Chapter Text
Itch. Itching. Itch it. Itch it now. Itching feeling. It was crawling up his body, he needed to turn back. The cold biting at his skin like it was clawing him back. He needed to return, needed to run back to their arms.
He couldn't go back. He wanted to, so badly it felt like he was dying. Medkit stood in Crossroads, it was cold. It was snowing, just like Blackrock. It was always snowing, the thought always lingered in his mind.
He needed to go back, he tore himself away from Blackrock. He should have never left, he deserved to be there. No he didn't, yes he did. Medkit constantly struggled with the thought of going back, he misses his work. He missed inventing, he missed Subspace even if the thought made his body feel wrong.
It had been over ten years since he's been on the run, nearly eleven. They were still looking for him, he hated it. It was a constant reminder, Blackrock wanted him back. Medkit knew they'd dispose of him, ruin him, just like last time. They'd kill him for what he knew, he'd never spoken a word of Blackrock's secrets.
He should have told everyone, spread it like wildfire but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to speak a single word, the most he would say is Blackrock wasn't good for him. Wasn't good to him, so he ran.
It was a story most would buy, some would look at him funny. They wouldn't push, don't dare to. Medkit was happy about it, maybe a bit sad. Angry, upset, irritated, stressed. He needed to let it out, yet he didn't.
For ten straight years he has been hiding the burden of what Blackrock had done to him. The years of torture, the way he glorified Blackrock. Subspace, Medkit missed him. He missed him a lot.
Medkit was a pawn, cherry picked to better Subspace, he knew that. So why did he want to return to him so badly? It was like a drug, maybe the poison from the phights were getting to him.
Subspace had ruined him, it wasn't his fault though. Right? Surely it hadn't been, it was how he was raised. He was also picked, enabled, made to be this way. It was like a lab experiment, for the both of them.
Days back then Medkit would yearn for his mentor, his mother figure. But now he yearned for Blackrock, why? He had spent years tormented, why had he escaped if now he wanted to go back. Medkit wanted to run back into their arms, hoping they'd forgive him after years of searching for him.
Medkit stared into the cold, the snow clung on his skin. He was hardly dressed for the weather, not a single fur in sight, clothes too thin for the weather. It reminded him of when he escaped, the day he ran for hopes of a better life. Uniform only on his back as he ran through miles of snow.
The air was cold, stinging, unforgiving. Even now his left eye ached, a dull pain pricking at it. His eyepatch hid the ugly scar beneath it, he was ugly. He was scarred, in more ways than one. In more ways physically than he revealed. In more ways mentally that he dared to show.
Medkit never dressed in anything other than long sleeves, even in the hottest temperatures Crossroads had ever seen. He was a man of respect, never showing any skin aside from face. He was a man right?
He was a man, brave for escaping. Right? He was a man, his parts said otherwise. Even with hair growing on his face, scars from past surgeries. A line down his stomach, a horribly ugly scar across his body. He was a man, marked on all charts, he was a male.
He didn't feel like it, he wasn't like everyone else. He was deformed, disfigured. Deformed, everything about him wasn't right. His brain, his body, his DNA.
Pale skin and pale horns proved it, his entire existence wasn't normal. It couldn't be, he was surely ruined when spawning, had to be.
Maybe he was overthinking, plenty of demons are born different. He did not view them any differently, so why did he view himself different? It was strange, why couldn't he see himself like other people.
He wasn't as good as other people. Wasn't good enough. He needed to be perfect, only then would he be able to accept any affection. Any form of friendliness, he needed to be viewed as a perfect person.
He needed… he didn't know what he needed. Medkit needed to survive, he needed to eat. When was the last time he ate, what did he eat? He reached up, touching his face. Scratching, he felt itchy.
Medkit felt numb, he'd been out in the snow for too long. He needed to get warm, otherwise he'd freeze to death.
He looked around, he looked out of place, felt out of place. His only eye dragged along Crossroads. He was in the middle of it, the road to Blackrock so close. If he really wanted to he could go back, if he really wanted to.
He really wanted to, so why couldn't he go back. Why did he find himself planted to the ground, like he was a flower? Flowers in winter are destined to die. In Blackrock it was always winter.
A voice spoke up from behind him, authorities and commanding attention. He knew who it was, the warden. One he's seen a thousand times in phights, around Crossroads too. He was supposed to be hunting Medkit, but he hadn't been.
Pity. It had to be pity, it had to be. No one could like Medkit, he had no personality, no real one. He mirrored people, copied them so he wouldn't make them upset. He was so used to it he barely had time to explore his own personality.
Medkit was barely a functioning person, barely a person at all. He felt like a husk, numb and ill like he should be dead. Maybe if he killed himself he'd be happier.
He couldn't even register the other demon's words, the voice commanded attention but he had no attention give. He was blurry, dizzy, he felt sick. Vomit, he was going to vomit, he needed to vomit.