Chapter Text
This was the worst he had ever seen him. Crumpled in a heap, consciousness lost long ago, gushing blood. It was all over him. It was going to stain everything in the bathroom, he thought, as he steadily healed his counterpart. There was going to be a lot of tidying and scrubbing to do after he woke up. But it had been a while. His breathing was getting shallow.
Not good.
But ideally, this should make him stronger, right? If this was the worst he had ever been hurt, then it would be the best boost in raw power he would gain to date.
Black had underestimated the saiyan brat this time, something that was very unlike him. The pest had brought backup, earthling mortals using primitive tools against them. Which was laughable. So laughable Black paid no mind and toyed with them, allowing himself to take blow after blow, reveling in their horror as they realized their attacks were doing nothing.
It was a splendid fight, all things considered. He got what he wanted out of the brat and then turned on the earthlings, disposing of them all in a matter of seconds. Watching the saiyan’s face recoil in distress was beautiful, taunting him and letting him believe he was barely getting away with his own life.
It wasn’t until after the saiyan was gone that Black had realized he had majorly overexerted, taking too many blows, losing too much blood.
Zamasu scrambled to catch him and whisk him back into their cabin, trudging his limp body through the hallway and unceremoniously dumping him into the bathtub; and there they lay.
He hastily ripped Black’s blood-soaked gi and undershirt off, they were beyond ruined, revealing all of the new damage done to his body. A few new deep gashes, and a burn from a ki blast on his lower arm, but most of the attacks that marred his other’s body were from those weapons the weaker earthlings were using. He wasn’t all too familiar with what they were, but they were loud and left a horrid burnt smell staining the air. He really didn’t know how such simple tools had managed to do such a number on Black, though he was sure it was because he foolishly allowed himself to take so many hits.
His counterpart liked to do that, take unnecessary hits. His saiyan body craved the thrill, he supposed, but in the end it was worth it, it made him exponentially stronger. However, he had noticed Black as of recent was beginning to take far too much damage for his body to handle, this time around resulting in this mess. They would have to have a conversation about this if he woke up.
If he woke up.
A chill ran down Zamasu’s spine.
When. Not if.
Zamasu re-focused his healing on Black’s chest rather than the individual wounds, assuming that most of the damage was internal, and after a few more agonizing seconds Black began to stir.
He didn’t want to think about the possibility of losing his other half, he especially didn’t want to linger on how unsettled even thinking one wrong word made him feel. He let out a long breath and recentered himself before the saiyan fully awoke to see anything amiss.
Black started coughing, ragged sickly coughs that brought more blood from his wounds and throat. He groaned loudly, swatting Zamasu’s hands away.
“Ah, I’m not done healing yo-” Zamasu began, but was promptly cut off by Black coughing again, shakily trying to sit himself upright while wheezing for breath.
“N-no, that’s good. Don’t heal anymore,” he propped himself up on the edge of the bathtub by his elbow, slipping from the blood that covered its surface. Zamasu reached for him, but was swatted away again. He scoffed, earning a look from Black.
“I’m trying to help…” He crossed his arms, turning his gaze away.
Black let out a rattly breath, expelling more blood from his mouth along with it. “I appreciate it-” he lightly grasped Zamasu’s chin, turning his head back to look into his eyes. “But I’m fine now. Thank you.”
Zamasu stared for a second, first at Black’s face, then at his newly formed scars and still unhealed wounds that littered his body, the once fresh blood starting to form a copper toned crust on his skin. “You don’t look fine.”
Black snickered, trying once again to stand, “You’re right, that’s unsightly.” He staggered, still shaking trying to regain his barings. His head swam, pounding, still obviously woozy from blood loss. “I’ll clean up the bathroom as soon as I’m done cleaning myself.” It was glaringly obvious from his current state, he would be in no condition to do either anytime soon.
“Why don’t you let me fully heal you?”
Black paused, confusion scrawling over his face, shakily lowering himself back down to the kai’s level. “Uh. I do? You just-”
Zamasu grabbed Black’s bicep, squeezing with a considerable force. “I mean fully. You’re still barely able to stand. Not to mention those hideous scars you leave on your body.” He wore an intense face, full of concern that begged Black for a straight answer.
“It’s…” He avoided eye contact, seeming more interested in the dried blood caked on the faucet. He let out a long breath and slumped his head over, feeling faint. He made a mental note to consistently intake oxygen next time he experienced severe blood loss. The mortal body was a fickle thing, had this one not been so powerful he wouldn’t have even bothered subjecting himself to this. “It’s complicated. The pain makes me stronger, no matter if it leaves a mark but… Seeing it, seeing the scar…” He runs his fingers over the new burn scar on his forearm. “It lights a fire in my mind. It burns bright, and I feel as if it’s just happened…”
Zamasu just stared. He wasn’t even going to pretend like he understood a word that left the saiyan’s mouth. Perhaps he was in a blood-loss induced haze? That was it. He just wasn’t thinking clearly. He needed to rest. He snaked his arm under Black’s, hoisting him up out of the bathtub, but was met with resistance.
“What are you-?”
