Chapter Text
“Jackpot.”
Till words were muffled through his helmet, the visor tinting everything around him a deep, inky black. He parked his motorcycle and removed the helmet, shaking out his hair to shake off the heat trapped underneath. He hoped to find relief, but strangely, this place was so cold–the air so crisp that it almost hurt his lungs. He breathed out, nonetheless, and took in all that was before him.
An airplane had crashed, and the sight of it wasn’t pretty. The debris was scattered across what used to be a lush, green field–now reduced to scorched earth and ash. The flames had swept through everything, leaving behind only brittle, greyish grass that crunched under Till’s boots as he swung his leg off the bike. The plane itself was unrecognizable, settled a couple of yards away from where he entered the area. The wings had been snapped clean off the body–one wing had been driven into the ground on impact, while the other was crushed beneath the tail, which had flung into a water-filled ditch.
Till whistled, climbing off his bike and drawing closer to get a better look. Bent metal, twisted wires, and broken panels were scattered in the grass, and he couldn’t tell where any of it originated from within the plane. The closer he got, the worse the stench became–maybe he shouldn’t have taken off his helmet. The air reeked now of burnt fuel and melted plastic–a smell that clung to everything long after the explosion, leaving all this in its disarray.
He’d first heard about the crash while riding through the city’s central square. The news said the aircraft had been carrying weapons and paraphernalia before it malfunctioned and slammed into an empty field–not far from their base. But Till wasn’t interested in the plane crash itself, he was more concerned with anything he could salvage from it. He had some hope, but that started to fade as he sifted through wreckage, his gloved hands pawing at twisted metal and scorched parts, brushing off soot only to drop them again when they turned out useless. He hadn’t come with anything specific in mind–but he was always curious about what he could find in the ruins.
Once, he’d scored a flat-screen TV from an abandoned Alien bar. Another time, he found a toppled truck full of “pet” clothes on the highway and managed to snag some high-end sneakers for the kids. Dewey swore he had something to do with that one, but Till was adamant on his innocence. Well–kinda.
Dewey called his little hobby odd, and Isaac preferred to phrase it as resourceful, though both often reminded him that the base was well off enough that he didn’t need to go “dumpster diving” for anything. The only one who ever seemed genuinely interested in his finds was Vivi. So he always looked a little harder for her sake, just in case he stumbled on something she might like. But this haul–this stuff, a certain someone would grumble when Till came back lugging a bookbag full of junk–was shaping up to be exactly what he always said it was; useless crap. Till should’ve known from the video tapings, but he couldn’t help himself. Curiosity always got the better of him. Just as he was about to give up and head home, he found the body of the airplane.
The cockpit was torn off, and Till climbed into where it used to be. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise up in a state of unease. Though the exterior was scorched like the rest of the wreckage, and that burnt, gasoline smell–through subtle–still lingered, everything else was almost untouched. Chillingly so. He heard a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him not to go any further. But seeing as to who it belonged to, Till ignored it, and stepped inside. The aircraft’s metal panelling was exposed, and the wires that weren’t frayed sparked with electricity. Till moved carefully, watching where he placed his hands as he made his way deeper into the fuselage. Just from the looks of the seats, the intact flooring, and the build’s shape–Till absently wondered if someone could have survived this. By some miracle, it took less of the brunt force. Maybe the flames hadn’t reached this deep, and the rain that night had done more than just slow the spread of the fire. On the news, the aliens weren’t concerned of there being any survivors, seeing that the plane carried two people who inhabited the cockpit. And even if the aliens cared enough about human life–there was no way they could’ve survived that.
Till shook off the senseless theories and turned his attention to the passenger cabin, beginning his usual routine. He checked the overhead compartments; empty, of course. Nothing but scorched metal and hollow space. As he pushed himself off the seat, his knee pressed onto something soft. It was a small pink stuffed teddy bear. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, and it was surprisingly intact–just a little singed at the edges, but the stitching had held on. He ran a thumb over its soft fur, then unzipped his bookbag and slipped it inside. He’d wash it, and give it to Vivi. Though she wasn’t sure what she liked, Till knew, at most, that she liked cute things.
