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rex splode: the playlist

track 23: is the earth coloured red?

summary: As you learn what happened to your friends, unwanted memories resurface.

rex splode x female reader warnings and tags: mdni, 18+, self-indulgent, canon divergence, kinda slow burn-ish in reverse?, angst, hurt/some comfort, medical trauma, PTSD flashbacks, Rex’s backstory [atom eve & rex splode comics spoilers], don’t think about past events timeline too much word count: 7659

maddie's scribbles: this is the longest chapter so far. i usually try to steer away from this kind of length, because i just think it's easier to read (and write) more and shorter chapters. but i'm also getting much more comfortable with writing in general, and it just came easily to me, to my surprise. so i guess, more longer chapters incoming!

Track 22

The playlist

The trip to the hospital wing took less than a second, yet it dragged as if you were floundering in thick mud, everything around you a painful static. You’d have thought you were dead if not for Cecil’s tight hold on your arm tethering you to the living world. When the linoleum floor materializes under your feet, you gasp, all air knocked out of your lungs.

The corridor’s frantic, nurses and doctors running from one room to another, shouting orders to each other. It feels like a war zone, blood painting the walls and scrubs on the medical staff’s tired bodies. You don’t know where to look, everything seemingly important, trying to find clues to what the hell happened at that military base.

And when you see it—you collapse to your knees, tears instantly spilling from your eyes uncontrollably. A broken sob tears out of your throat, your vision getting blurry but your sight stays glued to the bloodied red and yellow sleeve hanging from a tall basket’s edge.

You feel someone’s hand on your shoulder, then under your armpit, pulling you up. Pushing the hand away, you take slow, wobbly steps in the direction of the bin, holding your breath.

Rex’s suit is awfully torn in the front and back, contrasting with a sharp line down the middle of the garment being cut off for surgery. With a trembling hand, you pick it up, only to find another, familiar shade underneath. You whine and squeeze your eyes shut, letting the tears fall down your face.

Rae’s suit is cut clean, but the green color is completely gone, the fabric drenched in blood pooling low on the basket’s bottom. Assessing the amount of it, a cold sweat rocks your body, and all you can do is shake your head, mumbling quietly under your nose.

“Why the fuck is that here?!” Cecil screams, pulling you away from the bin. “Take that away. Now!”

A nurse quietly runs up to the basket, wheeling it away to a room at the end of the corridor. You stand there, stuck to the floor, following the trail of blood left behind the rushed steps of the nurse.

“Banter, hey. Banter, look at me.” Cecil steps in front of you, shaking you vigorously by your shoulders. With your shallow breaths, heart running a marathon, you can barely stand on your feet, let alone move your eyes away from the crimson marks left on the floor. But you find the power within and peer at the older man, his brows knitted permanently over his tired blue eyes.

“What happened?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and you prepare yourself for the worst; this line of work is not known for living up to retirement.

“Rex and Rae are being operated on as we speak. They are alive, you hear me?”

“And… Kate?” You gulp, your chin trembling so hard you have trouble properly articulating words.

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, huffing through his nose.

“She didn’t make it.”

When the sad truth is revealed, Cecil’s observing you heavily, bracing for your incoming breakdown. But that doesn’t happen. You suffer in silence, your gut twisting painfully, the pizza and the garlic knots you’ve been snacking on the entire evening—

You shove Cecil away at the last second, retching and vomiting on your slippers. Falling down to all fours, you continue emptying your stomach until there’s nothing else to come out, acid cutting sharp through your throat.

Before you know it, two young residents are picking you up, barking commands to one another. But it’s all a blur, the sounds muffled and silenced by deafening ringing in your ears.

As you’re dragged away to a nearby room, you’re too weak to fight the doctors off. Even though your vision is still blurry, you notice Cecil on the floor, massaging the back of his head. You realize you don’t remember touching him, feeling his stiff, slender body under your fingers when you pushed him away. The familiar buzzing in your fingertips awakens slowly; the hole you’ve been feeling in your body being filled up.

A nurse comes in and helps you into the hospital bed, taking you out from your thoughts; your whole body limp like a ragdoll. The harsh, fluorescent light is too bright for your liking. You can barely feel the sting of a needle poking your arm, fighting the urge to let go and fall into Morpheus’ embrace. You promise yourself you’re not gonna doze off; you have to see Rex, finding it hard to trust Cecil on this matter.

Thankfully, as if you willed him into being, the Director comes into the room, hands in his pockets, a stern look on his face. You sit up and rub your eyes hoping to see a little clearer; the IV drip helping with that.

“Hell of a shove,” Cecil comments, his tone calm and measured. “When did you regain your powers, exactly?”

You straighten immediately, your whole body going rigid.