“You obviously need rest, you aren’t thinking straight. You lost too much blood and it's making you spout nonsense.” He tried again to get his counterpart to step over the bathtub and onto the floor, only for Black to wrench his shoulder away. He quickly fell back onto the tiled wall, slowly sliding down back onto the floor, leaving a trail of blood as he went. “Don’t be difficult, you need to lay down-”
“You don’t understand, I need this,” he huffed, sounding ragged and out of breath. “I need this pain.”
Zamasu knelt down, tilting his head. “I understand that. I just think you should be more careful from now on, is all.” He grabbed Black’s hand, holding his arm up to display a still bleeding bullet hole. “This is… Unnecessary. You don’t want to succumb to their ridiculous tools before our glorious plan is brought to fruition, do you?”
Black stared at his arm for a second, gray eyes shifting in and out of focus. The wound was partially healed, but far from scarring. Blood still oozed from the hole, seeing it drip down his arm made him break into a cold sweat and his head began to spin. His stomach lurched, a feeling he’d never felt this violently before, his pulse quickened and his vision tunneled. As he tried to respond to Zamasu’s question, his ears began ringing, and he couldn’t tell if he managed to let out any coherent words.
His head felt like it was weighed down with bricks. When he finally managed to lift it, he caught a glimpse of Zamasu, now standing with his back to him, rustling through the cabinet above the sink. He turned back around with cotton pads and a brown bottle in his hands, and proceeded to kneel back over him.
“So you decided to come back.” He said, sounding exasperated, twisting the cap off of the bottle.
Black tried to question what he meant, but the only sound he produced was a low moan from the back of his throat.
Zamasu let out a quick breath, soaking a cotton pad in the liquid and pressing it to a still opened wound on his arm, earning a sharp inhale. Black tried pulling his arm back, though proved too slow as the kai effortlessly snatched his wrist with his free hand, keeping his arm stationary as he continued to dab whatever the stinging substance was onto him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he deadpanned, “If you’re going to allow yourself to come to this state, you can’t be angry at me when I try to fix it.” He discarded the now bloodied cotton pad for a fresh one, repeating his movements and soaking it more liquid than the last, applying it onto another open wound on Black’s shoulder.
“Ow-!” He pulled back, attempting to clutch his stinging shoulder but was again quickly intercepted.
“Stop.” Zamasu looked at him intensely. “I’m being nice applying it this way, I could just pour the entire bottle over you and be done with it.” He sat for a second, and Black leaned forward. “I thought so. Thank you.”
He continued nursing the rest of his wounds, earning only slight winces and sharp draws of breath from then on, and quickly finished up without any struggle.
“See? That wasn’t too bad,” He smirked at Black, that coy smirk he uses when he’s trying to toy with his prey. “If you aren’t going to let me properly heal you, then you should at least allow me to do this. There’s no sense in letting yourself get to this point, it’s a pathetic display unbecoming of a god such as yourself.” He stood to his full height, looming over Black in a menacing fashion. “Don’t let it come to this again, understand?” His eyes leered over his counterpart with his last words, each one filling Black’s chest with a burning white-hot rage that threatened to spill over, molten, from his lips.
Though he was in no position to do anything about it now, he still felt unable to stand, dizziness and nausea wracked his whole body with every slight movement. Instead of trying to retaliate in any meaningful way, he settled with just growling at Zamasu.
This made the kai’s face contort into a cynical, lopsided smile, chuckling as he turned around to reorganize the medical supplies back into their proper places. “I think being in that mortal body has done something to you,” he knelt to open the bottom most cabinets, “no offense, really, but do you think you’d be displaying such behavior if you were in your old body?” He chuckled through his nose, shrugging his shoulders lightly.
This was something he had genuinely wondered about, if the differences between himself and his counterpart from the past were because of the vastly different bodies they inhabited. They had similar mannerisms, speech patterns, movement, they were almost indistinguishable from one another- had it not been for the obvious. However, as time passed and Zamasu spent more time with Black, he realized just how strikingly different they were from each other. Black was more head strong and bold, acting upon impulse with little hesitation in most instances. Rather than he, who would choose to stay back and meditate on the situation at hand, even if momentarily.
Black also had a more significant sadistic streak to him, being far crueler when hunting. Playing and toying with his victims as if they were his next meal.
Something like that, Zamasu thought, was uncouth and beyond them, though did manage to strike fear into all they faced.
In the end, he figured, it didn’t really matter if he played with his food, so long as he got the job done; but he could bother to have at least a little decorum about it. He turned once more to find Black finally standing, still unsure with his footing and swaying slightly, but standing nonetheless. He wore a dark, angry expression on his face that was juxtaposed by his inability to stand straight.
“Careful!” Zamasu scolded, quickly grabbing his shoulders, steadying him. “You’re so impatient-” he was interrupted by Black wriggling free of his grasp and grabbing his own shoulders. He simply stared, aghast, eyes widening in confusion. Black’s grip got tighter as he simply stared back at him, a wild frenzied look in his eyes as if he were a cornered animal. His mouth moved but made no meaningful noise, just drew a ragged breath.
Suddenly, his face drained, and as quickly as he had stood, he was back onto the floor with a thud.