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edupunkn00b · 4 days

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Meus ex Machina, Chapter 14: In His Head

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - In His Head - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Special thanks to @greymillieattheball for beta reading this chapter!

WC: 2980 - Rated: M - CW: Brief (and disjointed) descriptions of violence, unreality, murder referenced, non-explicit sex mentions.

Now we get to see things from the other side(s). As usual, we start with the past and jump to the present.

Lucas pulled back on the lever, nodding at the rumble of the rudders sliding into place. The transport climbed up above the thick, acrid cloud cover and he looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Save some of that energy for the field, boys!”

Neither twin made an effort to dim the flashing balls they juggled back and forth, tossing one across the ship at seemingly random moments. Ro just shook his head, a happy glint in his eyes Lucas hadn’t seen in a long, long time. “Don’t worry, man!”

“There’s plenty more where this came from,” Re finished their thought and three spiky balls appeared in his hand. “Think fast, Ro Bro!” he called and tossed them in.

Lucas caught Ro’s flash of pain and annoyance before he heard it. “Dammit, Re, watch it!” Ro cursed, flicking away the spiked balls and letting them bounce to the floor. He glared at his brother, frowning down at the blood welling on his fingertips.

“Oh, don’t be a baby!” Laughing, Re took his hand. The blood—and Ro’s pain—disappeared. “Here,” he said, picking up the spiked ball and squeezing before passing it to Ro. He flipped over his palm, revealing the puncture wounds he’d given himself. “You try.”

Panic mixed with the thrill of the challenge and Ro again dropped the spiky ball to focus on his brother’s hand. Lucas set the ship on autopilot and turned in his seat to watch. “I just…” Ro frowned and waved his hand over the pulsing wounds on Re’s palm. “I just make them… not there anymore?”

“Yeah,” Re nodded, fingers twitching as his blood dripped to the floor. A too-broad grin hid his pain from his brother. But he couldn't hide it from Lucas, wave after wave flowing off him, crashing against his mind.

Re shrugged. “That’s how they got there in the first place, right?" He kicked at one of the spiked balls on the floor and the three watched it roll, color and size changing until it was a soft ball of fluff. “C’mon, Ro. It’s kinda starting to hurt,” he added, grin tugging at one side of his mouth even as he mimicked Ro’s earlier pout.

Brow furrowed, Ro stared down at Re’s hand. The cuts darkened, crusting over into scabs like a time lapse vidfeed.

“Nah, Ro Bro, you can do better than that.” Re’s eyes were wild, dancing between the puncture wounds—far deeper than those Ro had gotten—and his brother’s eyes. “Make it all go away.”

“I—I don’t…” He tried again, eyes closed as he cradled Re’s hand with both of his. The redness on the edges eased and the pained twitches in Re’s fingertips finally stopped. But the evidence of his injuries remained. Ro tried a while longer before collapsing back in his seat, panting. “I don’t think I can, Re. Yours are—”

Re grinned back at his brother and brandished his fully healed palm just as the proximity alert drew Lucas’ attention back to the transport’s controls. “Mine are all in my head, Ro Bro, just like yours were.”

Ro slumped in his chair, examining his own healed hand from every angle before saying quietly, "Show me more."

He'd remained subdued for most of the afternoon, studying each of Re’s Illusions and working to copy them, texture by texture, color for color. His frustration grew as his attempts to recreate Re’s flames fizzled out into red and orange dust and his metal spheres dissolved at the lightest touch.

“How the—” he groaned when the thorny vine he stretched between his hands softened into a winding daisy chain. Brittle jealousy crackled beneath a thin shell and he dropped the flowers. “How do you keep them like that?”

Re smiled, softer than Lucas expected, and he stooped to pick up Ro’s discarded creation. The flowers wound around his wrists and arms and he stroked the blossoms like a favored pet.

It was only then Lucas felt the envy simmering beneath both brother’s façades.