“What—How—”

“Did you really think,” he leans in with a knowing smirk, “that you could hide it from me?”

Your brows knit tightly above your eyes, staring at the man with a murderous gaze.

“Am I not allowed an ounce of privacy?” You mutter through clenched teeth, more angry than embarrassed at being caught redhanded.

“Not when it comes to something so crucial like your abilities.”

You scoff and lie down, crossing your arms over your chest. The longer you’re hooked to the IV, the better you feel, so after a moment of tense silence you swing your legs over the bed and grab the drip stand. You walk to the door, wheeling it along; Cecil quietly following you with his eyes burning into your back. When you reach the entrance, you rest a hand on the doorframe and stand there, waiting.

“Show me to Rex.” After a while you look over your shoulder at Cecil still by the bedside, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Then, he turns to you, his features a tad softer than before.

“He was just wheeled into the OR, I don’t think you’d want to see him in this—”

“Now, Cecil.” Your voice is sharp like a dagger, cutting through the thick atmosphere between you and the old man.

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

“I’m not going to repeat myself. You fucking owe me,” you add, when there’s still no reply from him.

Cecil pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly with eyes closed.

“Fine.” He leads you out and waves for a nurse to take you there, excusing himself on ‘sorting this fucking mess’.

Which is most likely both a lie and true. Whatever it is, you don’t blame him — watching another person being operated on is not for the weak. Especially, if it’s someone who you have known for years. Even someone like Cecil’s gotta have an ounce of empathy in them. Right?

The walk to the operating theater—or rather its modern equivalent—is quiet. And it’s not like you really need someone to walk you there; you know this place by heart from all the time you’ve spent here. The nurse puts her hand on your shoulder just before you reach the preview window, slowing you down. You glance at her, then at her name tag—Cynthia.

“It’s going to be a tough watch,” she says in that trained, soft voice. “Open skull surgeries—”

You take a step back, then another, your eyes widened to the maximum.

“Wait—Rex is getting brain surgery?!”

Cynthia closes her eyes and sighs gently before gazing back at you.

“I’m sorry. I thought they'd told you already.”

“What happened?” You don’t look at her, you can’t. Instead, you chew on the inside of your cheek, so much so you draw blood, the heavy taste of iron filling your mouth.

“He’s been shot to the head.”

You know that’s not everything, so you hold your breath, bracing for impact.

“And… he lost his left hand.”

Your voice comes small, raspy, when you ask, “How?”

“It’s… It’s been bitten off.”

The moment you hear it, you hide your face in your hand, shaking your head. Bitten off? What is this, Alien? You want to ask more questions, but then again, she probably doesn’t know much more.

“Thank you, Cynthia,” you don’t look back at her, hiding your trembling chin. “You can go, I’ll manage. I’m sure you have plenty of work to do.”

“Of course.”

Only a few more steps separate you from seeing Rex, but you fear Cecil might have been right. You’re not sure anymore you’d want to see him like this—vulnerable, unconscious, on the brink of death. Taking two grounding deep breaths, you muster up the courage; simply because he would do that for you, so you cannot be worse than him.

When you reach the darkened window, your hand flies up to your mouth, the other one clutching the IV drip stand for your dear life.

There’s no sound coming from behind the glass, but you don’t need it to understand what’s happening. And truthfully, it’s better you can’t hear it. Because you’d collapse again.

There’s at least half a dozen people in the OR moving hastily but confidently, like one, living, breathing organism. A man is holding Rex’s head between his gloved palms as another is shaving his hair.

Every strand that lands on the floor is accompanied by a tear rolling down your chin to the ground. You feel so stupid for mourning his fucking hair, when it’s not even a given he’ll survive the surgery. But seeing as he loses one of his prized features, as he’s losing one of your favourite parts of his, breaks your heart. Shatters it, even. In hundreds tiny pieces, too small to ever put them back together.

With the faint beeping of heart monitors in rooms scattered along the impossibly long wall of doors, you zone out. The familiar rush on the corridor brings back a flood of memories of your own time in this exact hospital.

As you stare blankly at Rex’s shaved head covered in blood, the gunshot wound being ripped open more by the surgeon’s sharp scalpel, you think of the first time you’ve seen someone die. And it wasn’t a clean, sterile death.

It’s been only a few weeks since your parents left you with the GDA; you were kept in a colorful room with clouds painted on the ceiling, all your belongings fitting in the tiny dresser placed in the corner. Everyday, multiple doctors, scientists, therapists and many others were visiting you, examining, measuring, scribbling down in their notepads.

Books were the only companions in the lonely hours between checkups and visits from the staff, so you indulged as much as you could. Luckily, it was seen as beneficial for your development, so getting them delivered was not a problem.

