Work Text:
Bright.
This isn't how nightmares are supposed to be. They're supposed to be dark and suffocating, helplessness seeping into you like water into rotten wood. Yes, water. Nightmares are supposed to feel dark and endless, like sinking into the depths of the ocean. You can fight or cry, but you'll still be drowning by the end of it either way. Better to just give up and die.
But this time, a bright white light pierces through Medkit's eyelids—instinctually, he's relieved to see it, the first break of dawn over the gloomy horizon—before it clicks in his head.
This is a nightmare.
He opens his eyes.
What greets him is a familiar little dorm and a familiar face with two eyes and a mouth.
It's so different from the Subspace he's used to seeing. Today's Subspace always seems to be scowling under that gas mask, and when he does smile, it's with an air of sadism, almost. Sadism, triumph, confidence, he smiles in a way that says "I'm better than you." Even in the past, he'd always been that way, more or less.
But the Subspace in front of him, cradling a floating white crystal in his palms, has something softer in his eyes. What is it? Pride? Tenderness? Medkit's seen that sort of look on him too rarely to say.
"Ah, Meddy," he says, "you're up. While you were spending your time sleeping, I've been using it productively. See, I was trying to get these crystals to a form where they can be more easily utilized, since they're a bit inconvenient as large jagged rocks, and I ended up melting them down. See the pink vial over there?"
He keeps talking. Medkit's ears have long since grown used to tuning him out, so he focuses instead on his surroundings. Though, this is a dream, so it's subject to change at any time.
The half-dorm, half-lab is exactly how he remembers it on the day everything ended. There is a pink glowing vial on a Bunsen burner, within reach of where Subspace will attack him. The desk doesn't have the divider up today since they were working together on the crystals, which'll lead to Subspace being able to reach across and draw first blood. If he puts it back up, can he steer the dream off that course? If he dumps that vial out, can he, for just a little while, pretend that he'd never wounded Subspace in such a way, that today was just yet another petty spat and not what it turned out to be?
Does Medkit even really want that? Between two fates, staying in Blackrock with Subspace or living free and forever looking over his shoulder, which does he really want?
The current Subspace is a miserable excuse of a living thing. Every day, a little more of him dies, he gets a little closer to becoming nothing but an empty shell. He still has spirit, still has loyalty—that's not something he'll ever let go of, Medkit thinks, not now or in this dream or in death—but he is losing every other part of himself, little by little. Body and sanity and even his oh-so-brilliant mind. Certainly, for his sake, it'd be better to dump the vial.
But what does he care about the current Subspace? There is nothing left to salvage there, and even if there was, it's not his job to.
…Whatever. That's in the real world. Right now, he's a Blackrock scientist getting discriminated against for his gear.
"Meddy," Subspace whines, "you're not listening. You don't do anything! Whenever we work together, you barely pull your weight! Maybe you should reconsider your line of work. Why are you even here?"
He pinches the space between his eyes. This is so familiar. "Maybe I don't work too hard because I don't like you. And I'm here because I want to be a scientist. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Tsk. How come, anyway? Shouldn't you be in medical school or something right now? I mean… 'Medkit.' Why are you here and not where you're meant to be?"
"I'm not 'meant to be' anywhere." Medkit grits his teeth. "My gear isn't anything to me but my name and a useful little thing if I get cut on a piece of broken glassware."
Subspace tilts his head, his tone shifting from condescension to genuine confusion. "But… It's what you were born to do. How can it be nothing to you? I mean, the very idea of it is outrageous. It should define you. It should be everything. If you are born into the world to heal, what right do you have to do anything but?"
If he were younger, he might have just ended the conversation here. There's a fundamental difference in worldviews here, and that's not a gap that can be bridged easily. A younger Medkit wouldn't have bothered, but right now, for one reason or another, there's some little part of him that wants Subspace to understand. Even if there's no point explaining himself to a dream.
"Subspace," he says, "if you were born as, say, a food gear, would you be content sitting in a restaurant your whole life? Never to even see a lab in your life, never to innovate or create, but solely just to work minimum wage until you wither away?"
"If that's what I was born to do. I'm sure life would have shaped me differently if that were to be how things went. I wouldn't have the same aspirations, goals, dreams… I'd be an entirely different person."
