#timbertie

Bertie had always been a little claustrophobic. Before, it hadn’t been much of a problem; a slight tightening of his chest in a lift, a quickening of breath in a crowd, but usually he could avoid situations he knew would be stressful or push down his fear long enough to get through it. But now? Trapped in the endless twisting tunnels every second of every day, the oppressive, humid air thick with the stench of death choking him, the rough walls seeming to close around him, at every moment terrified they would collapse and he would be trapped, buried alive with no-one to help him, Bertie couldn’t tolerate it anymore. Being with Tim helped, but even he had to tackle Bertie to the ground and hold him tight as he struggled while the others helped cover them in lead in microwave attacks. Dimly Bertie knew that being cooked alive was a far worse fate, but no amount of reassurance from Tim could stave off the inevitable panic attacks as he was trapped in a space even more confined than usual, bodies pressed desperately against each other until Bertie wanted to scream. So yes, he knew it was stupid and dangerous as he clawed his way to the surface like an infected ant, distantly he knew he could die, probably would die for his moment of madness and desperation, but he couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t spend another moment trapped down there. When he finally crawled out onto the dusty surface, desperately gasping air and crying with relief, he was trapped inside a bulky spacesuit he’d stolen so he wouldn’t immediately die (he wasn’t completely stupid, after all) but he hardly cared. He was free.

When the shell detonated, blowing chunks of rock from the earth and kicking up a ferocious dust cloud, Bertie suddenly found himself soaring away into space, and he thought vaguely that it seemed appropriate, it seemed right. Parts of the suit melted against his skin, burning then freezing the skin beneath. The Moon grew smaller beneath him; the force of the powerful bombshell could easily overcome its weak gravity. As Bertie lost consciousness, he made peace with his death; he just wished he could say goodbye. I’m sorry, Tim, he thought, as darkness flooded his vision.

When Bertie awoke, he had no idea where he was. He was lying in a hard white bed, parts of his body covered in thick white gauze. He looked around; the thick, heavy metal door suggested vacuum sealing. Was he in a pressurised dome on the Moon? No, that was stupid, the Moon Kaiser controlled those. Where, then? The room gently thrummed with energy; an engine? Was this a spaceship? That seemed the most likely. Why was here? He’d only been on a spaceship once before, when he was deployed to the Moon. Maybe they were taking him home again? His heart jumped in his chest, and he barely dared to hope. But where was Tim? He didn’t want to go home without Tim.

The door opened with a hiss of air, and someone entered.

“Hello,” they said softly. “I’m Everett. What’s your name?”

“Bertie,” he whispered. He swallowed thickly, realising how dry his throat was. “Where…” his head throbbed as he trailed off, looking around.

“You’re on a spaceship, Bertie. I’m afraid we’re quite far from where we picked you up now. It looked like there was some kind of war, and we had to get out before the ship got damaged any more. We’re going to stop on a planet for supplies soon though. For now, you should probably get some rest.” They smiled warmly and Bertie nodded.

“Okay,” he replied quietly, feeling very small and very tired, and he quickly fell asleep again.

He awoke to the sound of distant panicked shouting.

“What do you mean the front thrusters won’t fire?”

“I mean they were damaged and you kept putting off the full ship review so we haven’t had time to find and fix it, and now they won’t fire at full power, so we can’t slow down!”

“Can’t we just pull away from the surface again then?”

“No, we’re too close and don’t have enough fuel. We’re all going to die, and there’s nothing any of us can do!”

“No, there has to be something! What if we spin the ship around and use the rear thrusters?”

“Not enough time, not enough time!”

“There must be something we can do!”

“We are doing everything we can!”

“We’re out of time!”

A violent impact jolted through the whole ship and the metal screamed as it twisted and failed, and Bertie’s head slammed into the metal wall of the ship, and he passed out. Again.

