Hizashi's neck and the collar. Would it be more or less dangerous than snapping it?

To his surprise, the See'krtsh gets a contemplating look on his face, actually considering the offhandedly idea. "We can put it on the - until we get better ideas. We'll try and if it's too risky, we'll just stop, okay -?"

Shinsou absentmindedly pets Hizashi's shoulder to show his agreement.

It feels unreal, actually planning to escape. Talking to someone that isn't threatening him or begging for their life (even if Hizashi was yelling not a moment ago). He oscillates between squishing the fluttering hope or letting it grow.

(His foot slips when he takes the corner too fast. He goes down hard, shoulder slamming against the floor. He hastily tries to wipe his feet, barely registering the pain, but he still has to clench his toes to get a better grip when he goes back to running.

(On a school trip at the orchard, stomping on bruised apples had entertained him more than picking them. The wet crunch , resistance satisfyingly giving under his shoes. He left behind a trail of splattered red and white that oozed juices from their broken flesh, shuffling through grass to wipe away the stickiness clinging to the sole of his threadbare shoes.)

Every time he blinks, he's haunted by afterimages of splattered fruit.

His mouth is too dry, each inhale scratching his throat raw, feeding the fire in his lungs. His heartbeat almost covers the piercing alarm, beating drum pounding at the rhythm of his strides. It doesn't stop the exhilarated open mouth smile; this is the farthest he's ever gone, he's going to get out of here, he can feel it. The hallways are empty, there's no one to stop him—

He stops, skidding and sliding until he finds his balance, two purple lines behind him. He's locked into place, the smile frozen still. For a split second, he thinks open your eyes why are you closing your eyes. He'd ignored the cold hard reality of his situation, keeping that tiny ember burning just a little bit longer, convincing himself he just needed to try again.

There are no stars. No blue planet. Nothing at all.

Only endless black.

Dread rises as unstoppable as the tides, swelling into hopeless desperation. It washes him away, he's tumbling under waves until he can't make out up from down, and he's only spitted out when he's a faded shell left.

They find him staring motionless through the reinforced glass.

He doesn't know how to get back.)

The slightly strangled eep interrupts the creeping cold climbing his forearms. He immediately lets go, having pulled too hard unconsciously.

"Sorry—"

A beeping noise cuts him off.

Incomprehension turns to horror as Hizashi seizes up for interminable seconds while he can only stare in shock. The pained cry snaps him out of it, making him rush to his aid.

He immediately retracts his hands with a surprised shout, fingertips tingly and numb.

"Hizashi? Hizashi, you okay?" The alien's limbs are shaking while he tries to catch his breath, small hiccupy wheezes painfully dragging out of his lungs.

What does he do, what does he do? All his knowledge about electricity is to never involve water and to not stand under trees in thunderstorms.

There's too much happening in his mind, thoughts whizzing too fast for him to grasp. He needs to do something anything do something—

He's barely aware of his strings of apologies, uselessly repeating the gestures over and over again. Hizashi isn't even looking at him, curled around himself with his tail twisting over his neck and head in an attempt to shield himself.

When he tries to touch him again, Hizashi's beak snaps right where his hand had been. It's only his quick reflex that prevents it from ending in the alien's mouth. The hiss surprises him enough that he hisses right back, baring his teeth. His hand slaps over his mouth to hide it but it's too late.

To Hitoshi's alarm, Hizashi goes for the door despite having been warned repeatedly about it being electrified. Unfortunately—or fortunately?—his limbs yield under him before he can hurt himself even more.

Hitoshi tries calling for him with his voice instead of the name sign they've been using, tapping at the floor to get his attention at a safe distance, but all he does is rattle his beak in warning, wings flared out to make himself bigger. He's prepared this time around and doesn't retaliate.

It's for nothing though. His heart drops at the same time as Hizashi does. Strings cleanly cut.

He almost collapses from relief when he sees that the alien's eyes are scrunched up tight, his breaths quick and shallow. He sits down, giving him some space, but places himself between Hizashi and the door, just in case.

"Hizashi?" he tries for the nth time when the alien lifts up his head. His pupils are constricted into thin lines, and he looks… he looks scared.

It hits him like a sledgehammer. In a desperate effort to erase Hizashi's fear, he adds the lilting friendship hum Hizashi helped him perfect, making himself as small as he can.

Hizashi's whole body tenses like a bowstring, slit pupils flickering lightning fast to every threatening shadow in the cell, before he relaxes, bringing the edges of his hoodie around him.

