[ despite having three to four full bowls of porridge without complaint every morning, jayce hungers, and his stomach would remain a bottomless pit that left him lethargic, unwell, and a little cranky throughout the road trip, hoarding foods easy enough to pick with his fingers and stuff in the passenger seat of his colorful pickup (although none of it satisfies, to his disdain). hours become days, and jayce gets worse.
an ironic twist of fate, this all was; it wasn't supposed to happen this fast, or even in this way, but jayce, nevertheless, begins to detereorate. fast, without intervention, deferred with medication but never enough to cease. he grows exhausted driving for too long, prefers to sleep in a curled up, shivering ball as feverish chills steal the warmth from his flesh away. he's clammy and sweating ice cold most of the time, aching in every joint and especially on his braced leg, white dolor striking the poorly healed bone like a knife to the gut, constant like a beating heart.
he has better evenings, and worse ones. talk of a radio tower stirs him from his torpor tonight, coupled with an intense need to follow viktor wherever he'd hobble off to and taking advantage of his consciousness while it lasted, no matter how much it seemed to drain him to walk up the stairs of the cabin and uses railings for support, frequently stopping to catch his breath. he's been a lousy partner lately— but when hasn't that been the latest scandal?
the dim crackle of music from the radio trees around them hum in his ears like a sweet, comforting lullaby, and the monotonous sermones of the moon's fases fill their minds with a mind map of common knowledge. ]
The frequency this technnology is on . . . Is something else.
[ jayce muses about it longingly— during a time he was still clean shaven and naive, he'd be ecstatic about learning more, taking it apart and understanding the wonder and using that to create. now, it is a balm for his nausea, fatigue and nostalgia.
he's smiling, at least, and that smile wrinkles the crow's feet lining the corners of his eyes, heavy with bags but shimmering with a touch of life he may have needed to see under the fall of messy bangs. ]
[For the first time in their lives, Jayce is doing markedly worst than Viktor. It doesn't give him any sense of superiority, the fact is just depressing and disheartening. Just how he imagined it felt for Jayce, watching his partner's deterioration over the years. This is so much more rapid than even Viktor had to suffer, at least he got years. Jayce seems to have... weeks? At best-?
Too depressing of a thought for him to linger on. They trudge through the cabin interior, up towards the top of the radio tower and there is, mercifully, a wooden bench facing a display screen waiting for them. The message is rolling by with subtitles beneath the unknown logo. A date, long before the one they've been made aware of, Viktor needs time to absorb this. He'll sit down to look at it curiously, muttering,]
It's incredible, but how is it being powered? It is so derelict. Ah- sit down, Jayce. I need a rest. [climbing stairs is also still not great by Viktor, but he needs it less than Jayce does. Viktor busies himself looking to Jayce's brace they reconstructed together, still more Mercury Hammer than scraps, but who knew how long that ship of Theseus would hold up...]
Is this doing alright for you? [a moment of peace before the moon falls on them]
[ generators? he mumbles through hulking steps, more than relieved to be met with a bench in their sights that will alleviate the pressure in their disabled legs— for jayce, a bit more where the rest of his aches are concerned. he would've said a little more to busy them, dry humor in the bite of a you and i both, but jayce needs to catch his breath and his bearings. his vision threatens to swim once he's sat, lightheadedness finally catching up to him from extertion.
it was unfamiliar and familiar all at once. jayce was always as healthy as a horse, hardy and robust enough to work the forge with his bare hands, resilient enough to climb from the depths of zaun to the ruins of piltover. the only other time his health had been abysmal was in the face of gritty infection, and these symptoms feel like an eerily excessive rebound.
jayce turns his braced leg so that his ankle nearly faces the ground, the clinks and squeaks of metal following like a shadow. ]
It's great, [ viktor's personal touch to the repairs are made with precise care, reenforcing weak its slots and complimenting where jayce's genius had lacked. ] we've always built better things together than apart. [ he pauses, only to inhale, shallow, ] And the medicine is helping. Thanks.
[ it wasn't helping as much as they needed it to, but beggars didn't exactly have the luxury to choose. ]
["It's great," Viktor absolutely doubts that, but that's Jayce's optimism speaking. It's the best they could do, it's serviceable, it's not great... that's Viktor's realism speaking.
His eyes soften from those thoughts at the mention of the medicine. Viktor tanked a burn from the shrines to retrieve the man some antibiotic painkillers.
He also didn't tell Jayce as much, once again covering his wounds to save the man feeling guilty for what Viktor chose to do...]
We have... and I am glad for that. [simple as that, for both the brace and the medicine. It might just be a placebo, but there's value in feeling better regardless of it being a trick of the mind or not.]
There should be enough to outlast your infection. You're taking them with food? [Viktor knows how finicky staying on top of med and maintaining an appetite is. Jayce seems to... always be hungry now, which is the opposite of Viktor. Still, he asks because he cares, it feels like something he can advise the other man on.]
[ jayce nods; even now, before they'd left for the tower he'd eaten, but . . . it's as if he hadn't eaten a thing. he's horribly hungry, and the thought of another meal pinches his brows and squeezes his stomach uncomfortably, enough that his hand hovers over his abdomen and settles there to hopefully just— rub the burning hole away. it's dangerously maddening. the satisfaction of filling his mouth and swallowing was fickle and short lived . . . it'd never be enduring. ]
Should I take it before? I don't . . . Feel like I'm absorbing much of the food.
[ maybe that'll make the drugs hit harder. he's no doctor, organic territory was a little . . . far from his expertise, but he was capable of basic understanding. especially when it was something viktor had dipped his studies a little more into. ]
[Viktor only knows as much as he learned to take care of his own health and from... a certain undercity doctor he won't mention. They're both so much better with machines and crystals than with people.]
With is best. It helps to absorb together. I'll try to find you more, if I can.
[his attention moves back to the screen displaying the message on loop. It's dated far back, so Viktor doesn't think it serves any immediate or present danger-
"“Attention, this is an emergency broadcast. Seek shelter immediately. A moon warp is imminent. Repeat, a Moon Warp is imminent. Impact: falling moon shards will cause destruction and distortions. Prepare by seeking cover inside shields. Those caught outside will be twisted. Seek shelter immediately.”"
-only for there to be a deafening smash of a moon shard landing outside the cabin. So much for his presumptions.]
[ jayce has been considering something, some words rolling on his tongue with an insistent wondering until he cannot seem to bite back at it anymore. where did you get it again? he wants to ask. he has this nag at the bottom of his neck that gnaws like a dog on a bone. his right wrist still burns with words, covered by a sleeve that he'd likely shared, but . . .
by the time parts his lips to ask once again, he's interrupted.
heavily interrupted. the radio tower lifts up a tremor that rattles the building's framework. the bright hues of the impact outside is both deadly and beautiful. ]
Viktor—
[ the first thing jayce doesn't even think to do is shield viktor with the only remaining energy he had. it's the one thing he couldn't do when they shared spaces in the council room. the last thing he needs for his psyche is a repeat of his past failures, no matter the amount of damage that was fated for them. ]
[The impact startles Viktor much that same as it does Jayce, their reactions matching too well. When he moves to protect Jayce in turn, Viktor simply ends up smashing his forehead into the other man's with a resonant crack of skulls. That sounds about as loud as the noise of the moonfall smashing outside.
One arm is wrapped around Jayce and the other reaches to press the flat of his fingers to the poor man's forehead. His own eyes are wild with concern to make sure Jayce is alright,]
Sorry- Are you alright-? Good gods, you're so cold... [as is the air around them, the moonwarp expanding outward and consuming the space beyond the convoy. They really shouldn't have left the safety of it- damned again but their shared, unending curiosity,]
[ oh, that made an uncomfy sound in his ears, makes his brain squirm with awful reminders of bone on bone action (not the sexy kind) as his head jostles back. he miraculously keeps his balance on legs because there're still both the base of the bench and viktor to grab onto. jayce is sure to keep his support on his right leg, at least; that way, they weren't void of more foundation (the more the better until they were secure).
the pressure of slender fingers chases the burn away, but at least to jayce it wasn't all that painful— too many aches in other places to the point that this one hadn't exactly hit the same threshold. it's just another part of him that throbs (still not sexy). the palm of jayce's clammy hand curves over viktor's forehead to do the same, although there was a chilling shake to his limb. indeed, he was cold— and he hated it. it wasn't the kind of cold that was on the outside, that he could fix with soup or a furnace. it was all on him, even if he wore another jacket or sweater he'd still be shivering in his cold sweat and paleness. ]
I will be, [ his gaze diverts from meeting viktor's, too close for that— ] I-It's another chill—
[ another round that would surely go away, soon. what was worse was that he couldn't even address it, immediately. not with what just happened outside. ]
We should . . . Wait a bit. If we can help it.
[ he didn't have his hammer. he wasn't fit for a fight in the slightest. and dying here—
he couldn't let that happen to either of them, but especially viktor. ]
[Viktor's eyes grow shaky and his pupils narrow as he tries to suppress panic.]
Don't you hear it? That- buzzing-?
[No, there's nothing like that for Jayce to hear. It's in Viktor's head, it's in his spinal fluid and rattling around his mind. A resonance that hits his tailbone and makes him gasp and lurch forward, into Jayce's chest. His hands bundle into the man's clothing so much they shake, before he grits his teeth and pushes himself away.
His gloved hands sparks beneath the glove he's wearing and his pushes it to his own forehead, as if that will sooth something inside him. It does not. He speaks through the grinding of his jaw,]
[ there is no buzzing. at least not for him. jayce's slightly parted lips and startled eyes grow wider as he secures viktor onto him, until his partner thinks it better to shove off of him. jayce does not fight against the protest, at least not yet, his larger arms coming loosely undone in a swing when viktor thrusts himself away. he doesn't want to keep him where he wouldn't want to be, but . . .
something isn't right. jayce hovers around his partner, his breathing beginning to lift his shoulders. whatever was happening, adrenaline was about to start pumping— and maybe then would he have the strength to lift viktor into his arms and run. just the reminder of his dash to the lab makes his stomach drop to the point of nausea. ]
No, not without you— Viktor, [ he calls him to ground him; if he were to fall, jayce would hold him, if anything were to happen to him— ] What're you feeling?
It's rattling- it's beneath my skin- [Viktor gasps, trying to answer Jayce's inquiries and maintain some coherence. He feels his hand shaking and he lifts it to his mouth, catches the glove between his teeth, and wrenches it away to see. The hexcorification is spreading, it's creeping down his arm, up his sleeve, following the track of his veins.
Feels like Viktor's blood is moving backwards, the course changed. Pain and addictive power fill him. Just like Shimmer-]
I said go-! [Viktor yells at his partner, with spit and snarl. His leg gives out, the metal of it too heavy even for the brace to handle, sheering the bolts. Viktor goes down onto that knee and he feels his body steaming. He's boiling, overheating like some kind of overworked machine. His hand reach for his vest and shirt and pull at the fronts, desperate to remove them. The anchors on his back feel like exhaust pipes, clogged from layers of cloth. His spine writhes like it might separate from him.
[ jayce barks his words in return, but rather than angry, he just sounds as desperate as he looks as he watches the hexcore's touch eat up what remained of viktor's human skin. that— that's not supposed to happen, none of this is supposed to happen—
he's not supposed to be whithering away, either.
when viktor drops, it's the last straw for jayce. he drops with him, whincing painfully as his own knee takes the brunt of his fall, hooking both arms under viktor's to help secure him before shuffling his legs in a way where they could kick out and handle having viktor in his arms. he doesn't keep put as he does this; jayce moves a hand to viktor's favor while one has him bound under the shoulders, prying his shirt away with the same desperation, quickening his breathing and his words: ]
I've always left you when you needed me most— I'm never, doing that again— [ he promised. he promised so many things within a singular, encompassing vow that he would not fail viktor again. but the more he tries to help, ] I'm right here, I-I'm—
[ he doesn't know what to do. he doesn't know what's happening—]
[Viktor pries his vest and shirt free, having just enough time to shrug the fabric off each arm before his hexcorified arm goes completely limp on him. It makes a noise like powering down and Viktor slacks to that side from the sheer dead weight of it. Jayce has leaned down to hold onto him and Viktor would fall over if not for that. For no reason other than distress, he pounds the outer ball of a bundled fist against Jayce's chest. His working arm is clearly too weak for it to hurt in the least bit.
Maybe there's some anger in the two hits he can manage before losing even that much strength, jumbled up in the agony and Viktor's terrible stubbornness.]
I didn't- need you..! I needed- to save myself..!
[Needs and wants are terrible things. Viktor hated needing help, he tried to do everything, including believe in himself more than anybody else could. Needing Jayce was a weakness he had to overcome- better to just want him-
This isn't the time to be thinking about this. Viktor pushes his face into Jayce's collar, his fist unbundling to grab at the man's back. He's cold. It's the only relief Viktor can find, burning up beneath his skin, buzzing with energy as his skin morphs to hexcorize across his chest and back. It devours the brace and melds it into his ribcage with purple and gold inlay.
The changes get to his back, metal crawling beneath his spine. He feels the joints fuse and go rigid in places. Anchor points turn into swivels. The flesh melts and peels away with a release of steam. His tailbone separates from where it was embedded, the top opening into three prongs. The rest of his spinal column lifts upward, attached to Viktor between his shoulder blades. Metal fills in the empty space it leaves. The third arm jitters and convulses without purpose,
Viktor sighs in relief, like that was somehow a purging experience and he's feeling better.]
[ how it makes jayce's heart ache to hear that. not because he wasn't needed, but perhaps what viktor desperately needed above everything else— and what jayce would follow blindedly with. he already had, in fact. keep viktor alive. save him no matter the cost—
the cost was great and yet jayce couldn't ever do it differently. he could never let him go, would think night after night that he should be the one in his place and not the other way around.
(but the universe conspires in a funny way, doesn't it?)
even now jayce cannot fathom what he'd do if viktor expired in his arms right then and there. he could hear the broken voices from time to time, beckoning the fractures filled in deepest crevices of his mind to a juttering maddness only he would know. the kind he'd hear at night and what would keep him awake, the kind he'd ask to, please, just talk to him— because there was something wrong about him now.
but there is little to nothing that jayce could do to actually make it stop. he can't, but he's holding viktor in his arms anyway, over his legs for cushioning, absorb his fists (he thinks he does deserve them, in part)— viktor's face dips into his collar and jayce's hand cups the back of his skull to pull him in further into the curve of his icy neck, the coil across his broad back only serving to urge his hold on viktor's, squeezing him as tightly as he could manage. his strange hypothermia could be of some use to cool the lava-hot ripples pouring from viktor's hexcorization— in the same way viktor's heat brings jayce his own twisted relief and symbiosis that he tries not to think about. the heat warms his bones for once.
he hugs viktor in a way he'd wished for quite a while, hunched into him and nestled neck to neck, clinging as if his blunt, oversized fingers could pry the discomfort away from him. there is something in viktor's spine, he sees it swelling under skin and clattering through inorganic matter— ]
I've got you, I—
[ an ugly crack interrupts. jayce does not know how to describe what he sees as a third arm emerges from the lower slot of his spine. the sound and sight are sickening. it jostles jayce into a trembling, quietly gasping shock. since then, he hasn't let go of viktor and doesn't think he will, his now stinging, wet eyes losing focus.
maybe this was just another nightmare. jayce talks in whispers, but it's hardly anything comprehensible. ]
[With his spine freed, reincorporated into him in a new evolution, Viktor's body is suddenly unbound. No longer contained by such a restraint on itself. His skin continues to pulse, overtaken all across and beneath his remaining clothing by the shimmer purple metal. It isn't done shifting, hasn't been fully forged yet. Jayce will recognize the sound of metal creaking and expanding, changing shape.
Viktor's head is slumped at his shoulder, breathless because he suddenly feels no need to breathe at all. A blissful sensation, to him, to have something so arduous for him removed entirely. No longer burdening him. He doesn't know how he manages speaks without air to do so, but he can. There is a buzzing vocal fry overtop his usual accent, though he still has such a soft tone,]
Don't worry- Jayce... [this is THE MOST worrisome scenario possible, but sure, Vik........]
I've never felt... better... [the high has settled in, Viktor thinks, a byproduct of the shimmer. What most people would take it for. To feel powerful, to break through their limits. That's all this is. His limbs lengthen and a new spine forms where the old, fragile one was. Extends out in an arch, Viktor remaining hunched around Jayce despite growing several feet taller.
He's becoming his best self.
Viktor's hands fall over each side of Jayce's shoulders, scaled as proportionally large now to Jayce as Jayce's hand usually fell over Viktor's slim sides. He leans in and of all, inappropriate time and place, it's a near thing to kissing the other man. Instead, Viktor presses his forehead to Jayce's.
It only lasts a moment. A rift forms and his face splits, peels to each side, and is overtaken by a flat mask. The eyes light up, staring back at him with an unreadable expression.]
[ viktor grows and grows, much bigger than the frame that's trying to hold him together like a porcelain doll falling apart, except . . . he was being put together.
his partner leans in, twists just a touch, the pressure of their foreheads pushing together spurrs a leap in jayce's rattling heart, that he thinks it is a response, at last, to words quietly confessed some weeks ago and never spoken of again. he is desperate with fear, that viktor would evaporate from his hold forever, that he'd never know how much . . . he meant to him. how the world outside could be falling apart and the only one who'd really matter over them all was viktor. he'd choose viktor. he'd choose to bring humanity to the brink again, and again, and once more, if it meant he'd have a life with viktor.
jayce does not hesitate; he does not waste the time he has after doing so for so long. hand to the back of his head, the space between their mouths splice and jayce crumbles into the kiss he places on viktor's spluttering lips. for a moment, just a moment, where it felt like sparks could've popped off like explosives—
instead, the sickening snap of viktor's face splintering apart is what startles him back. this wasn't supposed to happen. he still cannot think, cannot parse how anything could be alright when it felt like this world had torn away from him the one thing that was still keeping him together.
jayce croaks as he stares back at two remote golden spheres, adjacent to closed, sleeping eyes he felt he'd never see open again. stuck, in time. time he'd wish could loop back. he could only feel his lips puff together with a tightness as he strangles hot tears that come sliding down lukewarm cheeks, skin that would just go cold again, soon.
he feels like he's being hollowed out, iced from the inside, and can't look up anymore. ]
[The last thing Viktor really feels is Jayce's lips pressing to his. IIcy cold against overheated. Practically sizzling from contrast, sparking, before they're split from each other. Sensation dulls at that. Not gone completely, but crushed down and smothered.
Viktor is so densely packed within his own body, nerves and tissues all condensed into a core somewhere inside his chest. No longer within his own head, every end of him more like a piece of a marionette to be puppeteered by his command,
He has no mouth capable of screaming, of speech. Eyes that do not blink, have unbroken focus. Jayce is so close, Viktor can see his horror and dismay in full clarity, yet there's no mustering the same emotions in turn. The man was clearly robbed of a brief glimpse at happiness. Even with his emotions stomped down to their lowest of lows, there is a twisting of Viktor's own yearning into a more rational motivation.
Logically, it would be an inconvenience if Jayce became dead weight, whether from despair or shock. That should be avoided.
The answer to Jayce's adverse reaction is a poor excuse for an attempt to sooth him. Something the Herald is truly no better at offering than Viktor might be in his right mind.
The third arm twists and cranes forward, latches ingraciously to the back of Jayce's hair to lift his head back upward where he looked down. Meet the unyielding eyes of the Herald again. The creature leans forward, mirroring Jayce's earlier action as best he can. The flat front of the mask nudges to Jayce's mouth, presses awkwardly against and past lips to bump into the front of the man's teeth.
An unfeeling attempt at reciprocating that so desired kiss. That should calm him down, right? Simple cause and effect, wanting and receiving.]
[ startled by the pull, jayce gasps, yelps through locked teeth and is forced to stare at the disquieting glow of the creature's gaze. for a split moment, fear courses through him, his hands shooting to the claw on his shaggy hair to fruitlessly paw at, grip, at the very least to keep it from squeezing anymore than it already was. his breathing picks up, he anticipates danger, but . . . he's even more stunned into unmoving tension when the masked herald mirrors his earlier attempt. a stiff and inept excuse for it. maybe—
he tries again, out of desperation, out of sheer heartache and perhaps an inkling of useless hope that somewhere in there, viktor really was trying to reciprocate. just as awkwardly, jayce . . . tries, pressing his lips and bumping his teeth to sweltering metal, but it immediately falls flat and plummets his heart into a pit of loneliness as cold as zaun's noxious crevices. so terribly flat, and it's not even because there are no lips there, because god if it was still viktor, careful and kind, sharp tongued, awkward and calculating, jayce would find a way. he'd gladly be the only one doing any kissing if there had been genuine encouragement along his back, his limbs, anywhere that he would imagine late at night and dream of how their first kiss would be. the problem lied in there being no reciprocation. it was too calculating. no heart. he is not being cradled, with sentiment that felt the same. he's literally being grappled by the back of his head like a scruffed pup. he's being conducted to a cause for an effect.
jayce suddenly wishes he were in danger instead of this. he would've preferred to be attacked and physically mauled, laser beamed, eaten— than to have his heart torn to shreds. he is a formula being cracked, a problem being solved. he doesn't . . . mean anything, anymore. not the way jayce wanted to be, anyway. he forcefully turns his head away and wedges an arm between them, feeling— so many things at once that he could only feel listless. did he fail, just now? did . . . he lose everything? was that why he was dying? would this make accepting death easier?
he has no purpose anymore. death might as well come faster. ]
S— [ he sputters, croaks just like the clicking of his brace trying to connect gears into place and secure an angle. jayce's heart is already cracked and falling apart, but he asks, perhaps, to keep whatever remained of his psyche for long enough to just return to his truck and wait for death to come. if there was anything left. ] Say something.
[Every interplay of their temperatures is flipped and backwards. Jayce, full of desperate warmth and passion, while his body is an icy corpse. Viktor, metallic form practically steaming with the excess energy of so much change so rapidly, while his emotions are completely frigid. The pair clash in every way there is.
Their kiss is a meaningless display of mismatch parts. An engine too inert for a combustion spark to fuel it. He lurches away from the gesture as Jayce shoves an arm between them, though the man isn't being let go from the hold on him.
The Herald is Viktor, the way he imagines himself as ideal. Strong, logical, and of use. His mind holds only a single motivation, narrow focused and precision made. He is a tool fit for a specific function. He answers, his voice not resonating out from his face, but from the claw grasped at the back of Jayce's head still. It will rattle in the man's skull as a result. Viktor's voice, but thoroughly vocal fried as if being filtered through a beehive,]
I promised to protect you.
[his legs move, get one foot beneath him and then leverages upward to stand. Viktor's new form is massively tall, would tower over Jayce by well over a foot if, well, he didn't pull Jayce up with him. The Herald is hoisting the man over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. (About as romantic as their kiss...)]
[ it's hard- no, impossible, for jayce to fight back; he has no strength to, it's barely enough to get a grip, even less for him to pull himself up— so it's there that he hangs: useless, wrecked, and despondent. he'd never be able to get out of there with his leg in the situation it was in, feeling brittle even with no weight but the pull of gravity.
his head feels like it could crack open as he shudders at words that bring a painful truth to his reality. he promised. he promised he wouldn't fail. he's failing. he has failed so terribly. ]
I—
[ i failed you. i'm so sorry. i'm sorry. i failed you— i'm sorry.
but not even that, he could bring himself to say outloud. he just wants it all to stop. ]
[The Herald answers, reaching with his free hand to take up the Talis forged crutch from the ground. A useful item. One that has served him well. It should not be left behind. There is no sentimentality in the gesture, only practical understanding. A sturdy weapon he could swing at any assailants who dare stand between Viktor and returning Jayce to the Convoy.
