Beginning notes:
Tumblr: boredgrace23
Don't be afraid to criticize! I want to improve as a writer and any sort of critique or analysis is welcomed!
I've been so excited to write these last chapters in length like you would NOT believe. I've had to wait so long to write these. By the by, the stories are slowly starting to intertwine with each other now. We're SO close to the boiling point of this story.
Chapter 21: Originals And The Ringing
Medic had fallen into a robotic state.
He didn't blame the guy. Couldn't really, not when he was sobbing his heart out moments before.
Tavish could feel the textured bumps on his fingers, the calloused palms, and a few droplets of water rubbing against the Scot's cheeks as he smoothed down his bandages.
The doctor's movements were stiff, but he could hear faint, heavy breathing, and while he wasn't crying like before, he was gasping occasionally, as if out of breath. He sucked in some air, hissing through his teeth, and Tavish felt Medic's hand fall from his cheek.
Leaden silence rested over both of them.
What remained of his eye thumped in its socket, and he could feel the weight of the coarse fabric pressing against his wound. He wondered if Medic was embarrassed. Lord knows how prideful the guy was, especially since he was willing to kill them over it.
So, Tavish never commented on his breakdown, letting the doctor come back to his senses.
He felt like sleeping and waiting for respawn to take him back, but he wasn't sure he could trust respawn to heal him properly, seeing as Jeremy respawned with his monster hand and Tavish lost his eye to Spy. Not to mention, neither of them had any weapons that could kill him quick enough, unless Medic wanted to go the old fashion route and choke him. Which the doctor seemed to prefer.
He wasn't about to leave him alone, though. Tavish wasn't sure what Medic would do if he was left alone, and he wasn't willing to risk it, either, not when he was their only doctor.
"You okay?" He asked after some time, slow with each of his words. It came out more awkwardly than he intended.
Medic failed to reply, and Tavish further hung his head. He wasn't sure what he was expecting; a reply? No, of course not. He wasn't even sure if Medic could hear his voice after that breakdown.
He didn't want him too, either. All Tavish wanted right now was just for a single moment to breathe, to give the two of them some air to just… think about everything that happened in the last day.
Something always happened hourly, whether someone was turned into a monster, one of them died, or they were turning into a monster. There was always something each hour. He could already tell that everyone won't come out of this normal.
Who would?
Tavish knew that people change, but he never believed that people could actually change overnight. Yet he did. Yet everyone did, in just the span of under a day.
Because in less than 24 hours, Tavish already felt like he was going insane from how many things he had to confront, how much his brain was relying on only his survival instincts to kick into gear.
Silence persisted. He wasn't sure for how long, and he sagged over himself. He was tired. Tavish wanted to sleep. His fingers and toes twitched, and a cold sweat ran down the base of his neck. The Scot was tired.
He was surprised by shuffling sounds next to him a second later. How much time passed?
"We need to go," Medic abruptly said, numbly.
"Go?" Tavish questioned. "Now?"
"Ja." His accent slipped, and he sounded like the RED Medic. It was eerie, in a way, and uncanny, after having gotten used to hearing him speak the way he does.
His hand reached out to Medic's arm. Instead of the turtleneck's sleeves, there was icy skin, and he hesitated at the touch. Did he use Soldier's shirt as a makeshift bandage? He swallowed in veiled disgust. God that shirt must've been so dirty by now.
"You shouldn't be hasty. You aren't doin' well."
Tavish felt his hand be pushed away, Medic speaking through a muzzy, muttered voice. "Du bist nicht mein Fruend. Verhalte dich nicht freundlich mir gegenüber."
"Eh?"
He heard clothes shuffling, along with a shoe heel tapping against the cement.
A few seconds pass before an icy hand snakes around his forearm, lifting him to his feet before he had a moment to realise what was happening.
He staggered to a stand, exclaiming as the sudden movement jolted his arm injury. The rough hand loosened, and the two stood while Tavish leaned over himself to hold his arm, teeth gritted.
"Could you slow down a mo'? I can't keep up with ye."
"We need to go before it finds us."
If Tavish could glare, he would. "I got it. Lemme gather me bearings first."