That's… fair. "Well, then, forget that hypothetical. Subspace Tripmine. Your gear's a bomb, isn't it? So why are you here, and not a demolitionist or a soldier? I don't believe bombers have any place in the lab, do they?"
Subspace goes back to handling the crystals and rifling through paperwork. "Forget it. I'm not entertaining you any longer. I've got work to do, and you the same, if you're so insistent that you're supposed to be here."
Don't ask about what he's using the crystals for. Don't ask about what he's using the crystals for. Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask.
Medkit bites his tongue and leans over to look at the paperwork. Most of it is legal crap for patenting or something, and Subspace is holding the orders from the higher-ups that's going to cause the whole fight.
He glances up at the clock. The time for playing house with Subspace is almost over. Soon, he has to stop pretending he hasn't ruined another person's life. Soon, everything is going to end. At 11:43 PM, he's going to run away after throwing the vial. The window will be open despite the cold, and he'll hear Subspace's pained cries down the street, all the way down to the station. They'll be guttural, like the sobs of a beast or something other than human, and he'll stop in front of a convenience store they used to frequent to vomit in the trash. By midnight, he'll catch the train and Blackrock will be dead to him.
It's 11:11 right now. Medkit wishes for the dream to end before that happens.
"Hey," Subspace says. He looks up. "So, for this model, the liquid crystal isn't going to work. The temperature demands are too strict, and the liquid will solidify and be useless. But the actual crystals are too big, so I think we'd better use shavings or something akin to that. I tried a different method, and these ones turned out softer, so you should be able to carve through them with a hot knife. Just pretend it's wood carving. You liked to do that, right?"
Ah. To be honest, he'd forgotten. "Not much. It was just a one-off thing I picked up. How much do you need?"
"About two or three full crystals' worth. I laid them out already. They should be over there somewhere."
There are three crystals on his desk, all where he remembers them to be. There's also a plate with a knife on it that he'd used to cut apples the day before. He grabs the knife and heats it over the burner, then gets to chipping away.
"If they're all fragmented like this, they'll lose effectiveness," he remarks offhandedly. "At least the melting gives them heat to feed off of. Having it this way is just the worst of both worlds."
"What do you mean?" Subspace says. "This is what the higher-ups asked for."
He sets the knife down. "Both the full crystal and the liquid allow energy to travel through one… thing, and be amplified accordingly. When it's fragmented like this, the entropy is greatly increased, and the amplification effect is massively diluted. Was this really your idea? You're smart enough to realize this."
"Request of the higher-ups," Subspace hisses, "so entropy increase or not, we have no right to refuse. What do we know compared to them?"
"More about these crystals, apparently—"
"Shut up! The higher-ups told us to do it this way, so we're doing it this way. They must know better than us, if they're requesting it differently than how we'd do it."
"How we'd do it. You see the flaws in it too! But all you do is squawk on and on, 'higher-ups, higher-ups!' I've always hated that about you. You're nothing but Blackrock's pretty porcelain doll."
"I am not a doll—"
"You are! You'll live and you'll die in the shadow of Blackrock's glorious name, and you won't take any time to look after yourself because it's order after order after order, but all it is with you is 'yes, sir,' and 'yes, ma'am,' and 'I'll get it done,' all because they told you that you were a special little boy. You're a tool, Subspace. An asset that they'll throw away once you start to waver in your usefulness. What, you think you're not as disposable as the rest of us? Because you're Blackrock's little doll, Blackrock's special boy, and you'll never leave their little glass dollhouse, even if it kills you! Here's something, special boy— they don't give a damn if you live or die! Your health's declining, and once you're too far gone? Do you think they're going to save you when it matters? They're going to let you die, cold and painful and alone, because you're not as special as you th—Ah, fuck!"
Medkit falls out of the chair, clutching his eye. Blood, warm and sticky and so, so familiar, clings to his fingers. Subspace stands over him, holding the apple knife.
"I am special," he breathes. "You're just jealous the higher-ups don't favor you as much."
And, oh, everything falls into place, just the way he knew it was going to. Subspace slashes this way and that, the two of them running wildly around the dorm and knocking equipment over, until he ends up right in that corner near the desk with the vial in his hand.
No, no, no, no, no. How did this happen? How did it come to this again? Why? Why? Why???