"I'm okay, it's okay, I just need to—" his thorax seizes up in terrifying stillness for a lingering second—"- - this."

His hands flutter uselessly. He can't wipe the frightened expression from Hizashi's face every time the alien's gaze lands on him. He admonishes himself for the way his heart pinches painfully. This was his fault, Hizashi has every right to be upset with him. He could hate him and Hitoshi would deserve every insult thrown his way.

"I am sorry," he repeats. Guilt, thick and acrid, claws at his stomach.

Hizashi runs his fingernail on the zipper up and down, producing a trrrrrr sound. When he looks like he isn't going to fall over, he lifts his wings. "Wow, hope I didn't fry more - -."

His whistle is too brittle to be genuine. Hitoshi doesn't know if he wants to know whether the trembling is from fear or the lingering effects of electricity. Realizing he's ripping the hem of his shirt, he places his hands under his thighs to resist the urge to fiddle with the fabric.

"So, did you get a good look at the collar? Or do you have to look again?"

Right. That was the point of all of this. He gathers his hands, trying to remember how to talk through the fading panic.

"It is almost same. Small... than—"

"Smaller," Hizashi corrects him automatically, looking as surprised as Hitoshi is feeling.

"Smaller, and lesser string. Only two, here and here."

The alien looks at him expectantly, but there's nothing else he has to say. The silence stretches uncomfortably, until a small poke could make it snap like a rubber band.

It's interrupted by the food tray clattering loudly. Hitoshi scampers a little bit too quickly, thanking whatever guard had decided to give them food earlier. It even seems like today is one of the few times whoever had been on kitchen duty put in an extra scoop or two. He places it right in front of Hizashi, silently imploring him to take a break from the conversation.

Hizashi grumbles but eventually draws a line to cut the food right in the middle, his chewing slowing down as he nears the end of his half. It looks licked clean by the time it's Hitoshi's turn. Instead of scarfing his portion down, he shakes his head with a muted 'not hungry'.

"You have to eat anyway," Hizashi says, pushing the tray again. "I ate half already, -."

"I eat more half last day," Hitoshi counters, sliding it back in front of Hizashi. His friend's—can he still call him his friend?—pain, that he caused, weights on his chest.

"Shinsou—"

"Hizashi." If he thought he could out stubborn him, the alien was in for a long ride. He is fuelled with regret. Weird sandy gruel and regret.

"I told you already, this is made for your - needs," he signs, throwing his wings in exasperation. "It's a waste if I eat it all."

Hitoshi doesn't respond. If Hizashi could just eat the damn food, maybe he could stop feeling like—like this! He wants to go back in time and never touch the stupid thing.

Plus, he's pretty sure there's important stuff missing from the 'made-for-his-needs' food. Vitamins or something. He doesn't think his nails are supposed to be this brittle. Or so flat.

Hizashi is trying to convince him, but it's having the opposite effect. His limbs move like they're underwater, as if all the energy was sapped out of his body.

He looks at him straight in the eyes and very deliberately nudges the tray forward, channeling every bastard cats knocking trinkets from furniture.

He just wants Hizashi to eat the rest before the guards come and take it away.

He goes to pull his hoodie over his head, only to remember he gave it away. His hands change direction, and he pretends to scratch his neck, hoping Hizashi didn't catch his memory lapse.

"Shinsou, I don't need as much food as you." Hizashi pauses. "And I'm not angry at you for what happened," he lies. " I know it was an accident."

His nail catches underneath a scab. He can't help but pick at it until it peels off cleanly.

"Please, Shinsou." Hizashi looks exhausted. Hitoshi doesn't know if he's imagining the disappointment in the alien's posture. He's just making more work for Hizashi, making him have to babysit him and wait by his side like he's a toddler who can't be trusted to eat all their vegetables.

Hitoshi caves in, breaking out of his attempted sullen silence. The oatmeal is cold between his fingers, and even colder on his tongue. He didn't think it could taste worse, but the guilt and shame makes everything bitter.

It was entirely his fault. He had been distracted. If he had been paying attention instead of thinking of stupid things, Hizashi wouldn't have been hurt. "You need food and energy for live. So you can escape."

Hizashi's frowns—or at least, he thinks he does. He does the weirdly comforting hum while signing, "You need to eat too. We're getting out of here together."

"But if we not?" The words shoot out of his hands before he can stop them.

"The - will come get us."