Medic didn't care. He felt him tug his arm to the left, directing him to where he heard most of the slight breeze coming from.
He tripped over his own feet to catch up to Medic. Tavish threw his free hand where he thought Medic's shoulder was, half-leaning against him and half-shuffling. If he was going to be pushy, he was at least going to use him as a crutch.
His body was positioned slightly sideways beside the BLU Medic's side, with Tavish's forearm still grasped by the doc's hand, and the Scot's left hand leaning against his shoulder for support.
"Doc, we're fine-"
"We need to go." He interrupted with a hiss in his ear, venomous.
Tavish's grip tightened around his shoulder, taken aback by the sudden animosity. "Doc-"
Medic clenched his forearm, and Tavish grunted. What the hell was his problem? He wanted to glare, wanted to yell at him for being hasty, but he took the hint and fell silent. He didn't feel like arguing with him again, and he allowed himself to be pulled toward wherever they were going.
"Where're we goin'?" He asked.
"To the RED Medic's infirmary. There should be supplies there. If not, then we will find Sniper and wait for Heavy to return with the Medi-gun." There was a cold way he held his tone. Tavish could tell he was barely conscious with the way he spoke.
He wanted to tell him that there was a chance Sniper wouldn't be there. That Heavy and that bumfuck of a Scout who abandoned them had died. There was no point being negative right now, so he simply frowned in response.
They came to a halt, and he felt heat lick his skin. He didn't have long to soak in the temperature when Medic moved away from Tavish, the sudden loss of the cool skin causing him to grasp the air for something steady.
Medic walked away from him.
He suddenly felt empty and vulnerable without a body nearby, and his heart raced.
Come back.
He paled, his hands longing to hold something to keep him secure.
Please, come back. He didn't know where he was.
It was embarrassing that he felt so weak and had to rely on Medic of all people. He only prayed that someone would find the Medi-gun, that he could heal himself and finally see. That he wasn't enveloped in darkness.
From somewhere within the room, he heard Medic move something around with soft grunts. It sounded like wood, a hollow, echoing sound coming from within it.
A second, before he heard a tumultuous CRASH of glass.
"For feck's sake!" Tavish exclaimed, flinching violently at the noise.
Medic, predictably, hadn't responded to his alarmed cry. He heard glass being shuffled, along with more cracking and another deep, throaty grunt. A rough sounding fabric flapped in the air, and he heard more glass being swept away.
It was starting to annoy him that Medic still wasn't responding to him. It was like they were back in the battlefield, and Medic would very obviously, plainly ignore everyone on the RED team, only focused on his job.
"Doc-" He was interrupted by his arm being jerked, towed towards where the glass had been shattered. "Don't be an ass, Medic."
"I'm going to pick you up and direct you out the window, legs first." Medic states.
Tavish felt his lips curl into a frown, affronted. "Bloody hell, you daft bastard! Have you not a shred of common decency in you?"
It was as if nothing he said reached the doctor's ears; he flinched when his chilly hands tapped his spine, feeling as Medic's other hand slipped underneath his legs, causing his knees to buckle beneath them. Tavish shouts in alarm and clambers onto Medic, like a cat afraid of water.
"Oh, my god!" He exclaims, shrill.
He was going to be left alone outside.
"You are being a big baby," Medic muttered, his accent prominent. "Just stay still; we've caused too much noise."
Medic was going to abandon him outside.
His hands clenched around Medic's shirt, the heat of the sun burning his skin while he was lifted through the window. He felt weightless, and his breathing picked up, feeling too reminiscent of a toddler.
Medic was going to run back to that BLU Scout if he was left alone.
He felt glass scrape his pants and ankle, hearing glass crunching beneath Medic's feet.
He was going to be alone, and without his vision.
"Medic, Medic, doc, I- I can't do this!" Tavish breathed desperately, holding tightly onto Medic.
His voice trembled too weakly, too powerless to be displayed in front of BLU Medic. They weren't friends. He shouldn't be this weak in front of him. But he is. It made him feel flawed, like a hassle, and without his scrumpy, he couldn't—wasn't able to get rid of those feelings.
"I don't want to go out like this."