When the rest of his search turned up nothing, Till hopped out of the fuselage. He was ready to cut his losses and move on, there were better ways to spend his time. But as his gaze drifted from the wreckage to the open mouth of the cargo hold, he paused. He remembered how they said it held weapons, and other military grade items. Stuff like that could be traded and sold with the base–or even bartered to the aliens if they were desperate enough to want it back. Till slung off his backpack again and unzipped one of the side compartments, pulling out his flashlight. He tossed it lightly into the air, caught it, then aimed the beam toward the cargo hold. It was pitch black inside–his flashlight barely made a dent in the darkness. If he wanted to see anything, he’d have to go in. The crawlspace was just wide enough to fit his body if he stayed on his knees.
Though mildly uncomfortable, he could definitely see better. He scanned the opening area–and immediately knew this section had come out the winner in the ‘who-survived-the-crash-the-best’ competition. The metal walls were intact–no scorch marks, no signs of impact, totally clean. If anything was stored in here, it might still be good as new. Till imagined Dewey giving him a pat on the head, Isaac telling him how proud he was. And that other guy –he’d finally admit that Till’s “dumpster diving” wasn’t so useless after all. That thought alone pushed him forward, snickering to himself the closer he got to the goods. Just as Till got closer to the back of the cargo hold, his light illuminated luggages stacked on top of each other, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d figure this was the end. But he did know better. Till froze, and narrowed his eyes. He flashed his light around the gaped edges of the stack–and saw nothing. His heart picked up, and he blew out a slow breath before willing himself to move, and snapped the light higher–over the tower of bags. And that’s when he saw him.
A guard.
Before Till could scramble back, the guard moved, shoving the luggage aside and lunging through the gap toward him. Till dropped his flashlight, spinning wildly as it hit the floor. He crawled backward fast, flinging whatever he could get his hands on; bags, the items that fell out of them–anything to slow the figure down. But he was fast. Everything happened in a blur, there was no time to think. His brain snapped into survival mode–a feeling he hadn’t experienced since that stage, under all those green lights, hope slipping through his fingers. Instinct took the wheel long before reason had a chance to catch up.
Fighting back wasn’t an option anymore. Till crawled as fast as he could through the space, back towards the clouded daylight outside. If could just get himself outside. Breathes left him in ragged huffs as he put arm over arm, his gloves scraping for purchase across the metal to slide him further through the hatch. The man was hot on his tail, but Till forced his eyes to stay ahead–not to worry about the distance between them. And then he tumbled out of the entrance, landing straight onto his back with a grunt.
He didn’t notice it right away–but it was pouring, and it soaked through his clothes in seconds. He staggered to his feet, quickly yanking the backpack off and throwing it to the ground–it was slowing him down. The moment it hit the dead grass, the guard burst out of the cargo hold and slammed into him, tackling him hard to the ground. Till gasped out, the ability to breathe slipping away the more the water came down on him in relentless cascades. He lashed out blindly, fists landing wherever they could–each hit was numb, as if his body had disconnected from the pain. Until he realized bone met the armour of his suit, then the aching rang out all over him, but Till didn’t stop. He hadn’t fought like this since his days in Anakt Garden, swinging his weight off him, just for the boy to latch back on with so much volition, there were times Till felt like he was going to die. Sure–most days–Till started it, but he knew how much bigger he was than Till–admitted it when they were older and didn’t fist fight anymore–and it showed in every arm he swung his way with his eyes crazed and lips brimming with a smile.
Till let out a raw shout that echoed through the open field, and drove his knee into the guard’s stomach–right where the padding in the armor was soft, just thin enough to hurt. The impact was solid, and Till felt it ricochet through his leg. The guard let out a stifled grunt, his grip on Till’s neck loosening. The pressure eased from his windpipe, and the guard’s legs, once tightly straddling him, shifted open. With a desperate, miserable heave, he shoved the man off of him, grappling to overcome the scuffle.
Gasping, Till flopped onto his stomach and clawed his way toward his bookbag. His fingers just barely snagged one of the straps when the guard’s hand clamped around his ankle and yanked him back. Panic surged through his body, and Till tore open the largest pocket of the bag, fingers searching inside until they closed around cold metal–he pulled the handgun free. Just as the guard hauled him around and forced him onto his back again, moving to climb on top of him, Till fumbled with the weapon, trying to cock it with shaking hands. The guard pressed his weight down, knees pinning Till in place, leaning in until his helmet was close to his face. Till pressed the barrel into the padding and pulled the trigger. The shot was the loudest thing amongst them, louder than the rain, and louder than the pounding of Till’s heart in his ears.
