Mm. It took me a moment, too. [ A beat. ] There was a time that I was outside trying to get to you, too. But it was me, right? I was... I was there, because of the scars.
[ He will, actually. No shame. It's safe, and he finds it easy to drift off, exhausted from everything. He'll sleep fine for a few hours, but as he falls deeper, he gets restless, twitching. ]
[ It doesn't matter much - it isn't going to take very long for both of them to be up.
He's awake, he thinks, staring up at the ceiling. It isn't the house with the hatch. It's the room, the big, empty, dirty room. There are people all around him, and he doesn't need to look twice to know they're dead, twisted and broken and staring up at the ceiling just like him. And he - can't move, he can't speak, everything hurts and he tastes blood. Blood, dripping down from his lips, from the ruined stump of his tongue and he chokes on it, trying to roll over on his side.
Royce can't. Nothing responds. The blood spills down from his mouth and pools around him, soaking his hair and his clothing, and all he can do is try to scrabble at the floor with the ruined remains of his hands, broken and bleeding, bones snapped and jutting out scraping painfully across the cement floor. All he can do is watch the static figures come for him.
No, no, no - it comes out in real life, quiet, desperate, as Royce starts to thrash, shoving at Alfie, at the blankets, get him out, get him away, please -- ]
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And I know how to do it. [ Or at least, he did in that alternate timeline. ]
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I wouldn't've stayed broken forever.
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And I didn't, so it's fine. I just worried.
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Yeah.
When you brought it up just now, I had to take a moment to remember whether or not you'd actually done it, that time.
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Mm. It took me a moment, too. [ A beat. ] There was a time that I was outside trying to get to you, too. But it was me, right? I was... I was there, because of the scars.
[ He swallows hard. ]
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[He touches Royce's fingers.]
Yeah, it was you.
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[He squeezes those fingers.]
They'll find new ways to torture us. They won't rehash the old ones.
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I'd take boring, after this. I'd take retirement.
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I don't know what I'm going to do if we ever get out of here.
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[Talking about this sort of thing is both easy and difficult all at once, considering he doesn't believe it'll ever actually happen.]
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[ He doesn't think it'll happen either. He's pretty sure they're going to die here. ]
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[ It doesn't matter. They're not leaving here, but. Royce is quiet for a while. ]
We're staying here for today, right? We decided on that.
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[He agrees, resting his hand on the back of Royce's head. He can sleep like that if he wants, with his head buried in Alfie's chest.]
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cw: past torture, finger mutilation, tongue mutilation, gore
He's awake, he thinks, staring up at the ceiling. It isn't the house with the hatch. It's the room, the big, empty, dirty room. There are people all around him, and he doesn't need to look twice to know they're dead, twisted and broken and staring up at the ceiling just like him. And he - can't move, he can't speak, everything hurts and he tastes blood. Blood, dripping down from his lips, from the ruined stump of his tongue and he chokes on it, trying to roll over on his side.
Royce can't. Nothing responds. The blood spills down from his mouth and pools around him, soaking his hair and his clothing, and all he can do is try to scrabble at the floor with the ruined remains of his hands, broken and bleeding, bones snapped and jutting out scraping painfully across the cement floor. All he can do is watch the static figures come for him.
No, no, no - it comes out in real life, quiet, desperate, as Royce starts to thrash, shoving at Alfie, at the blankets, get him out, get him away, please -- ]
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