Chapter Text
-x-
They have no idea when they have slept (lost consciousness), nor do they know at what time they have woken up. The world spins, the colors mix and melt like lava around them. A heaviness made itself known in their body, limbs sprayed like a starfish over the cold floor. The edges of their sweater and hems of shorts were damp from whatever water had seeped into their clothes—they did not get the chance to lay somewhere more dry.
An odd but familiar feeling was all over their being and what made them who they were. It made the world seem funny, made things seem more vibrant. It made their emotions hard to control, made it worse when they were upset.
It crushed them down harder and harder into the floor by the chest, squeezing over their lungs as despair began to climb more and more.
Of all times this had to happen. They think it made sense. Their mind kept on repeating to them what had happened, how they felt, and what they had been told.
It couldn't be lies. If you were alive and well, then their owner would have been taken by the cops already. If it was murder with no witnesses other than Roxanne, then it might become a bit harder to locate who had done it, right?
But that didn't make sense either, did it? Roxanne knows. She could tell everyone it was their owner's fault—the cops would search their ID therefore finding his and then finding their location.
If it was murder, then their owner would have been taken a while ago, right?
But, if you were alive, you would have told about him, wouldn't you? They knew for a fact you wouldn't let him get away with hurting you like he had. They are sure.
Nothing seemed to add, and it was only making them confused and more stressed. Their state of mind, so horribly vulnerable, made it hard trying to put two and two together.
Then again, what is there to put? They didn't get to check on you, weren't able to see if your heart was still beating. They just ran and ran and ran.
A thought crossed their mind. Roxanne. What if something happened to her? Is that why no one has yet to come and arrest the barbaric man?
How many people did they take down with them in this whole mess? And for what?
Didn't matter—their mind couldn't comprehend any more of this. It already felt like it was running slow, as if every thought was treading through mud. It's hard to contain their emotions in that small state of mind and they hated it. Their emotions are too big to handle like this.
And it made it worse. It made the same and familiar and wretched dissociation come back again. They are unsure who is out because they didn't bother thinking too deeply about it when their thoughts were stowed around. The light is blinding and their stomach aches with hunger.
They roll and roll. They curl up to get more body heat and warm up, then, they sit up when their bones start to hurt, when whatever skin that made contact with the floor has started to burn.
They're out of this pained body. They're out of this universe, of this dimension. They are not here if they are this distant—time will hurt less as it moved if they were in a space where time isn't real. It is when they close and open their eyes and realize so much has gone by, when the pain is numbed to hurt less.
They are inside a bubble that is fragile, frail, and yet still thrives. They are vulnerable as everything felt like molasses was sticking to their skin, keeping them down. The bubble is colorful—it doesn't hide how awful everything is, but it splashes it with an odor that makes it tolerable.
Time goes on. They cry one time and then doze off the next. They mutter to themselves and then go quiet as the silence stretches on. Hunger gnawed on them, their body restless yet exhausted.
Mr. Goose is a good companion. They pet his flower crown, run a finger over his orange beak, and kiss the white fluff of his 'feathers'. They tell him small snippets of stories, small things to remember that they would find quite silly. They tell him little facts about geese, whatever they have learned when they search the internet. He's a good listener, but he doesn't talk back, so it was a one-sided conversation.
That is fine. Not because he cannot talk means they can't entertain him with speech of their own.
They switch between each other. The minutes are slow. Time stretches their mind to a numb haze until hunger doesn't seem that gnawing.
They shifted from one place to another, but they kept in the same spot—it had become warmer, and they couldn't handle moving to a different corner that would be cold.
The night goes by, the sun rises in the skies to blind them further, but it is a bit warmer once afternoon hits. There is a distant noise of howling coyotes and chirping birds.
It is so cold.
-x-
They drift, their breaths fast. They hated how sleep felt these days—the time here when their mind felt like it did not want to process what happened. They sleep because they think they might just wake up from this or, perhaps, to quicken the process of something else happening.
There is a click. A latch opened.
Footfalls were heavy upon the ground. A shadow falls over their form.
The cold water that splashed over them was jarring—it drove deep into their bones underneath their skin to steal whatever warmth they had sustained. It shocks them to their core and Moon flinches violently to the waking realm.
The noise that escaped the starved being was like that of a dying animal, a pained whimper as his body flung itself somewhere away from the source of freezing pain. His hair was wet over his scalp which made a headache begin to bounce in. The jacket they had on was heavy with water and clung to their being.
His teeth smack together as he glances upward in shock and fear, their mind still foggy and body starving.
Their owner's face is blurred. They couldn't see it well. In his hand was a bucket that clattered when he righted it.
