He starts shaking, uncontrollably, the tentacles writhing and squirming, because while they're attached to the things inside him, they're still a part of him, right now, melded together.
But instead of yelling or having some kind of outburst, it's like some kind of plug is pulled, like the life and energy drains out of him. Rich has never been the type to go quiet and cold before, but now that the memories have been unlocked and his brain has made the shift to what it once was, it's a survival mechanism. His mind goes to the same cold and distant place it tried to retreat to after every death, when he sat there, jaw clenched, wishing that he hadn't woken up.
"I know what my own brain looks like," he says distantly. "Anytime I revived, sometimes the...bits that came off would still be there, even though I'd wake up whole again. And it was just there. On the ground. With bits of my skull. Like raw hamburger. Just...sitting there."
He remembers having had the irrational urge to put it back inside himself. It wasn't supposed to be on the ground, it was supposed to be inside him. But Worldmind had talked him through it, had urged him to move. There was nothing he could do, and new brain had replaced it, as if by magic. And more of the squids were coming.
More were always coming.
"I know the sound every bone makes when it cracks. I know what it feels like when acid makes your skin slide off. I've heard what my voice sounds like in every kind of scream. I didn't - I didn't know I could make some of them. I didn't know."
He doesn't notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until they slide down his neck, and he doesn't notice the black hole's debris field until the red and purple of the Cancerverse fades away again, out of his sight.
"I'm not tired. That's not it." His eyes go a little wider. "I'm still there. Not just because they're inside me, it's that I'm still there up here." He taps his temple with the hand that's still a hand. "I never left."
He's still there, mad and wandering, eternally stumbling through red hills and valleys that are always hungry, never silent.
He never left.
"And I never will."
He voice drops to a whisper.
"Let me have this. Let me...let me be me. Again. One more time. Instead of that...thing. That I was. Just...eyes. Looking out from a head. I want to be me one last time and keep everyone safe. And then no more. No more."
He crumbles now.
"They're not allowed to have you. You're all mine." He thumps his hand against his chest, and the words sound like they've been ripped out of him. "You're mine. Everyone is mine. Everyone back home. Everyone in this universe. You're mine and you're so good. Even people I don't know. Because you're people and you're not them. I can die with you here." He thumps his hand against his chest again. "And then you'll be safe. I'll get to stay in the dark. And I'll keep you all safe with me there. Forever."
This is what he's good at. This is the kind of thing he does that makes him him. Saving people. Giving himself away until there's barely any self left. This time, there's so little self left that, to do it, he has to give the last little bit of it up.
"This is my job."
It's not a sob. There's no name for the noise he makes while saying the words. Human beings aren't supposed to make noises like that and therefore don't have a name for them.
no subject
He starts shaking, uncontrollably, the tentacles writhing and squirming, because while they're attached to the things inside him, they're still a part of him, right now, melded together.
But instead of yelling or having some kind of outburst, it's like some kind of plug is pulled, like the life and energy drains out of him. Rich has never been the type to go quiet and cold before, but now that the memories have been unlocked and his brain has made the shift to what it once was, it's a survival mechanism. His mind goes to the same cold and distant place it tried to retreat to after every death, when he sat there, jaw clenched, wishing that he hadn't woken up.
"I know what my own brain looks like," he says distantly. "Anytime I revived, sometimes the...bits that came off would still be there, even though I'd wake up whole again. And it was just there. On the ground. With bits of my skull. Like raw hamburger. Just...sitting there."
He remembers having had the irrational urge to put it back inside himself. It wasn't supposed to be on the ground, it was supposed to be inside him. But Worldmind had talked him through it, had urged him to move. There was nothing he could do, and new brain had replaced it, as if by magic. And more of the squids were coming.
More were always coming.
"I know the sound every bone makes when it cracks. I know what it feels like when acid makes your skin slide off. I've heard what my voice sounds like in every kind of scream. I didn't - I didn't know I could make some of them. I didn't know."
He doesn't notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until they slide down his neck, and he doesn't notice the black hole's debris field until the red and purple of the Cancerverse fades away again, out of his sight.
"I'm not tired. That's not it." His eyes go a little wider. "I'm still there. Not just because they're inside me, it's that I'm still there up here." He taps his temple with the hand that's still a hand. "I never left."
He's still there, mad and wandering, eternally stumbling through red hills and valleys that are always hungry, never silent.
He never left.
"And I never will."
He voice drops to a whisper.
"Let me have this. Let me...let me be me. Again. One more time. Instead of that...thing. That I was. Just...eyes. Looking out from a head. I want to be me one last time and keep everyone safe. And then no more. No more."
He crumbles now.
"They're not allowed to have you. You're all mine." He thumps his hand against his chest, and the words sound like they've been ripped out of him. "You're mine. Everyone is mine. Everyone back home. Everyone in this universe. You're mine and you're so good. Even people I don't know. Because you're people and you're not them. I can die with you here." He thumps his hand against his chest again. "And then you'll be safe. I'll get to stay in the dark. And I'll keep you all safe with me there. Forever."
This is what he's good at. This is the kind of thing he does that makes him him. Saving people. Giving himself away until there's barely any self left. This time, there's so little self left that, to do it, he has to give the last little bit of it up.
"This is my job."
It's not a sob. There's no name for the noise he makes while saying the words. Human beings aren't supposed to make noises like that and therefore don't have a name for them.