It was a late afternoon, you were laying in your bed, reading a book you still have, but never opened again after that day. There was a quiet knock on your door that took you out of the plot. Surprised, you looked at the clock—it was unusually late for someone to be coming in. You felt a tinge of fear; this place has always been so orderly and organized that it seemed suspicious. When the knocking happened again, you shoved down the feelings, trying to rationalize it; it must have been something important.

Maybe your parents changed their mind and came back for you.

With a heavy heart and a trembling hand, you opened the door slightly, peeking through the thin space at your unannounced guest. You didn’t recognize the man standing in front of your room entrance, so you closed the door quickly. Or, well, you tried to. The man stopped the door with his heavy boot before slamming it open, sending you flying to the floor.

“Who are you?!” You shouted, crawling away backwards, terrified, yet angry.

He didn’t reply, only stood there, staring at you, his eyes laced with cruel intentions.

When he took a first step in your direction, you froze. Glued to the floor, you watched the man’s every move, heart beating so loud in your ears you wouldn’t hear a siren, even if it would be right next to you.

Just as then, you’re stuck now, unable to move, frozen in debilitating fear, anger long lost and forgotten.

Closing your eyes, you let out a dry, sad chuckle, trying to shove the image away. But it doesn’t help; you remember perfectly what that man looked like, even though it’s been years since that fatal day. More tears prickle your eyes as you blink them away, not bothering wiping them off anymore.

The man was tall, head full of unruly dark hair with a full beard, a bit too overgrown. He was wearing brown cargo pants and black combat boots. A simple black tee was stretched across his wide chest moving up and down in slow, measured breaths, matching the rhythm of his steps.

And he had a black star tattooed on his right hand. You would never forget that detail, and what that hand had almost done.

The rest of the memory is a blur.

You remember him pulling you by both of your legs. You remember the clouds painted on the ceiling. You remember you couldn’t move.

And you remember screaming. Like never before.

And then—you remember blood. So much blood.

It was everywhere; on your face, chest, legs, pooling on the floor, creating a steadily growing puddle. It was on the walls and the ceiling, painting the once pristine white clouds crimson red.

You let out a choked sob, trying to run away from the image. But the film reel keeps on playing, no matter how hard you try to shut it off.

The man was lying completely still on you, his weight pinning you down to the floor. Your hands were slipping on the wet floor, blood sloshing around, as you tried to crawl away from the headless body.

Before you got up, your room was swarmed with soldiers armed to the teeth, shouting orders, doctors and nurses rushing to you.

You don’t hear him when he walks up, completely lost in unwanted thoughts; he’s learned to be discreet and efficient during his years under Cecil.

“I’m sure he’ll make it.”

But there’s no way in hell you wouldn’t recognize this soft, quiet voice.

“How can you be so certain?” You ask, wiping away the tears that keep on coming, trying to ground yourself by looking at the surgeons backs.

“Rex survived a shot to the head. He’s insanely strong and resilient.” He puts his warm hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently in assurance.

“I hope you’re right, Donald.”

“We’ve got the best surgeons this country has to offer.” There’s a long but comfortable beat, giving you space. “Our paramedics found him cracking jokes with his brain slowly spilling out.”

Despite the grave situation, you snort, letting your lips curl up for the first time since you landed in the hospital wing. You rest your palm on his, letting him know you’re grateful for his company.

“Of course he did,” you chuckle shortly. When you tilt your head towards him, you’re greeted with your skewed view in his reflective glasses—red, puffy eyes; hair sticking out in different directions.

“And… What about Rae?”

Donald doesn’t answer for a while, your chest growing heavier with every second that passes without his reply.

You look back at Rex, lying eerily still on the operating table. It doesn’t suit him one bit, he’s such a force of nature; the only times you’ve seen him like this was in his sleep.

And maybe he is sleeping, in some way. Hopefully, he’s dreaming too. Of something happy; of a place he hopes to visit; of a future, where his life is not threatened everyday, but where he can just peacefully exist, getting to do things he never had a chance to.

Like going to a cinema, for example.

You squeeze the rod holding up your IV drip tighter and you make a promise to yourself. If—no, when—he makes it out of here, you’re taking him to a goddamn cinema.

Donald clears his throat, lowering his voice, as if he’s afraid that when he says it out loud, it’ll become real.

“She’s… Her condition’s critical.”

“Can I see her too?” You request, naively hopeful.

“I’m afraid it’s not possible now. She’s in the sterile wing, she suffered extreme injuries. Every bone in her body seems to be broken, her internal organs have been squished and ruptured… They’re essentially putting her back together, peace by peace.”

“Will she… Is she going to make it, Donald? And don’t—don’t lie. Please.”