His mission and purpose, for now, driven now only by an indescribably instinct.]
I will prevent that. I will find a way, through any means necessary, to preserve you. That is my promise.
[ was this irony or punishment or both—? what does he even do? he's lost him, he can't see or feel viktor anymore, just a senseless husk that makes him spiral every time that puzzing voice rings the fractures of his mind encased in his skull like a bell. ]
P-Please, come back, Viktor—
[ he's begging. he needs him. without him, and without a path he could see to bring him back from the brink— jayce had done it all for nothing. and that is what he's feeling, right now.
a deep, harrowing hopelessness that was swallowing his will to survive one more day. viktor of the future was probably so indescribably disappointed in him. would he understand? would he hate him for this?
he mumbles, to himself as he cradles his own head: it's not my fault, this was an accident, we shouldn't be here, i promised, my promise, no, no i, failed, failure, i'm a, no . . . take me back, i want, to go back, i promised you— ]
I am right here. Don't you see? This is my best version.
[His hold on Jayce is secure, carrying him down the cabin steps three at a time, strides cracking the wood paneling beneath them. Viktor's tone is hollowed and empty, the only thing there is recognition devoid of awe. Pride without humanity. Speaking to an accomplishment, yet holding no elation and no dissatisfaction.
Speaking truth, without any meaning.]
Free of pain, free of emotion. My mind has full clarity, I am unclouded by weakness. I sought this.
[His pursuit has ended. This is all he could have hoped for, a version of himself that can complete his goals, unburdened by all that held him down in his life.]
[ if he's dying, if he's going to die soon— then he wants these to be his last words to him. not i'm sorry. not his fractured babbling. through his worn breathing, jayce musters up the energy, a last dance to cling, to twist his head, to do something— ]
You never needed to be perfect, Viktor.
[ would he hear him? would he be able to touch that concentrated core somewhere beneath that purple matter? if jayce has one last hope, it's this one, and he seizes it like a lifeline, like an angel pulling him out of the depths he was drowning in. if it's going to snap anyway, well . . .
at least it was telling him more. more than maybe he could've said, explained, at another time, another place. another life. he's not getting through the day and he's serving him his heart— with all of his own flaws. ]
—I- I loved you for every imperfection. They're what make you.
Your intellect has always been undercut by your sentimental passion, Jayce. You love deeper than you think.
[While Viktor... Viktor is free of such passions. Of his loves and hates. He has been purged of all the unnecessary clutter of human experience. The messiness, cleaned up and organized into objective truths. It is so blissful, to be free of so much complication, so many clashing wants and impractical concerns.
All he has now is a goal. A promise to keep, a commitment to uphold.
Jayce will live, because Viktor's purpose is wrapped too far up in their dream to ever be separated from him.
Being the Herald, he cannot comprehend why he has this as his purpose, it merely is. A fact, fixed and unable to be changed nor altered. It may as well have been programmed into him, his ordained function, the reason for this form.]
You will understand when given proof. I will demonstrate my worthiness. Free you of the burdens I have caused. This is progress.
[ jayce hung on until the last minute, but even with his heart divulged, finishing its rupture, only logic reverberates back to him. he doesn't want to argue about this— it's a struggle without end. if he pushes, jayce will always be met with pulls. he's already out of breath as is . . .
jayce feels the strain overcoming his features, the burn at the base of his nose burdening the muscles surrounding his mouth. where the herald holds him is where he hangs in silence— the occassional strangled sob may slip, but he says no more. ]
[Viktor walks with Jayce on a shoulder back to the Convoy. The shield is up and while he's unsure if Jayce can go through it, Viktor feels a certainty he cannot breach to the convoy in this form. Or perhaps, he merely should not. He looks no different from any of the monsters assailing their fellow travelers. Illogical to cause a panic.
He hoists his broken down partner off his shoulder once they find his butterfly engraved truck, just outside the shield's boundary. Viktor... passes the man his crutch, so he can use it for once. The Herald no longer requires such a tool.]
Take shelter. I will return for you when this matter is resolved and the shield is lowered.
[ jayce has gone from a hanging sack of potatoes to a slanted sack of potatoes. the herald still towers over him as he leans against the framework of his pick up for support, staring at the uncanny form before him, its metal slopes and curves, bolts and graceful asymmetry, searching for viktor in cold, gold garnished eyes and finding nothing but suffocating emptiness.
the crutch— he takes it. jayce clutches viktor's crutch as if its the only thing he has left of him— a symbol of his strife and accomplishments, of his rise in a world that was so split, of all of his hard work, of his beautiful imperfections that jayce did love, with all of his heart and soul. he helped make this crutch for him.
jayce allows the herald to leave in the same way he'd ended up here: in a dreadful silence of quiet nods and simple gestures (not that it matters, to viktor). he needs to think, to scrape up what he's gathered— maybe do a little more digging as a final drive. his heart skips in places that feel uncomfortable. his limbs ache with cold, until it devolves into a gradually creeping, painful numbness.
he finishes up, gives his papers all to serph, eventually, and waits for either the herald to return or for death to pay him a visit. he thinks he's more prepared for the latter. ]
(2/2) cw: gross infection stuff and imminent character death
[ he's not, for the record, and for some reason he'd thought he'd pass away as fast as his onset. he thought, foolishly but perhaps hopefully, that it would be quick after what felt like the harshest of pains mangling his heart. it's everything but, starting with his earlier, numbing pain dissiminating through the rest of him: chest, torso, abdomen, back, shoulder, his left leg and arm are the absolute worst of it. he stops writing his letter on the dash board when there's a smudge of blood on it, uncertain of where it came from and searching— until he finds it's from his nails. every blunt bed is bleeding. it dawns on him that his clothes are wet where they hug his hextouched scars. back, shoulder, leg— a look and touch at that— bleeding. something wet splashes his shaking hand. blood from the nose. the aches turn to stabs, and before jayce could get out of the car on his own, his leg crunches under his weight, and he falls sideways with a sodden yelp.
his vision is swimming, his heart thumping so unbeleivably fast he could hear the racing in his ears, feel that it could pop out of his chest at any moment and he'd die that way. from a broken, overworked heart. but it is not stopping there. jayce's lungs try to keep up, give him air, but no matter how quickly he tries to bring the oxygen in, it wasn't enough to soothe his invisible suffocation. it burns. the faster he breathes, the more the fire catches, and he cannot seem to slow it down.
he feels— an energy. a flow. pulsating and invading and wrong, and jayce scrambles for the front seat door swung open, for anything he may have left in the compartments or pockets to cut open the fabric under his brace. he finds— he doesn't even see what it is, only that he could use the edge of it to pull apart seams in his rush. under his soaked pants leg is the nasty concoction of iridescent decay touched by the anomaly. strings of pus stick to cotton as he peels it away, or tries to, the dribbling blood from it mixing with bright greens, blue and pinks like gasoline. it smells god awful. the bone jostles inside and jayce feels like he could vomit and expire right there.
his consciousness dips, the blackness of his vision spreads at the edges, but he's thrown back to awareness by god knows what. his body doesn't want to stop. he realizes in his desperate heaving that he doesn't want to die, because— he still has something to do. send me back. he needs to go back. he wants to go back, there's a chance, there's still a chance there. where he actually needs to be.
his attempts are futile, but he hasn't come all this way just to give up. he hasn't. his own words thrum deep in his mind with each batter of his irratic pulse: i won't fail. he takes the leather straps of the top of his brace and squeezes as hard as he can to form a tourniquet. it still bleeds and the anomaly crawls higher. his arm— it's juttering on its own.
hiking his sleeve up his forearm to catch the webbed throbbing from the embedded rune overtaking his veins, jayce could feel the last of his strength being sapped. he sinks backwards against the truck's step up, trying to stay upright with useless gasping— the anomaly claws up his arm, plows a byway of multicolored nets up the left side of his neck and leaves a perfect pattern of holes crawling under his skin and boiling up to the surface.
now comes the panic. he's tachypneic, dyspneic, every shallow breath is painful and useless and still he's trying, writhing at the wheels of the truck and frantically raking at the footwell for viktor's cane on the passenger side.
The Herald returns after the battle has concluded and the Convoy is powering down from the crisis. Jayce will feel the abrupt grab of an overlarge hand at the back of his neck, scruffing him once more to lift away from the door. He's lifted clear off his feet, not that he's in any state to be on them, as the Herald looks him up and down in such a dire state. Bleeding through his clothes, infections boiling over. Jayce is practically falling apart at the seams.
Jayce is carried around and laid to the bed of his truck. Flat. With Viktor stepping over him and looking down with a cant of his head. Best done before any piece can fall off of him. Viktor's regard is as cold as ever, not emotional enough to even be scolding,]
How did it come to this, Jayce? What failure point do you have that we did not predict? You were simply not meant to die before I was.
jayce's brows crease with dolor and mourning as he's cleaved from the prospect of retrieving viktor's cane, hardly having the energy to kick, to smack— he barely has it in him to keep reaching as he's hoisted by the herald's claw and haphazardly placed on the cargo bed. his labor to breathe is about to get worse when his lungs contract from the extended pooling within it when laid on his back, he sputters— and blood spurts from his mouth and nose like a fountain, foamy and bright red with the stains of colors that were contaminating his flesh as is. he can't even turn over by himself, arching his neck and back as he coughs and violently asphyxiates on his own fluids.
his heart, his wheezing, his garbled cries— it's all too loud. he could barely hear him and make sense of words, his consciousness as bleak as a thread ready to snap. jayce looks to his spasming wrist anyway, as if it were an answer, where the acceleration rune glows, ripples— and the arcane's touch raids the left side of his face.
the guttural sounds that spewed off his wet lips might as well just be frantic nothings twined with his soaked panting. from his usual bronze he's as pale as paper, blood from his back and leg forming an oozing pool of pearly gore at the back of the pick-up. jayce points his eyes up, passenger seat as his organs fail him one by one. he stares in that direction, not the herald, eyes rolling back and fighting to keep craning, to stay awake through the searing that ravaged his chest from the inside. back window. the pretty curve of a personalized golden-red handle. the flip of chestnut curls twirled to one side when he was deep in thought. a mole above his lip, another just under his cheek like stars in the darkness of his vision failing. it might sound like he's squeaking, weeping:
vik, trr. viktr. vik. v. v. v.
how he manages to drag his hand up to brush his bloodied knuckles at the window was the result of a perishing delusion, but at least he . . . didn't feel alone. ]
[The Herald commands, as if words will change the fact of things. Jayce is sputtering his last breaths in blood soaked gurgles and whimpers. He falls heavily to both knees overtop of Jayce, the bed of truck denting down where his weight lands. Hands cross over one another and press palms to Jayce's chest. Even, rhythmic pushes follow. One, two, three- One, two, three- the beat of a heart. What beat that should be there.
There is nothing there. Jayce's body fails, protesting his death is of no use.
Not supposed to be. Hands tear away his shirt to bare Jayce's chest, ravaged by sickly flesh and the creep of anomaly infection. Viktor tries again. One, two, three- One, two, crack- Jayce's breastbone gives sickeningly under the continued attempts. The failure strikes at the core of the Herald, but he cannot reckon with it. There must be another step. A more drastic measure. The claw on his back whirls and pushes forward, digs into the broken center of Jayce's chest. It cuts into him with precise motions, scalpel sharp, a cross pattern to peel quarters of skin open.
Revealing the man was already rotted inside, impossibly alive before his death.
He has no purpose without Jayce. Accepting his death is not possible. The claw plucks delicately at broken bones, casting them aside. Muscle and sinew is peeled away, until he can reach Jayce's heart. With care, the three prongs grasp the organ directly, forcing the pulse to return. The action does no good. Even if it could drag Jayce's body into a state of "life", forcing his blood to run only means Jayce's body will be bled out dry. Red pools at Viktor's knees long before it's clear this is pointless.
The heart eventually tears in his grasp, unable to withstand the further abuse and strain. It's fully broken.
Reality hits Viktor. Jayce is dead beneath him. There is no question and no denying the fact.
He feels nothing about this.
No sorrow, no joy. He merely recognizes a failure. It doesn't feel like his own. It doesn't feel like anything at all. The numbness is so pure and distilled, there is no ache to it, no memory nor illusion of pain. Ego death follows. The light inside the Herald simply goes out. A machine unplugged, robbed of its energy source. He slumps, upright on his knees, an inert tower of metal too well balanced to simply collapse in any direction.]
[ jayce is only semi-conscious as his rib cage caves. he knows there is pain, but there was just so much of it at this point he'd barely register more. his heart fibrilates under every pump, the rest of him slowing down, from the crazed breathing to his terrible convulsing. his lungs work their last breaths to stagnant, filled to the brim with bleeding tissue that puffs out through the chest cavity being sliced open. his body could only react now, twitching and grunting, his eyes truly rolling back with a flutter and gaping lips. there is . . . someone above him as his quivering heart is forced to pump a few more times. it gives his brain a few more useless sparks of warmth he needed to mask the horrors currently keeping his body on a thin thread. a hooded figure he could see so clearly after seeing his world go indistinct and overcast is what dots the beautiful nebulae behind him. a pointed face and whistful smile of a mage who's eyes flash red with passion.
it seems we did not anticipate this detour, did we, jayce?
jayce reacts to seeing him hovering above his head, kneeling down to pet his sweat caked hair, placing him in between his lap in an elegant swoop of colorful fabrics: his brows twitch upwards, the smallest of whines creaks from behind an compulsory gasp as blood stained tears slide down the curves of his cheeks. the mage cups jayce's face and shakes his head with deep condolences, nimble thumbs brushing away at the wetness that clings to his beard.
hush, my heart. i know you tried.
it is everything jayce wanted to hear. if he could lean into the warmth of his deathbed vision, he would— but he can't move. not a single inch. if he could cry more, he would. his brows only twitch, and his lower lip tremors. he has so much to say, but . . . he can't find the words, he thinks . . . the mage gazes ahead for a moment, jayce's eyes attempt to follow— but the mage steers his chin back up to watch him. he did not have to look. he shouldn't.
within the current restrictions, he tried, too.
jayce knows that. he'd never blame viktor for this. he'd never forsake him for something he didn't have control over. even back home . . . jayce had never left him then. he wouldn't turn his back now. the mage studies jayce's wandering face for a moment, and nods to him.
we'll go back. we'll try again.
that's all he wants to hear as the weight of his head dips sideways, and moist eyes go dim and opaque.
until the next possibility, jayce.
it is there where even the involuntary spasms of silt-caked fingertips cease, and jayce talis fully succumbs to the fate he chose. ]
[The shut down of the Herald, of Viktor's whole sense of personhood, collapses like a dying star. Of course, that implosion is met by an equal opposite. Everything within Viktor sparks and combusts, outward, outward, and outward. His body is filled again with consciousness and he struggles within the husk of himself. Nerves flare and sensation cannot be distinguished between anguishing pain and peak pleasure. There is no good nor bad, there is only the intensity of feeling. Feeling does not always mean hurt.
He remembers who he is, he reaches for his face and presses down the mask there. Viktor knows it will not pull off, it has to return from where it came. Somehow, he knows this, it is instinctive, an animal impulse. He writhes his head, thrashing against himself, and the mask begins to crumple by his force of will for it to retract. It is like a bundle of tin paper being balled up and retreating. His face peels back into place, fuses together once more, and he tears at his mouth and nostrils. Suddenly, he needs to breathe-
Both peel and pop open, flesh unfusing. He gasps, ragged and suffocated. Eyes pop open next, vision blurry and purple, shimmer-shot from burst vessels clouding his sight. Blinking that away, letting it run down the sides of his face in tears, he remembers.
He looks down and sees Jayce. Dead. So obviously dead. And yet, he calls out to him, as if there is some sliver of a chance he'll get a response,]
Jayce..? [he knows there will be no answer. It crushes Viktor to know this. The depth of heartbreak he feels is worse than any pain he's felt in his short, agonizing life. He failed himself, he failed Sky, he failed Jayce. Yet, completely overwhelmed with despair more vast than any he's ever known, Viktor feels so grateful to feel anything at all.
Numbness had been worse.
At least like this, he can scream. He does so, loud and broken, clutching his forehead. Tears roll down the sharp angles of his nose and cheekbones and chin. They fall into Jayce's open chest. In his grief, Viktor loses track of time, it could have only been seconds or it could be hours. He just mourns overtop Jayce's lifeless body until his eyes finally peel open and... he sees the shimmer of his blood mixed with Jayce's wounds.
The anomaly within. It reacts. It reacts in patterns that Viktor recognizes. It grows. Self replicating in the same way it was also self destructive. His mind, it buzzes, it comes back alive. He tears into his own bottom lip with his teeth, drawing as much blood as he can as quickly as he can. The rest of him is winding metal, but inside- he has blood. Shimmer. Variant shimmer- Evolved shimmer-
Another test. He lets it drip from his mouth onto Jayce's wounds and they react further. Flesh grows in sinewy patterns, webs with circles between. Is this can heal his body to a working state-
Then all Viktor needs is to replace what he broke and reignite the whole engine.
If it's madness or delusion, Viktor can't care, not anymore. He stands from Jayce's corpse and rushes away. He needs some basic supplies. Tubes, pumps, and jumper cables-
[Viktor formulates his plan on the fly, but it's a spiral of brilliance and insanity. The logic goes:
Jayce needs a transfusion of Viktor's blood so the anomaly infection can revert from rot to growth. He needs a working heart to pump that blood. Viktor is some manner of bug, which really only need a heart the same way a machine needs an engine. His human heart is serving that purpose, but it should be replaceable in him with mere engineering prowess. If he can give his organic heart to Jayce, it should pump the shimmer transfusion to everywhere the man needs healing.
All that in order, a sufficient spark of electrical force should kickstart him back to life.
Viktor has jumper cables, a conductive metal body, and an electric vehicle. All he really needs to make for himself is a mechanical heart. How difficult could that be? It's just an automatic pump, when all things come down to it. He can build something passable from scraps and upgrade it later on. There's no knowing how long he has before Jayce is truly, really, too far gone. Viktor does what he's always done... he gets to work.
Having a third arm really helps his productivity speed. Monstrous as his transformation feels to him, that part he would keep given the choice.
If there is one thing to be said about Viktor's persistence, it is that nobody believes in Viktor as much as Viktor does. He leaves no room for doubt that this will work. Ultimately, he is the Herald and the Herald is an extension of his obsessive core. He will do this. He has nothing more to lose.
The scene around Jayce's truck grows increasingly elaborate. The cybertruck is parked, engine roaring at full electrical output, brick left on the gas pedal. Viktor has cracked open his own chest cavity and installed inside himself a new core, capable of pumping the shimmer blood as an insect's heart does. His own, still organic heart is severed with the help of that scalpel sharp third arm. He gasps at the transition of relying upon natural organ to reliance upon a machine, but he's so close now. Pain and discomfort are nothing, Viktor has long been at the threshold of how much agony he can even process at once.
All he can think of is how worthwhile this accomplishment will be.
He severs and removes Jayce's torn and shredded heart. It is replaced with Viktor's own, the organ still beating. Viktor connects it to transfusion leads into his own arteries, releasing valves and letting shimmer flow freely through him and into Jayce. There should be no rejection, this way. No incompatibility between transplantation and donor. They are all of the same.
That reaction occurs just as Viktor first witnessed. Replication. Growing. Healing. The divine opposite of rot and decay. He's struck by the profound beauty of it before him.
Jayce will live. He will. Viktor grab the sparking jumper cables charged to his truck and attaches them to the root of his third arm, upon the metal anchor points that once braced his degenerating spinal column. His entire body buzzes with electrical energy, it conducts through his metal skin with ease of energy flow. A rub of his palms together to work the charge. No further hesitation.
He pressed both hands to Jayce's chest and defibrillates him.]
[ in death there is nothing. no presence, no existence. just quiet. peace, if one recalled what came before. loneliness, if one could recall who was missing. a hooked up heart spreads its shimmering drug through jayce's inert veins and arteries, causing a compulsory reaction across sickly tissue beginning with his open chest cavity: contraction. reaction. the surprise purple gleam of it glows from underneath jayce's pallor and fuses with the anomaly's uncanny coloring at their very edges. they curl, twine, it's only a touch, a greeting— magic and chemistry shake hands and wait for the perfect catalyst, while deep within jayce's consciouness, something . . . stirs. in that dark quiet speaks a voice that felt like home, accent thick and inviting:
are you ready to try again, jayce?
the shock erupts through his system, surges through his bones and decaying tissue until his veins bulge purple from the chest out, webbing and merging with the anomaly's rooted patterns from within jayce and spreading until shimmer and arcanic infection are one and the same. the rot welcomes the stimulus and feeds on it, uses it as potent fuel to repair what was needed of it. self-propagating. self-destructive.
rise up, jayce.
there were some things that this mad experiment couldn't override, or fix, but it would have to do; there were changes this world has marked him with, just as its marked viktor. jayce's open wounds do not heal in full. his chest remains splayed, the bone that's been plucked from the case of his ribs, gone. he is as cold as a corpse and would remain that way despite the concoction of chemicals in his system, but at least the pus-leaking holes are filled with symmetrical blooms that do not bleed his newly forming blood, a now viscous goop of arcane rot and shimmer kept tucked and pulsing within his circulation.
with each apparent thump from his donor's heart clearly seen through the window the herald had carved, jayce's cells reanimate. with every ripple, fingers and muscles lurch. he is unconscious, for now, but technically— he's alive.
perhaps undead is the better word for it. ]
Edited (now I'm not sleeping lmao) 2025-02-23 11:23 (UTC)
[There is an impulse to shock the man again. And again. To try too much to bring him back. Viktor restrains himself, seeing that self sabotage in his memories of being the Herald. Push too hard and it all just bruises, shreds, and falls apart.
Jayce's new heart is beating. His skin is flushing again, cold in color and temperature, but clearly there is energy beneath it. No longer an inert corpse, decaying away to nothingness. Another shock would do no good, might just burst what Viktor gave him. It isn't as if he ever had a strong heart to begin with. It's just the best he has to offer.
Even after all this effort and pain, Viktor thinks Jayce deserved something better than he got given.]
Jayce..?
[another, pointlessly hopeful questioning. No, there's no way he'll answer. He's not even breathing. He needs to breathe. Viktor holds back if only because he knows the man's lungs, half visible in his open chest cavity, need to drain of fluid and heal before it will have any purpose in attempting to push air into him. When his body is reacting with more life, that will be the final step. Or, so Viktor thinks.
He's not a doctor, he's an engineer. This is just ignition fuel. Viktor removes the cables from his back and puts a hand to the side of Jayce's truck to release the excess electricity from his system. He attached a grounding cable to it just for this situation. Viktor thinks of everything. Or so he tries, at least.
Last step, no fanfare to it. Viktor arches over Jayce and cradles his head in both hands. Taking a deep breath, he locks their mouths to push all the air he can down into Jayce's lungs to fill them. He does so again and again and again. Hopefully, one of these times, Jayce's body will catch on that this is what it's supposed to be doing all on its own.
Maybe, Jayce will even wake up, but that might be wishful thinking.]