Medic didn't reply to his desperation, and he dug his nails into his shoulders, his injuries screaming at him. His arm thumped and squirmed, and a sharp pain shot through his head from his eye, crawling throughout his skull. Everything hurt, and he was tired, weak, and he felt too vulnerable without his eye, from being plunged in the darkness.
"Bastard." Tavish cursed, scraping his nails into Medic's shoulder blades. His legs were hanging out of the window, and he could still feel him pushing him out of the window. "Talk to me! Anythin'!"
"We need to go."
Tavish winced as he felt himself twisted onto his stomach. Glass cut his shoulder and scraped his stomach, ribs, and arms. The window was slightly narrow, and he could feel each corner if he stretched his arms out. He focused solely on Medic's cold skin, clutching his skin and clothes tightly.
Tavish tried to control his breathing as he placed him outside, feeling sand beneath his shoes and the warm sun that already had him sweating.
He was alone.
His arm spasmed, his eye irritated, and he stumbled when he found solid ground.
Medic abandoned him.
He staggered backwards, feeling his foot slip on a rock beneath him, before colliding with what felt like a chained fence.
He abandoned him!
He grunts and slides down the metal links until he feels a solid floor.
"Feckin'-" Tavish hissed, rolling onto his side and holding his arm, and barking in agony when his injured eye narrowed and blood pooled within the makeshift bandages.
He groaned, hearing distant glass crunching and something thumping on wood.
It was the monster.
Footfalls stomped on the sand before noisy footsteps approached him.
He needed to run.
Ringing echoed in his ears, and he scratched his ear with his shoulder to block out the noise.
"We need to-"
But it wasn't.
"Shut the feck up." Tavish moaned, twisting onto his knees and leaning forward until his forehead touched the hot sand. "Just shut the feck up already."
Medic's hand gripped around his forearm. "If we do not leave-"
Tavish shouldered off his hand. He couldn't believe he was actually beginning to trust him. This realisation must've been likewise for Medic seeing how coldly he was treating him now.
"Then ye can just leave already!" He growled.
Medic doesn't respond, so he continues, laughing sardonically.
"I'm sore, and tired, and I don't want to be here. Everything hurts, and I don't know if I can run if we run into those damn creatures. I'm already runnin' on fumes here." Tavish admits through gritted teeth, trying to widen his eyes just for even a pinch of vision. Nothing but blackness, and he laughs once more. "Boohoo, ye had a bad day, eh? So yer takin' it out on me when I should be doin' the same, too. What have I done besides tell you the truth, huh?"
Medic still doesn't reply, and Tavish so desperately wished for his vision just to punch him.
"I've done nothin' besides try to be friendly to the best of my abilities with an enemy. Ye choke me out, try to take yourself and Scout out because you thought we were a monster, threaten me, and done nothin' but treat me like garbage." He spat each of the words with as much venom as he could produce. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, where he even was anymore. "Sure, I could understand that yer distrustful of me, understandable! We ain't friends, but could ye at least treat me with some human decency?"
"Human decency?" Medic questioned with a whisper, his tone taking on something between manic and numb. "What about my human decency? What about my life? My choices? You talk about human decency like you don't taunt us about being clones, like you hadn't betrayed Soldier."
Tavish paused.
"What?"
Medic sounded as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. "You betrayed Soldier. All of us know what you did to him. He thought of you as a friend. Even hid it from us for a short time. You made him feel human and tore that away from him. Tell me why I should treat you with human decency when you betrayed him?"
Tavish tilted his head, moving side to side in a languid motion. What? He felt sick, nausea pooling his stomach, choking him, as he felt his skin rapidly pale, puzzled and dreadfully hurt at the accusation.
He betrayed Soldier? Him?
"I betrayed Soldier?" He queries incredulously. "I betrayed him?"
Medic scoffed, and Tavish felt hot in the face.
"Now why the hell do ye lot think that?!" Screamed Tavish, pushing himself onto his feet and staggering as he straightened himself, feeling lightheaded. Words flooded out of him, and he couldn't stop himself. "He betrayed me! That bloody bastard went and betrayed me! He took that damn rocket launcher of his and shot it at me. I didn't want to go and hurt him, but I had no other choice if I wanted to live!"