“We don’t know. But looking at the extent of her injuries… She might not. But—our doctors are doing their best, I assure you of that.”

“I know.” You dart down, focusing on your dirty slippers, still carrying remnants of your little puking episode.

“Banter, I’d love to accompany you, but—”

“It’s okay, Donald. Go.”

He gives you a tight smile and then he’s gone, his footsteps silent like always.

You don’t know how long you stand there, immobile, staring ahead, not really at Rex or the surgeons. Only when you hear your name, you realize you’ve completely zoned out once again. Or dissociated, as your former therapist would say.

Glancing to your left, you notice Eve, as she rests her hand and forehead on the thick glass, letting tears stream down her face. There’s no need for words—you only squeeze her shoulder, touch firm but gentle. It doesn’t take long for Mark to come, embracing you two softly, giving you reassurance and space at the same time.

At least you’re not alone anymore.

Losing the grip on time again, you don’t know after how long a nurse shows up, telling you three you can finally see Rae. With a quick glance, you notice your drip is empty, so you tear the IV out, letting it fall to the ground as you join the rest of the Guardians on the way to your friend.

“Oh God,” you sob, your legs almost giving out when you see her. Mark catches you and doesn’t let go; the memory of you weak and unconscious in his arms still too fresh in his mind.

Rae lies in what seems to be an adult sized pressure capsule, but she’s swallowed whole by it; she is so small, so fragile. Yet her poor face is somehow bigger with how swollen it is; her features completely lost under the black and purple bruises.

Every limb in a cast, cervical collar around her neck, breathing mask connected to her tiny head, heart monitor blinking green with the line of life.

An arm curls around your back, and you peek at Eve, her eyes warm and welcoming.

“Donald told me you’ve been here for hours. Have you eaten anything?” Her soft voice, care with which she’s holding you makes you exhale deep, feeling some of the worry weighing you down letting go.

“I–no, I haven’t.”

“Come on, then. I could use some company.”

You glance at her, then at Mark, biting down on your lips. You are hungry, and are very grateful for her offer, but… wouldn’t it be weird? She’s Rex’s ex-girlfriend, and you are his… an ex-something, for sure. Still… Ah, what the hell. There’s nothing to lose, only to gain.

“Alright,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

With you leading the way, you walk in silence, not comfortable, but also not awkward. So far it could’ve been worse. You hope so, at least.

“I always knew this day might come and yet… I’m still shocked.” Eve doesn’t look at you, visibly fighting the tears from spilling.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding. “Me too.”

She doesn’t fill the silence, and honestly, you’re glad. It’s not half bad; you know it takes someone special to just shut the fuck up and comfortably exist in the silence. When you get off the elevator and round the last corner, she starts glancing at you more often.

“So,” Eve starts, and you already know what she’s gonna say. “You and Rex, huh?”

You take a lungful of air and dart your eyes from her face to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Not anymore.”

“Sorry,” she hisses, scrunching her nose. “That was stupid of me. He’s fighting for his life—”

“No, Eve,” you stop and turn to her, taking her hand. “It’s okay. You have the right to ask, you know him the longest after all. And the best at that.”

“Sometimes I think I don’t know him anymore. Or… If I’ve ever really known him, you know?”

You frown. “How so?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that the last year or so, he’s been different. It started soon after we met Mark—”

You chortle, rolling your eyes. “Isn’t that answer enough?”

“What? No! Me and Mark—we’re not—we’re just… friends. A-and Mark’s with Amber!”

You only raise a brow, crossing arms over your chest.

“I mean it. And lately we’ve been more distant anyway.”

“Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing at all.” Her tone comes clipped, like you touched a nerve.

“Maybe… that’s the reason?”

Eve sighs, looking away. “I don’t wanna talk about Mark right now.”

“That’s fine. But… if you ever want to, or need to… I’m quite good at listening.” You end with a wink and resume walking, the atmosphere between you two somehow clearer.

In the cafeteria you order your favourite and a cup of tea, and Eve sits across you empty handed, before she creates a tortilla roll out of thin air. That will never cease to shock you.

“You did that just like him, you know?” Eve says suddenly after you both have finished your meals.

You furrow your brows, slightly confused. “What?”

“That wink, in the hallway? Such a Rex move.”

“Yeah,” you smile sadly, “I might’ve picked that up from him.”

She leans in, resting her forearms on the table. “Do you maybe… want to talk about it?”

“About what?” You don’t look up at her.

“What happened between you two.” Eve reaches for your hand, and you let her, still hungry, but for some meaningful touch.

“Ah. That.” You clear your throat and scan her face, searching for… you don’t know what for, exactly. Understanding? Honesty? Kindness?