[ jayce's chest expands like two balloons still filled with fluid— but at least they move. the sunken cavity rises and falls, rises and falls with each breath of life viktor gives him. parts of jayce, such as his limbs, his hands, twitch and unfurl with an abberant jerk to the movement itself, like it wants to shift. the muscles were energized, now they only needed the brain to switch on. consciousness to reactivate.
their chances look dim the longer jayce just doesn't breathe on his own. the air whistles in and bubbles the blood still sitting in his lungs, but that is what repeats— soft whistling, expansion, and a subtle spuming reverberating inside its broken casing like blowing through a straw into a glass of water. if viktor doesn't give up, neither does jayce, and the result of that shines through like the surprise pop from an ignition. with one more push of viktor's blow, the hardest one yet— jayce finally reacts. he lurches violently and coughs inward, a warning sign for viktor to retreat with his mouth, because the second time jayce coughs, it's a messy expulsion. blood, blight and frothy sputum stain his teeth versicolor and splatters wherever the blots fall. strangely enough, it doesn't feel as dire as his earlier breathing. it might even be more of a relief than something to panic about.
jayce's convulsing to disgorge the blood continues for a short while, barely enough to fully clean his airways— but he is gasping, wetness scratching his throat and a deep bubbling recoiling in his chest that makes it feel like someone threw him into the ocean and placed a boulder on top to keep him there. he takes his first breath after laying dead for a few hours, which shouldn't be possible, but here he was: back. not exactly alive. not entirely dead. very disoriented as his eyes reel back into his head when he tries to open them.
he can't translate if what he's feeling under his ribs is immense pain or bizzare pleasure. it feels like lava and ice course through him with each thrum, leaving a trail of intense vigor behind, an obscure warping that— distorts, disrupts the pain, and growls within his marrow like the mercury hammer's core would respire. it's the same wordless whisper that came from rubbing his rune, that humming in his brain . . .
he is hushing nonsense, none of the sounds actual words yet beyond broken syllables. it's not until an uncoordinated hand tries to pad at his collar down to the hole in his chest, weak, sloppy and unaware it's gaping because there's something there, there's pressure and vibrating, and burning when he breathes so maybe he should whack it off— ]
I-I'm . . . Ready, V—
[ his voice is so hoarse, garbled, not unlike someone trying to talk under waves and yet he still speaks. he's ready to "try again", but it seems he's in dire need of aid first. or, well.
perhaps he's a bit beyond that. it should be hurting more than he shows. it should be excruciating. but it's likely jayce is a little too detached from what's happening to catalog what he's feeling at all.
[Viktor tries and tries and tries again. Like Jayce, he is a master of persistence. He shows far less restraint in this part than the other, needing that final reaction. Needing Jayce to inhale on his own. If he can't, this really was all for nothing-
He feels that shuddering reaction, finally, and reacts fast himself. Viktor scoops Jayce's back up from the bed of the truck and pivots him, supporting him so the man can hack and vomit up any bile he needs to. Viktor pats heavily at his back to aid him through it, muttering only semi-coherent encouragements to let this out-
It doesn't really sink in for Viktor that this... really worked. Not until Jayce speaks. Recognizes him. Calls him V-]
Jayce! You're... you're alive! You're alive... [Jayce probably isn't coherent enough yet to recognize the mirror of their circumstances to where he's once been. That can sink in later. Viktor is wrapping both arms around him to hug him from behind, burning his face into the back of Jayce's shoulder. There are a mass of tubes hanging from Viktor, leading into Jayce to transfuse him with shimmer. It's a real tangle of limbs and machinery, a web of wiring and plastics.
All worth it. Viktor turns his head and presses and ear to Jayce's back. He can hear his heart beating within the man. No, no longer his. Jayce's heart. He's alive.
Somehow, Viktor saved him, brought him back from the dead. Nothing else matters.]
[ oh, he's so wet and sticky, what has he been laying in? the smell is starting to make his nose pinch, he tastes iron and something unidentifiable— his eyes are rolling less when he tries to glance around yet remains unfocused as the world dances and splits into two, sometimes three in his dizzying vision. the thing that soothes what starts as agitation (he wants to move, he wants to know where he is, what he's doing here and that's probably a bad idea), there are spindly purple arms decked with gold around his wide shoulders. all around them. has he heard those words before—? ]
My line . . .
[ his words come in sluggish drawls, like he's still being jostled from a deep sleep his most recent memories need to catch up to him. jayce knows the accent, and the face that sharpens through his foggy focus when he turns it sideways and snags viktor's burried profile. he doesn't know what all of this is. there's tubes? does he need these? should he pull at them? he's not at a hospital, he doesn't need tubes (but jayce's movements are lazy enough to be redirected; he's still getting a feel for his surroundings).
something more striking to look at is . . . viktor, right now, anyway. hugging him like this. was this a dream? he'd like to hug him, too, but only manages to revolve his head and knock the back of his skull against his partner's. a clumsy arm misses its mark when it slabs up and fails to grasp. it takes a few more tries to manage hooking his fingers onto the metallic groove of viktor's arms. huh. they're so long. they're bigger than him, even. ]
You got . . . So big, [ jayce still feels like he's dreaming— like this is surreal. an out of body experience, a funny skip in time to wake up to. ] What're they feeding you—?
[The last thing Viktor expects after all that emptiness, all the grief, and all that suffering is joke. The break in tension is so pure and brilliant. He wheezes out a laugh, cracks a smile despite everything.
Viktor sounds so happy,]
Haah, it's you, really you. You're back... [that's Jayce, humorous despite everything, despite all the worst things. Viktor wants to squeeze him, but he's afraid of his own strength and the man's own, fragile state of being. Just holds on, for now, keeps him still and secure, stops any of his dizzy struggling from tearing or pinching the tubing connecting them. That's all still necessary, until Viktor can check and the double-check Jayce is stable.]
I, I did everything I could. I understand now- I understand. How you... couldn't let me go. [they are just the same, Viktor isn't going to think critically on their codependency. All he can think about is how grateful he is and how proud of himself this makes him.
[ did he? or was that something he wanted to say to the viktor of his deathbed vision? either way, it was nice, hearing viktor chuckle at him, and for what reason? jayce couldn't make sense of what was so endearing when he was clearly telling the truth. it was sweet like honey. it made him want to just sit there and talk about their days. he loved seeing viktor happy and could not recall the last time he did.
"couldn't let me go". now, that's an odd thing to bring up— jayce takes a bit more time to focus on his surroundings, but the more he does the more he slows, and furrows the space between is eyes. why was he laying on the back of the cargo bed? why was hooked up to . .
carefully, rather than pulling blindly, jayce follows the tube connecting him to viktor. he was connected to viktor. in fact, how many things was viktor connected to? he tries to see, cranes his neck, and gets distracted by further details painting the scene. the viscous plash of opaline liquid around his legs dribbles off the cargo bed. it stains his clothes. he's not wearing a shirt. his chest is—
he remembers his chest flaring with pain, he remembered the herald. his mage, carefully steering his eyes away from the pluck of his heart from its home. the rhythmic, easy pulse starts to quicken. a rushing snare drum pressed against the wall of his spine and leveled shoulders rising and falling. his hands stay suspended, beginning to shake in front of him; the escalated breathing jostles the fluid still in his lung sack, interrupts the intake only by a fraction with a whooping cough before it resumes. the way his ribs are . . . thrumming with his heart is strange. the entire sensation, now that he is becoming more and more aware, is strange. like it has room to move rather than being wedged between tight muscle. it was a furnace but why was he so cold—? ]
W— Why is it, like that? My— [ his chest. something is very wrong with his chest. it glows like a purple neon sign from the inside, and he shouldn't be getting the feeling that the inside was only a dip away. the skin is off, the base of his collar bone is . . . cut. he can't see the smooth transition to his abdomen. there's a space in the way. he's caching up to the memory of drowning in his own blood. of bleeding out. of his arm, and his leg. to keep from dreadfully inching his fingers closer to his chest, jayce follows the rough grooves of his arm up his neck. it invades his face.
only a singular eye of his is fully hazel-gold— his right. the other, his left, is tainted with the same color and pattern as the anomaly's unusual kisses all over him. before jayce speaks, he croaks, his lips quivering and his gaze now wide with fear. not of viktor. not his beloved.
he fears what has happened and what is happening to him. ] You . . . How?
[Oh. Oh no. Viktor's joy is quickly swept out from beneath him. Jayce realizing just the state he's in, remembering anything that happened to him before this- Viktor reaches his hands to take Jayce's. He tries to quell the shivering and shaking by gripping onto him for support and stability. His hands... they're so overlarge now, still thin and elegant, but Jayce always had the much larger set.
Viktor gasps, trying to not be frantic, but he's so worried Jayce will just... die again of shock or horror,]
You are alive. That's- That's what matters..! Steady... steady, stand by, please. I need you to stay with me. [a rattling of words, familiar phrases between them from back in the laboratory days. How many times had they needed to tell one another steady and stand by-? Too many to even count, so mundane were the phrases, but they feel so weighty to recall in such a dire moment. Let them ground Jayce, just a little, in Viktor's company and embrace,]
How- I-? I... reviv- [no, let's not use that word, something less magical and more medical-] -r, resuscitated you. Transfusion with my blood- and you still need it! Don't... pull at anything.
[Viktor pants, desperate to calm himself as well, seeing all he wrought upon Jayce. It's so much torture, isn't it?
Sometimes, death is a mercy...
No, there is no mercy in Viktor. He is cruel in this precise way. Jayce admitted he was, too. They are just the same. It is more truth than ever.]
[ steady steady steady. he's looking for viktor because he doesn't think he could look anywhere else without wandering more, learning more. he needs his pillars, he needs his ground. he needs him, right now, and creaks out words like tightened wood groans when forced to bend. ]
O— Okay.
[ that's a start. holding his hands. gripping them like they'd blow away if he'd let them slip. viktor's hands were so much bigger, now. it's almost comforting that he's being engulfed by his size difference, but jayce does not want to think of the implications that brought. more memories. these hurt his very soul, and he jayce is so, so glad that automated chill of words aren't what's speaking at him. ]
You— you changed, I remember— I'm not mad, I— I didn't want, to die, just—
[ they were one in the same, weren't they? jayce can't be mad. he once did this to viktor. he knows he'd do it again. he doesn't care if that amount of interdependancy is unhealthy or wrong, it's them.
but it is an overwhelming amount of information coming in too fast for jayce to assimilate step by step. he is piecing things together, pulling memories like they'd been tied to threads. every tug earned him another following string of events, and another— oh, so this was what it was like. with some differences in circumstance, of course, but one thing would still haunt him: he didn't come back the same. he feels like there's something inherently wrong with him. there is a surge, an energy under his skin. a burning in his veins and an icy coldness in his flesh and bone. he could still feel, but his pain feels dulled. not because there is none, because he could still feel this embrace, these hands, the only real warmth he has because their wildly contrasting temperatures were on different spectrums entirely— and viktor was an external factor. jayce warms up only because of him.
there is, additionally, the state of his appearance that is not easing him. a breeze weaves through them and jayce could feel it brushing a flow inside him. he gasps, quiet and shocked and choking back the need to cry. he was so bloody. it's really open. oh, dear gods, he's got his chest open and he can't feel it, thank god he can't feel it but holy shit he should feel it. he's squeezing viktor's hands harder and harder, trying to look elsewhere but he feels absolutely sick. all in his head, of course. his digestive system doesn't work in a traditional sense anymore. his stomach doesn't flip when its shut down and unresponsive. he won't vomit. that feels wrong, too. ]
Scared, please— talk to me.
[ jayce has always been open about what he feels, or at least he tries very much to be when he recognizes them. he's trying to do that now. ]
You should be... furious. I've done- a terrible thing to you. [One of many, but Viktor is sternly set in his ways. He wouldn't undo any of it, except how badly he tore into Jayce as the Herald. In that state, Viktor wasn't himself. His emotions, much as he yearns to just turn them off and be rid of them, are what make him. To be without them was a horrifying experience and it hurt Jayce... so profound and horrifically.
Viktor adjusts his arms and legs, pulling Jayce sidelong into his lap. Cradling him with one arm around his back to keep him upright. Viktor's other hand and stay held to Jayce's or check over his work... he knows it looks just awful, the splayed open chest, the tubes leading them together. Still, they both need reckon with it or there is no continuing on. It must be this way. It is the only way left.]
I- know. I'm scared too, Jayce, of losing you. I don't- really allow myself to get scared. You know this. [Viktor is a fearless man, he has always moved through his life knowing it will be short and difficult. That didn't make it not worth living. He was so intent on making something of himself- all he really wanted was to be alongside Jayce through whatever might happen-]
You don't want to hear that. Right now. My apologies- I... don't know what to say.
[he dips his head and nudges his forehead softly to Jayce's, not sure if he'll welcome that, Viktor won't push it if Jayce flinches away. Something to comfort Jayce? What would make any sense? Something to busy the man's mind, something flippant and far afield,]
... what would you rather be, a snowball or a rock?
[ jayce stays quiet in regards to how he should be feeling; perhaps it's because he understands profoundly the panic and greif that ravished him when he thought he lost viktor, did not stop to think about the repercussions and actually thought . . . he'd done something good with the hexcore. that keeping viktor alive was the right thing to do, but did not take into consideration he promised viktor to destroy what saved him. it's hard to take anything into consideration when you have to make a decision. viktor, at least, knows what it implies. knows it for what it was. jayce only realized the same fact later, when he had more than enough time to ruminate on it.
they deserve each other. they're even, now. they share the worst of their acts between them and no one else. even in this case, it is . . . perfect. jayce needed viktor's disapproval then to evolve as a person. viktor needed the opposite from jayce now— acceptance, to realize something he was blinded to. he could remind him about that . . . later. in a few minutes, or maybe a few hours. right now he is hanging by a thread, a drop away from panic. he has to force himself to look anywhere else but these tubes, else he invites the intrusive thought to rip them out.
he finds that distraction, instead, in viktor's hold. he dares not flee from it because jayce has always been a tactile creature, he's always craved this. he shrinks into him like he would cling to a lifeline, allows himself to be small as he bends his knees and curves his back to the arch of viktor's chest. his only discomfort is in wondering if this feels . . . gross, to him. if all this watery gasoline-blood soaking him would deter him. but then again, both of them were very, very gross right now.
jayce heart skips and slows just a tad, there's still a frightened race to it but it is not wild. there's a difference in the pacing from a few seconds ago to now. he closes his eyes, breathes in because it calms him, a shame that it triggers a cough or two, but nothing he can't chug through. it's the pressure to his forehead that stills him the most, makes his breathing actually stop for a few seconds before he exhales, with relief, and pushes his neck forward in turn. if the beat is still quick, it's for a different reason. he doesn't mind . . . just staying there, for a bit. he'd thought he lost this.
he doesn't mind at all. ]
A— rock. So I wouldn't . . . Disappear.
[ from this. it's enough. this is more than enough. ]
That's just... what you are, Jayce. A, a precious stone. Carved with a rune, even.
[So much sentimentality is spilling out of him now. It's really unlike Viktor, so used to holding such emotion down. Having been without his feelings entirely, they all floods back in rapidly. He felt his entire person disappear, face oblivion, then kickstart anew.
Viktor does feel very, terribly and wonderfully, alive.]
I'll carry that rock around the rest of my life. Like you did.
[He wonders if he should tell Jayce what he's done. How Viktor has managed to "repaired" him. He wonders if it would be too disturbing to know. If the process was better left unexplained.
This is Jayce. He takes comfort in knowledge, in understanding how things work. He should not be denied that about himself. The man has never been incurious.]
... you carry a part of me now. Your heart was- nonfunctional. [Torn to absolute shreds is more accurate, but Viktor speaks in more scientific terms,]
I replaced yours with mine. So you would not risk... a, a rejection of the transfusion. It isn't very strong, but it does what is required. I hope that's... alright.
[ jayce's eyes snap open when viktor goes a quarter through with his words. a precious stone. every word after that takes his breath away, quite literally. he's staring at him, his lips move but nothing comes out. his eyes fly all over viktor's precious face and the middle of his eyebrows wrinkle. he's— actually hearing something like that. like this. please, let this be real.
he doesn't feel breathless, but jayce feels like he should inhale before he does need it. he doesn't— know what to say. jayce wasn't expecting viktor's heart on his sleeve when choosing between a snowball or a rock. he goes through a scope of emotion the more he allows viktor to continue, goes from melting into a fluttering pile of butterflies to feeling his gut drop like an anchor.
his what, where? ]
Viktor, [ his heart. let that sink. it doesn't and yet the shock seizes him like a meteor crash. viktor gave him his heart to live. his heart is what's giving him fuel. working hard, nonstop. does he— have any idea what he's done? jayce is overwhelmed, shaking his head in disbelief and locking his eyes, immediately soddened. if it wasn't forked open he'd put his hand over it. jayce does the next best thing, rerouting his hand to the top of his blood caked collar bone and prodding around the dent above it for a pulse. it is a good thing jayce doesn't necessarily need a strong heart anymore. only a working one. ] I . . . I don't—
[ believe it? it's not . . . something horrible, or eles the curve of his trembling lips would be so high. but jayce's brows crease next with question following his emotional tears, but then— his eyes briefly unfocus only because he's trying to think, to visualize the possibilities. viktor is ingenious. he's an engineer, an inventor. what was within their reach? their knowledge in, how much time? it couldn't have been too long if his body was even viable enough to resuscitate (even though that in itself was a miracle draw). did he—
jayce's brows relax with an answer on his tongue, but that doesn't take away the utter bewilderment in the vast spectrum of colors in his eyes as much as his voice, needing confirmation. ]
[Seeing Jayce look so besotted while also spilling over with tears is oddly comforting. That's him. That's the Jayce Talis that Viktor's known so long. That he loves, in every way. Just fails to voice in any kind of a normal way. Viktor will literally rip his own heart out to give it to the man before he'll utter those frank words. Ridiculous of him.
Viktor gives the most passive shrug to the question. Downright blaze of him, like it's the easiest answer he has to offer in all this.]
Of course I did.
[his body is a biomechanical nightmare, but that doesn't feel far from what Viktor already understood of himself. He had been falling apart so long in his natural form that enhancements had been required to keep him going long before now. His leg and chest brace, the anchors in his back... he had experience in modifying himself. This was just another feat of engineering to undergo.]
It isn't very impressive. A pump with some batteries. You'll probably scold me for how shambles it is, but it functions. That is all that matters. [Viktor can spare elegance for practicality and that's what he's mechanical heart is. Scrap and wit. It suits Viktor, he thinks.]
[ if any of that wasn't a confession, jayce wasn't talis. he keeps quavering his head slowly, back and forth, his red-stained teeth making a small flash before jayce has to suck in his lower lip, because— his expression is contorting and his tears make new, wet trails over the dirt on his face as they fall. it's funny, how viktor's own heart finally swells for himself. with a little help from jayce. hands return to the arms around him and squeeze, try to pull him in for something tight and remnant of a hug from behind, the best he could give this way, sideways.
his palm finds the other's nape, the inorganic braids of shimmer-fused metal and nestles fis forehead back to him. jayce lets out an objecting click of his tongue, ]
I'll cut you some slack, this time. [ one that follows a snort— a bit of a sob, a bit of a laugh, and his voice an exhausted drawl that has found a starting point in getting through this. it's always been right in front of him. he thought he lost viktor. he nearly gave up. he's so glad he didn't— he's glad viktor didn't either, even if the price they had to pay was . . . big. jayce would pay anything due.
it feels just a bit more possible to accept that he's . . . not right. it would never be easy— jayce feels like the second he finds himself alone he would spiral. but, not right now. he doesn't have to worry about that now. ]
[Viktor cannot help a smile at Jayce's commentary. He's getting more lucid without it being full blown panic. It's so devastatingly hopeful. Something they have in such, such short supply here. Viktor wants to believe the man will be able to live. There's no letting him go, the cost far too sunk.
He tries to hug Jayce however is possible, his tall and thin form pretty good for it, though he's still cluttered with valves and tubes connecting them. No kinking those, that would be uncomfortable...]
But you never let that scare you off. You always find a way to... persist.
[ he's crazy and he loves that about him. he's crazy enough to match jayce's freak, and jayce matches his. so much, that— jayce now tries desperately not to let his eyes wander lower down viktor's face when he smiles at him from profile. the mole just above his lip is right where he catches himself, redirecting his eyes forward and waiting out the time they needed for the procedure to finalize. his first direct confession was ignored. his first attempt at a kiss was a traumatic disaster.
as much as he yearned to feel it, now was not a good time, he's got a damn hole in his chest and they're both connected to each other through tubes on top of organs. if he's smart, he probably shouldn't try again at all. this . . . is more than he thought he'd get. more time. another chance, and a drastic spectacle of viktor's feelings. he loves him and that's that. he has his heart, now. he doesn't need more than this. ]
I told you, [ jayce pats the top of viktor's slender hands, then rubs at each bump of his golden-clad knuckles. ] I promised you.
[ i told you i loved you, too. ]
. . . Viktor, [ something is stirring in him, a feeling. a feeling that . . . he doesn't need to hide anymore. he has viktor where he's always wanted him. aware and understanding of everything. he can be transparent. he could finally spill the truth that he was angry at jayce for hiding. that viktor wasn't ready. ] This isn't the first time you've given me a part of you.
[There's romance and then there is whatever the fuck these two have going on.
They're already cuddled up in the rotting decay and blood pool. It's unsavory, but not enough to spoil the moment of accomplishment and elation of Jayce returning to him.]
I have? Ah, in your future-? What of me?
[Viktor asks this quietly, curiosity bleeding out of him so obviously. Jayce being from further along is of simultaneous great interest and causes him such anxiety. He dies. Jayce brings him back using the Hexcore. Jayce falls down a fucking ravine... and crawls himself up out of it.
He realizes he's in love with Viktor. Had been. For who knows how long.
Viktor wants to know what more happened. It was too much to process before, but if he waits to have processing power, he'll be waiting forever. Everything is too much and so nothing is.]
[ jayce pauses in his continuation. he thinks twice about now, then comes to a swift conclusion that there was no bettsr time. ]
In my future, [ settling his hand on top of viktor's he pulls at two fingers, guiding them past the webs of rough patches and colored pink-purple webbing . . . to right over the rune in his wrist, tracing over it and its symbol. the source of his obsession. the comfort during his stress. safety in a blizzard. awe and wonder in a world sometimes so bleak. ] and in my past.
[ he should take small steps, starting with the steady implication that was bound to distract them a little more from the nest of gore they've made. night makes it look like dark water. ]
[Logically, no, but with arcane fuckery and enough grief, all things are possible. Viktor's paradox is unknown to him, but he had felt the echoes of it. That desire to rescue Jayce and his mother, something he never voiced before their shower talk. The pull of the acceleration rune in Heimerdinger's lab, leading him to steal away with it and Jayce's research notes to return to him. Against all better judgement, against his gratitude towards the Dean of the Academy.
Viktor was always so willing to cast everything aside... for Jayce. For the slimmest hope of their dream.]
[ no . . . it doesn't. he thought that too, until everything connected. jayce raises his brows and cants his head in a way that passively agrees with him, but. with his wrist upward, the webbing and arcane trails worse than when he was completely human face the night sky, full of strange stars and unknown constellations and that— damned, shattered moon. ]
It was you who gave me this, Viktor. When I was a boy. [ the gem reflects the nighttime lights off of the smoothly cut edges, and it is still a spot he will rub, even now. when he's done that, looking for comfort . . . it was so clear what it was about, now. it's always been him. they've always called to each other somehow. were always there, even when they diverged, and waiting for them to unite when they were prepared to. ] You saved me, and my mother— You were the Mage.
[ jayce parts his lips one more time, but nothing comes out until a few moments after. he lowers his voice to a bare hush, as low as the leaves when they shiver on overhead branches lining the long road ahead of them. a long road, indeed. he doesn't know where to go from here, exactly. but he does know he hast to go forward. if viktor is with him, he would. ]
You were always my dream, and I . . . Realized that too late.
