Sleepless Nights and Days Like Mercy (Dreamer and Nex)

Tonight, the play of rainfall against the windowpanes could be likened
to splatters of blood on cobblestone: cold, dark, impersonal, and full of some
unknown hurt. Perhaps, though, it was his dark mood that lent itself to this
analogy.
Hunger, grief, regret, self-loathing, anger, confusion, disgust, and
fear had all painted in shades of reds, yellows, and blinding white lights
tempered by gray skies behind his eyes. They had bled together and crashed over
his aching ribcage like a raging ocean against shards of rock in the shape of
the bones, and he had weathered the storm. He only felt numb now, chest worn
hollow by the torrent of emotion. Now, he finally mulled over his thoughts, on
the verge of tears and exhausted in more than one form.
He glanced down at his hands, no longer covered by gloves, though the
outline of Elias' blood still remained on his face and on the offending limb.
The longer he stared at it, the more it tormented him. Traces of copper
filtered through the air, shifting and shimmering like red mist in the air as
he walked the line between slumber and alertness.
In his mind, separate of what his eyes told him was an empty room,
played four scenes:
First: He looked down at his hands, then at Elias. He could feel blood
on his hands, followed by a sickening lurch in his stomach.
Second: He realized Lillian was, in fact, still dead. This was followed by
the jarring realization of, Oh, it was Elias he was attacking.
He didn't want to stop.
Third: Blood welled up from the cut on Elias' side. An impossible amount
coursed from depths unseen and bathed the whole room red and black as they
choked on it. It was oddly comforting, and warm.
Fourth: The idea of tearing apart the other man's ribcage to gaze upon
the heart inside. The picture had no right to be so beautiful, so perfect in
its violent nature. He had no right to be thinking those things, he shouldn't
have been. What kind of monster was he, to want to harm someone who had been so
kind, so understanding?
He shouldn't have been thinking of Elias' smile and laughter in the
kitchen, early on in their acquaintanceship, nor the play of light across his
face, that, at the time had seemed nothing noteworthy, but he now found himself
admiring greatly. He shouldn't have been thinking of the strange ways his eyes
showed emotion, or of how he found the man's frown of concern endearing, if
entirely unwarranted.
Richard shouldn't have been thinking of any of that, and yet he was.
Warmth and darkness chased each other in ever frantic circles, making it rather
hard to breathe as his panic grew like so much static in his mind. The
bloodstain still taunted him, reminded him of what atrocities his hands had
committed. The world swam with his vision as the edges turned black from
fatigue and hunger days old.
He couldn't stand to look at them. They were vile, these things that he
had created, suited for an evil purpose. They needed to go, needed to be off.
He needed to be unable to hurt anyone else, needed to stop himself. He had done
the very thing he promised his father he would never do: he lost control of
himself, and look at what had happened.
It could not be allowed to happen again.
A swell of twisted determination crashed through him, and he was across
the room at his work station before he could hesitate. He allowed himself a
moment to consider the negative consequences of his actions, though his
thoughts were clouded by the logic of one shrouded in grief, and could not find
many. Grabbing the necessary tools, he retreated to his bed and set to work.
The left arm would go first. He could disconnect the right one more easily, as
per his design.
Partway through the first bolt, he remembered why he despised this part
of maintenance.
As the screws loosened, the beginning of the terrifying loss of feeling
was waylaid only by pain that burned like a torrent of freezing water,
white-hot claws of it racing through what was left of his shoulder and down his
spine. The feeling only amplified with ever bolt and buckle loosened after
that.
Minutes passed by in eternities of electric sparks dancing behind his
eyelids, curdling his stomach. Tears coursed down his face, but he didn't allow
himself to stop, he couldn't. An endless litany of 'Never again' s
and 'Look at what you have done's rose like a sea of furiously
whispering voices; The top of each surge of guilt threw him into loosening
another bolt, the trough of each wave threatened to drown him in guilt, oh so
much guilt, and loathing for himself.
Again and again, splinters of pain raced down his arm and into his
spine, driving spikes into his temples. As if the bucket of water slowly
trickled empty, the ability to feel his arm slipped away, slowly, slowly..
Then?
There was nothing.
He could feel no more through that part of him. The absence was almost
comforting, though the great gaping feeling of there needing to be something doused
that flame in a single lurching heartbeat.
His arm fell to the floor with a clatter, and he let out a shuddering
gasp. The soft pings of bolts afterwards sounded like bullets (and that was a
memory he didn't need to revisit at the moment), accompanying a copper taste in
his mouth- he had bitten his cheek a bit too hard in his endeavor not to shout.
There was still part of an arm to go.