“What we had was mostly based on lust. Though—we didn’t do it. There were close calls, but it didn’t feel like the right time. And he disappeared on me for a couple of days. He said he had to end something. We had a fight. I said some ugly words. It was after the fight with Omnipotus.”

“Ohh, I remember. I talked briefly with him—”

“I know, I heard. Superhearing and all that jazz.”

“Right,” she blushes, “remind me to never talk shit about you behind your back.”

You chuckle, and relax your shoulders, realizing how tense you were this whole time.

“Then he asked me to give him a chance. And… I did. I know, stupid of me, but… Well. Let’s just say he can be very persuasive.”

“Believe me—I know.”

“And it was nice, for a while. We went out to a speakeasy, then we drank a little too much and ended up in a club. Which didn’t really go well for me.”

“Mark mentioned something.”

“Did he also mention that he bailed Rex out? For beating up the guy who drugged me?”

Eve doesn’t respond for a while, weighing down whether she should tell you the truth.

“Yeah,” she finally decides, “he did.”

“So yesterday… Before you all went into space, Rae got me out of this goddamn hospital.” You laugh, but the sound is bitter on your tongue. “Rex was waiting for me in my room, and… we cried, we talked. And I ended things. He broke my trust. I had to stay put when Cecil called in, because I’m still benched from any heroing even though you guys were on your way to Mars. And the rest is history.”

“Listen,” Eve darts her bright green eyes away, “I don’t want to make excuses for him, because I know Rex can do crazy shit. But, what he did, at that club—” she looks you straight in the eyes, “—it was his fucked up way of showing how much he cares for you.”

You scoff, enraged, and take your hand away the moment the words land. Out of all people, you didn’t expect Eve to be a Rex-apologist.

“I don’t care,” you get up, tired with people telling you to understand Rex, to understand Cecil, your parents… When will someone understand you?

“I needed him. And he wasn’t there for me.”

Grabbing your plate, you storm off, before turning back to Eve with an angry grimace twisting your face.

“Also—he almost killed the guy! I don’t want anyone dying so Rex can show me that he actually is serious about something. About me.”

You’re fighting with your trembling chin, too tired to cry again. You’re not even sure you still can, you’re out of tears for the next two years. Eve’s just staring at you, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Do you know why Rex is so difficult?” She says after a moment, so quietly, it makes you sit back down.

“Because he’s an asshole?”

“But do you want to know why he is one?”

You look up, trying to calm yourself down. You’re doubtful she’ll tell you anything new, but she also hasn’t given you a reason not to trust her. Yet.

“Enlighten me.”

“Did Rex ever… tell you about his parents?”

That gets your attention.

“I thought he didn’t have any.”

“He does. They sold him. Like an object.”

“What?!” You choke on your spit, cough shaking your body violently. “Cecil’s fucked up, but not that much to buy children like some breedable livestock.”

“It wasn’t Cecil. It was his former boss, Radcliffe.”

You’ve heard this name before. You only know that he was Cecil’s boss. Intrigued, you lean in, interlacing your fingers and resting your chin on them.

“Go on,” you encourage, impatient with the dramatic pause. “I’m dying to hear the rest.”

“Rex grew up very poor. Like, no electricity, starving kind of poor.”

You immediately imagine young Rex, malnourished and dirty. That hurts more than you’d like to admit, the picture of this young, unkempt boy crystal clear in front of your eyes. You can thank Rudy for that.

“One day,” Eve continues, “a man claiming to be ‘the government’ offered his parents a fat suitcase with money and a dinner steak for two if they give up his only son.”

“Wait,” you perk up, things not adding up. “Only son? But Rex told me he has siblings.”

“We’ll get to that later,” she mutters.

You want to protest, but decide against it, letting her finish at her own pace.

”His parents agreed,” Eve continues, “and so Rex was brought into a lab where they installed the receptors that let him charge objects. They train him in several martial arts, acrobatics, stealth… you name it.”

Now that you think of it, it is quite impressive how extremely well trained he is. You always wondered what his background was, given the confidentiality of his files. Rex might be lacking in some parts, but he works like he was built for this job. Literally.

“And then his missions began,” Eve goes on, gesturing along the way. “He was sent all over the world… taking off targets. Thinking he’s working for the good guys.”

You let that sink in. Young, impressionable boy who only craved to be wanted, loved… used as a weapon. How tragically familiar it sounds.

“And along the way, we stumbled upon each other. We met when Rex took out Killcannon clean, as—”

“Did he now? This dude just keeps on reappearing—”

Eve squints her eyes, measuring you coldly with them

“—right. Sorry. Uhh, continue, please.”

“So that night he told me about his next hit. Take a guess, who was the next target.”

Your jaw falls to the floor. “No way.”