“It’s just all in my head,” he whispered and, avoiding the thorns, laid the flowers in Ro’s hands.

The Illusion bloomed, bright white flowers picking up an amber glow from the setting sun. Gentle tendrils snaked and stretched out between each of them, exploring their sleeves and winding between their fingers. Re shrugged, still looking at his brother. -”I can’t… not…”- he added, probably louder than he’d intended.

Lucas stepped closer. “Perhaps it’s time we—” Malice singed the air, the hot, suffocating rush of an engine’s blast. He pulled the brothers close and scanned the horizon. Ro saw them first.

-“There!”- he sent, moving his body between the encroaching shadow of the corporate transport and his brother.

Re watched them, eyes unfocused and fingers wiggling at his sides. Not with fear but… with anticipation. -”There’re only five of ‘em,”- He glanced back at Lucas, the same look in his eyes when he would ask Pat to make an extra batch of cookies. -”We can take ‘em.”-

That same jagged envy flashed in Ro’s heart but he nodded, looking over his shoulder, not at him but at Re. -”Let’s do it.”-

Warning lights strobed along the transport’s wings, the indistinct blare of the standard biohazard trespassing recording barely audible over the engines. They’d been spotted.

Lucas nodded. -”You two take their flanks, I’ll take center.”- The twins buzzed with excited energy and they exchanged a happy grin. Growing colts finally allowed to gallop. -”On my mark, boys… One. Two. Three… Go .”-

The Muse closed his eyes and let his hand move freely across the page, a swoop down and over, that little pointy turn, then another gently angling stroke back up. Fuzz on the edges, sharp lines with smooth expanses between.

He looked down at the page and smiled. Tiny strokes thickened the eyelashes, a smudge for the eyebrow shortened by a scar. Another for the negative space of glistening eyes.

Machina.

But the charcoal couldn’t capture the movement of his hair, the warmth that he knew just had to sit right beneath his skin. A few more lines gave him the right twitch in his jaw, though, and he darkened their matching scars.

Using the edge of his thumb, The Muse softened the tips of sketch-Machina’s hair, giving it a bit of blurriness. Better. When he blew away the charcoal dust, he imagined he even saw Machina’s hair sway with the sudden puff of air.

He didn’t need to imagine the thud of an arriving elevator. Someone’s coming!

Scrambling to his feet, The Muse ran to the door just in time to catch the moment the elevator doors opened, flooding the hall with light. Someone’s here, someone’s here! Wheels cast long shadows against the wall, gears turning, a bridge lowering to cross a chasm.

He came back.

Machina smiled as he rolled closer, that soft, warm look still in his eyes. Warmth and… relief? Really? Relief? “You’re back! You’re back, you’re back, you’re back! You really came back!”

His smile grew. “Yes.” It was relief. Machina looked relieved. “C—can you hear me this time?”

I can always hear you. When I imagine hard enough, I can always hear you. The memory of Machina’s real voice washed over him. Hesitancy lost, the rage and hurt and loneliness bouncing around in that raven-haired head rushing through his veins and poking into every cell, every corner of his mind. I always, always hear you.

That wasn’t what Machina meant, though. “I can hear you,” The Muse said aloud, nodding. “Well…” Imagining wasn’t nearly enough. There was a tiny second, half a breath, if he held it just long enough, that one short second when the loneliness retreated and he heard the relief, heard the emptiness fill, water rushing to fill the cavern. Then the shield went up again and they were cut off.

He needed more. “Not hear you, but…”

Machina’s hand was pressed so hard to the window, it looked like he thought he could reach right through it if he pushed hard enough. Maybe if they tried, if they both tried, they could squeeze past the molecules and reach each other. He’d read that old glass, like what was still in some of the windows upstairs, that it wasn’t really solid at all but a slow slow slow slow liquid. Together they could push through it like water and reach each other. If they held their breath long enough, maybe, they could break through.