[At any other time, at any other circumstance, Viktor wouldn't believe it. Jayce really held that for the correct moment. There's no resistance to the idea, no energy to mount a guarded and skeptical defense. The explanation simply washes over Viktor uncritically, but not incuriously. He has many questions. He's pretty sure he can save most of them or leave them be.
He just needs affirmation that he's put this together, because it's not logical, it's all feeling. This is what happens to him?]
That's... what the hexcore does to me? It makes me a mage-? [On Runeterra, you have to be born a mage. It is inherent, fated, predestined. To become one... Viktor huffs and smirks. Him-? A brittle, sickly boy from the Undercity? With no family name and no prospects? The only place in the world for him the one that he clawed out and forged with his own wit and will?
Viktor wobbles his head slightly,]
Eeeh, a bit too poetic... don't you think?
[A joke, but there's that profound truth inside it. Him. A mage.
The mage who came to Jayce's rescue.
He likes the sound of it. He doesn't have a heart left to swell, but that same emotion is still there. Warmth, affection, yearning. Loving and being loved.]
[ poetic? if only the paradox stopped there. it would have been beautiful if it stopped there. it's just an ongoing tragedy with them. ]
I wish it could be. [ he is whistful at best. ] The hexcore . . . Changed you, for a long time. Like the Moon Warp did.
[ all this metal was so similar to when jayce had fused him with the hexcore, but . . . more. so much more. ]
You lost everything to become that mage. That's why he found me. [ to show him the importance of his emotions, and banes, and everything he's been through that made him viktor. to show him that the suffering is what made the journey. to tell him that with even those very things he saw as flaws, he was loved because of them. that's what made him viktor and no one else. ] You told me there was no prize to perfection. Only an end to pursuit.
[ that viktor corrected a fault, but only after being the only surviving person on runeterra. only after damning himself and everyone else. ]
[It's Viktor's turn to just... well up with tears and spill over. His eyes are still shimmer shot and so it's all tinged purple, running down his face to take in those words. He shakes his head as if denying it, but affirms with his whole being,]
Yes... Yes, that is what it was like.
[Field of dreamless solitude. A poet, indeed. Viktor supposes the mage had nothing but time to think that one up. He speaks to how it had been as the Herald, just needing to tell someone about it. Have it be heard. He knows it doesn't excuse his actions, his violence and cruelty, but he cannot bare the burden of that experience alone. It is too much to go unspoken,]
Endless, vast numbness. Profound loneliness. So empty even I wasn't there.
[they both died for a moment there, hadn't they? Jayce's body failing him and Viktor's mind giving way. His arms curl protectively around Jayce, wishing to hold him so close they fuse together. He's more gentle than that, knowing it would hurt them both if he was too brutish.
In a more tender display of his desperate affections, he kisses Jayce's temple, his eyelid on the side of his still golden eye, his nose. Peppering him with no real direction. So different from when the Herald pushed his face to Jayce's, driven only by cold logic.
He just loves the man so much, he doesn't know what else to do with himself to show that. Viktor's done everything he could, hasn't he? He mutters, nuzzled to Jayce's cheekbone,]
I only want to exist where you are, Jayce. You've showed me that.
[ if there was any way to go, jayce would want to leave the world with viktor. not at the same time, like they had— that was about the same as losing each other to different paths and succumbing to that horrible loneliness. this had been . . . something of a rebirth, if they could get past gritty, unhealthy haunt they've weaved. maybe there's no cure for unwell they were in the head, but jayce was done worrying about what others thought, and he'd made up his mind about viktor a long time ago. it was together or nothing.
the side of jayce's head pushes into viktor's neck, a dirty hand fastening to the defined slant of his cheeks to soothe his tears. he had callouses, cuts, bruises, the remains of his bodily oil spill under his nails and yet he still manages a gentle, accessible touch. he was there to listen. he's glad to be. it makes this hole in him manageable, or at least jayce would like to think so when emotion blanketed reality.
cupping the man's face from the side finishes in him rubbing the veined corners of his eyes dry, although that might just leave it grimy and smudged. thought that counts— but viktor's display makes him freeze up. the dip of his temple gains warm, earnest lips. his eye is rewarded, his nose— damn it, even his nose is revered. his nostrils were an ugly, splattering stain of crimson-pink all the way past his neck where he had bled out. there are other aimless little places and jayce fights the urge not to look at him, fingers beginning to squeeze his hugging arms, caressing the press to slant following his beard with his profile. it was so very different. it was everything. ]
Then I didn't fail, after all.
[ he can't take it. he pulls his head back to look at him. he doesn't regret it, but he does stare for too long, touching the mole under his eye and following the veiny trails of purple down the curve of his face— jayce shakes his head at himself and huffs what should, or could, be a laugh somewhere. it triggers a few coughs, and a weird, watery gurgle that he curses the shit out of. ]
I'm a mess, Viktor.
[ he's trying to laugh at the expense. maybe that will be enough copium. ]
[A worn bark of a laugh escapes Viktor at the last comment. Yes, they do keep saying that to one another. A mess is them, distilled. A testament to the truth and resilience of their love really ever present. Only love could drive men to this sort of tolerance for disgust and horror.]
I am sorry, for... for the indignity and the hurt. I feel guilty to put you through this, but not... remorseful. [He wouldn't change what he did, after all. Any way he could bring Jayce back to him, Viktor would attempt again and again. Even if it caused him to go utterly mad.
Already feels that way, but at least he's content in his madness. Happy, even.]
Can you move any of your limbs? Feel beyond just pain?
[ yeah . . . that's about what he'd felt, now. it was worse when he was a bit younger— he had no remorse and no guilt for both a lack of consideration for viktor's autonomy and the disregard of a promise kept. jayce hadn't realized the scope of what he'd done, and maybe that's what was the most hurtful to viktor.
jayce feels slight relief when he manages to steer his gaze away, once more, a grotesque smile filling the gaps of their awkwardly crude affections. that took all the will power available to him and gods, he hopes to whatever higher being existed (mage viktor????) that viktor knows he's not kissing him back not because he doesn't want to. oh, no. it's because he deserves something proper and level headed after everything. they both do.
viktor's apology is accepted with a dip of his head, a sweet rub of his thumbs over inorganic limbs, and the press of lips to purple-gold palms, a linger there, mess to bloody mess, that felt okay whilst sharing in their muck. it's okay, he murmurs.
jayce tests it out; first stretching out one leg, rotating his foot and bending his knee. then the other, left side, accompanied by the many clicks of his brace fitting the gears into proper place for a stretch and bend. that and the rotation brings strain to his teeth and neck, a quiet agh as the exposed bone grates against its fissures, but that's not something entirely new. he could move his arms and hands, his overtaken wrist. maybe a wave of all his fingers was in order, to measure movement capabilities. it's all successful. ]
I can feel . . . Touch. Your heat. Joints are functional. Thermoregulation might be, uh . . . Compromised. The pain feels— [ he looks for the word, a descriptor for what felt like he was reading off notes, ] veiled.
[ it is present, but quiet enough to be tolerated. a dull ache where he'd hurt instead of dolor that'd render him nonfunctional. ]
It's there, but it feels blunted. [ there's a better word, for that, he realizes: ] Chronic.
[ he could just, you know. be exhausted and rightfully achey, but this does feel different. he knows chronic pain now, in his leg. it's spread everywhere he's opened. back. shoulder. leg. chest. ]
I understand. [he understands that kind of pain very well and he aches for Jayce to know what he's going through. Still, it's better to be alive and hurting than give in.]
We'll find a way to manage the pain, I promise. I won't rest until I find a way to make it bearable for you. [Viktor's not even sure he needs to sleep in this form, but guess they'll see. He eyes the tubes and valves connecting their bodies, how slipshod the whole operation was. It's a cruel thought, but he really owes this kind of capability to Singed. Viktor definitely wouldn't know how to pull something so bio-mechanical off without having learned from that man.
He also could not let what he loved die.]
I have the strength to carry you back to the Convoy, in case you can't walk. We can rehabilitate that, if your coordination is in poor shape. And, you probably need something more careful to clean up than a shower, this time around... [he won't leave Jayce to figure this out himself. If Viktor is going to be so selfish as to revive him, he'll see through all the tough recovery to follow.]
Before then, we'll need to clamp off the connection between us. I don't want to risk it being too soon, Jayce.
[ he had to do this all alone, once. it made him . . . very aware, of what viktor himself had to do alone, for a very long time. it makes jayce beyond appreciative of the care that is being considered steps ahead. he's not sure he could walk after this. he needed rest. he needed to get clean, and scrub and scrub and scrub at his skin until it was raw.
when, though, that wasn't something jayce could pass judgement. biology was not his strong suit. and more than that: ]
You'll be the judge of that, Viktor. [ viktor was the one who did the procedure. he's the one most equipped to make the call, any call. jayce takes a glance around them; the stench has become a dull nothing but air for him to breathe, and the blood that looked like a child threw paint into a pool isn't . . . coagulating. it's supposed to go thick. here, it's . . . syrupy, thin like water. there's nothing in it to thicken, the reason he bled out like a slaughter house boar to begin with. it's sickening to even imagine he had this much blood in him. ] I lost . . . "a lot" of blood doesn't begin to describe it.
Alright- I'll... cut the flow and if you feel unwell, tell me right away. I won't disconnect anything fully until you think you can manage without.
[It is very involved to set up all these damned tubes, but it might become their new normal. The blood pool they're wadding around in is a clue to just how bad Jayce's body was doing. Why he died the way he did was really no wonder at all. The anomaly had corrupted everything inside him irreparably. Only a complete system flush and restart could get him to stabilize. At least, that's Viktor's theory...]
You lost all your blood, Jayce. See it- as a good thing. Getting the worst of the infection out. I think I have replaced your circulatory system with what is in mine, this- evolved shimmer. The arcane seems to be holding you together now.
[which, honestly, just sounds like Hextech. All things back to that, huh? They do what they know.]
I seem to have enough blood for us both. You might need transfusions regularly.
[ jayce nods; he wouldn't not, so in that regard, he'll keep attentive. he'll just . . . try not to look too much. at all might be best. finding it better to close his eyes and tip his head back, jayce keeps his attention to speaking, listening— anything that wasn't acute concentration on how the smallest clips and jostles were keenly felt within him. it wasn't painful, but it was uncomfortable and bizarre. what wasn't, now? ]
Kind of burns sometimes. [ an optimistic outlook, and perhaps— what could have really been happening. viktor's theories were always spot on. he'd believe them blindly. ] Is this what you felt?
[ part of him is worried about regular transfusions. taking too much from viktor and making him erode, switch the tables another time when jayce would prefer to take the brunt of the bodily suffering. but they're in the dark about too many things. knowing more about their own biology might do them some good.
getting them back, that . . . jayce had focused on that to return home. home was where viktor was. his priorities— could change. he'd look into it, perhaps, for the others. but viktor selfishly takes his antecedence. greedily, jayce allows it. he's never allowed himself anything selfish beyond viktor.
he'll do it again, and keeps absolutely still for his partner to do what he must. even hold his breath, he'll do. oddly, he doesn't have difficulty. ]
Yes... Yes, it's the same feeling for me. A terrible searing, traveling backwards in the veins. Only to bring about a... painful euphoria.
[That last part was definitely something Viktor resented. There was an undeniable thrill to the shimmer, the rush of power. Feeling more alive than the dullness of existence usually provided. Intensity that made a man feel unstoppable, able to conquer anything.
Explains how he could pull all this off, if he's simply full of the stuff now. Addicted as much as any mortal man is addicted to their own blood. Simply in need of it to keep going. He's condemned Jayce to the same fate, which is cruel and yet. He's guilty, not remorseful. As he said.
Viktor shunts the first of the valves connecting them, quelling some of the flow. Monitoring Jayce's condition, reaching to press fingers into the pulse at his neck. Firmly pressed to be thorough, but still holding Jayce to be caring. Without any change in his condition, Viktor turns another closed. There's three draining himself to Jayce's body, Viktor is very hesitant on the last. He doesn't want to do this wrong, cause more suffering or simply lose Jayce all over again.
Without shimmer high and a mechanical heart to keep him at a level pulse, Viktor would have had a panic attack or nervous breakdown by now from raw stress. Much as he resents his present state of being, he also thanks his lucky stars for the resilience it grants him. He'll work up the will to turn that last valve shut. When the remaining blood finished working into Jayce, that'll be the final test. Can he... live on his own, unconnected from Viktor as a living blood bag?]
[ there is a bit of a tingle at the edges of that burning . . . but jayce finds euphoria too strong a word to describe the dull little spark that rivals the dim throbbing of his chronic pains. something to take note of, then, and let viktor know as he turns one valve, then the other, all of which produce a pulling sensation of discomfort that tightens his jaws and curls his toes in his boots. ]
I could still be getting sensation back. It's . . . Not that strong a kick.
[ he's literally going to eat those words, one day soon. there is understandable hesitation on that last valve, but jayce isn't feeling anything alarming. he gives viktor that extra nudge, a single encouraging nod as he lifts his attention away and holds his breath during.
his heartbeat is worryingly low compared to a true human's— twenty or so beats per minute, but it is constant and steady with no signs of stopping, and jayce doesn't feel ill or foggy. luckily, the newborn draugr, or any revenant, does not need much blood to live. this amount in his circulation, for starters, is just fine. jayce could be a little more bronze, but his current complexion is at least a few satisfying shades away from too pale. dead pale. the pale he'd been after his exsanguination. ]
How's it looking?
[ he's a little . . . anxious. he's not looking into himself for that answer. ]
Looks a mess... but you're still talking to me, aren't you?
[Viktor huffs, trying to maintain some strict composure. Some sanity, amidst the madness of the situation. He thumbs across Jayce's cheekbone, his pulse point, tilts his head to look down into his exposed chest. Viktor can become... complete desensitized to the gore of the sight. It's shot the moon into fascination. Watching what was once his own heart working in pulses. Fighting for the man's very life. That's all Viktor could ask for it to accomplish.]
Your heart rate is very low, but mine was never that strong.
[ low but beating. his pulse was weak, shallow, but that is a natural occurrence for the kind he's become and they barely know a thing about. viktor's heart has adapted to jayce's chest like it was always meant to be nestled in there, so close that his ribs would hug him. he needs the bare minimum and a madman to try. and now he's here, with both he wouldn't be caught . . . dead? taking them for granted. he'd guard his heart as the most precious thing he'd ever been given, because it was. he'd blast anything apart that's so much as threaten viktor. his heart. his literal, figurative heart.
jayce sets a grimy hand over viktor's when he catches him taking smack about the most gracious thing he's given him.
It doesn't need to be perfect when it was always enough, Viktor.
[ in more ways than just keeping jayce physically alive. the depth of having his partner's heart in his chest, thumping slowly and keeping him . . . alive, giving him his blood— he doesn't know where to begin with repaying this. he does, actually. it starts with living. ]
[If his heart cannot keep Jayce going, then that's the last end of them both. It has to work. It has to. There is no other choice, for either of them. And they clearly cannot go on without each other. Neither can bare it.]
If you have the strength, try to sit up. I'll catch you if you can't yet.
[Yet. Being hopeful that it will be possible soon enough...]
[ he doesn't know until what point he could, but only trying would get him to any point of possibility. jayce waits for only a few self encouraging moments to anchor his hands wherever he could— viktor himself, grips within the cargo bed, anything he could flex his stiff fingers on, before it's a sharp breath in for him, one that shifts the bones of his right rib, oh that feels—
ignore the creak, ignore the little pops of bone moving— jayce forces his arms to contract and hoist his upper half up. it does not go without his grunts, turning into snarls as if that would intimidate his limbs to move the way he needed them to. with locked jaws and a trembling grip, jayce manages.
it's— strange. he's not tired, in the sense that he otherwise would be. he does not need to huff for air. it's more a sensation of . . . fighting to get the controls working. coordination. rest, he'd realize would be a good idea later. ]
I don't know, [ the aches drum like a faraway migraine. not so awful that he couldn't tolerate it, not so quiet that he couldn't feel it there, reminding him of his limits. ] how much more I could do.
Anything you can do, Jayce, is enough. I'll help you the rest of the way. As much as you like.
[Viktor doesn't want to force anything on Jayce, not anything more than he already has. He knows this is a terrible state to be in, that it is Viktor's fault for not being able to let the man go. Something they share, it was just Viktor's turn this time. That Jayce is immediately so forgiving, so glad to be alive despite the pain and terror of the situation, is what's holding Viktor together.
He'll begin to pull away the tubes connecting them. Jayce seems stable enough with the flow of shimmer cut. Once they're separated, Viktor isn't going anywhere,]
I'll carry you back to the Convoy, if that's alright... [a bit late to be asking permission for things, but Viktor can try to be better on that front. He knows well the resentment that can form when one is being too coddled or too neglected.]
[ try. all he needs is to try. see where he stands in all this to better test out later, when enough time has passed for them to try again, or, try something else. try more. with viktor here, jayce clings onto his metallic framework once he's got his legs hanging off the cargo bed. he starts with sliding his supposedly good leg on the floor, toes first, slowly, steady—
the second he tries to put weight on it his knee gives away like thin twigs. if he hadn't been holding his partner, he'd be down, and even then strength of his grip wouldn't hold him up for long. ]
—Y-yeah, okay.
[ at least— he's not embarrassed by that. let's just not do that by the scruff, which he has half the mind to joke about in the grime of this, but—
you know, maybe that's too insensitive. he won't. ]
You're doing well, Jayce. Don't push yourself, you'll have time later for that.
[No need to rush, recovery doesn't ever cooperate with that. It needs time and patience. Something Viktor had very little of, but he will try and provide it to Jayce. They won't let this beat them.]
Tell me if it's too harsh. My holding you. [It is not like Viktor has ever done this before. Even if he was healthier, he wouldn't have had the build to be picking up other men. Especially not anybody Jayce's height and musculature. Supporting Jayce, he gets the tubing removed between them so nothing is going to tangle them up and cause problems. Those can drain the rest of the way in the back of Jayce's truck. Oh boy, how that needs to get powerwashed out after all this. They'll deal with it eventually.
Viktor stands with an arm around Jayce already, before hooking his other beneath the man's thighs. He's spindly, but this form has what Viktor can only describe as super strength. It feels... strangely trivial to lift Jayce up from the truck, though he does with absolute care. If the man fell to pieces in his hold, would Viktor be all that surprised? Not really, much as he hopes that will never happen... again...
The joke is best kept to himself, yeah, Viktor might have laughed and then cried and then laughed at this point. He has Jayce held up and in his arms soon enough, letting him get adjusted to the embrace before Viktor starts trying to walk with him. Checking in,]
[ oh— he's getting lifted. and, oh. there go his legs. viktor is strong. that's— incredible, but also? there's been an Awakening. jayce may be undead but he's not dead dead. messy and bloody, he's being carried by his eight foot tall partner in science and soul. all he could think is "wow" as his dormant stomach still does these tingly flips. the only thing he's failing to feel is warm and flushed at the cheeks, but that isn't a deal breaker. for him.
before he could think of what to say, he's already blurting it. ]
I could get used to the view. [ here was jayce talis: chest literally bare, ribs practically splayed, the anomaly disfiguring him to a frightful point, and he's . . . smiling at viktor with a telling, lopsided little grin. his gold and prismatic eyes are unabashedly gooey and not looking away from viktor's face. ] It's a nice one.
[ it takes death to realize you only live once and they cheated it. he's living twice. of course he's flirting.
[The response is such an interruption upon Viktor's stormy thoughts. His worries for Jayce are so consuming and then the man speaks so softly to him. Not in complaint or grit tooth pain, but with affection. With praise and compliment, despite everything Viktor's done...
He wobbles his head lightly in place, before cracking the slightest smile. Careful with each step as he heads them both towards the Convoy, knowing that this is the easiest way to get Jayce their safely. Throwing him into a truck would only be a bumpy ride and Viktor won't let the man leave his arms for that long, not even as far as a passenger side seat. Time and patience in walking to their destination, together.
Viktor offers back,]
Even though I'm a mess. [not a question, just a statement, in a bit of a sing-songy way he got when teasing Jayce a bit. At least you didn't throw up type tone.
He is Jayce's mess and the man is his. There's no separating them, now.]
[ a mess, he says— jayce barks a wet laugh, curt and rolling his head to the herald's chesg to rest his temple against theheat of his metal collar. ]
If you're a mess, I'm a disaster.
[ they could clean him up. no showers, but a sponge could work. jayce could talk to arcade about the fluid build up later, maybe get that out so talking isn't so . . . hacked up and bubbly. after wrapping up his chest so he doesn't have to look at it, or risk the danger of doing so. not that it was dangerous, but jayce does not want to look at that.
he needed rest. jayce needed to sleep for hours. viktor might just have to get used to his lack of breathing when he actually falls asleep— perhaps what matters most is how his gifted heart keeps beating regardless, soft and unhurried: the single thing that separates jayce from being an actual dead corpse curled on the mattress. ]
While he'd left Viktor to do as he wished with Jayce's corpse, Serph had silently filed a note to check on the situation later, when the results are comfortably tallied and all he has to do is either welcome Jayce back or become the clean-up crew.
Him banking on it being the former means that when he approaches Jayce's truck, he has a sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Jayce," he says by way of greeting so he can catch the attention of the man cleaning out his truck. He makes no effort to hide the fact he's looking Jayce over to assess his condition. "You look better than last time I saw you."
[ jayce looks up at the call of his name, a bit of relief from the dissociation needed to clean up his own blood bath. by this point he's trying to scrub the stains off the walls of the cargo bed with only a bit of success. the anomaly's mark and crimson residue is what remains crawling up the molded steel, and that just might have to do. thank god the bed itself is black.
serph has managed to get jayce to stare for a good, long while at him in silence. not even a breath is made, until jayce huffs out a snort that may amicably be saying screw you. a breath is finally taken for words, and he says: ]
Thanks. I think I'm . . . Rotting with charm.
[ what's he going to do, cry about it? he's done a lot of crying as is. he's alive, in some ways. he's going to make use of it. he doesn't have time to complain or wallow about it.
never talking about the experience again is the way to go for his own mental health. ]
[Hah! It's almost funny that Jayce seems to have more life in him after coming back from the dead. Whatever it was that Viktor did, it seems that it was more than effective. He's not sure how he feels about someone being brought back from the dead like this -- it makes him think too much about his own complicated relationship with life and death -- but what's important is that Jayce is alive with them now.
Completely unperturbed, Serph steps forward with the tiniest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.]
Welcome back.
[He holds out the sheaf of papers in his hands: Jayce's own notes.]
[ viktor returned to him, is what happened. viktor gave him the one thing that was keeping him alive . . . ish. not only physically speaking— emotionally, viktor returned his purpose beyond reason. love could blind him to this. surely.
jayce wipes his hand off on a face towel taken from one of the bathrooms, and stops in his lumbering tracks when handed the notes. he doesn't know what to do with those, anymore. there is no dire need to leave now that his home is where viktor is—
after a moment of hesitation and thought in front of serph, jayce quietly takes them back. ]
Thank you, [ maybe he'll need them for the others. and something to do. ] guess I'll have more time, after all.
[Serph lets out a quiet huff of agreement. It's not often that one gets to cheat death. Viktor was determined indeed. He's not sure if the other man would be able to repeat that trick if it happened again.
Without the papers in hand -- he'd made his own copies of the notes -- Serph folds his arms, shaking out one pair of his wings before he asks-]
Not right now, [ he shakes his head at the same time he speaks, ] reassuringly.
