Chapter Text
Ivan opens his eyes after he’s sure Mizi has left, lying down and watching the ceiling. While he had been hoping to be left alone the previous few times when a surprise had been waiting for him the moment he woke up, the regret settles deep inside him now. The distraction that Till and Mizi’s talk ( or rant, depending on the word choice) had provided had allowed him to ignore the place he was in and the resemblances.
He tries to ignore the sharp sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to the air, instead focusing on the flawed paint and the flickering lights. Dim light filters through the drawn curtains, casting a soft glow over the grayed out sheets. It is a comfort he hadn’t expected himself to seek, how the poor conditions remind him that he is not where his sense of smell is reminding him of.
He takes another deep (yet careful, lest he coughs and the nurses know he is awake) breath, then another. The scent of blood is even more prominent now. He closes his eyes and focuses on calming down. He can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears, too quickly, yet his attempts to slow it down consciously is not working anymore. The panic that overcomes him from the failure of his usual method does not help, his hand slightly twitching. It is by pure luck that the cables to the heart beeping machine are no longer attached to his chest as he is sure that he would be swarmed by nurses otherwise.
The flickering stops for a moment, taking Ivan’s heart with it. The bright lights overhead now flash like the fluorescents of the lab and accompanied by the faint hum of machinery surrounding him, they act as an eerie reminder of a time when he wasn’t a patient but a pet - something to be studied and upgraded to have better use.
The rooms weren’t as big as here back then, or it had been but Ivan’s perception had been messed up enough that he had felt like the white walls had seemed to be closing around him everytime. He remembers half-sitting down on the cold metal chair, straps binding his arms and legs despite his obedience. The chill from where his skin had made contact with the cold surface had always seeped into his bones yet there had been no room for him to shiver, the binds going taut the second he moved even a little.
He debates internally whether it would be a good idea for a nurse to actually realize he is awake so that he has some company (and distraction). However, the thought of showing this side of himself, one he’d like to keep buried inside deep enough it will never see the light of day, sends that idea right out the window. Not to mention, he doesn’t think he can stand seeing or getting another cable attached to him currently.
He looks to the machines and remembers the aliens, with white coats that barely covered their entire body and masks obscuring most of their faces, and the distant murmurs as they discussed him like he was nothing more than an unfinished, flawed product. He recalls the sharp prick of needles, the stinging pain in different places as they had inserted and removed it multiple times without a care. His hands itch with the memory of how much he had wanted to rip the tube off as he had watch the blood get drawn to be delivered to the labs, feeling dizzier and drowsier with each second and hating the sensation.
He puts his finger on his wrist unconsciously, trying to find the faint “flaw” that-
-is not there.
His thought process stops. He is not trapped in his memories anymore. If anything, he has never so in the moment as he is right now.
He continues looking ahead as he searches for a slight bump on his skin with his thumb. The movement gets more frantic as time goes by and it is not until Ivan is sure his sense of touch is not decieving him that he looks down at his wrist.
It is reddened, contrasting with his pale hand and the sheets. He doesn’t feel any pain though. Instead, his eyes wander around his wrist, where jagged lines had once been lazered off his skin, leaving a faint scar that could only be felt when you knew where to look for it. He reaches to touch the spot where the scar should be again. His fingers glide over smooth skin, unblemished and whole. He searches around his brand, desperation taking over his rational as he knows exactly where it should be.
Confusion floods him. While not proud of the moment he had gotten the scar, a memory where he had been unable to keep going and had gone so close to what he had once feared, it had become a long-engrained habit to feel it when he had felt close to that moment. It had always served as a stark reminder to how he had hoped, prayed even, to survive that day and how he had to keep going, to continue living no matter what happened because he didn’t want to come close to dying again.
So where was it now?
The realization sinks in like a stone in his stomach. Panic rises in his chest, tightening like a vice as he sits up. He feels his breath hitch and get stuck in his throat, his fist meeting his chest strongly a few times as if to force his lungs to start again. He feels light-headed, the world around him spinning with his wrist the only stable thing he can see (and can’t look away from). Each cough rattles in his chest, the sharp pain causing him to wince yet his gaze never leaves his smooth wrist.
"Where is it?" he murmurs, his voice trembling, barely above a whisper and hoarse beyond recognition. He finally lifts his head and glances around the room, searching for answers, but the silence offers none. Shadows from the machines loom over him, adding to the growing sense of dread and wrongness.
“Mr. Ivan?” A nurse appears at the doorway, concern etching her feaures. She steps inside with cautious steps, having perceived his aggression (it feels wrong to be perceived as aggressive). Her eyes scans over his hunched form with an intensity that makes him feel exposed, similar to how the aliens-
Ivan shuts down the thought this time without letting it fester, clenching his fist until the pain grounds him. He tries to focus on her, wiping away the tears (was he…crying? Hadn’t he gotten rid of that habit long ago?) and squinting his eyes as if it will clear his vision.
He opens his mouth to explain yet feels as if his throat has been scratched up. He tries to speak up, still but the nurse motions for him to stop. He isn’t sure if she has said anything, is saying anything but he tries to focus on her motions. He attempts to follow her as she takes a visible deep breath but chokes, starting to cough once more. A hand hits his back, though it is of little help.
His breathing going back to normal after some time, they try again, which Ivan objectively does better as he doesn’t choke immediately this time. Instead he starts coughing as soon as the nurse motions to show herself exhaling 7 seconds later, which gets him a slightly annoyed face from the nurse when she thinks he isn’t looking.
Giving up entirely, Ivan decides to power through the pain. He opens his mouth as if to say something when he freezes completely. What can he say to explain himself?
‘I don’t have a scar from my childhood so I panicked..?’
Ivan already knows what kind of reaction he’ll get. He cannot say anything that will make the nurse not brush him off and understand why it is so important that it is gone. Scars are usually removed using alien technology anyways, (his previous owner just hadn’t wanted to waste money on the advanced procedure) so it is not so unusual for it to not be there. Ivan just cannot accept it not being there. He feels like he would know if it was medically removed. There would be something remaining at least. Not the smooth, unmarred skin that seemed to be too…perfect. As if nothing had ever happened. Like he was a clean slate.
The nurse for her part waits for him silently until he works himself up to another panic, which she then responds with a swift and precise move to press the small red button on his bedside.
He cannot hear what she is but he guesses something along the lines of “breath” and “calm down”, though she seems to be getting more desperate (and blurry?) as the time goes.
He tries to focus on her but he can’t breath. His chest feels heavy, as though the weight of all the things that had happened is only now pressing down on him when he is already down. He closes his eyes, trying to shut out the pain yet with no sight to distract him, it seems to only make his panting more obvious.
The door bursts open and the last thing Ivan hears is the sound of hurried footsteps.