Chapter Text
It hurts when Gabbro looks at Tor, even with their suit on. Their body language is unfamiliar and static, their limbs far too stiff, head too slow when they're trying to respond. It hurts in the same way it hurts to look at Esker, with their glazed eyes, that empty stare that has none of the old love and appreciation that it once held, and their darkened, necrotic flesh. Tor has always been a darker tone, but they wonder if their flesh has gathered that infected purple hue that covers Esker now. Frankly, they don't really want to know, but they don't have much of a choice if they're being honest.
Usually, when Tor visits them, it's earlier in the loop. They still have their life in them, they don't stiffly hobble around and lose the ability to speak. They talk until they get tired, and Tor then lays down in their hammock with them and Gabbro holds them as they slowly die. And Gabbro holds them until the sun explodes and the cycle repeats itself, knowing that Tor is dying alone most loops, succumbing to the effects of space faster than anyone else ever has. It hurts them to think about it.
But it's late in the loop, and there's no sign of the new astronaut. Gabbro lays in their hammock, playing their flute with their rotten lungs, and they stare up at the green sky with blurry and glazed over eyes. Space has taken its toll on them just as much as everyone else, their skin rotted and stuck to the inside of their suit to the point of being unable to remove it, and it makes their movements even more lethargic than they were when they'd first arrived on Giant's Deep. Yet, luckily, for whatever reason, their mind had been spared from the horrid rotting and all of the animalistic urges that had come with it. They were the only one, though, as the dip in their arm from when Esker had attacked them indicated.
They think it's going to be one of those loops, but it isn't, as a ship punctures the atmosphere and haphazardly lands in a tree on their island. Out falls Tor, who stumbles before finding their footing with their legs awkwardly bent. The cyclones have calmed, and Gabbro knows what stage they're suffering in, as they glance around like they don't understand what is around them. It's impossible to see through the golden glass of their visor, and it's no use even attempting to hear their breathing. So they slowly lower their flute, and they turn their own decaying body to the hatchling's, who is still aimlessly looking around.
"Buddy?" Gabbro calls. Tor turns to them, and they hobble over almost immediately, slumping halfway into their hammock with their legs hanging off of it. Gabbro adjusts their position, helping them get their legs up before they allow the younger astronaut to hold onto them. "Hey there. Did'ja find anything cool this loop?"
The corpse doesn't respond. Gabbro sighs, patting their back. Gabbro hasn't lost their nerves like the other zombies, with their body still aware at the very least of temperature and pressure. They couldn't feel anything when Esker had ripped a chunk out of their arm and the black blood began oozing out, but they knew something was gone, if that made sense. Tor, however, doesn't seem to have that luxury, as they barely move and likely don't notice any of the movements.
Gabbro slowly brings their hand up to the latch on the rookie's helmet, undoing it and slowly removing it so that they don't damage their face or ears. Tor's skin is a deep purple, their eyes glazed completely, much of their flesh looking like it'd easily peel off if Gabbro rubbed their finger across their face. They carefully guide their jaw upwards, so Gabbro can look them in the eyes properly, while Tor blinks in confusion. Their arm, slowly, comes up to Gabbro's visor, placing their once deft fingers against the glass and rubbing at it. So they oblige, taking their helmet off and exposing their own dead face to Tor.
Tor blinks a few times, seemingly in recognition, before their nostrils flare and their expression changes to hunger.
The sky slowly fades dark as Tor's body scrambles to Gabbro's exposed face, their groans very muffled by the wind and their damaged hearing. Gabbro doesn't stop any of their advances, watching as they struggle to crawl to their face. They stop once, twice, stopping to smell the air and search for the scent for what they assume to be blood. Tor hesitates when they are breath to breath with Gabbro, clarity passing their face as they stare at their friend.
"You in there still?" Gabbro asks, quietly. "Tell me if you remember this next loop, please." They whisper.
Tor's body lowers their head and presses their forehead against Gabbro's, eyes slipping closed. The gesture is too tender for their zombified forms. Too tender for the horror they're going through. But they're fine with that. It's been so long since either of them have been physically comforted, and Gabbro's sure that Tor just needs something to hold onto. They don't open their eyes when Tor's pressure on their forehead leaves, and they keep them closed as they feel hot breath washing over their face, over their neck as Tor leans further down. Their hands scrabble listlessly at Gabbro's shoulders, and Gabbro doesn't stop them.
When the sky begins getting brighter, Gabbro opens their eyes. Tor's mouth and chin are covered in blood. They raise their arm to their neck, and they confirm it with the visage of their hand covered in their black blood. They smile up at their blurry face. Tor makes a choked sound, and Gabbro feels liquid plop against their cheek as they watch the poor rookie cry.
They raise their hand to their cheek lovingly.
"It's okay," Gabbro murmurs.
The light pierces the atmosphere of Giant's Deep as Tor leans down again, returning to their neck. The last thing they feel is the pressure of teeth sinking into their flesh before the Nomai mask greets them.