Chapter Text
He doesn't know how long it's been. For all he knows, he could've been here for only a few minutes, or it could've been hours.
He is exhausted, even more than he was after the grand showdown against The Dark Lord. Though, unlike now, he had his powers back then. He could heal fast, faster than a regular stick could, his injuries starting to stitch themselves back together before he could even treat them.
The lack of their presence makes itself very obvious, now. A deep ache has settled in his body, every movement making his joints creak uncomfortably. His head pounds, making him want to dig his claws into the flesh to soothe the pain. He shivers nonstop, whether from weakness or cold, he isn't sure.
He feels pathetic, to sum it up.
He — perhaps selfishly — had hoped that he would pass out at some point, but apparently even that was too much to ask for. He feels like he can't afford to sleep, not right now, not when there is still danger, not when Orange and Yellow are still in Rocket Corp. captivity. He wants to fix his mistakes, to do something right for once.
But what use is he, broken and weak? Wouldn't he just drag them down at this point?
Is it not what he'd already been doing?
Maybe it is better if he stands back. Stands down. So he doesn't make everything worse.
(How worse could it get, though?)
Something nudges his leg. He remains still.
"Get up."
Right. The mercenary was still here.
He clings to the hope that if he pretends to be unconscious long enough, he will leave him alone.
"I know you're awake. Do not try to fool me."
Oh, screw this. He raises his head to face Agent, who is standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest with a look of annoyance on his face that his glasses don't quite hide. He shoots the merc a dead stare that he believes conveys what is going through his head right now.
Agent levels his gaze with one of his own. "You should leave."
...
What?
He raises an eyebrow, but moves to get up anyway, because trying to talk with someone while sitting curled up on the ground is difficult. His knees quiver slightly, but he manages to stand upright.
God, he hurts all over.
Agent seems to pick up on his wariness. "I don't know for how long he will be there," he says, motioning towards the skygrid with a tilt of his head, "but if he sees you here instead of at the bottom of the sea, then I have a right to believe that he will kill you for good."
That only helps confuse him more. Is he really letting him go, just like that?
It isn't a show of mercy, that much he knows. It is not mercy after the damage is done.
If anything, it has to be pity.
Agent seems to get frustrated the longer he remains unresponsive. "Just... go, okay? I could've left you to drown, and I could still kill you if I wanted. So take the chance while you can."
And that is where it gets confusing. He doesn't understand why he doesn't want him dead. And he wants to ask, but he also doesn't want to waste the precious chance he has. He has so many questions swirling in his head, but now isn't the time to ask them, nor do they matter at the moment.
Agent ends up helping him up the cliff with his hover bike, briefly tying his lasso tool around his wrists for precaution. It almost makes him doubt Agent's words for a second, and he considers attempting to push him off the vehicle, but ends up deciding against it, as it wouldn't accomplish him anything.
Once he is off the hover bike, Agent taps something on his taskbar, and his wrists come free, hands falling limp by his sides. He glances back at the mercenary uncertainly, as if he would suddenly change his mind and decide to pounce on him.
"Go," he says instead. "Don't cross paths with us ever again."
He looks for any hint of something that could imply he's toying with him. When he finds none, he turns on his heels, and takes off into the forest.
-
He keeps running.
He isn't sure why he's running. He's too far away from the bay to be noticed, and the foliage hides him well from the top.
Slowing down now feels too risky, though. He feels like as soon as he stops running his legs will give out and he won't be able to even walk, out in the open in the wilderness to all kinds of danger. So he keeps running, slamming into trees and diving into bushes along the way, until he can't anymore.
He slows down to a jog, then to a quick walk, eventually falling down to one knee, heaving, body screaming for him to rest. However the sky is getting dark, and although he can blend into the night environment well, he still prefers to find a relatively safe shelter to spend the night.
He didn't have a place in mind to go when he left the bay. Rocket Corp. is too far away for him to camp near it, plus he doesn't want to risk his chances with coming across the gray stick or his sidekicks again. He hates the thought leaving Orange and Yellow there — it was never their fault that they got involved in the first place. Now they are by themselves, and he hates himself for it.
He hates himself for a lot of things, actually. But self-hatred has never helped anybody, so there's no point dwelling on it.
A quick break, and he is up on his feet again. He can see the bright lights of the city illuminating the night sky ahead, which he assumes to be not too far away.
He keeps walking until he finds himself in the city. At this point, the few things he can see in the dim lights of the street lamps look smudged like a messy acrylic painting, details hindered by his faltering vision. The neighborhood looks familiar, giving him the feeling that he's been here before, so he decides to take a walk in the streets to find a suitable place to lay low.
It takes him a while but he realizes that yes, he has been here before. And fortunately it's the place where the only person that could accept him lives in — hopefully, that is.
He walks down the road, eyes roaming around for that one familiar house. He hopes that it's in recognizable shape, otherwise, he doubts that he can tell apart the house from the others with how blurry his vision is. He remembers it to be smaller than any of the buildings nearby, but that's just about it.
He glances right as he continues walking, eyes running over the few houses by the road. None of them look familiar, he discerns with a feeling of helplessness.
He's so close to just finding a trash bin and passing the night in it. Unhygienic and risky as it was, he is getting desperate. He's gone a long way, but he doesn't believe he can keep this pace up much longer. It was only sheer willpower that kept him awake and alert until now, and he can feel that it's wearing thin.
He looks to the left, and pauses in place as a particular building by the corner catches his eye. He squints a bit to see clearer, and sure enough, it seems to be exactly what he is looking for.
He quickens his strides, careful not to trip and fall over. He's actually surprised that he's lasted this long.
He takes a moment in front of the building to make sure it's actually the right house. He climbs the few steps and leans his weight against the door, taking a moment to breathe before starting to bang a fist against the door. Maybe he's being louder than necessary, especially at a late hour like this, but all he can do is hope that none of the neighbors decide to look outside to see where the noise is coming from.
Please be home, he pleads, desperate. He hadn't seen if the lights were on when he was rushing to get to here, so he hopes that it was only because it had escaped his eye. All the energy has drained out from him, and despite the already dark surroundings, he can notice that his vision is starting to fade out.
A light shines above him that blinds his vision for a moment. The door creaks open and relief floods him just as his legs finally give out. The last thing he hears as he collapses to the floor is a shocked exclamation of what used to be his name.