[ he's had an entire factory reset after losing his heart and blood. jayce has a keen eye on any different symptoms, as per viktor's concern as much as his own. they're both scientists. observation is everything.
something dawns on jayce, though. a reminder, a memory, that takes a few moments to kickstart a furrow in his brows and a few consistent blinks: ]
[ jayce physically slumps from his posture with a reflexive breath out in stiffled relief. but should he really be relieved when it wasn't . . . well. one of those things that he shouldn't be thinking too hard about. ]
No, that's . . . That's good.
[ he hopes so, too. jayce doesn't even need to say it, his eyes speak loudly. they especially give away to a touch of wandering melancholy. he wouldn't want that sort of hunger to return, but. jayce doesn't know until what point he could even eat anymore. he hasn't for hours. days. he hasn't felt the need, neither the pit. he hasn't tried out of fear. ]
I haven't eaten since the accident. I don't think . . . I could, if I tried.
[Serph tilts his head. The hunger... even the usual hunger that humans experience... is gone? Is that a side effect of whatever Jayce is turning into? He hasn't forgotten Jayce's symbol that he'd been branded with; a skull, like it was mocking the concept of the needs of the flesh. Endless hunger, now none at all.]
You've been saved from Convoy food.
[The porridge in Serph's opinion? Horrible. Is that really what people normally eat?
He can't help but note Jayce using 'accident' to refer to his death. Serph would not call knowing his impending doom and having his chest sliced open, his ribcage caved in, and his heart capsized an accident. A small part of his brain whispers to him disassociation, distancing of the self from traumatic events, using softer language to cushion the mind from crushing reality.
But he doesn't press. If that's what Jayce needs to do to keep his mind working in the present...
More seriously-]
Maybe your mark and its changes affect your hunger. Or lack of it. [His bottom pair of wings unfold only to wrap around his waist.] The changes here are stranger than I initially thought. If you need help with anything at all... contact me.
[ heh, he snorts, even if he'd been so hungry since leaving their arrival point that he didn't care for the taste or bland seasoning. food was food when you were starving. he'd take the porridge over geckos.
but . . . serph is right. jayce could not bear to look at himself in the mirror with a bare chest. he could not bring himself to curve his neck and look inside of himself another time. all of this, from his accelerated death to a desperate attempt to save him—
it was not meant to be. there was no intention for any of it to be this way. it was a casualty. it was an accident. nothing more, nothing less. it helps his sleep stay silent. it helps him forget, sometimes, when the bandages are snug around his torso, that there were no barriers past his rib cage.
now, being needed? jayce thanks him with a steady bow of his head, regardless. the bow melds into a single shake. ]
I wasn't of much help before.
[ he was ill and deteriorating through most of it. he blasted a drifter he's pretty sure he sees around from time to time, and all they do is exchange these weird— glares. jayce doesn't know where to start with that (it should be an apology, but so much has happened he's barely had the mind for it). his mark was another story entirely though, and perhaps? it may be eating at him. ]
I don't even know where these changes start, and my . . . [ he gestures, ] condition begins.
[And it so happens that Serph is sleeping with (not like that) said blasted drifter Jayce is exchanging weird glares with.
Hm. There might be a lot that's new and strange to him -- Akechi's radio post reminds him of how limited his knowledge is. Jack has lived for forty times his own life -- but nevertheless he still asks Jayce-]
Can you tell me more about your condition?
[Knowing more about it would useful. And sometimes simply having another person to voice thoughts to can help, whether it's making sense of new knowledge or figuring out new ideas to explore. ...One of many things he misses about not having Gale around.]
[ where does he even start? jayce takes only a moment to hang his head and lift it high ]
This, [ he holds his wrist up, exposing the blue-tinted rune digging deep into skin and rooted, permanently, into the viens wildly colored up his arm, neck, face, eye— his entire left side. ] was supposed to kill me, eventually. Not as fast as it did, but, [ fingers splayed, he bobs his hand up and down, ] I have a theory the process was— accelerated, [ funny that it's called the acceleration rune and did just that. irrelevant to this, ] by the mark on my body, that I have reason to believe belongs to the Domain of the Undead.
[ he recites it, from memory: ]
The force of death, deterioration, and demise of all things, as well as rebirth and even breaking such patterns.
[ he shakes his head a bit, but only in disbelief. ]
[Serph peers curiously at the little speck of blue embedded in Jayce's wrist. It's such a tiny thing, but the way it causes distortions all over Jayce's flesh makes it look infectious. He'd seen that very seem strange webbing all over Jayce's insides, weaving over his ribcage in a way that made him want to see if it was stringy to touch.
He remembers that message well; he had first seen it from Blake. In conjunction with Jayce's skull for a mark... he could see it. While Jayce's death, deterioration, and demise had been accelerated-]
Your rebirth was made possible by a third force. Your partner.
[A force that was neither that of this world nor the object in Jayce's wrist, but a person with a grim determination to not accept death as the end.]
Let's not find out if you would have been reborn without him.
[ it's a chicken-or-egg question that will just end in jayce walking around in useless circles. it had been possible with viktor, and jayce owes him his new life, as crude and imperfect as it was. there were scars and literal, open wounds as proof of his choice, but it is not one jayce carries heavily, or with remorse.
he is filled with a shimmering glaze that shines right though his eyes. ]
I wouldn't want to. He gave me, [ his heart, his literal heart, he gave his all, he gave . . . well, jayce could only whisp a word out breathlessly, his fingers scraping at the bind of bandages underneath his shirt. ] everything.
[ since day one. starting with the gem on his wrist, that jayce rubs with his thumb, now— a circular, calming motion that he's done one too many times with an absent mind. he doesn't blame this killing him. he'd accepted that the moment he said take me back. i won't fail. i swear it. ]
He's my promise. After we got caught in the Moonwarp, I thought I lost him.
[ and that's why, for a moment, however brief— he'd gotten worse and given up. right in front of serph, so . . .
serph saw jayce in depth. at the end of his line and the start of his new one. knows he had a promise to keep, and watched him desist. he feels like he owes at least some reason for change of heart. very literally. ]
[Serph's expression softens, mostly around the eyes. He understands what it's like to have a person for a promise. He'd been drawn so inexorably to Sera, torn apart all who stood between them, done everything he could to reunite with her. And he had, for one brief, fleeting moment. But then he...
Serph dips his head in a nod.]
I understand. There's someone just as important to me.
[He won't fault Jayce for giving up in that moment. Serph had seen how grief had shaken the hearts of even his most stoic of comrades. There is no dishonour in losing faith when all seems lost.]
[Serph shakes his head, answering both questions. Though he clarifies-]
Nirvana is for all who want it.
[As the fighting was drawing to a close, there were some who expressed doubt or disinterest in going. As long as they didn't defy him he'd let them be. And now they are gone, like all the others.]
It's safer for Sera to be with the rest of my tribe.
[As much as it feels like a part of him has been missing since their separation, he doesn't wish this place upon her even if there are trees and a blue sky.
His expression softens a little, mostly around the eyes.]
[ it's a little harsh on jayce's leg to keep standing, so, he invites serph over to the truck with a silent gesture, at the very least enough for him to lean his weight on the vehicle's side and take some pressure off the strain of his brace. the back of the truck is, at least, washed out. only the impossible stains that match jayce's new scars remain.
he can understand the tender strain around his eyes. it speaks volumes. ]
[Serph strides over to lean against the truck, pulling his wings over his sides so they aren't crushed under his own weight before he folds his arms.]
Yes. She's the only one without.
[Serph pauses, turning his gaze up to the sky. Not so long ago, he had never seen anything besides a dark, overcast sky and endless rain. Now, there is a blue sky. And yet no paradise in sight.]
But when she sang, her prayer would soothe our demons. When we were first infected by the Atma virus, we didn't know the nature of our demons. She saved my tribe from turning on each other when they lost control. The other tribes were not so lucky.
[ jayce sighs quietly through the nose as a force of habit, a reaction to an emotion; it's not so much the woman's actions, it's the way serph talks about her that makes his slowly beating heart feel a squeeze. it reminds jayce of viktor, then consequently his torn feelings for mel. not that he was uncertain of what he felt today, just . . . the sense of betrayal he'd gotten, of those feelings in the past. the creeping beneath his skin that for someone he so deeply cared for in the same melting way seemed to have used him. them. while his soul yearned for its other dying half right under his nose. fear clouded so much of his judgement, then.
part of him still wants to speak to her, one day. set things straight. put a tranquil stone on top of it and drift away on better terms. part of him does not; who knows what sharp anger would bubble through before his clarity would. ]
[Serph lets out a long breath, a sigh not unlike Jayce's own. Yes, she is. A girl with black hair -- unheard of, in a sea of people with hair in every colour under the cloudy sky -- who didn't know how to fight and spoke of things they had never seen or heard of. His conversations with her made him feel... like there was more to living than fighting.
But the mysteries that lay with her... he wishes he had been given time to talk when they reunited so briefly. To try and understand what it was that happened five years ago, to try and unravel the tangled thread of their unremembered past. Unfortunately, that choice was not in his hands.]
We were told she is our creator.
[Something that would have upset the balance of their perception of her perhaps, if they had known. But somehow, he suspects that quality wouldn't have mattered to him. Doesn't matter to him.]
[ he can share this sort of comradery. jayce reaches over to give the celestial's shoulder curve a squeeze, pat, before falling off to his own lap. jayce's hand is freezing. the little blood that pools in him isn't warm with a heartbeat that's barely there to generate the heat. ]
Maybe that's all you need of her.
[ of her, at least. jayce at least knows that it's what he would've liked, deep down. everyone makes mistakes— he'd like to think that not everything between them had just been a cover up. ]
Well, it's been nice sharing this quiet moment with Jayce. But they both have things to do, though he does make a note to check in on Jayce again some time in the future; the cessation of hunger and his oddly chilly touch are strange. Is it normal for what he is becoming? Hard to say without more data.
With a nod, Serph shifts so he's no longer leaning against Jayce's truck and makes ready to be on his way.]
[ that leaves him to finish whatever it was that was still left to do in the truck— but there's not much. he's not going to kill himself over rubbing the metal spotless when it's at least free of the bloodbath on the cargo bed. it was a good visit.
jayce reminds himself to do the same for the man, at some point. just to say hello. he was a friend that much deserved it. ]
[ it's not like he needs to sleep (he kind of does, but ask him if he has the brains to sleep. no. no he's trying to refine designs and dry logs in any spot fitting for them while the vehicles move and while he can't use his equipment).
"baby"............. his nose twitches into a near grimace. ]
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@becomerobot (feb event, radio tower)
an ironic twist of fate, this all was; it wasn't supposed to happen this fast, or even in this way, but jayce, nevertheless, begins to detereorate. fast, without intervention, deferred with medication but never enough to cease. he grows exhausted driving for too long, prefers to sleep in a curled up, shivering ball as feverish chills steal the warmth from his flesh away. he's clammy and sweating ice cold most of the time, aching in every joint and especially on his braced leg, white dolor striking the poorly healed bone like a knife to the gut, constant like a beating heart.
he has better evenings, and worse ones. talk of a radio tower stirs him from his torpor tonight, coupled with an intense need to follow viktor wherever he'd hobble off to and taking advantage of his consciousness while it lasted, no matter how much it seemed to drain him to walk up the stairs of the cabin and uses railings for support, frequently stopping to catch his breath. he's been a lousy partner lately— but when hasn't that been the latest scandal?
the dim crackle of music from the radio trees around them hum in his ears like a sweet, comforting lullaby, and the monotonous sermones of the moon's fases fill their minds with a mind map of common knowledge. ]
The frequency this technnology is on . . . Is something else.
[ jayce muses about it longingly— during a time he was still clean shaven and naive, he'd be ecstatic about learning more, taking it apart and understanding the wonder and using that to create. now, it is a balm for his nausea, fatigue and nostalgia.
he's smiling, at least, and that smile wrinkles the crow's feet lining the corners of his eyes, heavy with bags but shimmering with a touch of life he may have needed to see under the fall of messy bangs. ]
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Too depressing of a thought for him to linger on. They trudge through the cabin interior, up towards the top of the radio tower and there is, mercifully, a wooden bench facing a display screen waiting for them. The message is rolling by with subtitles beneath the unknown logo. A date, long before the one they've been made aware of, Viktor needs time to absorb this. He'll sit down to look at it curiously, muttering,]
It's incredible, but how is it being powered? It is so derelict. Ah- sit down, Jayce. I need a rest. [climbing stairs is also still not great by Viktor, but he needs it less than Jayce does. Viktor busies himself looking to Jayce's brace they reconstructed together, still more Mercury Hammer than scraps, but who knew how long that ship of Theseus would hold up...]
Is this doing alright for you? [a moment of peace before the moon falls on them]
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it was unfamiliar and familiar all at once. jayce was always as healthy as a horse, hardy and robust enough to work the forge with his bare hands, resilient enough to climb from the depths of zaun to the ruins of piltover. the only other time his health had been abysmal was in the face of gritty infection, and these symptoms feel like an eerily excessive rebound.
jayce turns his braced leg so that his ankle nearly faces the ground, the clinks and squeaks of metal following like a shadow. ]
It's great, [ viktor's personal touch to the repairs are made with precise care, reenforcing weak its slots and complimenting where jayce's genius had lacked. ] we've always built better things together than apart. [ he pauses, only to inhale, shallow, ] And the medicine is helping. Thanks.
[ it wasn't helping as much as they needed it to, but beggars didn't exactly have the luxury to choose. ]
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His eyes soften from those thoughts at the mention of the medicine. Viktor tanked a burn from the shrines to retrieve the man some antibiotic painkillers.
He also didn't tell Jayce as much, once again covering his wounds to save the man feeling guilty for what Viktor chose to do...]
We have... and I am glad for that. [simple as that, for both the brace and the medicine. It might just be a placebo, but there's value in feeling better regardless of it being a trick of the mind or not.]
There should be enough to outlast your infection. You're taking them with food? [Viktor knows how finicky staying on top of med and maintaining an appetite is. Jayce seems to... always be hungry now, which is the opposite of Viktor. Still, he asks because he cares, it feels like something he can advise the other man on.]
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Should I take it before? I don't . . . Feel like I'm absorbing much of the food.
[ maybe that'll make the drugs hit harder. he's no doctor, organic territory was a little . . . far from his expertise, but he was capable of basic understanding. especially when it was something viktor had dipped his studies a little more into. ]
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With is best. It helps to absorb together. I'll try to find you more, if I can.
[his attention moves back to the screen displaying the message on loop. It's dated far back, so Viktor doesn't think it serves any immediate or present danger-
"“Attention, this is an emergency broadcast. Seek shelter immediately. A moon warp is imminent. Repeat, a Moon Warp is imminent. Impact: falling moon shards will cause destruction and distortions. Prepare by seeking cover inside shields. Those caught outside will be twisted. Seek shelter immediately.”"
-only for there to be a deafening smash of a moon shard landing outside the cabin. So much for his presumptions.]
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by the time parts his lips to ask once again, he's interrupted.
heavily interrupted. the radio tower lifts up a tremor that rattles the building's framework. the bright hues of the impact outside is both deadly and beautiful. ]
Viktor—
[ the first thing jayce doesn't even think to do is shield viktor with the only remaining energy he had. it's the one thing he couldn't do when they shared spaces in the council room. the last thing he needs for his psyche is a repeat of his past failures, no matter the amount of damage that was fated for them. ]
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One arm is wrapped around Jayce and the other reaches to press the flat of his fingers to the poor man's forehead. His own eyes are wild with concern to make sure Jayce is alright,]
Sorry- Are you alright-? Good gods, you're so cold... [as is the air around them, the moonwarp expanding outward and consuming the space beyond the convoy. They really shouldn't have left the safety of it- damned again but their shared, unending curiosity,]
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the pressure of slender fingers chases the burn away, but at least to jayce it wasn't all that painful— too many aches in other places to the point that this one hadn't exactly hit the same threshold. it's just another part of him that throbs (still not sexy). the palm of jayce's clammy hand curves over viktor's forehead to do the same, although there was a chilling shake to his limb. indeed, he was cold— and he hated it. it wasn't the kind of cold that was on the outside, that he could fix with soup or a furnace. it was all on him, even if he wore another jacket or sweater he'd still be shivering in his cold sweat and paleness. ]
I will be, [ his gaze diverts from meeting viktor's, too close for that— ] I-It's another chill—
[ another round that would surely go away, soon. what was worse was that he couldn't even address it, immediately. not with what just happened outside. ]
We should . . . Wait a bit. If we can help it.
[ he didn't have his hammer. he wasn't fit for a fight in the slightest. and dying here—
he couldn't let that happen to either of them, but especially viktor. ]
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[Viktor's eyes grow shaky and his pupils narrow as he tries to suppress panic.]
Don't you hear it? That- buzzing-?
[No, there's nothing like that for Jayce to hear. It's in Viktor's head, it's in his spinal fluid and rattling around his mind. A resonance that hits his tailbone and makes him gasp and lurch forward, into Jayce's chest. His hands bundle into the man's clothing so much they shake, before he grits his teeth and pushes himself away.
His gloved hands sparks beneath the glove he's wearing and his pushes it to his own forehead, as if that will sooth something inside him. It does not. He speaks through the grinding of his jaw,]
Jayce- Go back-
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something isn't right. jayce hovers around his partner, his breathing beginning to lift his shoulders. whatever was happening, adrenaline was about to start pumping— and maybe then would he have the strength to lift viktor into his arms and run. just the reminder of his dash to the lab makes his stomach drop to the point of nausea. ]
No, not without you— Viktor, [ he calls him to ground him; if he were to fall, jayce would hold him, if anything were to happen to him— ] What're you feeling?
cw: body horror time let's goooo
It's rattling- it's beneath my skin- [Viktor gasps, trying to answer Jayce's inquiries and maintain some coherence. He feels his hand shaking and he lifts it to his mouth, catches the glove between his teeth, and wrenches it away to see. The hexcorification is spreading, it's creeping down his arm, up his sleeve, following the track of his veins.
Feels like Viktor's blood is moving backwards, the course changed. Pain and addictive power fill him. Just like Shimmer-]
I said go-! [Viktor yells at his partner, with spit and snarl. His leg gives out, the metal of it too heavy even for the brace to handle, sheering the bolts. Viktor goes down onto that knee and he feels his body steaming. He's boiling, overheating like some kind of overworked machine. His hand reach for his vest and shirt and pull at the fronts, desperate to remove them. The anchors on his back feel like exhaust pipes, clogged from layers of cloth. His spine writhes like it might separate from him.
It will, soon enough.]
vibrating in my seat chanting Bug
[ jayce barks his words in return, but rather than angry, he just sounds as desperate as he looks as he watches the hexcore's touch eat up what remained of viktor's human skin. that— that's not supposed to happen, none of this is supposed to happen—
he's not supposed to be whithering away, either.
when viktor drops, it's the last straw for jayce. he drops with him, whincing painfully as his own knee takes the brunt of his fall, hooking both arms under viktor's to help secure him before shuffling his legs in a way where they could kick out and handle having viktor in his arms. he doesn't keep put as he does this; jayce moves a hand to viktor's favor while one has him bound under the shoulders, prying his shirt away with the same desperation, quickening his breathing and his words: ]
I've always left you when you needed me most— I'm never, doing that again— [ he promised. he promised so many things within a singular, encompassing vow that he would not fail viktor again. but the more he tries to help, ] I'm right here, I-I'm—
[ he doesn't know what to do. he doesn't know what's happening—]
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Maybe there's some anger in the two hits he can manage before losing even that much strength, jumbled up in the agony and Viktor's terrible stubbornness.]
I didn't- need you..! I needed- to save myself..!
[Needs and wants are terrible things. Viktor hated needing help, he tried to do everything, including believe in himself more than anybody else could. Needing Jayce was a weakness he had to overcome- better to just want him-
This isn't the time to be thinking about this. Viktor pushes his face into Jayce's collar, his fist unbundling to grab at the man's back. He's cold. It's the only relief Viktor can find, burning up beneath his skin, buzzing with energy as his skin morphs to hexcorize across his chest and back. It devours the brace and melds it into his ribcage with purple and gold inlay.
The changes get to his back, metal crawling beneath his spine. He feels the joints fuse and go rigid in places. Anchor points turn into swivels. The flesh melts and peels away with a release of steam. His tailbone separates from where it was embedded, the top opening into three prongs. The rest of his spinal column lifts upward, attached to Viktor between his shoulder blades. Metal fills in the empty space it leaves. The third arm jitters and convulses without purpose,
Viktor sighs in relief, like that was somehow a purging experience and he's feeling better.]
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the cost was great and yet jayce couldn't ever do it differently. he could never let him go, would think night after night that he should be the one in his place and not the other way around.
(but the universe conspires in a funny way, doesn't it?)
even now jayce cannot fathom what he'd do if viktor expired in his arms right then and there. he could hear the broken voices from time to time, beckoning the fractures filled in deepest crevices of his mind to a juttering maddness only he would know. the kind he'd hear at night and what would keep him awake, the kind he'd ask to, please, just talk to him— because there was something wrong about him now.
but there is little to nothing that jayce could do to actually make it stop. he can't, but he's holding viktor in his arms anyway, over his legs for cushioning, absorb his fists (he thinks he does deserve them, in part)— viktor's face dips into his collar and jayce's hand cups the back of his skull to pull him in further into the curve of his icy neck, the coil across his broad back only serving to urge his hold on viktor's, squeezing him as tightly as he could manage. his strange hypothermia could be of some use to cool the lava-hot ripples pouring from viktor's hexcorization— in the same way viktor's heat brings jayce his own twisted relief and symbiosis that he tries not to think about. the heat warms his bones for once.
he hugs viktor in a way he'd wished for quite a while, hunched into him and nestled neck to neck, clinging as if his blunt, oversized fingers could pry the discomfort away from him. there is something in viktor's spine, he sees it swelling under skin and clattering through inorganic matter— ]
I've got you, I—
[ an ugly crack interrupts. jayce does not know how to describe what he sees as a third arm emerges from the lower slot of his spine. the sound and sight are sickening. it jostles jayce into a trembling, quietly gasping shock. since then, he hasn't let go of viktor and doesn't think he will, his now stinging, wet eyes losing focus.
maybe this was just another nightmare. jayce talks in whispers, but it's hardly anything comprehensible. ]
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Viktor's head is slumped at his shoulder, breathless because he suddenly feels no need to breathe at all. A blissful sensation, to him, to have something so arduous for him removed entirely. No longer burdening him. He doesn't know how he manages speaks without air to do so, but he can. There is a buzzing vocal fry overtop his usual accent, though he still has such a soft tone,]
Don't worry- Jayce... [this is THE MOST worrisome scenario possible, but sure, Vik........]
I've never felt... better... [the high has settled in, Viktor thinks, a byproduct of the shimmer. What most people would take it for. To feel powerful, to break through their limits. That's all this is. His limbs lengthen and a new spine forms where the old, fragile one was. Extends out in an arch, Viktor remaining hunched around Jayce despite growing several feet taller.
He's becoming his best self.
Viktor's hands fall over each side of Jayce's shoulders, scaled as proportionally large now to Jayce as Jayce's hand usually fell over Viktor's slim sides. He leans in and of all, inappropriate time and place, it's a near thing to kissing the other man. Instead, Viktor presses his forehead to Jayce's.
It only lasts a moment. A rift forms and his face splits, peels to each side, and is overtaken by a flat mask. The eyes light up, staring back at him with an unreadable expression.]