Hitoshi has no idea who that is. Probably the 'space police' or whatever they had. He's not waiting for those people. Unless Hizashi was actually a really important alien, they aren't going to be found; no one has ever tried to stop what he's pretty sure is an illegal fight ring since he's been here, and it's not like he's the only one being held captive. He's seen other prisoners and shut door cells.

The giant spaceship wasn't particularly inconspicuous either, literally hundreds of people watched his matches.

He keeps his hands still. It would be cruel to crush Hizashi's hopes. Not when he full heartedly believed them.

He doesn't do a good job hiding his doubts though. Hizashi flaps his wings to loosen them, and starts talking about… honestly, he isn't quite sure, and he's not in the mood to learn more words or interrupt the really enthusiastic speech he thinks is supposed to be inspirational. He just wants to go back to sleep. Hizashi's energy must dwindle down too, or maybe it's the effect of being electrocuted, because his gestures are even less grand than usual.

He should make him stop, he thinks through sluggish thoughts. They should just take a well-deserved nap. His skin is aching for the firm press of another person against his side.

"I…" He trails off. He thought he heard—

Hizashi tilts his head, asking him what's wrong.

"Someone door," he signs, pushing himself up. He allows himself a moment to tear his eyes from the door to check on Hizashi, whose chin is lowered on the floor.

He holds his breath, trying to make out the footsteps. Maybe they were only passing by? There were multiple cells lining his. It could just be an impatient guard coming to get the food tray earlier than the usual schedule.

He swallows thickly as the sound comes closer, stopping in front of his cell. There are more than one alien out there.

Despite expecting it, he jumps when they bang the warning on the door, reaching out to jerk Hizashi back so they stand near the opposite wall.

Too many things are happening at the same time, the collar and the escape and now he's going to be sent to fight. The only thing he wants to do right now is curl up in a ball and go to sleep. He entertains the fantasy for a moment, before steeling himself.

Hizashi's muttering something about the collar and the guards, but he can't pay him any mind. His eyes are glued on the door.

Stillness shrouds his thoughts, drowning them before he can really worry.

He just needs to survive and come back. It's as easy as violence can be. Walk in the arena. Endure the shouts and screams from other contestants. Fight.

He's done this countless times. There was nothing to worry about.

The door creaks open.

He can count six squirrel-like aliens, unlike the usual four. Only three can fit comfortably in the cell, the rest waiting outside.

The cell door closes behind them.

One of them breaks off from the group, taking tiny steps toward him under the watchful gaze of the others. He catches the covering-bag they throw at him from what seems to be as far as they can, immediately brandishing their stick with both hands, and to his amusement, they get reprimanded from what appears to be their senior. They must be new to the job. Honestly, he hasn't even tried to attack them since that disastrous fight against the baby alien whose shrieks sounded like the cries of little Yamaguchi Aoi.

The urge to snarl at the alien for a little scare is strong, but the lightning sticks actually hurt.

Urgh. He forgot how disgusting the covering-bag smelled. A mix of forgotten wet laundry and garbage.

He clasps the band over his neck, tightening it until the familiar click. Despite the bile and excess saliva, his mouth feels dry. He hopes he doesn't barf.

He's ushered in a corner by the new guard, bodyweight supported by the wall so the stick doesn't touch him. His forehead is cool where it's pressed on the metal.

He startles when clammy hands start inspecting him, making sure the covering-bag is secured and searching him for improvised weapons. He hadn't noticed he had closed his eyes, whole body slowly sliding down.

He straightens, making sure to stay completely motionless, but he can't help stumbling a little, ignoring the startled bark.

He'll try to make it fast. Quick and painless. As if that made murder better, you fucking dumbass, says a voice that sounds uncannily like one of the night shift supervisors from his center. He ignores it. If he doesn't come back covered in blood and gore, would Hizashi forget what he did? Out of sight, out of mind, right?

The odd calm crumbles when the two remaining aliens behind him start to chitter, growing angrier, small whistles added to their conversation when they don't seem to get what they want. He should be nervous, but every feeling presses in a distant way, like listening to someone underwater. What are they doing?

It's only when Hizashi lets out a muffled scream that the distant panic finally pierces through the fog.

He turns around, but the room spins, his covered eyes not helping him fight against the nauseating vertigo. He kicks blindly, and somehow, his foot makes contact with the alien, who crumbles easily in a way that still surprises him. How can beings so fragile ruin his life?

They have the time to activate the covering-bag though, or maybe one of the others did it, because the collar starts whirring, the loose material immediately starting to tighten around his face. He only has the time to inhale once before its molded solid over his airways.