Medic was quiet, and he took that as a sign to continue defending himself, swaggering from how sore his entire body was, agony ripping through him like fiery flames. He would never have betrayed him in a million years. He didn't care if he was a clone; he was his friend.
"That bastard betrayed me. I was going to be the better man and let this go, 'cause I never, and still don't, believe he woulda accepted a weapons deal. But he went and shot at me like a coward! Damned lucky I didn't decide to shoot him right between the eyes with the shittiest pistol I got!"
"A weapons deal? He never accepted a weapons deal." Medic said.
"Yeah, I know." Spat Tavish.
"Nein- no, Demoman, he never got a weapons deal."
Tavish fell silent.
"Demoman, he was never offered a weapons deal, was…" Medic trailed off.
"You're lying."
Medic's clothes rustled before he spoke quietly, softly. It was too unnatural. "No, Demoman. He was never given a weapons deal."
The doctor spoke with so much puzzlement that Tavish fell silent and listened to him, too confused himself to say anything.
"He was told that you were paid to kill the BLU team."
He sounded so baffled that the Scot couldn't help but freeze.
"What?" Questioned Tavish.
Because that wasn't right.
All of his blood drained at once, and he felt like collapsing at the pure puzzled emotion he was feeling.
He knew that Soldier didn't accept a weapons deal, never would have with how intelligent and loyal he was, but out of everything he expected, it was a threat?
Paid to kill them. It could've been some bad words, some meager insult, anything. But it was that. He wished it was a weapons deal, that Soldier did actually betray him. That Tavish was tricked to betray him.
Tavish hung his head, confused, but most of all, hurt.
Did Soldier not trust him enough to not hurt them? To hurt him?
"Were you never going to hurt us?" Medic sounded so genuinely curious that he wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or sob. Or something.
Tavish gave a jerky shake of his head, pitted and upset and shattered, heartbroken. He didn't want to speak; he was afraid of showing too much vulnerability he already displayed too much of.
Soldier had expected Tavish to hurt them all for money.
They drank, played poker, and slipped out of their bases whenever they had the opportunity. They picked up women and travelled to different states and countries for fuck's sake.
They defended each other when someone stepped out of line and picked on one of them.
They would've killed for each other. Soldier said that himself.
They consoled each other at their lowest points.
They were friends.
Yet Soldier thought he was going to kill all of them?
Did he even ever trust him?
He felt his nose burn, and his eye was sore. His body sagged. He was so fucking tired of this, so exhausted from running and running and running. From having to deal with the BLU team, having to feel too many emotions at once, from having to fear for his life to finding out this.
He was so tired.
He would've understood if Soldier had just come to speak with him, would've tried harder to make him understand that Tavish would've never in a million years hurt any of them. That he truly didn't mean them any harm.
But he wasn't a harmless citizen, was he? He was raised to kill. To love killing. To kill people in the most brutal way possible. Soldier knew that, and he took precautions against him, because he had always been a twitchy, paranoid bastard that kept his enemies closer. And Tavish fell for the act.
"I…" Tavish managed to croak, his chest screaming from how much it tightened.
He sucked in air, and he wanted to scream. He didn't. That wasn't like him.
Tavish couldn't feel any hate in his bones, either. It was horrible how much he wanted to hate him, but couldn't. It was terrible just how much he understood Soldier's view. Because Soldier, BLU Soldier, fuck, even RED Soldier, were just like that. They were paranoid, twitchy fuckers with too much vigilance towards useless things.
"He'd always been paranoid, eh?" Whispered Tavish.
Cold hands took his uninjured arm, gentle as it was directed over Medic's shoulder. He allowed the doctor to take a hold of him, directing him in a vague direction while he stumbled over his feet, leaning against the cool body for support.
Maybe Medic understood what was going through his mind, that he understood the heartbreak of knowing that someone he could trust never trusted him back, that they both lost someone close to them in their own unique ways. He wanted to believe that they understood each other in polar opposite ways, but were still relatable. Or perhaps, just a little, Medic understood what betrayal felt like.
Tavish tripped over his own feet, letting the doctor guide him to wherever they were going, and ignoring the increasing ringing in his ears.