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his partner leans in, twists just a touch, the pressure of their foreheads pushing together spurrs a leap in jayce's rattling heart, that he thinks it is a response, at last, to words quietly confessed some weeks ago and never spoken of again. he is desperate with fear, that viktor would evaporate from his hold forever, that he'd never know how much . . . he meant to him. how the world outside could be falling apart and the only one who'd really matter over them all was viktor. he'd choose viktor. he'd choose to bring humanity to the brink again, and again, and once more, if it meant he'd have a life with viktor.
jayce does not hesitate; he does not waste the time he has after doing so for so long. hand to the back of his head, the space between their mouths splice and jayce crumbles into the kiss he places on viktor's spluttering lips. for a moment, just a moment, where it felt like sparks could've popped off like explosives—
instead, the sickening snap of viktor's face splintering apart is what startles him back. this wasn't supposed to happen. he still cannot think, cannot parse how anything could be alright when it felt like this world had torn away from him the one thing that was still keeping him together.
jayce croaks as he stares back at two remote golden spheres, adjacent to closed, sleeping eyes he felt he'd never see open again. stuck, in time. time he'd wish could loop back. he could only feel his lips puff together with a tightness as he strangles hot tears that come sliding down lukewarm cheeks, skin that would just go cold again, soon.
he feels like he's being hollowed out, iced from the inside, and can't look up anymore. ]
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Viktor is so densely packed within his own body, nerves and tissues all condensed into a core somewhere inside his chest. No longer within his own head, every end of him more like a piece of a marionette to be puppeteered by his command,
He has no mouth capable of screaming, of speech. Eyes that do not blink, have unbroken focus. Jayce is so close, Viktor can see his horror and dismay in full clarity, yet there's no mustering the same emotions in turn. The man was clearly robbed of a brief glimpse at happiness. Even with his emotions stomped down to their lowest of lows, there is a twisting of Viktor's own yearning into a more rational motivation.
Logically, it would be an inconvenience if Jayce became dead weight, whether from despair or shock. That should be avoided.
The answer to Jayce's adverse reaction is a poor excuse for an attempt to sooth him. Something the Herald is truly no better at offering than Viktor might be in his right mind.
The third arm twists and cranes forward, latches ingraciously to the back of Jayce's hair to lift his head back upward where he looked down. Meet the unyielding eyes of the Herald again. The creature leans forward, mirroring Jayce's earlier action as best he can. The flat front of the mask nudges to Jayce's mouth, presses awkwardly against and past lips to bump into the front of the man's teeth.
An unfeeling attempt at reciprocating that so desired kiss. That should calm him down, right? Simple cause and effect, wanting and receiving.]
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he tries again, out of desperation, out of sheer heartache and perhaps an inkling of useless hope that somewhere in there, viktor really was trying to reciprocate. just as awkwardly, jayce . . . tries, pressing his lips and bumping his teeth to sweltering metal, but it immediately falls flat and plummets his heart into a pit of loneliness as cold as zaun's noxious crevices. so terribly flat, and it's not even because there are no lips there, because god if it was still viktor, careful and kind, sharp tongued, awkward and calculating, jayce would find a way. he'd gladly be the only one doing any kissing if there had been genuine encouragement along his back, his limbs, anywhere that he would imagine late at night and dream of how their first kiss would be. the problem lied in there being no reciprocation. it was too calculating. no heart. he is not being cradled, with sentiment that felt the same. he's literally being grappled by the back of his head like a scruffed pup. he's being conducted to a cause for an effect.
jayce suddenly wishes he were in danger instead of this. he would've preferred to be attacked and physically mauled, laser beamed, eaten— than to have his heart torn to shreds. he is a formula being cracked, a problem being solved. he doesn't . . . mean anything, anymore. not the way jayce wanted to be, anyway. he forcefully turns his head away and wedges an arm between them, feeling— so many things at once that he could only feel listless. did he fail, just now? did . . . he lose everything? was that why he was dying? would this make accepting death easier?
he has no purpose anymore. death might as well come faster. ]
S— [ he sputters, croaks just like the clicking of his brace trying to connect gears into place and secure an angle. jayce's heart is already cracked and falling apart, but he asks, perhaps, to keep whatever remained of his psyche for long enough to just return to his truck and wait for death to come. if there was anything left. ] Say something.
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Their kiss is a meaningless display of mismatch parts. An engine too inert for a combustion spark to fuel it. He lurches away from the gesture as Jayce shoves an arm between them, though the man isn't being let go from the hold on him.
The Herald is Viktor, the way he imagines himself as ideal. Strong, logical, and of use. His mind holds only a single motivation, narrow focused and precision made. He is a tool fit for a specific function. He answers, his voice not resonating out from his face, but from the claw grasped at the back of Jayce's head still. It will rattle in the man's skull as a result. Viktor's voice, but thoroughly vocal fried as if being filtered through a beehive,]
I promised to protect you.
[his legs move, get one foot beneath him and then leverages upward to stand. Viktor's new form is massively tall, would tower over Jayce by well over a foot if, well, he didn't pull Jayce up with him. The Herald is hoisting the man over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. (About as romantic as their kiss...)]
I won't fail.
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his head feels like it could crack open as he shudders at words that bring a painful truth to his reality. he promised. he promised he wouldn't fail. he's failing. he has failed so terribly. ]
I—
[ i failed you. i'm so sorry. i'm sorry. i failed you— i'm sorry.
but not even that, he could bring himself to say outloud. he just wants it all to stop. ]
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[The Herald answers, reaching with his free hand to take up the Talis forged crutch from the ground. A useful item. One that has served him well. It should not be left behind. There is no sentimentality in the gesture, only practical understanding. A sturdy weapon he could swing at any assailants who dare stand between Viktor and returning Jayce to the Convoy.
His mission and purpose, for now, driven now only by an indescribably instinct.]
I will prevent that. I will find a way, through any means necessary, to preserve you. That is my promise.
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P-Please, come back, Viktor—
[ he's begging. he needs him. without him, and without a path he could see to bring him back from the brink— jayce had done it all for nothing. and that is what he's feeling, right now.
a deep, harrowing hopelessness that was swallowing his will to survive one more day. viktor of the future was probably so indescribably disappointed in him. would he understand? would he hate him for this?
he mumbles, to himself as he cradles his own head: it's not my fault, this was an accident, we shouldn't be here, i promised, my promise, no, no i, failed, failure, i'm a, no . . . take me back, i want, to go back, i promised you— ]
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[His hold on Jayce is secure, carrying him down the cabin steps three at a time, strides cracking the wood paneling beneath them. Viktor's tone is hollowed and empty, the only thing there is recognition devoid of awe. Pride without humanity. Speaking to an accomplishment, yet holding no elation and no dissatisfaction.
Speaking truth, without any meaning.]
Free of pain, free of emotion. My mind has full clarity, I am unclouded by weakness. I sought this.
[His pursuit has ended. This is all he could have hoped for, a version of himself that can complete his goals, unburdened by all that held him down in his life.]
I have achieved perfection.
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You never needed to be perfect, Viktor.
[ would he hear him? would he be able to touch that concentrated core somewhere beneath that purple matter? if jayce has one last hope, it's this one, and he seizes it like a lifeline, like an angel pulling him out of the depths he was drowning in. if it's going to snap anyway, well . . .
at least it was telling him more. more than maybe he could've said, explained, at another time, another place. another life. he's not getting through the day and he's serving him his heart— with all of his own flaws. ]
—I- I loved you for every imperfection. They're what make you.
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[While Viktor... Viktor is free of such passions. Of his loves and hates. He has been purged of all the unnecessary clutter of human experience. The messiness, cleaned up and organized into objective truths. It is so blissful, to be free of so much complication, so many clashing wants and impractical concerns.
All he has now is a goal. A promise to keep, a commitment to uphold.
Jayce will live, because Viktor's purpose is wrapped too far up in their dream to ever be separated from him.
Being the Herald, he cannot comprehend why he has this as his purpose, it merely is. A fact, fixed and unable to be changed nor altered. It may as well have been programmed into him, his ordained function, the reason for this form.]
You will understand when given proof. I will demonstrate my worthiness. Free you of the burdens I have caused. This is progress.
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jayce feels the strain overcoming his features, the burn at the base of his nose burdening the muscles surrounding his mouth. where the herald holds him is where he hangs in silence— the occassional strangled sob may slip, but he says no more. ]
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He hoists his broken down partner off his shoulder once they find his butterfly engraved truck, just outside the shield's boundary. Viktor... passes the man his crutch, so he can use it for once. The Herald no longer requires such a tool.]
Take shelter. I will return for you when this matter is resolved and the shield is lowered.
(1 / 2)
the crutch— he takes it. jayce clutches viktor's crutch as if its the only thing he has left of him— a symbol of his strife and accomplishments, of his rise in a world that was so split, of all of his hard work, of his beautiful imperfections that jayce did love, with all of his heart and soul. he helped make this crutch for him.
jayce allows the herald to leave in the same way he'd ended up here: in a dreadful silence of quiet nods and simple gestures (not that it matters, to viktor). he needs to think, to scrape up what he's gathered— maybe do a little more digging as a final drive. his heart skips in places that feel uncomfortable. his limbs ache with cold, until it devolves into a gradually creeping, painful numbness.
he finishes up, gives his papers all to serph, eventually, and waits for either the herald to return or for death to pay him a visit. he thinks he's more prepared for the latter. ]
(2/2) cw: gross infection stuff and imminent character death
his vision is swimming, his heart thumping so unbeleivably fast he could hear the racing in his ears, feel that it could pop out of his chest at any moment and he'd die that way. from a broken, overworked heart. but it is not stopping there. jayce's lungs try to keep up, give him air, but no matter how quickly he tries to bring the oxygen in, it wasn't enough to soothe his invisible suffocation. it burns. the faster he breathes, the more the fire catches, and he cannot seem to slow it down.
he feels— an energy. a flow. pulsating and invading and wrong, and jayce scrambles for the front seat door swung open, for anything he may have left in the compartments or pockets to cut open the fabric under his brace. he finds— he doesn't even see what it is, only that he could use the edge of it to pull apart seams in his rush. under his soaked pants leg is the nasty concoction of iridescent decay touched by the anomaly. strings of pus stick to cotton as he peels it away, or tries to, the dribbling blood from it mixing with bright greens, blue and pinks like gasoline. it smells god awful. the bone jostles inside and jayce feels like he could vomit and expire right there.
his consciousness dips, the blackness of his vision spreads at the edges, but he's thrown back to awareness by god knows what. his body doesn't want to stop. he realizes in his desperate heaving that he doesn't want to die, because— he still has something to do. send me back. he needs to go back. he wants to go back, there's a chance, there's still a chance there. where he actually needs to be.
his attempts are futile, but he hasn't come all this way just to give up. he hasn't. his own words thrum deep in his mind with each batter of his irratic pulse: i won't fail. he takes the leather straps of the top of his brace and squeezes as hard as he can to form a tourniquet. it still bleeds and the anomaly crawls higher. his arm— it's juttering on its own.
hiking his sleeve up his forearm to catch the webbed throbbing from the embedded rune overtaking his veins, jayce could feel the last of his strength being sapped. he sinks backwards against the truck's step up, trying to stay upright with useless gasping— the anomaly claws up his arm, plows a byway of multicolored nets up the left side of his neck and leaves a perfect pattern of holes crawling under his skin and boiling up to the surface.
now comes the panic. he's tachypneic, dyspneic, every shallow breath is painful and useless and still he's trying, writhing at the wheels of the truck and frantically raking at the footwell for viktor's cane on the passenger side.
he can't reach it— ]
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The Herald returns after the battle has concluded and the Convoy is powering down from the crisis. Jayce will feel the abrupt grab of an overlarge hand at the back of his neck, scruffing him once more to lift away from the door. He's lifted clear off his feet, not that he's in any state to be on them, as the Herald looks him up and down in such a dire state. Bleeding through his clothes, infections boiling over. Jayce is practically falling apart at the seams.
Jayce is carried around and laid to the bed of his truck. Flat. With Viktor stepping over him and looking down with a cant of his head. Best done before any piece can fall off of him. Viktor's regard is as cold as ever, not emotional enough to even be scolding,]
How did it come to this, Jayce? What failure point do you have that we did not predict? You were simply not meant to die before I was.
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jayce's brows crease with dolor and mourning as he's cleaved from the prospect of retrieving viktor's cane, hardly having the energy to kick, to smack— he barely has it in him to keep reaching as he's hoisted by the herald's claw and haphazardly placed on the cargo bed. his labor to breathe is about to get worse when his lungs contract from the extended pooling within it when laid on his back, he sputters— and blood spurts from his mouth and nose like a fountain, foamy and bright red with the stains of colors that were contaminating his flesh as is. he can't even turn over by himself, arching his neck and back as he coughs and violently asphyxiates on his own fluids.
his heart, his wheezing, his garbled cries— it's all too loud. he could barely hear him and make sense of words, his consciousness as bleak as a thread ready to snap. jayce looks to his spasming wrist anyway, as if it were an answer, where the acceleration rune glows, ripples— and the arcane's touch raids the left side of his face.
the guttural sounds that spewed off his wet lips might as well just be frantic nothings twined with his soaked panting. from his usual bronze he's as pale as paper, blood from his back and leg forming an oozing pool of pearly gore at the back of the pick-up. jayce points his eyes up, passenger seat as his organs fail him one by one. he stares in that direction, not the herald, eyes rolling back and fighting to keep craning, to stay awake through the searing that ravaged his chest from the inside. back window. the pretty curve of a personalized golden-red handle. the flip of chestnut curls twirled to one side when he was deep in thought. a mole above his lip, another just under his cheek like stars in the darkness of his vision failing. it might sound like he's squeaking, weeping:
vik, trr. viktr. vik. v. v. v.
how he manages to drag his hand up to brush his bloodied knuckles at the window was the result of a perishing delusion, but at least he . . . didn't feel alone. ]
cw: character death and dissection gore
[The Herald commands, as if words will change the fact of things. Jayce is sputtering his last breaths in blood soaked gurgles and whimpers. He falls heavily to both knees overtop of Jayce, the bed of truck denting down where his weight lands. Hands cross over one another and press palms to Jayce's chest. Even, rhythmic pushes follow. One, two, three- One, two, three- the beat of a heart. What beat that should be there.
There is nothing there. Jayce's body fails, protesting his death is of no use.
Not supposed to be. Hands tear away his shirt to bare Jayce's chest, ravaged by sickly flesh and the creep of anomaly infection. Viktor tries again. One, two, three- One, two, crack- Jayce's breastbone gives sickeningly under the continued attempts. The failure strikes at the core of the Herald, but he cannot reckon with it. There must be another step. A more drastic measure. The claw on his back whirls and pushes forward, digs into the broken center of Jayce's chest. It cuts into him with precise motions, scalpel sharp, a cross pattern to peel quarters of skin open.
Revealing the man was already rotted inside, impossibly alive before his death.
He has no purpose without Jayce. Accepting his death is not possible. The claw plucks delicately at broken bones, casting them aside. Muscle and sinew is peeled away, until he can reach Jayce's heart. With care, the three prongs grasp the organ directly, forcing the pulse to return. The action does no good. Even if it could drag Jayce's body into a state of "life", forcing his blood to run only means Jayce's body will be bled out dry. Red pools at Viktor's knees long before it's clear this is pointless.
The heart eventually tears in his grasp, unable to withstand the further abuse and strain. It's fully broken.
Reality hits Viktor. Jayce is dead beneath him. There is no question and no denying the fact.
He feels nothing about this.
No sorrow, no joy. He merely recognizes a failure. It doesn't feel like his own. It doesn't feel like anything at all. The numbness is so pure and distilled, there is no ache to it, no memory nor illusion of pain. Ego death follows. The light inside the Herald simply goes out. A machine unplugged, robbed of its energy source. He slumps, upright on his knees, an inert tower of metal too well balanced to simply collapse in any direction.]
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it seems we did not anticipate this detour, did we, jayce?
jayce reacts to seeing him hovering above his head, kneeling down to pet his sweat caked hair, placing him in between his lap in an elegant swoop of colorful fabrics: his brows twitch upwards, the smallest of whines creaks from behind an compulsory gasp as blood stained tears slide down the curves of his cheeks. the mage cups jayce's face and shakes his head with deep condolences, nimble thumbs brushing away at the wetness that clings to his beard.
hush, my heart. i know you tried.
it is everything jayce wanted to hear. if he could lean into the warmth of his deathbed vision, he would— but he can't move. not a single inch. if he could cry more, he would. his brows only twitch, and his lower lip tremors. he has so much to say, but . . . he can't find the words, he thinks . . . the mage gazes ahead for a moment, jayce's eyes attempt to follow— but the mage steers his chin back up to watch him. he did not have to look. he shouldn't.
within the current restrictions, he tried, too.
jayce knows that. he'd never blame viktor for this. he'd never forsake him for something he didn't have control over. even back home . . . jayce had never left him then. he wouldn't turn his back now. the mage studies jayce's wandering face for a moment, and nods to him.
we'll go back. we'll try again.
that's all he wants to hear as the weight of his head dips sideways, and moist eyes go dim and opaque.
until the next possibility, jayce.
it is there where even the involuntary spasms of silt-caked fingertips cease, and jayce talis fully succumbs to the fate he chose. ]
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He remembers who he is, he reaches for his face and presses down the mask there. Viktor knows it will not pull off, it has to return from where it came. Somehow, he knows this, it is instinctive, an animal impulse. He writhes his head, thrashing against himself, and the mask begins to crumple by his force of will for it to retract. It is like a bundle of tin paper being balled up and retreating. His face peels back into place, fuses together once more, and he tears at his mouth and nostrils. Suddenly, he needs to breathe-
Both peel and pop open, flesh unfusing. He gasps, ragged and suffocated. Eyes pop open next, vision blurry and purple, shimmer-shot from burst vessels clouding his sight. Blinking that away, letting it run down the sides of his face in tears, he remembers.
He looks down and sees Jayce. Dead. So obviously dead. And yet, he calls out to him, as if there is some sliver of a chance he'll get a response,]
Jayce..? [he knows there will be no answer. It crushes Viktor to know this. The depth of heartbreak he feels is worse than any pain he's felt in his short, agonizing life. He failed himself, he failed Sky, he failed Jayce. Yet, completely overwhelmed with despair more vast than any he's ever known, Viktor feels so grateful to feel anything at all.
Numbness had been worse.
At least like this, he can scream. He does so, loud and broken, clutching his forehead. Tears roll down the sharp angles of his nose and cheekbones and chin. They fall into Jayce's open chest. In his grief, Viktor loses track of time, it could have only been seconds or it could be hours. He just mourns overtop Jayce's lifeless body until his eyes finally peel open and... he sees the shimmer of his blood mixed with Jayce's wounds.
The anomaly within. It reacts. It reacts in patterns that Viktor recognizes. It grows. Self replicating in the same way it was also self destructive. His mind, it buzzes, it comes back alive. He tears into his own bottom lip with his teeth, drawing as much blood as he can as quickly as he can. The rest of him is winding metal, but inside- he has blood. Shimmer. Variant shimmer- Evolved shimmer-
Another test. He lets it drip from his mouth onto Jayce's wounds and they react further. Flesh grows in sinewy patterns, webs with circles between. Is this can heal his body to a working state-
Then all Viktor needs is to replace what he broke and reignite the whole engine.
If it's madness or delusion, Viktor can't care, not anymore. He stands from Jayce's corpse and rushes away. He needs some basic supplies. Tubes, pumps, and jumper cables-
He needs his stupid fucking electric truck.]
2/2 jayce is currently offline
Jayce needs a transfusion of Viktor's blood so the anomaly infection can revert from rot to growth. He needs a working heart to pump that blood. Viktor is some manner of bug, which really only need a heart the same way a machine needs an engine. His human heart is serving that purpose, but it should be replaceable in him with mere engineering prowess. If he can give his organic heart to Jayce, it should pump the shimmer transfusion to everywhere the man needs healing.
All that in order, a sufficient spark of electrical force should kickstart him back to life.
Viktor has jumper cables, a conductive metal body, and an electric vehicle. All he really needs to make for himself is a mechanical heart. How difficult could that be? It's just an automatic pump, when all things come down to it. He can build something passable from scraps and upgrade it later on. There's no knowing how long he has before Jayce is truly, really, too far gone. Viktor does what he's always done... he gets to work.
Having a third arm really helps his productivity speed. Monstrous as his transformation feels to him, that part he would keep given the choice.
If there is one thing to be said about Viktor's persistence, it is that nobody believes in Viktor as much as Viktor does. He leaves no room for doubt that this will work. Ultimately, he is the Herald and the Herald is an extension of his obsessive core. He will do this. He has nothing more to lose.
The scene around Jayce's truck grows increasingly elaborate. The cybertruck is parked, engine roaring at full electrical output, brick left on the gas pedal. Viktor has cracked open his own chest cavity and installed inside himself a new core, capable of pumping the shimmer blood as an insect's heart does. His own, still organic heart is severed with the help of that scalpel sharp third arm. He gasps at the transition of relying upon natural organ to reliance upon a machine, but he's so close now. Pain and discomfort are nothing, Viktor has long been at the threshold of how much agony he can even process at once.
All he can think of is how worthwhile this accomplishment will be.
He severs and removes Jayce's torn and shredded heart. It is replaced with Viktor's own, the organ still beating. Viktor connects it to transfusion leads into his own arteries, releasing valves and letting shimmer flow freely through him and into Jayce. There should be no rejection, this way. No incompatibility between transplantation and donor. They are all of the same.
That reaction occurs just as Viktor first witnessed. Replication. Growing. Healing. The divine opposite of rot and decay. He's struck by the profound beauty of it before him.
Jayce will live. He will. Viktor grab the sparking jumper cables charged to his truck and attaches them to the root of his third arm, upon the metal anchor points that once braced his degenerating spinal column. His entire body buzzes with electrical energy, it conducts through his metal skin with ease of energy flow. A rub of his palms together to work the charge. No further hesitation.
He pressed both hands to Jayce's chest and defibrillates him.]
AND WE'RE BACK
are you ready to try again, jayce?
the shock erupts through his system, surges through his bones and decaying tissue until his veins bulge purple from the chest out, webbing and merging with the anomaly's rooted patterns from within jayce and spreading until shimmer and arcanic infection are one and the same. the rot welcomes the stimulus and feeds on it, uses it as potent fuel to repair what was needed of it. self-propagating. self-destructive.
rise up, jayce.
there were some things that this mad experiment couldn't override, or fix, but it would have to do; there were changes this world has marked him with, just as its marked viktor. jayce's open wounds do not heal in full. his chest remains splayed, the bone that's been plucked from the case of his ribs, gone. he is as cold as a corpse and would remain that way despite the concoction of chemicals in his system, but at least the pus-leaking holes are filled with symmetrical blooms that do not bleed his newly forming blood, a now viscous goop of arcane rot and shimmer kept tucked and pulsing within his circulation.
with each apparent thump from his donor's heart clearly seen through the window the herald had carved, jayce's cells reanimate. with every ripple, fingers and muscles lurch. he is unconscious, for now, but technically— he's alive.
perhaps undead is the better word for it. ]
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Jayce's new heart is beating. His skin is flushing again, cold in color and temperature, but clearly there is energy beneath it. No longer an inert corpse, decaying away to nothingness. Another shock would do no good, might just burst what Viktor gave him. It isn't as if he ever had a strong heart to begin with. It's just the best he has to offer.
Even after all this effort and pain, Viktor thinks Jayce deserved something better than he got given.]
Jayce..?
[another, pointlessly hopeful questioning. No, there's no way he'll answer. He's not even breathing. He needs to breathe. Viktor holds back if only because he knows the man's lungs, half visible in his open chest cavity, need to drain of fluid and heal before it will have any purpose in attempting to push air into him. When his body is reacting with more life, that will be the final step. Or, so Viktor thinks.
He's not a doctor, he's an engineer. This is just ignition fuel. Viktor removes the cables from his back and puts a hand to the side of Jayce's truck to release the excess electricity from his system. He attached a grounding cable to it just for this situation. Viktor thinks of everything. Or so he tries, at least.