He watched as the guard cradled the area, bloods spilling over his gloved hand. He didn’t react with a scream, or show any semblance of pain. Perhaps he was in a state of shock, but Till couldn’t tell–didn’t care. The guard slowly looked up at him again, a light breath slipping from his lips–deep, and reluctant, before he slumped over, his head falling onto Till’s shoulder. Till hands dug into the ground beneath him, shivering–a combination of the cold and the circumstances. He stayed frozen there, until he felt the guard’s heartbeat pulsing against him, uneven and fading. Then, with a shrug, he rolled the body off. It hit the ground with a dull thud, limbs limp, blood pooling from the wound in his stomach.
Till had learned a lot since the rebellion took him in. He learned how to ride a motorcycle, how to cook, how to care for others, and he learned that the guards were human. Human beings who followed the aliens’ will, no matter what it entailed. At first, it was hard to fight them. They looked like him under all that armour, and bled like him. But they didn’t hesitate when they turned their weapons on him, and so, eventually, neither did he–and he never hesitated again. Till stopped caring about what was under the mask, nor did he allow himself to think about the technicalities of it all– but they’re human, too. They have feelings. They’re manipulated for the aliens’ use. He just dusted himself off, and kept on pushing.
Yet all he did was sit there, and stare. Though it was over, his body was still in fight mode; anxious all over. He shook his head, and water flew off his hair like a wet dog the longer he laid there. He knew it was against his own beliefs–something he told himself in order not to fold. But he couldn’t help it, like he couldn’t help a lot of things. They always called him stubborn, and impulsive, and Till started to understand what they meant. Because even after all that, Till found himself inching toward the guard’s body. He felt like he held his breath the entire entire time he hovered over his unconscious body. His hand trembled as he extended it towards the mask, his fingers curling under its edge. He didn’t wish to prolong this, so he pulled it off, and a mop of black hair draped from underneath, falling over his face.
Till paused, and his eyes widened. He dropped the helmet and swept the hair out of his eyes, his heart pounding faster as the face beneath it came into focus; familiar in a way that made his stomach twist. His eyes travelled around the familiar features–just older, but the same; thick eyebrows, long eyelashes, and that tooth, peeking over his lip even though his mouth was closed. Till’s chest heaved, and he pulled off his gloves so that his shaking hands could cradle the face, thumbing underneath tired eyes. This had to be a dream, and he was going to wake up soon–any second now. But time only stretched on, and he was still there in that downpour, hovered over his unconscious body.
“Ivan?” Till squeaked out–a name he hadn’t said aloud in nine years. To anyone else he was always that guy, that brat, that… feeling I didn’t understand until you were gone.
Briefly, scarier than anything, Till thought that maybe this was another hallucination. He hadn’t had one of those since he was twenty-six–when he finally decided to be as honest as he could with himself, and finally let go. But Ivan was always the same age, or teenager, or a kid. He was never older. But he was always, somehow, drenched. It brought him back to round six of Alien Stage, when he fell to his knees, and clung onto him as tightly as he could. When cries and screams clawed up his throat as the guards dragged him away from Ivan’s body, reaching out–
But this wasn’t a hallucination. No–this was real. Till pulled Ivan into his lap, and struggled to bring his chest to his face, pressing his ear against it–terrified. It was like time froze as he tried to pick up a heartbeat, his fingers searching for a pulse on his wrist. As if hearing his quiet pleads, it answered in slow, faint murmurs. Till gasped, relief flooding him when he realized he hadn’t killed him. He gently lowered Ivan back to the ground and pulled his backpack into his lap. Hands shaking, he pulled out his phone, fumbling with the screen before pressing it to his ear.
“Isaac,” Till said, his voice raspy. It was never the same after he got shot–and he was insecure about it. “I found someone who needs medical assistance immediately. I can’t carry them back on my bike.”
“Is it a kid?” Isaac’s voice crackled through the speaker, the background noise of the base bar unmistakable; music, glasses clinking, people laughing. “Just tie them to your back like you always do.”