It hadn’t worked when he’d tried with Ro. The window remained solid rock between them. Always always always something between them. He drew a line around Machina’s hand, the shape perfect. That bot had tried to break him but it couldn’t do it. Machina was too strong to stay broken.

Maybe he could be strong like that, too. He pushed against the window and, eyes closed, he felt Machina’s fingers threaded between his. Almost.

Almost. Maybe. Maybe?

The last time he’d been there, when they both had been awake, at least, Machina had looked ready to open the door. Maybe he still… “Do you…”

Machina looked back at him with blue, blue eyes. Something sad flashed across his face, a bit of his hurts leaking through. Maybe. Regret at coming down? Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. No more maybe. Ask.

He could say no. He might say no. He might say yes.

He should say no.

Ask anyway.

“Do you still want to come inside?” Please say yes.

He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say anything.

But his eyes sang.

The Muse clawed at the window when he lowered his hand. But Machina smiled and activated the door.

He held his breath, that hitch, that catch. Would the door unlock? Was it still the same controls for the floor and the door? Ro could get down and Ro could open the door if he wanted. If he didn’t care about getting hurt. Could Machina? Would the door open? Or would the panel stay dark and cold and—

The door slid open.

The Muse nearly fell out into the hall but caught himself and scampered back.

Machina didn’t move. “I need to leave my chair.”

Oh. Right. The room didn’t just fry Powers. It would fry whatever circuits were in his chair, stripping Machina of all his power, all his control. “Yeah…” Words stuck in his throat, tumbling, jammed between his heart and his lips. “You…” You can trust me. I’ll keep you safe.

Machina’s hand hovered over the controls. Please don’t leave yet. “You can stay out there if…”

“I'm coming in,” he announced, jaw steel and a glint in his eyes The Muse had only seen in his dreams. And then he was a blur, one moment sitting in his chair, the next sprawled on the floor, sharp ache spreading over his hip and his back where he’d landed.

“Machina!” The Muse didn’t think, he just moved and he rushed to Machina’s side and grabbed his hand.

Fire ripped through his joints, tearing and twisting the muscles in his hands, his arms, his legs. Metal tangled in his hair, yanking him in one direction, then the other. He heard the pop before he felt it and his screams bounced inside the tiny box when it crashed against the warehouse floor.

-”No, fuck! Sorry! I’m sorry, sorry sorry sorry…”- The Muse pulled their hands apart and pushed away, panting. Machina lay curled on the floor, ragged sobs muffled by his hoodie. “I’m sorry,” he forced past his own tears, trying and failing to keep his thoughts quiet. Glimmering gossamer thread wound between them, spider silk drawing them closer even as The Muse crawled back to his bed for a blanket.

Empty cavity inside, just like the center of his suit. A cavern to hold all that he’d become. All that was left of him, broken, half a man. Less than half a man, half a Powerless. Too weak to help, too weak to control his Powers. Too weak to do anything but hurt. Hurt himself, hurt The Muse, hurt Ro Bro, hurt Jannie…

Alone in his suit. Alone.

Alone in his chair. Alone.

Alone in his room. Alone alone alone. The big window looked out over the kudzu and blackberry slowly consuming the forest, a tiny rectangle to spot the elevator lights that meant a visitor.

Alone in the alley.

He hadn’t meant to hurt him, he just wanted him to stop. He just wanted to go back inside with the music and the dancing and Jannie’s little smile, head resting on Lucas’ shoulder.

Cold barbed wire wrapped around his throat and though his mouth moved, nothing came out. He gave up on speaking. -”In here it’s supposed to stop if we’re not touching…”- Hands shaking, he wrapped the blanket around Machina, tucking his bare hand close to his heart. He could still feel Machina’s warmth, but the bright electric buzz of his skin softened, sharp parts worn away, smooth between them with nothing to snag on.