Last step, no fanfare to it. Viktor arches over Jayce and cradles his head in both hands. Taking a deep breath, he locks their mouths to push all the air he can down into Jayce's lungs to fill them. He does so again and again and again. Hopefully, one of these times, Jayce's body will catch on that this is what it's supposed to be doing all on its own.
Maybe, Jayce will even wake up, but that might be wishful thinking.]
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their chances look dim the longer jayce just doesn't breathe on his own. the air whistles in and bubbles the blood still sitting in his lungs, but that is what repeats— soft whistling, expansion, and a subtle spuming reverberating inside its broken casing like blowing through a straw into a glass of water. if viktor doesn't give up, neither does jayce, and the result of that shines through like the surprise pop from an ignition. with one more push of viktor's blow, the hardest one yet— jayce finally reacts. he lurches violently and coughs inward, a warning sign for viktor to retreat with his mouth, because the second time jayce coughs, it's a messy expulsion. blood, blight and frothy sputum stain his teeth versicolor and splatters wherever the blots fall. strangely enough, it doesn't feel as dire as his earlier breathing. it might even be more of a relief than something to panic about.
jayce's convulsing to disgorge the blood continues for a short while, barely enough to fully clean his airways— but he is gasping, wetness scratching his throat and a deep bubbling recoiling in his chest that makes it feel like someone threw him into the ocean and placed a boulder on top to keep him there. he takes his first breath after laying dead for a few hours, which shouldn't be possible, but here he was: back. not exactly alive. not entirely dead. very disoriented as his eyes reel back into his head when he tries to open them.
he can't translate if what he's feeling under his ribs is immense pain or bizzare pleasure. it feels like lava and ice course through him with each thrum, leaving a trail of intense vigor behind, an obscure warping that— distorts, disrupts the pain, and growls within his marrow like the mercury hammer's core would respire. it's the same wordless whisper that came from rubbing his rune, that humming in his brain . . .
he is hushing nonsense, none of the sounds actual words yet beyond broken syllables. it's not until an uncoordinated hand tries to pad at his collar down to the hole in his chest, weak, sloppy and unaware it's gaping because there's something there, there's pressure and vibrating, and burning when he breathes so maybe he should whack it off— ]
I-I'm . . . Ready, V—
[ his voice is so hoarse, garbled, not unlike someone trying to talk under waves and yet he still speaks. he's ready to "try again", but it seems he's in dire need of aid first. or, well.
perhaps he's a bit beyond that. it should be hurting more than he shows. it should be excruciating. but it's likely jayce is a little too detached from what's happening to catalog what he's feeling at all.
maybe that's it. ]
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He feels that shuddering reaction, finally, and reacts fast himself. Viktor scoops Jayce's back up from the bed of the truck and pivots him, supporting him so the man can hack and vomit up any bile he needs to. Viktor pats heavily at his back to aid him through it, muttering only semi-coherent encouragements to let this out-
It doesn't really sink in for Viktor that this... really worked. Not until Jayce speaks. Recognizes him. Calls him V-]
Jayce! You're... you're alive! You're alive... [Jayce probably isn't coherent enough yet to recognize the mirror of their circumstances to where he's once been. That can sink in later. Viktor is wrapping both arms around him to hug him from behind, burning his face into the back of Jayce's shoulder. There are a mass of tubes hanging from Viktor, leading into Jayce to transfuse him with shimmer. It's a real tangle of limbs and machinery, a web of wiring and plastics.
All worth it. Viktor turns his head and presses and ear to Jayce's back. He can hear his heart beating within the man. No, no longer his. Jayce's heart. He's alive.
Somehow, Viktor saved him, brought him back from the dead. Nothing else matters.]
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My line . . .
[ his words come in sluggish drawls, like he's still being jostled from a deep sleep his most recent memories need to catch up to him. jayce knows the accent, and the face that sharpens through his foggy focus when he turns it sideways and snags viktor's burried profile. he doesn't know what all of this is. there's tubes? does he need these? should he pull at them? he's not at a hospital, he doesn't need tubes (but jayce's movements are lazy enough to be redirected; he's still getting a feel for his surroundings).
something more striking to look at is . . . viktor, right now, anyway. hugging him like this. was this a dream? he'd like to hug him, too, but only manages to revolve his head and knock the back of his skull against his partner's. a clumsy arm misses its mark when it slabs up and fails to grasp. it takes a few more tries to manage hooking his fingers onto the metallic groove of viktor's arms. huh. they're so long. they're bigger than him, even. ]
You got . . . So big, [ jayce still feels like he's dreaming— like this is surreal. an out of body experience, a funny skip in time to wake up to. ] What're they feeding you—?
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Viktor sounds so happy,]
Haah, it's you, really you. You're back... [that's Jayce, humorous despite everything, despite all the worst things. Viktor wants to squeeze him, but he's afraid of his own strength and the man's own, fragile state of being. Just holds on, for now, keeps him still and secure, stops any of his dizzy struggling from tearing or pinching the tubing connecting them. That's all still necessary, until Viktor can check and the double-check Jayce is stable.]
I, I did everything I could. I understand now- I understand. How you... couldn't let me go. [they are just the same, Viktor isn't going to think critically on their codependency. All he can think about is how grateful he is and how proud of himself this makes him.
Finally. He saved someone's life.]
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[ did he? or was that something he wanted to say to the viktor of his deathbed vision? either way, it was nice, hearing viktor chuckle at him, and for what reason? jayce couldn't make sense of what was so endearing when he was clearly telling the truth. it was sweet like honey. it made him want to just sit there and talk about their days. he loved seeing viktor happy and could not recall the last time he did.
"couldn't let me go". now, that's an odd thing to bring up— jayce takes a bit more time to focus on his surroundings, but the more he does the more he slows, and furrows the space between is eyes. why was he laying on the back of the cargo bed? why was hooked up to . .
carefully, rather than pulling blindly, jayce follows the tube connecting him to viktor. he was connected to viktor. in fact, how many things was viktor connected to? he tries to see, cranes his neck, and gets distracted by further details painting the scene. the viscous plash of opaline liquid around his legs dribbles off the cargo bed. it stains his clothes. he's not wearing a shirt. his chest is—
he remembers his chest flaring with pain, he remembered the herald. his mage, carefully steering his eyes away from the pluck of his heart from its home. the rhythmic, easy pulse starts to quicken. a rushing snare drum pressed against the wall of his spine and leveled shoulders rising and falling. his hands stay suspended, beginning to shake in front of him; the escalated breathing jostles the fluid still in his lung sack, interrupts the intake only by a fraction with a whooping cough before it resumes. the way his ribs are . . . thrumming with his heart is strange. the entire sensation, now that he is becoming more and more aware, is strange. like it has room to move rather than being wedged between tight muscle. it was a furnace but why was he so cold—? ]
W— Why is it, like that? My— [ his chest. something is very wrong with his chest. it glows like a purple neon sign from the inside, and he shouldn't be getting the feeling that the inside was only a dip away. the skin is off, the base of his collar bone is . . . cut. he can't see the smooth transition to his abdomen. there's a space in the way. he's caching up to the memory of drowning in his own blood. of bleeding out. of his arm, and his leg. to keep from dreadfully inching his fingers closer to his chest, jayce follows the rough grooves of his arm up his neck. it invades his face.
only a singular eye of his is fully hazel-gold— his right. the other, his left, is tainted with the same color and pattern as the anomaly's unusual kisses all over him. before jayce speaks, he croaks, his lips quivering and his gaze now wide with fear. not of viktor. not his beloved.
he fears what has happened and what is happening to him. ] You . . . How?
[ he chooses to focus on that, first. ]
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Viktor gasps, trying to not be frantic, but he's so worried Jayce will just... die again of shock or horror,]
You are alive. That's- That's what matters..! Steady... steady, stand by, please. I need you to stay with me. [a rattling of words, familiar phrases between them from back in the laboratory days. How many times had they needed to tell one another steady and stand by-? Too many to even count, so mundane were the phrases, but they feel so weighty to recall in such a dire moment. Let them ground Jayce, just a little, in Viktor's company and embrace,]
How- I-? I... reviv- [no, let's not use that word, something less magical and more medical-] -r, resuscitated you. Transfusion with my blood- and you still need it! Don't... pull at anything.
[Viktor pants, desperate to calm himself as well, seeing all he wrought upon Jayce. It's so much torture, isn't it?
Sometimes, death is a mercy...
No, there is no mercy in Viktor. He is cruel in this precise way. Jayce admitted he was, too. They are just the same. It is more truth than ever.]
no subject
O— Okay.
[ that's a start. holding his hands. gripping them like they'd blow away if he'd let them slip. viktor's hands were so much bigger, now. it's almost comforting that he's being engulfed by his size difference, but jayce does not want to think of the implications that brought. more memories. these hurt his very soul, and he jayce is so, so glad that automated chill of words aren't what's speaking at him. ]
You— you changed, I remember— I'm not mad, I— I didn't want, to die, just—
[ they were one in the same, weren't they? jayce can't be mad. he once did this to viktor. he knows he'd do it again. he doesn't care if that amount of interdependancy is unhealthy or wrong, it's them.
but it is an overwhelming amount of information coming in too fast for jayce to assimilate step by step. he is piecing things together, pulling memories like they'd been tied to threads. every tug earned him another following string of events, and another— oh, so this was what it was like. with some differences in circumstance, of course, but one thing would still haunt him: he didn't come back the same. he feels like there's something inherently wrong with him. there is a surge, an energy under his skin. a burning in his veins and an icy coldness in his flesh and bone. he could still feel, but his pain feels dulled. not because there is none, because he could still feel this embrace, these hands, the only real warmth he has because their wildly contrasting temperatures were on different spectrums entirely— and viktor was an external factor. jayce warms up only because of him.
there is, additionally, the state of his appearance that is not easing him. a breeze weaves through them and jayce could feel it brushing a flow inside him. he gasps, quiet and shocked and choking back the need to cry. he was so bloody. it's really open. oh, dear gods, he's got his chest open and he can't feel it, thank god he can't feel it but holy shit he should feel it. he's squeezing viktor's hands harder and harder, trying to look elsewhere but he feels absolutely sick. all in his head, of course. his digestive system doesn't work in a traditional sense anymore. his stomach doesn't flip when its shut down and unresponsive. he won't vomit. that feels wrong, too. ]
Scared, please— talk to me.
[ jayce has always been open about what he feels, or at least he tries very much to be when he recognizes them. he's trying to do that now. ]
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Viktor adjusts his arms and legs, pulling Jayce sidelong into his lap. Cradling him with one arm around his back to keep him upright. Viktor's other hand and stay held to Jayce's or check over his work... he knows it looks just awful, the splayed open chest, the tubes leading them together. Still, they both need reckon with it or there is no continuing on. It must be this way. It is the only way left.]
I- know. I'm scared too, Jayce, of losing you. I don't- really allow myself to get scared. You know this. [Viktor is a fearless man, he has always moved through his life knowing it will be short and difficult. That didn't make it not worth living. He was so intent on making something of himself- all he really wanted was to be alongside Jayce through whatever might happen-]
You don't want to hear that. Right now. My apologies- I... don't know what to say.
[he dips his head and nudges his forehead softly to Jayce's, not sure if he'll welcome that, Viktor won't push it if Jayce flinches away. Something to comfort Jayce? What would make any sense? Something to busy the man's mind, something flippant and far afield,]
... what would you rather be, a snowball or a rock?
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they deserve each other. they're even, now. they share the worst of their acts between them and no one else. even in this case, it is . . . perfect. jayce needed viktor's disapproval then to evolve as a person. viktor needed the opposite from jayce now— acceptance, to realize something he was blinded to. he could remind him about that . . . later. in a few minutes, or maybe a few hours. right now he is hanging by a thread, a drop away from panic. he has to force himself to look anywhere else but these tubes, else he invites the intrusive thought to rip them out.
he finds that distraction, instead, in viktor's hold. he dares not flee from it because jayce has always been a tactile creature, he's always craved this. he shrinks into him like he would cling to a lifeline, allows himself to be small as he bends his knees and curves his back to the arch of viktor's chest. his only discomfort is in wondering if this feels . . . gross, to him. if all this watery gasoline-blood soaking him would deter him. but then again, both of them were very, very gross right now.
jayce heart skips and slows just a tad, there's still a frightened race to it but it is not wild. there's a difference in the pacing from a few seconds ago to now. he closes his eyes, breathes in because it calms him, a shame that it triggers a cough or two, but nothing he can't chug through. it's the pressure to his forehead that stills him the most, makes his breathing actually stop for a few seconds before he exhales, with relief, and pushes his neck forward in turn. if the beat is still quick, it's for a different reason. he doesn't mind . . . just staying there, for a bit. he'd thought he lost this.
he doesn't mind at all. ]
A— rock. So I wouldn't . . . Disappear.
[ from this. it's enough. this is more than enough. ]
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[So much sentimentality is spilling out of him now. It's really unlike Viktor, so used to holding such emotion down. Having been without his feelings entirely, they all floods back in rapidly. He felt his entire person disappear, face oblivion, then kickstart anew.
Viktor does feel very, terribly and wonderfully, alive.]
I'll carry that rock around the rest of my life. Like you did.
[He wonders if he should tell Jayce what he's done. How Viktor has managed to "repaired" him. He wonders if it would be too disturbing to know. If the process was better left unexplained.
This is Jayce. He takes comfort in knowledge, in understanding how things work. He should not be denied that about himself. The man has never been incurious.]
... you carry a part of me now. Your heart was- nonfunctional. [Torn to absolute shreds is more accurate, but Viktor speaks in more scientific terms,]
I replaced yours with mine. So you would not risk... a, a rejection of the transfusion. It isn't very strong, but it does what is required. I hope that's... alright.
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he doesn't feel breathless, but jayce feels like he should inhale before he does need it. he doesn't— know what to say. jayce wasn't expecting viktor's heart on his sleeve when choosing between a snowball or a rock. he goes through a scope of emotion the more he allows viktor to continue, goes from melting into a fluttering pile of butterflies to feeling his gut drop like an anchor.
his what, where? ]
Viktor, [ his heart. let that sink. it doesn't and yet the shock seizes him like a meteor crash. viktor gave him his heart to live. his heart is what's giving him fuel. working hard, nonstop. does he— have any idea what he's done? jayce is overwhelmed, shaking his head in disbelief and locking his eyes, immediately soddened. if it wasn't forked open he'd put his hand over it. jayce does the next best thing, rerouting his hand to the top of his blood caked collar bone and prodding around the dent above it for a pulse. it is a good thing jayce doesn't necessarily need a strong heart anymore. only a working one. ] I . . . I don't—
[ believe it? it's not . . . something horrible, or eles the curve of his trembling lips would be so high. but jayce's brows crease next with question following his emotional tears, but then— his eyes briefly unfocus only because he's trying to think, to visualize the possibilities. viktor is ingenious. he's an engineer, an inventor. what was within their reach? their knowledge in, how much time? it couldn't have been too long if his body was even viable enough to resuscitate (even though that in itself was a miracle draw). did he—
jayce's brows relax with an answer on his tongue, but that doesn't take away the utter bewilderment in the vast spectrum of colors in his eyes as much as his voice, needing confirmation. ]
—You made another—?
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Viktor gives the most passive shrug to the question. Downright blaze of him, like it's the easiest answer he has to offer in all this.]
Of course I did.
[his body is a biomechanical nightmare, but that doesn't feel far from what Viktor already understood of himself. He had been falling apart so long in his natural form that enhancements had been required to keep him going long before now. His leg and chest brace, the anchors in his back... he had experience in modifying himself. This was just another feat of engineering to undergo.]
It isn't very impressive. A pump with some batteries. You'll probably scold me for how shambles it is, but it functions. That is all that matters. [Viktor can spare elegance for practicality and that's what he's mechanical heart is. Scrap and wit. It suits Viktor, he thinks.]
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his palm finds the other's nape, the inorganic braids of shimmer-fused metal and nestles fis forehead back to him. jayce lets out an objecting click of his tongue, ]
I'll cut you some slack, this time. [ one that follows a snort— a bit of a sob, a bit of a laugh, and his voice an exhausted drawl that has found a starting point in getting through this. it's always been right in front of him. he thought he lost viktor. he nearly gave up. he's so glad he didn't— he's glad viktor didn't either, even if the price they had to pay was . . . big. jayce would pay anything due.
it feels just a bit more possible to accept that he's . . . not right. it would never be easy— jayce feels like the second he finds himself alone he would spiral. but, not right now. he doesn't have to worry about that now. ]
You're . . . Brilliant.
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[Viktor cannot help a smile at Jayce's commentary. He's getting more lucid without it being full blown panic. It's so devastatingly hopeful. Something they have in such, such short supply here. Viktor wants to believe the man will be able to live. There's no letting him go, the cost far too sunk.
He tries to hug Jayce however is possible, his tall and thin form pretty good for it, though he's still cluttered with valves and tubes connecting them. No kinking those, that would be uncomfortable...]
But you never let that scare you off. You always find a way to... persist.
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[ he's crazy and he loves that about him. he's crazy enough to match jayce's freak, and jayce matches his. so much, that— jayce now tries desperately not to let his eyes wander lower down viktor's face when he smiles at him from profile. the mole just above his lip is right where he catches himself, redirecting his eyes forward and waiting out the time they needed for the procedure to finalize. his first direct confession was ignored. his first attempt at a kiss was a traumatic disaster.
as much as he yearned to feel it, now was not a good time, he's got a damn hole in his chest and they're both connected to each other through tubes on top of organs. if he's smart, he probably shouldn't try again at all. this . . . is more than he thought he'd get. more time. another chance, and a drastic spectacle of viktor's feelings. he loves him and that's that. he has his heart, now. he doesn't need more than this. ]
I told you, [ jayce pats the top of viktor's slender hands, then rubs at each bump of his golden-clad knuckles. ] I promised you.
[ i told you i loved you, too. ]
. . . Viktor, [ something is stirring in him, a feeling. a feeling that . . . he doesn't need to hide anymore. he has viktor where he's always wanted him. aware and understanding of everything. he can be transparent. he could finally spill the truth that he was angry at jayce for hiding. that viktor wasn't ready. ] This isn't the first time you've given me a part of you.
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They're already cuddled up in the rotting decay and blood pool. It's unsavory, but not enough to spoil the moment of accomplishment and elation of Jayce returning to him.]
I have? Ah, in your future-? What of me?
[Viktor asks this quietly, curiosity bleeding out of him so obviously. Jayce being from further along is of simultaneous great interest and causes him such anxiety. He dies. Jayce brings him back using the Hexcore. Jayce falls down a fucking ravine... and crawls himself up out of it.
He realizes he's in love with Viktor. Had been. For who knows how long.
Viktor wants to know what more happened. It was too much to process before, but if he waits to have processing power, he'll be waiting forever. Everything is too much and so nothing is.]
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In my future, [ settling his hand on top of viktor's he pulls at two fingers, guiding them past the webs of rough patches and colored pink-purple webbing . . . to right over the rune in his wrist, tracing over it and its symbol. the source of his obsession. the comfort during his stress. safety in a blizzard. awe and wonder in a world sometimes so bleak. ] and in my past.
[ he should take small steps, starting with the steady implication that was bound to distract them a little more from the nest of gore they've made. night makes it look like dark water. ]
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[Logically, no, but with arcane fuckery and enough grief, all things are possible. Viktor's paradox is unknown to him, but he had felt the echoes of it. That desire to rescue Jayce and his mother, something he never voiced before their shower talk. The pull of the acceleration rune in Heimerdinger's lab, leading him to steal away with it and Jayce's research notes to return to him. Against all better judgement, against his gratitude towards the Dean of the Academy.
Viktor was always so willing to cast everything aside... for Jayce. For the slimmest hope of their dream.]
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It was you who gave me this, Viktor. When I was a boy. [ the gem reflects the nighttime lights off of the smoothly cut edges, and it is still a spot he will rub, even now. when he's done that, looking for comfort . . . it was so clear what it was about, now. it's always been him. they've always called to each other somehow. were always there, even when they diverged, and waiting for them to unite when they were prepared to. ] You saved me, and my mother— You were the Mage.
[ jayce parts his lips one more time, but nothing comes out until a few moments after. he lowers his voice to a bare hush, as low as the leaves when they shiver on overhead branches lining the long road ahead of them. a long road, indeed. he doesn't know where to go from here, exactly. but he does know he hast to go forward. if viktor is with him, he would. ]
You were always my dream, and I . . . Realized that too late.
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He just needs affirmation that he's put this together, because it's not logical, it's all feeling. This is what happens to him?]
That's... what the hexcore does to me? It makes me a mage-? [On Runeterra, you have to be born a mage. It is inherent, fated, predestined. To become one... Viktor huffs and smirks. Him-? A brittle, sickly boy from the Undercity? With no family name and no prospects? The only place in the world for him the one that he clawed out and forged with his own wit and will?
Viktor wobbles his head slightly,]
Eeeh, a bit too poetic... don't you think?
[A joke, but there's that profound truth inside it. Him. A mage.
The mage who came to Jayce's rescue.
He likes the sound of it. He doesn't have a heart left to swell, but that same emotion is still there. Warmth, affection, yearning. Loving and being loved.]
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I wish it could be. [ he is whistful at best. ] The hexcore . . . Changed you, for a long time. Like the Moon Warp did.
[ all this metal was so similar to when jayce had fused him with the hexcore, but . . . more. so much more. ]
You lost everything to become that mage. That's why he found me. [ to show him the importance of his emotions, and banes, and everything he's been through that made him viktor. to show him that the suffering is what made the journey. to tell him that with even those very things he saw as flaws, he was loved because of them. that's what made him viktor and no one else. ] You told me there was no prize to perfection. Only an end to pursuit.
[ that viktor corrected a fault, but only after being the only surviving person on runeterra. only after damning himself and everyone else. ]
And fields of dreamless solitude.
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Yes... Yes, that is what it was like.
[Field of dreamless solitude. A poet, indeed. Viktor supposes the mage had nothing but time to think that one up. He speaks to how it had been as the Herald, just needing to tell someone about it. Have it be heard. He knows it doesn't excuse his actions, his violence and cruelty, but he cannot bare the burden of that experience alone. It is too much to go unspoken,]
Endless, vast numbness. Profound loneliness. So empty even I wasn't there.
[they both died for a moment there, hadn't they? Jayce's body failing him and Viktor's mind giving way. His arms curl protectively around Jayce, wishing to hold him so close they fuse together. He's more gentle than that, knowing it would hurt them both if he was too brutish.
In a more tender display of his desperate affections, he kisses Jayce's temple, his eyelid on the side of his still golden eye, his nose. Peppering him with no real direction. So different from when the Herald pushed his face to Jayce's, driven only by cold logic.
He just loves the man so much, he doesn't know what else to do with himself to show that. Viktor's done everything he could, hasn't he? He mutters, nuzzled to Jayce's cheekbone,]
I only want to exist where you are, Jayce. You've showed me that.
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the side of jayce's head pushes into viktor's neck, a dirty hand fastening to the defined slant of his cheeks to soothe his tears. he had callouses, cuts, bruises, the remains of his bodily oil spill under his nails and yet he still manages a gentle, accessible touch. he was there to listen. he's glad to be. it makes this hole in him manageable, or at least jayce would like to think so when emotion blanketed reality.
cupping the man's face from the side finishes in him rubbing the veined corners of his eyes dry, although that might just leave it grimy and smudged. thought that counts— but viktor's display makes him freeze up. the dip of his temple gains warm, earnest lips. his eye is rewarded, his nose— damn it, even his nose is revered. his nostrils were an ugly, splattering stain of crimson-pink all the way past his neck where he had bled out. there are other aimless little places and jayce fights the urge not to look at him, fingers beginning to squeeze his hugging arms, caressing the press to slant following his beard with his profile. it was so very different. it was everything. ]
Then I didn't fail, after all.