He doesn't try pulling at the fabric, knowing from experience it won't give in time. Instead, he goes directly for the clasp, crushing it at the hinge with a pained grunt, hoping shards of metal won't be stuck in his hand. They really hadn't changed the mechanism since the last time he tried to escape.

(Endless black endless black endless black—)

It scrapes his face when he pulls it over his head, but the pain floats away easily as he barely manages to throw himself on the ground when one of the remaining guards thrusts their stick, accidentally landing on the newbie's shoulder, the wet crunch making his opponent wince for their colleague, furry tail flicking behind them.

They bring their weapon down on him. He's too slow, and it hits him where his sleeve rid up his left arm. Intense chirping, before white overtakes his vision, flashing strobing lights. And then, the familiar sting, everything contracting all at once and knocking his breath out of his lungs. His back arches, he's getting pulled taut in all directions under his own body strength, his muscles fighting each other to a standstill. He can't even scream, teeth grinding together. It hurts it hurts it hurts—

They set it to a continuous stream, locking him in place.

He has to… he has to…

The electricity goes down, finally stops, and he falls limply, desperately trying to make his diaphragm work, he needs air he needs air he needs air—

His heart beats off rhythm, painfully hard against his chest, like it's trying to hammer a bruise from the inside. When he thinks it's finally going back to an almost normal pace, it starts back up. It feels like dying.

It feels like a normal day from before Hizashi.

The guard that shocked him barks out an order he barely hears through the fuzziness. He knows what it means though. Stay down.

The stick digs threateningly in his side under his shirt, ready to activate as soon as he tries something.

He wants to close his eyes, let sleep take the burning spreading out from his arm away. Doesn't he deserve to rest? He'd fought as much as he could make himself.

He's just so tired, even laying down takes energy. The floor should melt, until he's swallowed up and disappears.

He doesn't notice the guard had come closer until their boots are all he can see, their stick now held against his stomach.

Something takes over him, the same part of himself that sometimes comes out in the arena, when he's against someone bigger, stronger. The primal urge to get up fight stay alive that controls him even when all his heart wants is to lay down and die.

The sudden burst of energy takes the giant squirrel alien by surprise, they can't activate the lightning stick, crashing with a pained squeak when he punches their legs, their ankles bending awfully. The sudden movement stretches him uncomfortable, the burning spreading to his neck and up his face.

The lightning stick brushes his leg when it falls. His pants prevents it from giving him anymore than a stabbing sensation shooting out toward his feet and his thigh. It clatters away when his legs jerk uncontrollably.

He doesn't know how he's on his feet. The adrenaline rushing through his blood makes it easier to cut through the haze and his numb limbs.

The last guard is almost at the door, speaking quickly into their earpiece. They're dragging Hizashi by the wings, nails digging until blood wells up, staining their bandaged hand. His friend is barely thrashing, something dark over his face. The door had been opened some time during the scuffle.

They're trying to bring him out in the hallway.

His teeth snap in warning, but they only give him a side glance, trying to up their pace. His heartbeat almost covers the crack of the metal stick he picked up hitting their arm closest to him and the thump Hizashi makes when he's dropped.

He doesn't get up.

The bandaged alien starts yelling out, pointing at Hizashi, trying to keep him at a distance with their backup stick, moving the crackling point from side to side while approaching him.Their face is contorted in a grimace, their injured arm tucked close to their chest.

He shouts something unintelligible, barking and screeching and hissing, making noise to scare them away as if they were a wild animal back from Earth. They don't seem to expect it, faltering for a second, and he immediately takes advantage of their hesitation, throwing himself at them. The lightning stick doesn't work well in close combat, and his hand finds their throat. He squeezes it in warning when the others step closer.

The guard under him has shinier armor, and they wear different colors. Their attempts at pushing him off or clawing his forearms and face barely phase him, his other hand shooting up to restrain their arms. Their fur turns purple when his fingers break skin, their ears pulled back as they howl in distress.

The others get the message, giving Hizashi, him and his hostage a wide berth, almost hugging the wall to get to their fallen colleagues under his watchful glare.

It's only when they're all out of the cell that he lets himself move, gathering the leader in his arms and basically throwing them out, uncaring about whether or not the others can catch them. The adrenaline is starting to leave his system and he tries to not let his exhaustion show, snarling and spitting despite not being able to feel his face.

As soon as the door slams shut, he scrambles to Hizashi. Now that he's closer, he sees that it isn't a covering-bag, but rather a muzzle-like thing, more to physically restrain than to asphyxiate.