He awoke gradually. When he touched his head, his fingers came away covered in blood. He stood slowly, leaning heavily on the metal wall, his legs shaking, and made his way to the exit. As he crawled through the warped metal, he tried not to think about the tightness in his chest. Where was he? Was it a spaceship? When he fell, gasping for breath, into the open air, he saw that he had been right; a small spaceship, its front half crumpled in the small crater in which it lay.

“Who are you?” someone called. He turned to see them, a person standing several metres away and looking at him and the spaceship with a look of disgust.

“I… I don’t…” he started to respond.

“What’s your name?” the person continued harshly, stepping forward. He stumbled backwards slightly.

“I…” he hesitated. What was his name? Who was he? His head throbbed painfully when he tried to think. He thought his name might have started with a B. Had it been Bob? Billy, maybe? “…Brian?” he said uncertainly. It sounded unfamiliar in his mouth, he didn’t think that was quite right either, but it would have to do for now.

Brian, as he now called himself, became obsessed with figuring out how the ship he had arrived in worked and took it apart and put it back together over and over, then began to wonder how he could create something new with it. The others of this planet did not care for technology, but he couldn’t let go of this; it was all that remained of where he had come from.

When they threw him into the sky, it seemed right to him, it seemed natural, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying as his skin began to freeze. Hadn’t this happened before? A name dragged itself to the front of his mind. Tim. It wasn’t his name, he knew that, but it was important, he was sure of that. Who are you, Tim? he thought as he lost himself to the encroaching cold.

It took a while for Brian come to terms with his new self. He didn’t look like himself at all; his face had already been scarred when he reached the planet, and Carmilla had been forced to approximate what he looked like from frozen flesh already damaged beyond recognition, and he couldn’t see any of his own features in the mirror anymore. His heart all that was left of him, locked inside a metal prison, and whenever he thought about it too long he began to feel trapped and claustrophobic, until he wanted to tear out his heart, just so it could be free.

“We have to save him.” Brian said firmly, with no room for argument.

“What- why? Why do you care?” Jonny replied irritably.

“He could be- he could be fun. He’s very good with guns,” Brian cast around for what might interest Jonny enough to agree. “He’s- he kills people, that’s fun, isn’t it?” Brian was so glad he was in ends-justify-means, so he could tell himself that saving this life was worth it compared to the hypothetical life that might be lost as a result. How could he tell the others, how could he tell Jonny his real reason that he wanted, that he needed this man to live. Looking down at him, even with his eyes burnt out, Brian knew this was his Tim, he was sure of it. He couldn’t remember who he was or why he needed him to live so badly, but he knew it was important, more important to him than he could ever remember anything being.

When Tim awoke and joined the crew, Brian burned with the longing for his touch, and when Tim spoke it dredged up a distant memory of Tim holding him and whispering reassurances. But it was like Tim looked straight through him, seeing nothing but a stranger.

Tim was quietly stalking an octokitten to prank Jonny with when he heard small, hitched breaths from behind a door, like someone trying very hard not to be heard. Abandoning his task, he crept closer, and carefully opened the door. It was Brian, curled up on the floor and quietly crying.

Static filled Brian’s ears and his vision glitched and blurred as he desperately gasped for breath with an awful mechanical wheezing, his hands clutched over his heart, trapped inside the metal cage that was his body. He was trapped again and he didn’t know what to do this time, his existence a prison. Vaguely, he thought someone might be talking.

“-ian? Brian? Are you- are you okay?” Tim’s blurred face was filled with concern and his hand hovered near Brian’s face, unsure whether touching him would help. Brian made the decision for him, grabbing his hand and pressing it against his cheek as he sobbed.

“Brian, what’s wrong?”

“I- I- I’m scared- can you hold me? like- like before,” Brian responded jerkily through gasping breaths. With that, he buried his face in Tim’s neck.

“Like before?” What did that mean? Tim thought back over his time on the Aurora, he had barely even touched Brian, let alone hugged him. But- well- wasn’t there something familiar about him? Something about his mannerisms, the way he carried himself, the way he walked, the smile he seemed to save just for Tim. “Bertie?” he breathed, hardly daring to hope.

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