“It’s not a kid,” Till pressed, turning back briefly to make sure Ivan was still there. Where could he go in that state? But given everything, he had to be sure. “This is going to sound crazy, but it’s–it’s Ivan.”
It was quiet on the other side for a moment, then Isaac said quietly, “Till are you feeling okay?”
Till groaned in annoyance. “You think I’m losing my mind? I think I’m losing my mind! Okay?” Till snapped into the phone. “You can run all the tests you want on me when I get back–just send someone. Please.”
He heard Isaac sigh, then the clack of the landline hitting the wall as he let it go. Muffled voices followed, a brief back-and-forth, before Isaac's voice came through the receiver. “Dewey is on his way. You’re at the crash site, yeah?”
Till paused. “How did you know?”
“It was the light in your eyes. You only get that when you’re up to no good,” Isaac said through a chuckle. “He’ll be there soon, alright? Press on wound, check for a pulse, and–”
“Hang tight,” Till finished his sentence. “Okay.”
Till ended the call after that–now waiting for Dewey to come with the van. He went back to Ivan, and dragged him underneath the cargo hatch, trying to shield them from the rain. He caressed the man’s face, lax, and unmoving, attempting to make sense of all of this. He couldn’t help but feel he was going home with the biggest score of all, better than anything he’s salvaged before–Ivan.
Everything that happened after leaving the crash site went by in a haze. He didn’t know how he came to be sitting in a chair near Ivan’s hospital bed–but that’s where he was. Ivan had been unconscious for two days now, and Isaac kept reassuring him with medical jargon Till barely understood, all of which boiled down to: Ivan wasn’t going to die, and he’d wake up when his body was ready. Till passed the time sketching in his notebook or entertaining the kids when they stopped by with the sole purpose of being nosy. But he knew they were genuinely worried about him, especially Vivi, who stayed the longest. She hated being home alone, but understood that Till was worried about his friend.
Till slumped in the chair, and a knock on the door stirred Till awake, and jumping a little with how close the blond was to his face.
“Luka,” Till mumbled, flinching slightly as the man loomed close, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Do you have to be that close?”
“No,” Luka shrugged. “But it’s funny watching you jump. You look like a feral cat. It’s funny.”
“So funny you just had to say it twice,” Till rolled his eyes. Luka only grinned, handing him a cup of coffee. He set a tray down nearby, a bowl of oatmeal, that’s when Till finally noticed the baby strapped to Luka’s chest in a carrier, patting her back to keep her soothed. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Luka said, settling into the chair beside him. “I never got to see the stuff you brought back from the crash site. I’ve been itching to make fun of it.”
“Well, tough luck. All I came back with was a pink teddy bear and a guy I almost killed,” Till replied dryly. Luka frowned at the news, leaning back in his seat. The baby cooed softly, and he dipped his head to check on her. He looked exhausted–but duty called, and it always happened to be at the oddest hours.
“She’s growing,” Till murmured, brushing a finger over the baby’s fine strands of hair. “I was worried about her those first couple of months.”
Luka hummed, his hand following Till’s, stroking her head once he pulled away. The back of Luka’s hand was a deep, burn-scarred purple, darker than the natural light purple hue of his fingers. Early on, he used to hide it, unwilling to reveal that part of himself to strangers who might use it against him, like Heperu had. He still wore sweaters in the dead of summer, but sometimes, he let more of it show. His curly blond hair had grown longer over the last nine years, now brushing the nape of his neck. He kept most of it gathered in a low bun as the rest fell over the left side of his face, where the flames had scorched him years ago. Sometimes, when he pushed it back to rub at his tired eyes, Till caught a glimpse of his pale, pupil-less iris–now a mute blond like the rest of him.
“Of course. She’s tough,” Luka told him. “She survived in the woods by herself for days.”
Till nodded. He was the one who found her, luckily before the aliens did, clinging to her mother’s corpse. Her mother likely fled a caretaker facility and starved to death out there. Isaac hadn’t thought she’d make it, but she had–and that was thanks to Luka. Luka never took credit for the kids who flourished under his care, but everyone knew it. Even now, he gave the baby all the credit as he chalked her survival up to her stubborn will to live. Dewey once told Till that Luka had been terrified at first, convinced he didn’t have the instincts–or the heart, to connect with her. Luka simply saw it as a task, a responsibility bestowed onto him. Something to carry out, and complete; feeding them, clothing them, and teaching them the extent of what he knew was right from wrong–but he kept himself at a distance even then. It wasn’t on purpose, he just didn’t know how to close it. Emotional connection didn’t come easily for Luka, and it was a work in progress.