Hurt. He was simply hurt.
He was heartbroken and shattered by the revelation that Soldier might've never been his friend.
Tavish thought he understood people, thought that he could easily read them, and maybe he could, that Soldier really did wanted to think of him as a friend, but couldn't in the end because he was just different. Because he was a clone and Tavish would never begin to understand what it feels to be ripped away from a life not theirs.
He would never know. The bastard's dead now.
"Was Soldier happy, at least?" He asked, rhetorically. Was he happy without him around? Did he act more freely without him?
"I don't know." Tavish didn't want an answer.
Any and all words died in his throat when they heard a detached, broken, muffled, and destroyed cry. Medic halts, bringing the two of them to an abrupt stop. He rocked with a sudden spike of fear, and all he wanted to do was drop to the floor and sob. He was so tired of this.
There were some muddled words, and Tavish felt as if his ears had popped without actually popping, hearing a faint ringing. It was annoying.
He just wanted a break and everyone to just stop talking. He didn't want to keep trying to survive and hearing those shattered voices, which sounded too much like his own broken thoughts.
They were too loud. Terrible crying and laughter and yelling coming from them. He was weary from running, weary that every time he encountered one of those things, one of them always died in some way or another, that a part of their own identity disappeared with the trauma of those things.
Medic laughed that hollow laugh.
Tavish couldn't bother discerning why, in some twisted way, he wanted to laugh too. But there was a lump in his throat, a cacophony of cries overlapping every other thought, and that single stream of ringing that bounced in volume.
In the most exasperated voice, the doctor mutters. "Um Gottes willen."
Please, Lord, let all of them get out of this. Let all of them live.
"GET OFF! GET OFF OF ME!"
Despite the thick wood of the base, the distance, and a different floor, they still heard Jeremy. No doubt, if there were any monsters nearby, they would've already flooded to his location.
If.
Mick narrowed his eyes, staring down the staircase with pinched lips. His index finger dug into his thumbs' cuticles, a sharp, quick pain being left behind on his thumb that he knew would leave a bruise.
"Was that Scout?" Engineer questioned.
It wasn't hard for Mick to answer. "No."
The crying echoed throughout the building, sobbing and agonisingly long screaming. Desperation filled the cries, and Jeremy's voice was shattered. It sounded like him; it should've been him, but Mick knew it wasn't truly him.
"I DON'T WANT TO DIE! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
He saw as the Texan clone looked at him with a narrowed gaze, going to speak, when another plea came from whatever was impersonating Jeremy.
He twisted away from Mick without a reply when he reached out to Engineer to stop him from moving towards the voice they heard, fingers gripping tightly around his elbow. Engineer stopped to look at his hand, eyes trailing to Mick's own hardened gaze.
"Your teammates in trouble." Engineer said plainly.
"It's not him." Mick told him.
"Sounds a lot like him."
The two of them paused when they heard another agonising scream, Mick closing his eyes to control his breathing.
"It ain't him." Mick spat, staring Engineer directly in the eyes. "Those things like to mock."
Engineer quirked a brow dubiously. "Mock?" He parroted.
BLU Heavy told him that those monsters had his teammates' voice, and while he was dubious, hearing the recording only cemented that truth.
It didn't help that the monsters messed with their heads. But he knew that sounded insane, especially since he was brushed off by everyone else when he told them. That he sounded dramatic, and that he might've come across as self-absorbed in thinking he was a monster.
It was like he was him, BLU Sniper, that he was a monster. Maybe his brain, in its dissolving state, latched onto the closest thing because BLU Sniper sounded like him.
He felt disconnected from his own body, that he wasn't himself anymore. That Mick didn't exist, and he was only a monster forced to roam. They were delusions, that much he figured now, but those delusions still lingered in the depths of his mind.
Everything was gone to him, like all of his senses had numbed. It was frustrating. He knew he wasn't a monster, but he couldn't convince himself that he wasn't. It wasn't him thinking those thoughts; Mick wasn't in control of himself; it was so pointedly obvious that it was the monster's fault. But he felt insane, dramatic, and self-absorbed for thinking that.
