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