He can't do it again. Not after knowing what'll happen after. The vial trembles in his hand, but he doesn't move. Doesn't throw it. Just stands there, like a deer in headlights.
Subspace grabs him by the hair and yanks him close to his face. A song and dance they've done a million times before, but this time, it's an act of hatred. The knife's tip comes right up against his Adam's apple. He tries to pull away, but can't summon enough strength to.
"Do you know what happens to those who are disloyal to Blackrock?" he whispers, low and cold and yet so clear without the gas mask filter. No, Medkit can't do it. Not again. A fate worse than death is not one he can bring upon someone twice, dream or not.
He takes one last look at Subspace. White hair with a soft pink tinge, always tied back to not interfere with experiments. Two eyes, a deep magenta rimmed with red from constant rubbing. Dry, cracked lips, torn up from biting. Acne scars still dotting his face, up and down each of his rosy cheeks. Sweat clinging to his forehead from the exertion. He'd never been the athletic type.
No, he cannot bear to ruin this boy again.
His body betrays him, and he begins to shake violently. Tears burn at the corners of his bloody eye, mixing with it and streaking red all over the left side of his face. He wipes them off violently. The blood is smudging all over his face, he knows, but he really needs to see right now and this is kind of getting in the way.
Medkit swallows. "I'm sorry."
Subspace relents and lowers the knife. Perhaps this version of him thinks he's apologizing for saying all those things. After all, this Subspace will not cry on the dorm floor for hours and hours, pressing his palms into his face and hoping the pressure will alleviate the pain while the sound of his flesh sizzling away fills the room. This Subspace will not have to trudge down to his higher-ups' office to request time off for the first time in his life and bear the disgusted stares of his classmates and coworkers.
At least, that's what Medkit thinks probably happened to the real Subspace after he ran away. Suppose either way, this Subspace won't think anything or suffer any lasting consequences no matter what Medkit does to him, because this one's not real. Just a dream.
Maybe, for once, Medkit will play hero.
Subspace pants from all the chasing, barely holding a grip on the apple knife. See, even now, so far in the past, his health is so, so poor. What a pitiful thing this one is, destined to be tossed out on the street and away from all that's ever loved him once he's been sucked dry.
Medkit will play hero. He'll free him from that fate.
He drops the vial. It shatters, smoldering away on the hardwood. While Subspace is distracted by the noise, Medkit wrangles the apple knife from his hand and kicks him to the ground. He makes a sick sort of gagging noise, blood spilling from his mouth. Medkit plants a foot on his chest before he has a chance to recover.
"Listen," he says, shakily, "I've seen what's going to happen to the two of us. There are two things that can happen today— I can throw that vial at you, and you won't ever be able to live a normal life again, or I can resolve things with you and things will go back to how they once were. I've dropped that vial now, so there should be only one choice. But I don't want that. And you shouldn't either."
"Wh… agh, M—Medkit! Get away from me—get off me!"
Subspace writhes beneath him, trying to wriggle away with little success. He digs his heel deeper, feeling it press and press against Subspace's sternum. "Blackrock is going to throw you away."
"Meddy, please—"
"You don't want to live abandoned and alone, cast away from all the love you've ever known, do you? You don't ever want to face a day where you won't be Blackrock's special boy anymore. No, if that were inevitable, wouldn't it be better to die instead?"
"It won't happen," Subspace croaks, and oh, isn't it commendable how quickly he jumps to Blackrock's defense, even while under the foot of the enemy?
He presses harder. "It will. Once you're all used up, once you've reduced yourself to nothing but a walking corpse, do you think Blackrock will bother keeping you around any longer? Think, with that special little mind of yours. What happens to broken tools?"
Subspace struggles for air. His fingers fumble around to try and grab Medkit's ankle, but a simple twirl of the knife gets him to stop.
"I do care about you, even if it's hard to believe." He starts to cry. Medkit presses harder, feeling himself reach the breaking point before ribs start to crack. "That's why I'm doing this. If you keep working under Blackrock, there won't be anything waiting for you at the end of that path but cold and empty streets. You'll be all alone, cast out from all that's ever loved you. Well, that is if they don't kill you for having intel. It's too cruel a fate for anyone, isn't it? Death is mercy for a doomed soul like you."
"Fine," he gasps, "I'll— What do you want? For me to let you kill me? You— You just want me dead, and that's it?"