BLU Sniper had his voice, his face, his gait. And so did Mick.
"They ain't good at it, but they like to copy people's voices." Mick answered, his mouth dry.
The monsters mock people, their tone, their accent, or try to. Most humans weren't actors, nevertheless voice actors; their monster counterparts won't be, either. But they try anyway.
"P—PLEASE! PLEASE!" They heard a raspy cough, and the Australian clenched his fist, avoiding the general direction of where they heard him.
"So ya aren't even gonna check?" Asked Engineer.
Mick frowned, glaring through hooded eyes. "I'm not gonna risk it."
He couldn't go through that again. That feeling of disconnect, of not being him. He was himself, and he was going to be firmly that.
Engineer held his shattered arm that was bent to pieces, steadying it to prevent it from jolting any further. It was then that Mick realised he was only favouring one side of his legs, leaning against his right one. Now that he was really looking at him, he looked as if he had injured his entire left side; everything ripped and shred to pieces on the left side of his body.
"Yeah, I got it," Engineer muttered.
The screaming was still ongoing, and Mick's fingers twitched. He wanted to go see if it was really Scout, he needed to. Scout was his teammate, and he wasn't that much of an ass to abandon him, even as petrified as he was. Loyalty was being professional, and professional he was, but he couldn't risk it.
Mick picked his skin, chewing on his lips. "Didn't know you cared." 'Specially for a RED.
"I don't." He replied, the corners of his lips wrinkling. "But that boy… sounds too much like Scout."
He knew who he was talking about, and he didn't deem him a reply. It was unfortunate that he understood too well what he means by that, hearing someone resemble someone you know. Those damn monsters messing with his brain confirmed that.
"It ain't him." He coolly responds.
Engineer lacks an answer for him, and Mick tries his best to ignore the screams, ignore the ringing that invaded his ears. Worse comes to worst, if it was Scout, he would be a monster by now and he made the right decision to walk away.
"Let's just go to the garage."
The two of them walked away from the staircase, seeing as Engineer spared one last glimpse towards the bottom floor before following along behind Mick. He limped behind him, right leg dragging across the wooden floor.
Mick picked his skin, his other hand shoved deep in his pocket and his fingers curled protectively over the recorder. He heard as Engineer struggled to keep up with him, though he didn't slow his pace. He wanted to leave, to not hear Scout's crying, even though, disturbingly, he wanted to listen to it.
It was morbid, but he wanted to listen to Scout's screaming, make sure it wasn't coming anywhere near them, making sure he was saying words that sounded familiar or too repeated and too inhuman. To make sure it wasn't actually Scout. That he wasn't actually abandoning his teammate.
Heat exhausted in the air, and they both remained in a tense quiet, waiting for the other to speak.
"Y'know," Engineer began, smoothing out his beard and flicking whatever dried flesh chunks were caught in his beard away.
Mick pulled his gaze from his feet to the older man. He knew what this was, how nervous he was getting. RED Engineer had the same nervous tick of speaking when he was anxious, and he wanted him to stop speaking so he could listen to Scout's voice.
"Our sniper said he used to, uh, bruise himself."
The corners of his lips creased downwards at the change of subject, at what the subject was, as he peered up at Engineer through a hooded gaze.
"He didn't." Mick corrected, brusque.
Engineer side-longed Mick, his hands especially, and glanced away when the Aussie hid his hand, his scoff amused. "Said he gave up that habit 'cause it was bad."
"He didn't." Mick felt like a parrot repeating himself.
Engineer only laughed. It was mocking, understanding, like he knew what he was saying and what effect it had on him.
"Soldier got him to admit it-"
"Soldier's dead." Mick abruptly states, biting.
Conversation dissolved, and the atmosphere thickened, with Engineer's expression scrunching into disdain. The Texan's next words died in favour of glaring at Mick. Thankfully, the clone remained silent, and Mick let the still quiet linger between them.
He knew it was rude—unprofessional—to shoot Engineer down the way he did, especially since he abruptly told him Soldier was dead without telling him how. However, he didn't feel like amusing him. Didn't want Engineer to walk over him with information he shouldn't have.