[ he can't take it. he pulls his head back to look at him. he doesn't regret it, but he does stare for too long, touching the mole under his eye and following the veiny trails of purple down the curve of his face— jayce shakes his head at himself and huffs what should, or could, be a laugh somewhere. it triggers a few coughs, and a weird, watery gurgle that he curses the shit out of. ]
I'm a mess, Viktor.
[ he's trying to laugh at the expense. maybe that will be enough copium. ]
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I am sorry, for... for the indignity and the hurt. I feel guilty to put you through this, but not... remorseful. [He wouldn't change what he did, after all. Any way he could bring Jayce back to him, Viktor would attempt again and again. Even if it caused him to go utterly mad.
Already feels that way, but at least he's content in his madness. Happy, even.]
Can you move any of your limbs? Feel beyond just pain?
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jayce feels slight relief when he manages to steer his gaze away, once more, a grotesque smile filling the gaps of their awkwardly crude affections. that took all the will power available to him and gods, he hopes to whatever higher being existed (mage viktor????) that viktor knows he's not kissing him back not because he doesn't want to. oh, no. it's because he deserves something proper and level headed after everything. they both do.
viktor's apology is accepted with a dip of his head, a sweet rub of his thumbs over inorganic limbs, and the press of lips to purple-gold palms, a linger there, mess to bloody mess, that felt okay whilst sharing in their muck. it's okay, he murmurs.
jayce tests it out; first stretching out one leg, rotating his foot and bending his knee. then the other, left side, accompanied by the many clicks of his brace fitting the gears into proper place for a stretch and bend. that and the rotation brings strain to his teeth and neck, a quiet agh as the exposed bone grates against its fissures, but that's not something entirely new. he could move his arms and hands, his overtaken wrist. maybe a wave of all his fingers was in order, to measure movement capabilities. it's all successful. ]
I can feel . . . Touch. Your heat. Joints are functional. Thermoregulation might be, uh . . . Compromised. The pain feels— [ he looks for the word, a descriptor for what felt like he was reading off notes, ] veiled.
[ it is present, but quiet enough to be tolerated. a dull ache where he'd hurt instead of dolor that'd render him nonfunctional. ]
It's there, but it feels blunted. [ there's a better word, for that, he realizes: ] Chronic.
[ he could just, you know. be exhausted and rightfully achey, but this does feel different. he knows chronic pain now, in his leg. it's spread everywhere he's opened. back. shoulder. leg. chest. ]
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We'll find a way to manage the pain, I promise. I won't rest until I find a way to make it bearable for you. [Viktor's not even sure he needs to sleep in this form, but guess they'll see. He eyes the tubes and valves connecting their bodies, how slipshod the whole operation was. It's a cruel thought, but he really owes this kind of capability to Singed. Viktor definitely wouldn't know how to pull something so bio-mechanical off without having learned from that man.
He also could not let what he loved die.]
I have the strength to carry you back to the Convoy, in case you can't walk. We can rehabilitate that, if your coordination is in poor shape. And, you probably need something more careful to clean up than a shower, this time around... [he won't leave Jayce to figure this out himself. If Viktor is going to be so selfish as to revive him, he'll see through all the tough recovery to follow.]
Before then, we'll need to clamp off the connection between us. I don't want to risk it being too soon, Jayce.
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when, though, that wasn't something jayce could pass judgement. biology was not his strong suit. and more than that: ]
You'll be the judge of that, Viktor. [ viktor was the one who did the procedure. he's the one most equipped to make the call, any call. jayce takes a glance around them; the stench has become a dull nothing but air for him to breathe, and the blood that looked like a child threw paint into a pool isn't . . . coagulating. it's supposed to go thick. here, it's . . . syrupy, thin like water. there's nothing in it to thicken, the reason he bled out like a slaughter house boar to begin with. it's sickening to even imagine he had this much blood in him. ] I lost . . . "a lot" of blood doesn't begin to describe it.
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[It is very involved to set up all these damned tubes, but it might become their new normal. The blood pool they're wadding around in is a clue to just how bad Jayce's body was doing. Why he died the way he did was really no wonder at all. The anomaly had corrupted everything inside him irreparably. Only a complete system flush and restart could get him to stabilize. At least, that's Viktor's theory...]
You lost all your blood, Jayce. See it- as a good thing. Getting the worst of the infection out. I think I have replaced your circulatory system with what is in mine, this- evolved shimmer. The arcane seems to be holding you together now.
[which, honestly, just sounds like Hextech. All things back to that, huh? They do what they know.]
I seem to have enough blood for us both. You might need transfusions regularly.
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Kind of burns sometimes. [ an optimistic outlook, and perhaps— what could have really been happening. viktor's theories were always spot on. he'd believe them blindly. ] Is this what you felt?
[ part of him is worried about regular transfusions. taking too much from viktor and making him erode, switch the tables another time when jayce would prefer to take the brunt of the bodily suffering. but they're in the dark about too many things. knowing more about their own biology might do them some good.
getting them back, that . . . jayce had focused on that to return home. home was where viktor was. his priorities— could change. he'd look into it, perhaps, for the others. but viktor selfishly takes his antecedence. greedily, jayce allows it. he's never allowed himself anything selfish beyond viktor.
he'll do it again, and keeps absolutely still for his partner to do what he must. even hold his breath, he'll do. oddly, he doesn't have difficulty. ]
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[That last part was definitely something Viktor resented. There was an undeniable thrill to the shimmer, the rush of power. Feeling more alive than the dullness of existence usually provided. Intensity that made a man feel unstoppable, able to conquer anything.
Explains how he could pull all this off, if he's simply full of the stuff now. Addicted as much as any mortal man is addicted to their own blood. Simply in need of it to keep going. He's condemned Jayce to the same fate, which is cruel and yet. He's guilty, not remorseful. As he said.
Viktor shunts the first of the valves connecting them, quelling some of the flow. Monitoring Jayce's condition, reaching to press fingers into the pulse at his neck. Firmly pressed to be thorough, but still holding Jayce to be caring. Without any change in his condition, Viktor turns another closed. There's three draining himself to Jayce's body, Viktor is very hesitant on the last. He doesn't want to do this wrong, cause more suffering or simply lose Jayce all over again.
Without shimmer high and a mechanical heart to keep him at a level pulse, Viktor would have had a panic attack or nervous breakdown by now from raw stress. Much as he resents his present state of being, he also thanks his lucky stars for the resilience it grants him. He'll work up the will to turn that last valve shut. When the remaining blood finished working into Jayce, that'll be the final test. Can he... live on his own, unconnected from Viktor as a living blood bag?]
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I could still be getting sensation back. It's . . . Not that strong a kick.
[ he's literally going to eat those words, one day soon. there is understandable hesitation on that last valve, but jayce isn't feeling anything alarming. he gives viktor that extra nudge, a single encouraging nod as he lifts his attention away and holds his breath during.
his heartbeat is worryingly low compared to a true human's— twenty or so beats per minute, but it is constant and steady with no signs of stopping, and jayce doesn't feel ill or foggy. luckily, the newborn draugr, or any revenant, does not need much blood to live. this amount in his circulation, for starters, is just fine. jayce could be a little more bronze, but his current complexion is at least a few satisfying shades away from too pale. dead pale. the pale he'd been after his exsanguination. ]
How's it looking?
[ he's a little . . . anxious. he's not looking into himself for that answer. ]
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[Viktor huffs, trying to maintain some strict composure. Some sanity, amidst the madness of the situation. He thumbs across Jayce's cheekbone, his pulse point, tilts his head to look down into his exposed chest. Viktor can become... complete desensitized to the gore of the sight. It's shot the moon into fascination. Watching what was once his own heart working in pulses. Fighting for the man's very life. That's all Viktor could ask for it to accomplish.]
Your heart rate is very low, but mine was never that strong.
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jayce sets a grimy hand over viktor's when he catches him taking smack about the most gracious thing he's given him.
It doesn't need to be perfect when it was always enough, Viktor.
[ in more ways than just keeping jayce physically alive. the depth of having his partner's heart in his chest, thumping slowly and keeping him . . . alive, giving him his blood— he doesn't know where to begin with repaying this. he does, actually. it starts with living. ]
Should I try to move?
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[If his heart cannot keep Jayce going, then that's the last end of them both. It has to work. It has to. There is no other choice, for either of them. And they clearly cannot go on without each other. Neither can bare it.]
If you have the strength, try to sit up. I'll catch you if you can't yet.
[Yet. Being hopeful that it will be possible soon enough...]
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[ he doesn't know until what point he could, but only trying would get him to any point of possibility. jayce waits for only a few self encouraging moments to anchor his hands wherever he could— viktor himself, grips within the cargo bed, anything he could flex his stiff fingers on, before it's a sharp breath in for him, one that shifts the bones of his right rib, oh that feels—
ignore the creak, ignore the little pops of bone moving— jayce forces his arms to contract and hoist his upper half up. it does not go without his grunts, turning into snarls as if that would intimidate his limbs to move the way he needed them to. with locked jaws and a trembling grip, jayce manages.
it's— strange. he's not tired, in the sense that he otherwise would be. he does not need to huff for air. it's more a sensation of . . . fighting to get the controls working. coordination. rest, he'd realize would be a good idea later. ]
I don't know, [ the aches drum like a faraway migraine. not so awful that he couldn't tolerate it, not so quiet that he couldn't feel it there, reminding him of his limits. ] how much more I could do.
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[Viktor doesn't want to force anything on Jayce, not anything more than he already has. He knows this is a terrible state to be in, that it is Viktor's fault for not being able to let the man go. Something they share, it was just Viktor's turn this time. That Jayce is immediately so forgiving, so glad to be alive despite the pain and terror of the situation, is what's holding Viktor together.
He'll begin to pull away the tubes connecting them. Jayce seems stable enough with the flow of shimmer cut. Once they're separated, Viktor isn't going anywhere,]
I'll carry you back to the Convoy, if that's alright... [a bit late to be asking permission for things, but Viktor can try to be better on that front. He knows well the resentment that can form when one is being too coddled or too neglected.]
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[ try. all he needs is to try. see where he stands in all this to better test out later, when enough time has passed for them to try again, or, try something else. try more. with viktor here, jayce clings onto his metallic framework once he's got his legs hanging off the cargo bed. he starts with sliding his supposedly good leg on the floor, toes first, slowly, steady—
the second he tries to put weight on it his knee gives away like thin twigs. if he hadn't been holding his partner, he'd be down, and even then strength of his grip wouldn't hold him up for long. ]
—Y-yeah, okay.
[ at least— he's not embarrassed by that. let's just not do that by the scruff, which he has half the mind to joke about in the grime of this, but—
you know, maybe that's too insensitive. he won't. ]
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[No need to rush, recovery doesn't ever cooperate with that. It needs time and patience. Something Viktor had very little of, but he will try and provide it to Jayce. They won't let this beat them.]
Tell me if it's too harsh. My holding you. [It is not like Viktor has ever done this before. Even if he was healthier, he wouldn't have had the build to be picking up other men. Especially not anybody Jayce's height and musculature. Supporting Jayce, he gets the tubing removed between them so nothing is going to tangle them up and cause problems. Those can drain the rest of the way in the back of Jayce's truck. Oh boy, how that needs to get powerwashed out after all this. They'll deal with it eventually.
Viktor stands with an arm around Jayce already, before hooking his other beneath the man's thighs. He's spindly, but this form has what Viktor can only describe as super strength. It feels... strangely trivial to lift Jayce up from the truck, though he does with absolute care. If the man fell to pieces in his hold, would Viktor be all that surprised? Not really, much as he hopes that will never happen... again...
The joke is best kept to himself, yeah, Viktor might have laughed and then cried and then laughed at this point. He has Jayce held up and in his arms soon enough, letting him get adjusted to the embrace before Viktor starts trying to walk with him. Checking in,]
How is this? Bearable?
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before he could think of what to say, he's already blurting it. ]
I could get used to the view. [ here was jayce talis: chest literally bare, ribs practically splayed, the anomaly disfiguring him to a frightful point, and he's . . . smiling at viktor with a telling, lopsided little grin. his gold and prismatic eyes are unabashedly gooey and not looking away from viktor's face. ] It's a nice one.
[ it takes death to realize you only live once and they cheated it. he's living twice. of course he's flirting.
being handled is quite . . . enthralling. ]
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He wobbles his head lightly in place, before cracking the slightest smile. Careful with each step as he heads them both towards the Convoy, knowing that this is the easiest way to get Jayce their safely. Throwing him into a truck would only be a bumpy ride and Viktor won't let the man leave his arms for that long, not even as far as a passenger side seat. Time and patience in walking to their destination, together.
Viktor offers back,]
Even though I'm a mess. [not a question, just a statement, in a bit of a sing-songy way he got when teasing Jayce a bit. At least you didn't throw up type tone.
He is Jayce's mess and the man is his. There's no separating them, now.]
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If you're a mess, I'm a disaster.
[ they could clean him up. no showers, but a sponge could work. jayce could talk to arcade about the fluid build up later, maybe get that out so talking isn't so . . . hacked up and bubbly. after wrapping up his chest so he doesn't have to look at it, or risk the danger of doing so. not that it was dangerous, but jayce does not want to look at that.
he needed rest. jayce needed to sleep for hours. viktor might just have to get used to his lack of breathing when he actually falls asleep— perhaps what matters most is how his gifted heart keeps beating regardless, soft and unhurried: the single thing that separates jayce from being an actual dead corpse curled on the mattress. ]
action, after Jayce's resurrection
Him banking on it being the former means that when he approaches Jayce's truck, he has a sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Jayce," he says by way of greeting so he can catch the attention of the man cleaning out his truck. He makes no effort to hide the fact he's looking Jayce over to assess his condition. "You look better than last time I saw you."
:|b
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serph has managed to get jayce to stare for a good, long while at him in silence. not even a breath is made, until jayce huffs out a snort that may amicably be saying screw you. a breath is finally taken for words, and he says: ]
Thanks. I think I'm . . . Rotting with charm.
[ what's he going to do, cry about it? he's done a lot of crying as is. he's alive, in some ways. he's going to make use of it. he doesn't have time to complain or wallow about it.
never talking about the experience again is the way to go for his own mental health. ]
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Completely unperturbed, Serph steps forward with the tiniest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.]
Welcome back.
[He holds out the sheaf of papers in his hands: Jayce's own notes.]
You'll need these.
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jayce wipes his hand off on a face towel taken from one of the bathrooms, and stops in his lumbering tracks when handed the notes. he doesn't know what to do with those, anymore. there is no dire need to leave now that his home is where viktor is—
after a moment of hesitation and thought in front of serph, jayce quietly takes them back. ]
Thank you, [ maybe he'll need them for the others. and something to do. ] guess I'll have more time, after all.
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Without the papers in hand -- he'd made his own copies of the notes -- Serph folds his arms, shaking out one pair of his wings before he asks-]
Are you still hungry?
[Or has that gone, too?]
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[ he's had an entire factory reset after losing his heart and blood. jayce has a keen eye on any different symptoms, as per viktor's concern as much as his own. they're both scientists. observation is everything.
something dawns on jayce, though. a reminder, a memory, that takes a few moments to kickstart a furrow in his brows and a few consistent blinks: ]
—Did you-?
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Serph tilts his head at the incomplete question. Did he... what? There could be many trains of thought Jayce could be referring to, so which one?]
Did I...?
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[ he'd feel awful if he did, but jayce feels slightly better about it if it isn't obvious. means the likelihood is minimal. maybe. ]
Hunt for a dead man, no less.
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Not for you.
[Serph folds his arms and tucks his wings in tighter.]
It's no trouble if the need arises. Though I hope it doesn't.
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No, that's . . . That's good.
[ he hopes so, too. jayce doesn't even need to say it, his eyes speak loudly. they especially give away to a touch of wandering melancholy. he wouldn't want that sort of hunger to return, but. jayce doesn't know until what point he could even eat anymore. he hasn't for hours. days. he hasn't felt the need, neither the pit. he hasn't tried out of fear. ]
I haven't eaten since the accident. I don't think . . . I could, if I tried.
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You've been saved from Convoy food.
[The porridge in Serph's opinion? Horrible. Is that really what people normally eat?
He can't help but note Jayce using 'accident' to refer to his death. Serph would not call knowing his impending doom and having his chest sliced open, his ribcage caved in, and his heart capsized an accident. A small part of his brain whispers to him disassociation, distancing of the self from traumatic events, using softer language to cushion the mind from crushing reality.
But he doesn't press. If that's what Jayce needs to do to keep his mind working in the present...
More seriously-]
Maybe your mark and its changes affect your hunger. Or lack of it. [His bottom pair of wings unfold only to wrap around his waist.] The changes here are stranger than I initially thought. If you need help with anything at all... contact me.
[His gaze on Jayce is steady.]
We need you if we're to make it to Nirvana.
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but . . . serph is right. jayce could not bear to look at himself in the mirror with a bare chest. he could not bring himself to curve his neck and look inside of himself another time. all of this, from his accelerated death to a desperate attempt to save him—
it was not meant to be. there was no intention for any of it to be this way. it was a casualty. it was an accident. nothing more, nothing less. it helps his sleep stay silent. it helps him forget, sometimes, when the bandages are snug around his torso, that there were no barriers past his rib cage.
now, being needed? jayce thanks him with a steady bow of his head, regardless. the bow melds into a single shake. ]
I wasn't of much help before.
[ he was ill and deteriorating through most of it. he blasted a drifter he's pretty sure he sees around from time to time, and all they do is exchange these weird— glares. jayce doesn't know where to start with that (it should be an apology, but so much has happened he's barely had the mind for it). his mark was another story entirely though, and perhaps? it may be eating at him. ]
I don't even know where these changes start, and my . . . [ he gestures, ] condition begins.
[ it all looks the same. fated, even. ]
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And it so happens that Serph is sleeping with (not like that) said blasted drifter Jayce is exchanging weird glares with.Hm. There might be a lot that's new and strange to him -- Akechi's radio post reminds him of how limited his knowledge is. Jack has lived for forty times his own life -- but nevertheless he still asks Jayce-]
Can you tell me more about your condition?
[Knowing more about it would useful. And sometimes simply having another person to voice thoughts to can help, whether it's making sense of new knowledge or figuring out new ideas to explore. ...One of many things he misses about not having Gale around.]
cw body horror? there's rocks in his arm
This, [ he holds his wrist up, exposing the blue-tinted rune digging deep into skin and rooted, permanently, into the viens wildly colored up his arm, neck, face, eye— his entire left side. ] was supposed to kill me, eventually. Not as fast as it did, but, [ fingers splayed, he bobs his hand up and down, ] I have a theory the process was— accelerated, [ funny that it's called the acceleration rune and did just that. irrelevant to this, ] by the mark on my body, that I have reason to believe belongs to the Domain of the Undead.
[ he recites it, from memory: ]
The force of death, deterioration, and demise of all things, as well as rebirth and even breaking such patterns.
[ he shakes his head a bit, but only in disbelief. ]
I feel intricately . . . Bound, to this.
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He remembers that message well; he had first seen it from Blake. In conjunction with Jayce's skull for a mark... he could see it. While Jayce's death, deterioration, and demise had been accelerated-]
Your rebirth was made possible by a third force. Your partner.
[A force that was neither that of this world nor the object in Jayce's wrist, but a person with a grim determination to not accept death as the end.]
Let's not find out if you would have been reborn without him.
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he is filled with a shimmering glaze that shines right though his eyes. ]
I wouldn't want to. He gave me, [ his heart, his literal heart, he gave his all, he gave . . . well, jayce could only whisp a word out breathlessly, his fingers scraping at the bind of bandages underneath his shirt. ] everything.
[ since day one. starting with the gem on his wrist, that jayce rubs with his thumb, now— a circular, calming motion that he's done one too many times with an absent mind. he doesn't blame this killing him. he'd accepted that the moment he said take me back. i won't fail. i swear it. ]
He's my promise. After we got caught in the Moonwarp, I thought I lost him.
[ and that's why, for a moment, however brief— he'd gotten worse and given up. right in front of serph, so . . .
serph saw jayce in depth. at the end of his line and the start of his new one. knows he had a promise to keep, and watched him desist. he feels like he owes at least some reason for change of heart. very literally. ]
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Serph dips his head in a nod.]
I understand. There's someone just as important to me.
[He won't fault Jayce for giving up in that moment. Serph had seen how grief had shaken the hearts of even his most stoic of comrades. There is no dishonour in losing faith when all seems lost.]
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[ he does recall another thing that serph quite desperately wanted, and then adds, as he pieces them: ]
Or is that what Nirvana is for?
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Nirvana is for all who want it.
[As the fighting was drawing to a close, there were some who expressed doubt or disinterest in going. As long as they didn't defy him he'd let them be. And now they are gone, like all the others.]
It's safer for Sera to be with the rest of my tribe.
[As much as it feels like a part of him has been missing since their separation, he doesn't wish this place upon her even if there are trees and a blue sky.
His expression softens a little, mostly around the eyes.]
She's not like us.
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he can understand the tender strain around his eyes. it speaks volumes. ]
Does it have to do with your demon?
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Yes. She's the only one without.
[Serph pauses, turning his gaze up to the sky. Not so long ago, he had never seen anything besides a dark, overcast sky and endless rain. Now, there is a blue sky. And yet no paradise in sight.]
But when she sang, her prayer would soothe our demons. When we were first infected by the Atma virus, we didn't know the nature of our demons. She saved my tribe from turning on each other when they lost control. The other tribes were not so lucky.
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part of him still wants to speak to her, one day. set things straight. put a tranquil stone on top of it and drift away on better terms. part of him does not; who knows what sharp anger would bubble through before his clarity would. ]
She sounds extraordinary.
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But the mysteries that lay with her... he wishes he had been given time to talk when they reunited so briefly. To try and understand what it was that happened five years ago, to try and unravel the tangled thread of their unremembered past. Unfortunately, that choice was not in his hands.]
We were told she is our creator.
[Something that would have upset the balance of their perception of her perhaps, if they had known. But somehow, he suspects that quality wouldn't have mattered to him. Doesn't matter to him.]
But to us, she is our comrade.
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Maybe that's all you need of her.
[ of her, at least. jayce at least knows that it's what he would've liked, deep down. everyone makes mistakes— he'd like to think that not everything between them had just been a cover up. ]
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Well, it's been nice sharing this quiet moment with Jayce. But they both have things to do, though he does make a note to check in on Jayce again some time in the future; the cessation of hunger and his oddly chilly touch are strange. Is it normal for what he is becoming? Hard to say without more data.
With a nod, Serph shifts so he's no longer leaning against Jayce's truck and makes ready to be on his way.]
Look after yourself, Jayce.
[He'll see you around, buddy.]
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[ that leaves him to finish whatever it was that was still left to do in the truck— but there's not much. he's not going to kill himself over rubbing the metal spotless when it's at least free of the bloodbath on the cargo bed. it was a good visit.
jayce reminds himself to do the same for the man, at some point. just to say hello. he was a friend that much deserved it. ]
[text] backdated before the shield’s repaired
Jayce baby;:/
This you?
[text]
"baby"............. his nose twitches into a near grimace. ]
Yes.
Who's this?
[ though i have a guess. ]
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whatever you were
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[ and gross but that goes without saying. he pointed remembers benny being . . . very benny. ]
What can I help you with?