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Heartlessly helping himself to his bad dreams
He worries
Did he hear a good-bye? Or even hello?
To be alive after such an incident had to be a sick joke on God’s part. To have to live with the knowledge that he had left him to die, that he didn’t even bother to check on him to see if he was okay. That he had left him to die in this god forsaken wasteland. Magenta Magenta may be a foolish man, but he isn’t an idiot and he sure as hell isn’t one to forgive and forget. He will pay for what he’s done to him and he will never forget Magenta’s name.
When Magenta was pulled from the snow, freezing half dead and still bleeding from his now necrotic, rotting, hollow eye socket, he assumed he was dead at first and in some hellish limbo where he could still feel all the pain from his previous life. It wasn’t until he saw his saviour’s rather… peculiar way of dressing and the horse by him that he realized he was, in fact, still alive and cursed to walk this hellish Earth even after such an event. Without his eye this time, and with a debt to collect. It simply wasn’t fair.
The man, his saviour, had introduced himself as Diego Brando, Dio for short. He was kind enough to save Magenta, but his help sure as hell didn’t come free of charge. He wanted information and he wanted it in exchange for Magenta’s life. It was a cruel exchange, but luckily for Magenta he had exactly what the man called Dio wanted , ensuring he would live just long enough to get his revenge. To make him pay.
He would often lay awake on restless nights during his recovery wondering; what would have really happened if he had actually cared, if he had cared enough to even fucking check on him to make sure he was okay, had noticed he was still alive and actually gave a damn about his well being. Would he have helped him to safety and cared for him during his recovery? Stayed by his side and fed him warm soup and left him light kisses on his forehead as he softly drifted to sleep? What truly hurt Magenta the most was the simple fact; he didn’t even fucking try.
Sure, they hadn’t known each other too long but fuck, Magenta thought they at least had something . Was everything they had done together just for show? Was it just a game to him? The long nights spent in each other’s arms, huddled for warmth in the frozen wastelands surrounding Lake Michigan? Was nothing they had even real?
Empty questions for a man who would never answer them, empty promises and empty hearts. He was truly the fool in all of this. He really thought they could have had something after all this. After they had completed their mission, brought the pieces back to Valentine and after everything had blown over. He would have done anything for it. To have a future together, a relationship, anything that would make their feelings towards each other make some semblance of sense. But as usual he had thought wrong and now he was left with fucking nothing, more than nothing infact; he was left without his heart.
The week-long trek down to Philadelphia was an arduous one at that. Although they had time to rest at night, it never felt like enough for Magenta. Aside from having a constant cold and his eye leaking from being left to die in the middle of the snow. It surely didn’t help that he couldn’t see shit anymore, either. He lacked the depth perception needed to complete the simplest of tasks and it irritated him to no end. He felt useless now.
He needed years to recover from what had happened to him, both physically and mentally. He was utterly devastated from it all. He could barely sleep at night without thinking about what had happened over and over again in his head, playing on repeat like a broken fucking record. And when he did finally manage to get to sleep between having coughing fits and being unable to breathe, he was plagued with dreams about what could have happened; what could have happened if he actually gave a shit about him. He’s sick to death of being sick.
The plan for when they finally got to Philadelphia was a risky one at that, even Magenta had doubts about it when Diego had told him everything that was going to go down. However he was willing to do anything ; even if it meant he would die to get his revenge, to get some semblance of closure, to make him feel how he had felt. He was willing to die for it.
He had to admit, he hadn’t had high hopes for the plan if he was being honest. There were too many unknown factors going into play and the smallest error could ruin everything, making everything he’d done be for nothing. But he had to do this, he had to finish what he’d started and he had to come out on top. This time he wouldn’t be the one making a mistake, this time he won’t be the one losing, and this time, he won’t be the one left for dead. He was going to make sure of that.