He stares, long and hard, at the pitiful mess beneath him. Those eyes, red again. Strands of greasy hair sprawled out on the hardwood boards, beginning to tinge a faint rusty color from laying in his own blood. Tears, a rare sight from this one, slipping down his face. His bloodstained lips hang open—the air makes an almost whistling sound as it whips in and out of his lungs with nowhere to go. Medkit can feel the panicked rise and fall of Subspace's chest beneath his heel. Alive.
"I suppose the best ending would be for you to leave Blackrock and find some other lab where people will truly appreciate your work. But that'll never happen, not in any timeline. It's not like dogs ever leave their owners." Medkit sighs. "What do you want, Subspace? Do you even believe anything I say at all?"
He lifts a weak hand. For a second, Medkit wonders if he's reaching for comfort, until the outline of his gear starts to form within his fingers.
"Are you crazy?!" he hisses, cracking a couple ribs to hopefully shock Subspace into backing down. He screams and writhes aimlessly on the stained hardwood, hand dropping to the floor. "What, are you trying to take the entire residential building down with us? I told you—stop struggling, dammit—I told you, I'm doing this because I care! You've backed yourself into a corner, and the only way out is death. I just want to save you!"
"Agh…! W… Who are you… t—to decide that for— hack — for me…? I never… wanted… to be saved, not like this…"
"Well, when have you ever known what's best for yourself?"
He spins the small knife so the blade faces down and raises his arm. With his other hand, he leans down to hold Subspace's face and tilt it gently to the right, exposing the artery he needs.
"S—Snap out of it, Med!" He thrashes around, managing to snag a claw on Medkit's left arm and get a deep gash in. It hurts—why does it hurt? This is all a dream, all meant to be a dream. Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. "I— cough —I know you want me dead, but… but I…"
He trails off, and doesn't talk for a long, long while. The sound of strained wheezing fills the dorm. It's cold, so cold, and there's blood everywhere, and Medkit wonders offhandedly why he feels so much if it's nothing but a dream.
"Is it," he finally says, "because of me? Is it… that you want to— cough — to leave, and I'm in your way? I… I find it hard… to believe, that y—you would go so far out of… out of your way t—to save me."
Medkit lifts his foot. "Why is that? That 'us versus them' mentality Blackrock's drilled into you? No, I don't agree with many of the Blackrock executives' decisions and values. That makes me a traitor, and therefore I cannot ever have good intentions. Is that it?"
Subspace drags himself up and leans against the bunk bed. "Do you… truly see me as so one-note?"
"Will you die for Blackrock?"
"Yes."
"With full willingness, and never a doubt in your mind?"
"…C—Come on, Meddy. We… all recited this in grade school. Yes."
He leans down and brandishes the knife again. "Truthfully?"
"It… It hurts to breathe, Medkit."
"Will you?"
"Why would you… do this… to me…?"
There it is. In every dream Medkit has of the incident and the happy times before, Subspace always ends up saying those words. "Why would you do this to me?" Whatever 'this' ends up being that night, it's sure to send Medkit jolting awake, heart pounding with guilt.
He gives the same answer he always does. "I'm sorry. Don't ever forgive me."
"For both our sakes… I wish we'd never met."
SHNK
It's over. Nothing left to do in this dream anymore. The time for playing roles is done, the curtains have drawn closed, and so the lone actor sits in center stage with no more lines and a dead body in his arms, waiting for the theater to collapse on him.
Waiting for the dream to end.
Medkit waits. For a long time, he sits by the open window and cradles Subspace's lifeless body. The blood pours from his slit neck in a constant ebb, staining everything red, red, red. It's quiet, so quiet. There is no one left to argue with or laugh at or cry for, only the light whistle of a cold draft and the even breathing of one. Call it loneliness or peace, Medkit sits in silence and bites his tongue as the adrenaline fades from his beating heart and his injuries begin to throb. What a peculiar dream this is, so realistic and thorough in all his senses.
In the morning, Medkit will wake up. He will take his medicine and forget this dream like all the others and everything will be okay. In the morning, none of this will matter anymore. Subspace will be somewhere far away, where Medkit cannot do any saving, for better or for worse.
And in the morning, while brushing his teeth, Medkit will see a scar on his left arm and wonder if it was always there.
And he will not know it, not for a very long time, but he will never see his Subspace again.