He shouldn't know that he bruised himself, Mick always kept that to himself, because it wasn't BLU Sniper's information to give away. It was his. Yet, of course, the clones have their memories, have their faces, have their walks, and voices. They were painfully them with different attitudes.
He hated it.
He wanted all of them to shut up, to stop speaking with their voices. To stop being the RED team. To stop dying like the RED team. The BLU team looked too much like the RED team when they were killed, with the same fear and instincts that every human had instilled in them, the instinct to escape, run, hide, freeze when they were in a life-or-death situation, regardless of whether they were used to respawning.
Mick felt a prickle of blood from his thumb, and he pulled his hand to his face to look at the injury. His thumb slightly spasmed, twitching while blood leaked down his thumb.
Scout still screamed.
The muddled ringing only quickened his pace.
Jeremy's screams were accompanied by an agonising cough and wailing throes, arm squirming while the Medi-gun's red beam concentrated on only him. The sludged texture crawled up his arm, excruciatingly quick then it was when he had respawned.
His snivelling whimpers echoed down the sewers entrance, and his vision began to blur, gritting his teeth with his eyes widening in increasing panic.
It wasn't like when he had respawned, where the melting parts only climbed at a too slow of a rate. His bones squelched while they compressed, muscles and skin squeezing together and condensing.
Everything hurt, and he spasmed under the pain, rapidly blinking tears out of his eyes.
"GET OFF! GET OFF OF ME!" He involuntarily cried.
Jeremy kicked the Medi-gun off himself, hearing it violently crack against the wall. The red light within the gun stuttered, the only light to the sewers entrance flickering until the room was completely dark. He wasn't sure if he had completely destroyed the Medi-gun or not, unable to concentrate on anything in his immediate surroundings.
Relief overcame him, though the moment barely lasted when the melting parts crawled up his arm, having taken over everything under his elbow. It tightened around his entire bone, shattering each and every part of his entire arm, including his nerves, twisting and amalgamating them.
He grasped the melting parts with his other hand, drooling from the pain while his forehead was on the ground, feeling the skin peel off while he rubbed his head against the cold floor. He pulled each sludge off desperately and vigorously, terrified and in agony. Fingers laced through each melting part of his arm, urgently swiping away any of the melting parts.
Jeremy felt every single part of his arm come away, muscle and bone revealing itself as he dug further into his arm, with nerves and skin peeking through the melting flesh. Blood mixed with tissue, the melting bits greedily soaking in his flesh unrelentingly.
"Go away! Go away, please! I- I don't want to die…" Jeremy whimpered, shaking his head against the rough wood and feeling splinters come away. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"
Jeremy screamed when his hand clenched around where his elbow was supposed to be, his voice cracking and rolling onto his side, sobbing. It hurt. It was hurting so much. He wanted the pain to stop.
"I DON'T WANT TO DIE! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" He screamed until his vocal chords were shattered, violently coughing before a wheeze followed it.
His hand wasn't going quick enough, flinching each time his hand dug into his own flesh. It was agonisingly slow, swiping into his skin and flailing with each one, squirming and kicking his legs out.
"IT HURTS!" He cried. His voice cracked, and he inhaled sharply, gagging in agony simultaneously. "MA! MAMA! MA! I WANT MY MAMA!"
His own fingers gruellingly dug into his arm. The melting had begun shaping every part of his body, morphing it to its liking. He wanted his ma, he wanted his teammates, he wanted someone to stop the pain.
He must've looked pathetic. But it hurt so much.
He sobbed on the wooden floor, crying, and gagging, and screaming while each of his bones were sawed to dust by the melting parts. His bones, muscles, and skin twisted and dissolved, as if he were decomposing. Yet it rebuilt itself. Dissolving, decomposing, healing, before the parts that had melted were completely numb. It was an agonising cycle.
Jeremy managed to straighten himself, vision hazy through the pain, as he looked at the Medi-gun.
There was a metal sticking out of the barrel, and he crawled towards it, practically dragging himself.
He flopped against the floor, arm squirming in agony. He needed to reach it. Then he can see his ma again, his teammates. He can go to the garage where Sniper was, wait for Medic and Demo to come back, so they can all go out for a drink or some burgers at a shitty fast food restaurant, so he doesn't have to think about this. So he doesn't need to think anymore.