-”You weren’t wrong to kill him.”-

Machina’s voice was clear in his mind, no static, no fuzzed mask of speech, the click of teeth and the slur of tongue and lips stifling words better left to thoughts. The Muse looked down, fire behind Machina’s eyes. -”You weren’t right but you weren’t wrong, either.”-

Bryan’s once-gentle hand at his hip tightened into a claw, dragging at his clothes. The Muse touched his face, sharing his fear and, boneless, Bryan dropped to the ground, a leaking trash bag softening his fall. A scream.

And then it was over. Hands sticky with blood and puke, he couldn’t find Lucas’ cozy calm anymore, couldn’t hear Jannie’s soft voice in his head. Everything boiled over into a laugh. Tears rained down on Bryan’s body and he looked up at Jannie.

The weft and weave of his blanket wasn’t sticky, but nubby and warm under his fingers. It smelled like vanilla and soap and dust. He followed the pattern with hands and eyes, up and down, down and up. This is now. It’s all real but this is now. Back pressed to the now-closed door, he sat cross-legged and cradled Machina in his lap. He was heavier than he thought he would be, muscle and bone and sinew. Strong. Stronger than he knew.

Alone. Alone. How do you atone when you’re alone? A gaping hole where everyone used to tie together, the ends frayed and hands empty.

Machina’s shoulders were hard and sharp beneath the blanket and he trembled, soaking the soft knit with his sobs. The Muse rocked him, rocked with him, and his own tears fell until they flowed together, wet and salty.

Not alone.

After a long, long time, Machina’s tears eased and he rubbed his cheek against the blanket between them. He shifted and Machina’s forehead was warm through his soaked shirt. The blanket still shielded his hands, cloth between them keeping the buzz of their connection soft and manageable.

The Muse hummed, an old song bouncing around his skull. Machina’s head bobbed to the rhythm and they both laughed.

-”Better?”- he asked and Machina met his eyes again, nodding slowly.

The Muse loosened his hold, ready to release him, but Machina curled closer and bit the blanket, shaking his head.

-”I need more.”-

He didn’t know which of them said it. Both, maybe. Machina’s bare hand slipped past the blanket and cupped his jaw.

The walls drew closer, tighter, wrapping around them until they were caged between them, only big enough to reach out and graze either side with their fingertips. Heads stooped under the low ceiling, they curled together, fire-warm, accepting the blisters and the char and the smoke as the cost of filling the void in their chests.

The spider silk grew, woven between them now in rope-thick strands.

Rougher now, the rope tangled around neck and wrists, binding them together.

-”Can’t breathe,”- they whispered and pulled each other closer.

Their throat hurt. Fire spread, scalding, and screams buffeted their ears. Hands tangled in hair, pulling closer, closer, closer, closer.

Tang of copper in their mouth, sticky bubbles instead of screams.

The Muse pushed to his feet, wet bundle in his arms. He stumbled and fell against the wall, the door panel cool against his cheek. He pried Machina’s hand from his hair and pressed it against the panel. The door slid open.

His lips brushed against the scarred palm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and punched in his distress code, praying wishing hoping dreaming it still worked.

Green lights flooded the hallway and the alarm drowned out their relieved sob.

Still holding Machina close, he pushed out into the hall. Feet tangled on the edge of his blanket. Falling. He twisted just in time to land on his back and shield Machina from the impact as the walls around them dissolved and the world beyond HQ poured in.

Miles away, skin slick with sweat, lovers twisted together, mouths open in deafening silent cries of ecstasy.

A knife plunged into soft flesh, a final scream tearing through all three of their throats.

Lungs burning, hot sticky tar seeping through worn soles, runners dodged feral cats the size of air cars.

Choking smoke filled the air, acrid, sour, too thick to see, too thick to move through.

Thorny vines snaked down the hall, curling over their fallen form and The Muse covered Machina’s face with the blanket, hiding him from the spiky green tendrils.

-” Jannie! Jannie, please… Help him… ”-

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