It should be easy to untie, but the clasps and knots slip through his shaking fingers until he finally gets it off Hizashi's head, dropping it somewhere on the floor. His hands find his friend's chest, feeling it expand and shrink; if he concentrates, there's the steady ba-dum of his heart. The small wounds on his wings already stopped bleeding, leaving bright green coagulated blood.

Hizashi's eyes stay shut even when he shakes him by the shoulder.

He drags him as far as he can from the door, each step agony as ants seem to eat crawl through his veins, checking and rechecking to see if the position change alters anything about Hizashi's condition.

Time stretches and blinks away. He knows this isn't normal, that his captors did something to him, it's right there, but he can't quite reach it, can only brush against it before the thought gallops away.

He gives up trying to figure out why he's slow slow slow. Keeping a tighter hold on Keep Hizashi safe and Stay awake is more important right now.

He repeats the mantra, mumbling it under the heavy panting. His clumsy tongue trips over his teeth and slaps against the roof of his mouth.

His lids are heavy. He pinches himself as hard as he can, trying to jolt himself awake, and it works for a bit, until it becomes too hard to open his eyes, eyelashes sticking together, and he has to do it again, slamming his heel on the ground to wake more of the ants.

Hizashi. Awake. Hizashi. Awake. Hizashi. Awake.

When Hizashi wakes up, it's to a pounding headache and a stale mouth. Shouta—or was it Nemuri's turn?—was supposed to stop him from over drinking.

He tries to move, and for a terrifying second, he thinks he's been bound (why would he be tied up?) but the thing over him is easily pulled away when he tugs at it sharply. He blinks away the clinging remnants of sleep, trying to focus his blurry vision. Now that he's more awake, he can see it's just the hoodie, that he'd only been bundled in it.

He looks up, and almost screams. Shinsou is so close that he's almost crouched over his sleeping body. He doesn't notice Hizashi is awake until he makes a noise while sitting up.

The Human turns around, swaying dangerously to the side, but his pupils are slow on the uptake, staying glazed on the door, before following the movement of his head.

Shinsou looks awful, under eyes a deep purple-blue. His scleras are worryingly bloodshot, but it's the way he holds himself, twitchy and too sharp that unnerves him the most. His eyes grow wide, a wild look taking over his face, pulling at the two gashes running over the bridge of his nose. It takes him a good ten seconds before he lights up in recognition.

"Hizashi? You okay?" he slurs, the words almost unrecognizable. The movement makes his eyes catch on his forelimbs, all blotched with broken capillaries. He follows the trail of reddened skin down until…

There's dried blood painting his cellmates fingers, like he dipped them in paint. It matches his hair, a tiny part of him remarks. Shut up, says the rest of him that's trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

He's hit with the pungent smell of blood at the same time as the memories rush through him. Eating. The collar. Putting off the unnatural dizziness. The Feczoits.

His wings where he'd been grabbed throb, and the skin around his beak is sore.

He unconsciously takes a step back, unable to tear his eyes from the bloody mess. Shinsou doesn't seem to notice or care, waiting for his answer. "Ye-yeah, I'm okay, listener."

Hizashi squirms under the empty expression when the Human doesn't respond immediately. Finally, Shinsou nods—it looks more like his neck couldn't support his head, letting it fall and hang limply.

He has so many questions. How long was he asleep?

He doesn't have the time to ask Shinsou anything; his cellmate crawls a tail length away, collapsing on the wall, whole body going limp before he startles awake, immediately squeezing his skin. That explains his red forelimbs.

Despite the blanks in his memories and the blood that is clearly Feczoit, he's pretty sure Shinsou saved him.

Strolling up to Shinsou unsteadily, he lets himself plop next to him, hoping his nerves aren't visible to the Human. He's pretty sure he isn't imagining the way Shinsou leans into his touch, nor the glances aimed his way and the disjointed shuffling of his limbs, like he's making place for him at his side. The flaking blood is perturbing, but he hides it beneath faked confidence.

Shinsou's mouth moves, but it's too low for him to understand, which he seems to realize because he flails his arms, staring at him with crinkled eyebrows. He's asking something, repeating it again and again. Hizashi doesn't understand what he's saying, but he does detect the hurt and panic under the lethargy.

He pats Shinsou's fur, trying to bring him to breathe normally again. The Human stops moving at the touch, eyes fluttering.

"I'll wake you up if something happens," he signs reassuringly.

Shinsou signs back something undecipherable, pressing a bit closer.

"Sleep." It's like he'd been waiting for the word the whole time. A long exhale, and Shinsou is out like a light.