Freezing water dripped down their face, their body, and to the ground underneath them. The spot that had been warm completely vanquished. Moon violently shakes and trembles, a sob stuck in his throat as his body feels frozen on the spot, physically unable to move it where they had sat on their knees. His cold-blooded body struggled against the seeping ice.
And then, something warm that made his muscles tense and his arms hug him tighter. In a futile attempt to stop the inevitable, Moon tried to curl into himself tighter, draw his legs closer, but it did nothing. Nothing in their body felt like it was responding to his commands, his fingers pale and slow and twitchy as his body refused to move much from where it had curled into itself. Their bladder did not either, much to the shame that made them shake harder.
Their owner is speaking, they think, but they don't pay him any mind. An ugly sob forced its way out of them full of despair and shame, and it further made it harder to make the muscles respond again.
The barbaric man leaves, and Moon is glad. The liquid that stained the water underneath them would have been visible had he stayed to watch any longer.
Moon cries in despair as his body completely freezes, refusing to move an inch. His face was becoming irritated as the cold burned bicolored skin—every drop was like wax down their jaw. Moon was not one for cold exactly like how Sun doesn't like hot places. His cold body would make it fatal if he were to stay in a freezing area for too long with nothing to keep warm.
He would die if he stayed out in the open, his body becoming more and more unresponsive to his command to move. It shook like a leaf in a storm till he felt his bones rattle.
Their mind knew. It began to pull Moon from the front as he began to feel like an ice cube. The process is slow but urgent, it pained them somehow. Their body went into shock at the feeling of coldness that hugged them tight like an old friend. Moon lets out a debilitated cry of sorrow, a small apology for having to leave his counterpart so early.
It felt almost relieving to be pushed back into their mind, into their headspace where they could pretend to be safe, but it didn't this time. It felt like hot water was splashed on him when he was not in control. Hot water over his freezing limbs made the pain feel worse, and Moon squeezed through the negative thoughts to be closer to the front, to feel and hear and see more, to be there for Sun even from far away.
Their body switched, the change doing little to keep them warm but it made it so they had more time to find a way to survive. Sun is shocked at the feeling as a silent gasp escapes him, his legs moving sluggishly as he tries to move. To, somehow someway, find a way to keep warm.
Sun's hair was a dark color as water dripped on their face, cold and made him flinch every time. Their rays felt like they were bruised as they pressed against their head in a way to seek warmth—the sensitive appendages burning with pain that made it feel as if each and every one of them was being torn apart.
The blond cries and sobs—his body might have been warmer than Moon's, but it was freezing and their temperature dropping alarmingly fast. His body was becoming less and less able to keep strength the more he stayed cold and getting colder like this. His breaths were coming in slower and slower by the second, fogging in front of him as the realization sunk in—when he looked around and found nothing that he could possibly shelter under.
The warmth that had dripped down their legs had turned into a stinging cold, the gross feeling of it is what is preventing Sun from giving up and just laying there shivering like how his body is urging him to.
"W-Why d-did he d-do that?" He asked no one in particular, his mind unable to find a reason behind it. Sun couldn't understand how people think sometimes, especially those who are cruel and abusive. Do they just wake up in the morning and decide to hurt someone? When they go to bed, do they remember those they have hurt? Would they feel guilty or enthusiastic? "I-I don't u-understand."
They have learned from movies, and furthermore from their studies, that if they were wet in a dangerously cold place then they would die on the spot. Those survival instructions and games and movies had said to take the wet clothes off and start a fire somehow—keeping the soaking wet garment is a death sentence.
Was their owner trying to kill them this way? Does he even know they can die because of this? They don't think so... otherwise he would have stayed to watch, wouldn't he?
Their body had gone from shaking to straight out vibrating, their jaw clenched tight as their teeth rattled. They didn't want to die of hypothermia, didn't want to freeze to death. Would it hurt? It already hurt how their skin felt on fire and yet so cold, how their muscles felt tense and torn, and how their scalp ached under the wetness of their hair.
No more tears escaped them, Sun wasn't sure why despite the fact he was terrified of what would happen next the longer he stayed seated in frozen pain. Their jaw was burning with a deep ache as they clenched it harder and harder.
Sun kept on mumbling things under his breath, all of which sounded like gibberish. The clacking of sharp teeth and tense muscles made it almost impossible to speak.
For a moment, Sun entertained the idea of just sitting there, trying to restore his body heat, but he knew that wouldn't happen. If he stayed like this, he would die.
It pained them to move, but Sun pushed further, moved his arms farther. They were slow, so slow, as the muscles struggled and their bones ached, but they still moved. The blond makes a sluggish work on taking their jacket first—it's heavily soaked and made a sad sound when they shrugged it off. It fell in a heap on the floor.