“Way. Rex was told to storm the Pentagon and assassinate Cecil Stedman.”

“So that’s when Rex finally realized he’s just a puppet? God, he really is thick.”

Eve doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you think maybe it was too much, too soon. But the weight is lifted off your shoulders when she starts giggling.

“He sure is. But he has his good qualities, too.”

“Yeah,” your lips corners curl up, “he has.”

After a while of reminiscing, you clear your throat, “So I assume since Stedman’s still with us, you talked Rex out of it?”

Eve nods. “And we took down the bad guys after that. And later we just… started being together.”

You wipe non-existent sweat off your forehead, letting out a loud ‘phew’.

“Villain origin type shit. It’s a miracle he actually works side by side with us, and not against us.”

It all starts to look coherent, as you try to match the puzzle pieces together that make up Rex Splode, or rather—Rex Sloan. But there’s still one missing piece.

“What about his siblings?” You ask, biting down your bottom lip.

“Rex was really pressed to find his parents. He later told me that he saw them all happy, in a big house full of luxuries. He was ready to kill them with a charged stone….“

A cold shiver runs down your spine; it’s impossible how alike your lives have been. And how much it explains a lot, if not all of his actions.

And how much your story says about you.

“...but when he saw two little kids, a girl and a boy, run to them… He couldn’t.”

It’s very rare you don’t know what to say. And this rare moment is now. You let everything sink in, making a mental list of questions you’re gonna ask Rex when he awakes. Before you can get lost again, you’re brought back when Eve gets up, resting her hand on the table.

“Listen, I… I want to go and ask to see Kate. You don’t have to come with me, I know you two haven’t exactly been friends.”

You get up too, grabbing your tray. “But we were still teammates, Eve. I didn’t like her, but I didn’t wish her death. I didn’t even know it was possible to kill her.”

“That’s why I gotta see it with my own eyes. Her body. Or, bodies.”

You gulp. How could you not think of it? Of course there would be more than one Kate in the morgue. Nonetheless, you owe her this much.

On the way you bump into Mark; he has no idea what to do with himself, wandering around like a lost puppy without Eve.

“If you’re going to see Kate… I suggest you wait. Immortal’s there now.”

The last thing you want to see next to countless dead bodies of Dupli-Kate is a crying Immortal. Even assholes like him deserve the privilege of an intimate farewell with a loved one.

“We’ll have plenty of time,” you assure Eve when her shoulders droop. “Brain surgeries last hours, we’re not gonna be out of here anytime soon.”

“About that,” Mark raises a finger bashfully, glancing down at your slippers. “I could fly to the Guardian’s base and bring you some clothes. Or anything else you need.”

“How did you know I needed to change?” You smirk, too satisfied with how he blushes under your gaze.

“Just a guess,” he mutters, rubbing his arm.

It’s incredible how boyish and gentle Mark is, given all his strength and abilities. He could crush you and this whole building down to the ground without breaking a sweat, yet he gets red like a tomato when a subject gets somewhat uncomfortable. But you don’t torture the poor boy, this must have taken its toll on him, too. You text him a list of your most needed items, along with Rex’s stuff he might want or need for after he wakes up.

And it’s good that you did, because after a couple more hours a nurse comes out of the OR to inform everyone the surgery is going well so far, but it’s still gonna last a few more hours. You groan quietly, slumping in the uncomfortable plastic chair. When your back pops a joint, an idea comes to your head. If you’re gonna stay here for days on end, might as well book yourself a room.

Since Eve was the only person keeping you company now, you tell you’re going to crash in an empty room and suggest she does the same. Most of the team got back to the base, with Amanda staying behind. But she’s fast asleep now. Mark has also left, saying he might be saving the world from alien attacks, but he’s still on diaper duty. Turns out, even the humblest of men needed a strong woman bossing them around.

The moment you jump on the bed you regret it instantly; the hospital mattress having almost zero give. Your poor back is gonna fall off soon if you keep on abusing it like that.

With the bleak bedside’s lamp light you check the two duffel bags Mark brought you back from the HQ. Two of your favourite books, your journal, some comfy lounge clothes and sneakers. You grab a set of sweats and your toiletries and head into the shower, not ready yet to check Rex’s bag.

As you strip, you realize you look like a ghost, having lost weight with all the trauma your body and mind has suffered in the last few days. Rebuilding all lost strength and muscle mass will take weeks, if not months.

You step into the shower, steam already curling around the tiny bathroom. The first hit of the hot water makes you gasp, like you’re taking your first breath. You take your sweet time, washing off all the worry and lost sleep, or at least you try to, as memories rush back again.

A doctor flashed a light in your eyes, asking questions you don’t understand. They were catching your chin, trying to turn it towards them, but you resisted, your eyes stuck on the man, or what’s left of him.