His right arm had fewer bolts and more buckles than anything, but his
body shook with pain and quiet sobs, which caused the whole process to drag on
far longer than before. This time, since there was still part of an arm for the
pain to travel through, it felt less like his side was being set ablaze and
more like the night when it had first been sawed off.
This was the downside to the pseudo-neural network he had been gifted:
he got to relieve the experience of losing both limbs as if he were amputating
them himself.
With a final, sickening 'pop!', the other arm joined it's partner on the
floor. He couldn't repress the low whine of pain that followed as he doubled
over on himself; Arms no longer attached tried to wrap around his torso, only
to find that he could no longer receive comfort from even himself. The thought
put a dark smile on his lips. 
Good. It was no less than he deserved.
He chuckled, then laughed quietly. The chiming of broken glass and
choked-back sobs eventually turned to silent, shuddering gasps. The aftershocks
of pain and the feeling of phantom limbs skittered down his skin like so many
sparks illuminating the sky.
He really was tired. He was aware he needed sleep.
...
He didn't sleep.
He sat in the middle of his bed and laughed, great, silent
breaths of air choked into whines and smiles because really.
Really.
He was ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous to be losing his mind over such a small thing when
he had quite simply killed several people- a few of them his friends for
years!- without batting an eye at the time, and even now he couldn't say he
regretted doing that- oh no. He hated hislack of remorse at
snuffing out their lives but this?
The idea of killing someone he had only known for a few
weeks, at most, had him undoing years worth of work in a single instance.
Absolutely ridiculous. Elias probably didn't even consider him a friend.
He wouldn't matter, he never mattered to anyone! The second chosen son but the
first born, the friend that never spoke unless spoken to, the obstacle in the
way of romance or glory. He never mattered!
He laughed, and he sobbed, and he smiled at the sheer ridiculousness of
it all, his entire body shuddering with ghosts of pain and great, shaking
earthquakes of emotion.
Oh, if his father- he who prided control over all else!- could see him
now: illuminated with the barest hints of morning light, a figure still clothed
in shadow despite the color blooming around him, shuddering and grinning as he
was.
His father would have been livid, His uncle would have been proud, Elias
would have been concerned, Jack would have made a joke, Benediktas would purse
his lips in that quietly frustrated way and shook his head.
The great Patchwork Prince, falling apart at the seams in all ways of
life.
Absolutely
Ridiculous
Miss-Dreamerkat: Dreamer was changing her bandages when she heard
the noise below her. She was right below Richard and she stood all her bandages
gone and not caring opened the trapped door to his room and peered her head in.
Her snow white hair caught the light as she saw the scene before her. Her one
red eye widened in shock the other remained dead. Her dress was replaced with a
top that resembled lapis lazuli's from steven universe. Showing the bright red
rose scar that was tipped black as she looked at him. "Richard." She
said disappointment in her voice. Nex poked her head down. "Ooh nice! So
you're the one that hurt elias. Hey have you ever thought of being an
assassin?" Nex asked and Dreamer kicked Nex in the stomach causing Nex to
be flown back. "Richard" She said dropping down. The scars being
visible for the first time to someone other than Mz. Hyde. She wore a short
pair of shorts as well as she sighed. "What is going on?" She asked.
Tairais:  Richard
chuckled and shrugged slightly, plastering a smile on his face. He found he
couldn't really speak: his throat was tight and every breath rasped with unshed
emotion, so he shook his head instead. Shame clawed at his chest and skittered
in his arm- his arms that were no longer there, but still felt as if they were.
Dreamer’s  scars were quite beautiful, he
mused. Much better than his own, done without artistry or care. Scars
regardless, and he felt remorse for the pain she must have endured to obtain
them, but they were entrancing in their own right..
He really was an idiot, but it was better this way.
Miss-Dreamerkat:  "Richard
why?" Was all dreamer could ask shaking her head sighing as she approached.
Tairais:  Richard
grimaced. "I c-cannot t-trust m-myself, it s-seemed a f-fitting
p-punishment f-for n-nearly..." He trailed off, wincing slightly as the
stump of his arm twinged with pain.
Miss-Dreamerkat:  "it
doesn't matter you need those" dreamer said.
Tairais:  He
shrugged. "N-not p-particularly, r-really. At l-least t-this w-way I c-cannot
kill a-anyone else.. or a-at l-least, n-not as e-easily."
Miss-Dreamerkat:  Dreamer
sighed. "You just need to prove you have the self control to manage
yourself." She said calmly. "Look we all make mistakes, do things we
regret but you need to let go of the past, recognize it happened and move on.
If you don't it will keep coming back to haunt you" She said. If only she
could learn that lesson, but the scars of what she endured were a constant of
reminder that brought her back.
== Obtained From ==
Sleepless Nights and Days Like Mercy
Category:Side Story
Category:Alternate Time Lines
Category:Tales from the ER