The red sweater they had underneath wasn't wet, at least not like the jacket was, but it was still a little damp in places. Sun decided to keep it on.
Even with the heavy jacket off their shoulders, Sun was still agonizingly slow. They took the hem of their shorts, the soft fur lining it was frozen like that of a dead animal's hair, and slid it down their legs. The coldness of it touching their legs, the areas that weren't wet, made them flinch. For a second, they debated leaving their undergarments as well, more for the feeling of safety than warmth, but decided against it. It should dry fast, they reasoned in an effort to calm themselves—though, they knew, deep down, it would take a bit too long for it to dry in this weather.
Mourning every move, Sun slipped the last piece down his legs and threw it with the rest of the clothes. They scooted a little further from the water that was beginning to seep away into the drain, trying to find a dry spot.
The thigh-length warmer they had on their organic leg was dry enough and so were their boots. They dragged their sweater till it stretched past their thighs the best it could, hiding themselves in shame.
Sun didn't want their owner to see them naked—or anyone, for that matter, especially in this vulnerable state. If their owner saw, he would punish them for wetting themselves like an animal with UTI. Or he might—
Sun's breath hitched in his throat.
What if seeing them in this state of undress made him want to continue what he couldn't get done last time? Want to run his dirty fingers over them... what would he do further than that? Would he take a step closer to what Sun feared he would do? Were there any other motives behind it?
Sun didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about what could have happened last time they escaped from him nor what he might do after he sees them. They knew he was addicted to watching things he shouldn't, and that made their fears boil within them like a caged animal.
Nausea made itself known. Fear gripped them by the throat.
Grabbing their backpack, Sun hugged it against his legs like a barrier, to keep warm and keep them hidden. Moon's nightcap's bell rang miserably and softly behind their back where it hung from their neck, the material wet at the rim. Mr. Goose sat hidden behind the toilet far from their reach in their frozen state, but Sun still fought to move to it—moving made everything feel better yet so aching, and he knew staying still could make things much worse.
They were glad for the little bit of clarity, and they weren't surprised—but disappointed—when they felt said clarity begin to seep away. They saw it coming a mile away, and they were glad they had gotten all their wet clothes off and everything in place before the staticky blanket wrapped their mind up.
They didn't want to feel vulnerable, but the mushed-up state offered a tiny bit of comfort. It offered a little bit of oblivion. A little bit of false hope. When their mind regressed, it became open to clinging to hope no matter how distinguished it was.
And they were tired. The shaking of their frail body was getting less and less as they warmed up the slightest bit, but they weren't near warm enough to stop hugging themselves so tight. The goose squished against their chest was warming up and therefore warming them—it warmed up faster than they would anticipate, but Sun would believe the material made it so it was comforting and soft, therefore absorb heat and radiate it easily.
Tears breached near their eyes but no farther. They think their body deemed crying at the moment to be less important as it focused on warming up again. They just felt exhausted.
Sun felt far too weak to deal with all of this, his mind far too sluggish in its odd thoughts. Regression settled in, and then came dissociation. It never was a good mix, and it always creeped them out when their mind believed it was far younger than it actually was while also having trouble identifying their surroundings, but now they didn't care. If oblivion made the cold at least a tiny bit manageable, then he will take it.
A shaky breath left them. They think they got a bit warmer, but they aren't sure if it was just a hallucination. Do people hallucinate when freezing? When hungry? When they are about to faint? When full of grief?
Sun didn't want to sleep in fear he might not wake up, but his body was too tired to care. He mumbled shaky words and phrases under his breath, talking to Moon perhaps, or maybe himself, or the goose. It didn't matter. He just found comfort in it. Comfort to hear his own voice to fill the silence, to try and reassure himself and his counterpart that they are still here—they are awake and able to talk. To vent a sort of sad things of words that tumbled out of their trembling lips. They kiss the forehead of the goose as if to reassure it as well.
They aren't sure why they keep lying to themselves about it. Why the fake comfort and false hope keep on sticking to them. It just didn't feel real, and a small part of them clung to the prospect that all of this was a nightmare and nothing else.
Denial is a funny thing. They wish it a good night. Let it dream and sleep a little more. It is saving them from straight on banging their head on the wall because of the overwhelming noise inside their head.
That part, though delusional, might be one of the only reasons why they haven't gone a bit crazy from all of this—from the years upon years of this.
Both a curse and a blessing, maybe.
Sun honestly just wanted to go back to sleep... he whispered reassurance to Moon who was still heavily draped in shame.
It was not his fault. It never was.