You weren't fighting back when they wheeled you quickly out of the room, fearing you might be catatonic. When they started to undress you, tossing away your favourite pajamas covered in blood, muscle tissue, teeth and brain parts, you let them. They push you under a shower and start washing your rigid, frozen body.

The tiles feel cool to the touch, contrasting with the scorching hot water pouring down your back. You’re breathing heavily, too tired to fight against the flood of emotions surging back. And then, somehow, you find it in you to cry once again. But not for Rae or Rex this time.

For yourself.

The stream is hopefully loud enough to cover your sobs. Or, who the fuck cares. Everyone will assume you’re bawling your eyes out for your friends.

When your eyes are raw and itchy, skin pruned like an old grape, you slowly start to actually clean yourself. You don’t rush working in the shampoo, you're mindful of every stroke of your hand as it glides along your body, soap lathering against it. It’s quite possible you might use up all the hot water in the entire wing, but you really need it.

After you get out, towel swirled on your head, moisturized and fresh, you sit on the bed. You try reading, but you go back to the same line over and over again before you give up. With a sigh, you look at the bag with Rex’s belongings and decide it’s time to check whether Mark brought everything you and Eve mentioned he might need.

The duffel’s not that heavy, and it’s no surprise—Rex doesn’t own much. Carefully, you take each piece out, grazing your thumb over every shirt and magazine. When you pull out his hoodie, something falls to the floor with a metal clank. You smile as you pick it up, twirling it between your fingers.

Your favourite lighter.

Putting it away on the bedstand, you curl up on the thin mattress and close your eyes, hoping to finally catch up on sleep. But even though you’re completely wiped out, you toss and turn in the bed, your mind going 100 miles per hour.

Just as you’re finally drifting away, the big light turns on. You groan and open one eye to see Eve by the doors, her tired face laced with relief.

“Surgery’s over,” she exclaims with a grin. “Rex has made it and he’s stable. Soon, they’ll let us see him.”

You sit up on the bed, yawning so hard your jaw pops, “Won’t he be still unconscious?”

“Yes, but… I just thought you’d want to spend some time with him. I know I do.”

“Me too. Thank you, Eve. I mean it.”

She gives you a tight smile and leaves. You get up, grabbing one of Rex’s magazines and join Eve in the hallway. It doesn’t take long for a nurse to come and inform you which room he’s in. She asks if it’s okay that she goes first, alone, and you can’t say no to that. So you wait by his door, clutching the magazine tight to your chest, when a shadow casts on your face.

“You’re still here,” Cecil mutters with some disappointment in his tone.

“Of course I am,” you spit back, knitting your brows. You’re gonna get a permanent crease between them soon if you keep that up. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Be on call, like everyone else.”

“I don't remember being cleared to hero again,” you tilt your head, drilling through his skull with your eyes. “You benched me, remember? And it’s not like I’d be of good use, anyway. I’m distracted, dead tired and my friends are fighting for their lives. I’m staying.”

Cecil groans low, barely audible. “Two days. And then you’re back.”

He turns to leave, but then slows down and looks at you again, stern look on his face.

“So get some rest while you can.”

When he’s a few feet away, you flip him off, tired with his bullshit. Soon after Eve leaves Rex’s room, wiping tears away with the heel of her palm.

“Thanks for letting me—”

“Stop, Eve. It’s your goddamn right.”

She laughs wetly and states she needs to finally get back home. You smile weakly, understanding her to some extent. You’d do that too, if you had a home. A real one.

Letting out a slow exhale, you stand frozen in front of the entrance to Rex’s room. You want to see him so bad, yet you’re terrified. Not of what he’ll look like, no. But of what it’d do to you. Hugging the magazine to your chest, you finally step inside the dimly lit room. Soft whirring of the machines fill the space, faint beeping of a heart monitor grounding you with each step you take. And then you look at him, your chest struck with a sharp pain right down the middle.

Rex has a metal halo brace on his head, with half of it exposed. Before you can stop yourself, you reach out to touch the bald skin, thick stubble under your fingertips. One tear is followed by another as you notice his left arm in a robotic, metal cast, eerily missing a hand. You start to wonder what hand was his dominant; he always fought using both, and you’ve never seen him writing. Either way, you hope it wasn’t his left.

“Hey, Rex.” Your voice comes small, as you sit on the chair by the bed left by Eve. “It’s me, Ban. I got one of your magazines here.”

“But before I get to reading, I wanted to tell you something. Something… important.”

You take his hand gently into yours, grazing over his knuckles with utmost care like he was made of glass. As always, his skin is hot to the touch, even a brain injury won’t stop him from being a human heater.