He wasn't good at thinking, never had been. But he was good at acting, at making quick decisions, it was why he was fast, why he was good at sports. Because he acted.
He pushed himself through the blinding white agony, hand finally feeling the cool, sharp tip of the metal. He pulled himself up and tugged.
The Medi-gun groaned, and he gritted his teeth, screaming animalistically.
"P—PLEASE! PLEASE!" He cried.
There was a snapping noise a few seconds later, and he fell back when a large metal piece came away from the Medi-gun. He wasn't sure if it was important, but he didn't care.
He didn't even breathe before he lunged the piece into his arm.
He screamed as the cold piece sliced too smoothingly, too painfully, through his entire arm, gagging afterwards.
Jeremy could only hear his bellows, carving into the melting parts of his arm and digging away the parasitic-like thing. His entire body spasmed with each dig, hacking each of his bones, muscles, and skin away, nerves and veins sticking out of his arm that he watched disintegrate and be absorbed by the melting.
He used the metal like a shovel, feeling skin come way. It hurt. It hurt too much, and he twitched, spasming and the sensation of his twitching fingers causing him to pause too much for too long.
He screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
The metal dug into his arm.
Until he was only left with an empty space where his shoulder should be.
Sludge pooled around him, unmoving, and his movements had slowed until he was only robotically carving into his arm, coughing from how sore his throat was.
He dug into his arm, even when he should've stopped.
There wasn't even an arm anymore.
It hurt.
He was hurting.
But he needed to dig away the melting.
Needed to get rid of that light.
That ringing.
Red, sticky liquid stained the entire room.
It was white.
And red.
No.
It wasn't.
It was only staining around his body, leaking down his torso and bloodying him.
No.
It was?
Yes.
Blood was pooling around him.
It was his blood.
The metal continued to dig into his shoulder.
He was digging into his arm.
He should stop. Right? The melting was gone.
It was white. The ringing was loud.
It hurt so much.
Jeremy's vision tilted, vertigo overcoming him. His body was weightless before he had completely plunged backwards.
His head hit the metal bars of the railing, before he heard a crack in his only arm, barely comprehending the shot of agony that ripped through him.
He continued to roll down the stairs, unable to scream each time something had hit his arms. He hit his head, then his leg, then his shoulders, before his arms, managing a single, exhausted grunt while he stumbled down the cement staircase, further into the sewers.
Further and further he went.
Darkness overtook his vision, shadows casting over him.
The sewers smelled gross.
Down.
Down.
Down.
He hit his head one last time.
It wasn't like in flicks, where he blanked out immediately, his consciousness flickering in and out, his vision blurring, and the ringing in his head increasing.
His eyes closed.
End notes:
These last few chapters are essentially a mix and match to see which would fit where. We're going down a REALLY steep hill now. Like I've said before, everything I've been building up to is going to start rolling together, and I am SUPER excited once we pick up the pace. But also super anxious about if my ending will work out.
Anyway, yapping here: there's a strong chance I might have dyslexia. Which honestly explains A LOT of things. So I'm going to get tested for that.
Besides that, the worst part about writing horror and being a fan of horror are the nightmares. Nightmares/dreams are based on your memory, and since you need to know how to scare your audience, scary stuff is stored in your brain. Which means my brain essentially knows how to make the WORST nightmares. Like two nights ago where I had two nightmares, one where I was being chased by a monster mixed between the Silent Hill nurse and the quiet place alien, and the other was where I dreamt of people dying in gruesome ways if they watched a kids show. So yeah, my brain basically gave me the most realistic kid screaming to death after getting run over by a train. 0/10 would NOT recommend knowing how to recreate realistic death screams, it WILL haunt your nightmares.
ONTO FANART:
I received two fanart from ccrypt-c on Tumblr! Specific compliment, but the art style is like if Lemony Snicket drew instead of wrote. Amazing. 10 stars. I feel like that monkey pulling at those bars.
Another fanart I got was from callmearr! I LOVE details, I eat up art pieces whenever they add details like this. Plus, goated reference to one of the few down moments in the fic.