“I could wait for you to wake up, but…” The words get stuck, and you’re scared that if you say them out loud, they’ll become true.

“What if you don’t?” You manage weakly, swallowing down the thick lump in your throat.

“You’re so fucking important to me, Rex.”

You choke on a sob, but power through, because you might not get another chance.

”You see me for who I am and you don’t run away. It terrifies me to death so I push you away, flee like prey. And yet, at the same time, I fly back to you like a moth to a lightbulb, unable to resist your light.”

When the meaning of your own words catch up to you, you let go and let the tears fall freely, surprised your not out of them yet.

“God,” you chuckle dryly, wiping your cheeks, “I know, I’m such a fucking sap.”

His heart rate speeds up just a bit and you huff a laugh, sniffling like a sickly child before opening the magazine in your lap.

“What do we have here…” You mutter, flipping through the pages in search for the best article to read out loud. Preferably, with more photos than text. When you see a bright space where everything, and I mean absolutely everything, is drenched in one color, you stop and smirk.

“Bingo. 36 mudroom ideas… That’s a bit too much, if you ask me, but whatever.”

You glance at Rex, expecting an answer, only to be reminded that the only thing you’ll hear from him are his steady, quiet breaths.

“Okay, so.” You clear your throat and begin the session. “The first photo is made from the entrance POV, with yellow lockers on the left, also yellow open shelves with scalloped edges in with a collection of decorative glasses and flasks on them and a small ladder in the middle. Which, you guessed it—also yellow.”

“Honestly,” you sigh as if you were an interior designer, “it’s fucknig obnoxious. Definitely a bold choice, which I applaud, but maybe I’d have chosen a different color, y’know? But you’d probably like it.”

His face is relaxed when, no sign of pain or discomfort as you gaze upon him, still feeling weird that there’s no auburn hair framing his sharp features.

“Moving on…” You skip a few pages until your eyes land on a picture that catches your attention. “Ohh, I like this one! It’s also bathed in one color, but this time it’s blue in varying shades. The title is ‘Mix Various Patterns and Shades’. That’s a good tip, it makes the space less overbearing while still standing out. There’s dark blue textured polka dots wallpaper, navy shiplap, and pops of baby blue with cupboards at the ceiling.”

Before you know it, you’re almost at the end of the magazine, yawning every couple of words. Your throat itches with all the effort you’ve put into describing every photo in detail, hoping that despite his state, he can hear you. When you look up, you notice a familiar face by the door.

“How long have you been here?” You squint your eyes, but not in anger or suspicion. Cynthia is leaning on the wall, looking at you with warmth. She must still be new here with how sweet she is. But if she’s not—well, then it gives you hope.

“Just a couple of minutes,” she smirks and walks up to the machines hooked to Rex, checking his vitals and whatnot.

There’s a question that’s been rumbling around your head since the surgery ended, but were too afraid to ask. Still, you’re dying to know.

“Do you know when he’ll wake?” You look into her big, hazel eyes, searching for even a glimpse of positivity.

“Best case scenario—tomorrow morning.”

You gulp, readying yourself for another question.

“And worst case scenario?”

Cynthia stops reading through a diagram of Rex’s heartbeat over the last few hours and sighs deeply. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No, actually. I don’t.”

She rounds the bed and curls her fingers around your shoulder gently. “Get some rest, honey. You’ve been up for so long.”

Before you can protest, she continues with a smile you have no other way than to trust.

“I promise I’ll wake you up as soon as he opens his eyes, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” You close the magazine and leave it on Rex’s bedside table. “Thank you, Cynthia.”

She nods and resumes her duties. You linger a little longer, looking at Rex stretched on the bed, his chest moving up and down rhythmically.

The door to your temporary room closes quietly behind you. You rest your head on the smooth surface, not sure if you want to cry some more or laugh. Life has burned you a lot of times, given you plenty of reasons to be cynical. Still, you can’t let go of the feeling it’s gonna be alright. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but what else do you have left?

Sitting on the bed, you grab your lighter and smile at all the memories that tiny object is holding. You put it away on the bedside table and get ready to lie down, when you decide you need one more thing to fall asleep. Searching through Rex’s duffel bag, you find the hoodie he’s worn just two days ago and put it on. His scent on it is strong, intoxicating. It’s so soft and warm, so close to your body, it almost feels like he’s giving you a hug.

And then, as soon as your head hits the thin hospital pillow, you’re out.

maddie's scribles: article referenced in the chapter [click here] also, i took and edited slightly a quote from one of my all-time fave films, Pulp Fiction. bonus points if you can spot it! i've been also thinking of rewriting some of the older chapters, because when i look back at them, they're choppy and could use a better flow. what do y'all think?

Track 24

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