They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the rhythm of Luka’s hand patting the baby’s back. Till sipped on the coffee, exhaling as the heat slid down his throat. Absentedly, he raised his free hand and scratched at his neck. The scars there had faded, but he knew they were there–the cause of his own actions. He clawed at his skin to keep ‘Ivan’ at bay, and he’d been quiet for years. Now he scratched at them out of a habit–an odd form of comfort he couldn’t shake.
“I still can’t believe it,” Luka murmured, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of Ivan’s chest. “When they told me, I really thought you’d lost it.”
Till slid a hand down his face. “Luka, he’s supposed to be dead . I mean–I saw them kill him.” Till opened his palms in front of him, remembering. “When I held him, just for that minute, he wasn’t there. Or maybe it just felt that way.”
Luka ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncertain on what to say. “Dead bodies. They’re still warm after death, they don’t grow cold until a couple of hours afterwards. There was really no way you could tell in such little time.”
Till slowly looked at him, but he wouldn’t look back. Luka looked blank, stating a fact he knew so well. He did that a lot–derive the most eerie things he knew, and he only had knowledge of it because he lived it. Till quietly wondered how many dead bodies did Luka actually see, apart from his two appearances on Alien Stage. He never wanted to talk about back then–it was evident he was ashamed of it. Disgusted with his actions derived from survival. Disdained that, in some twisted way, his act on stage had been entertainment in an otherwise abusive, numbing life. Their first interaction after their performance flashed into Till’s mind, and he grimaced. It was an uncomfortable moment for both of them, and somehow, they’d come a long way since then.
“Are you happy?”
Till blinked. It left Luka in a whisper–almost bitter. The question lingered, as he thought about it, and selfishly shook his head though the blond couldn’t see it.
“I don’t know.” He replied honestly. “But I was relieved. I think.”
“I suppose that’s natural,” Luka muttered. “Time can do that.”
“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Till waved his hand, dismissing the topic.
“I’m the one that bought it up,” Luka countered, a little offended. “Obviously, I want to talk about it.”
“I don’t know–you just sound uninterested," Till said sheepishly, stare trailing to the ceiling.
“Till, I always sound uninterested,” Luka deadpanned. “The kids are constantly confused because of it, and I have no idea how to fix it.”
“Maybe try changing your tone,” Till suggested. “Say, ‘Wow, Suella, did you do this?’ Like you’re actually impressed.”
Luka stared at him, blank as ever, then repeated, “Wow. Suella, did you do this?” in the flattest voice imaginable.
“Great job,” Till said dryly. “Suella just gave up on her dreams of painting.”
Luka rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. “Thanks a lot.”
“Treat it like acting,” Till offered, knowing he was toeing the line. “Like back then. You were always so cheery.”
“I don’t think I can,” Luka said honestly. “It was a tool for survival, which I no longer need. It was exhausting, and the kids deserve better than that.”
Till gave him a closed mouth smile in understanding. He regretted even bringing it up.
“For what it’s worth,” Till said. “I think Suella knows you like her drawings.”
“If I’m being honest,” Luka said, leaning in with a hushed voice. “Even if she can’t tell–sometimes I lie.”
Till snorted, but quickly said. “Let’s keep that between us.”
“Right.” Luka nodded, the baby curling her small hand around the finger he idly offered her.
Till smiled at him, and Luka returned it, though it was hardly noticeable. Then, the moment between them was interrupted by the slight shifting on the cot. Till stood up, and turned toward Ivan. The man’s eyes were open, almost sluggish as he took in his surroundings–flicking to and fro to what he could make out without having to turn his head. Then, jarringly, he snapped his gaze to Till, causing him to step back.
“Ivan,” he said, trying not to startle him. “It’s okay. You’re safe–”
But Ivan wasn’t listening. His head didn’t turn, but his eyes shifted to Luka. He stared at him with an unreadable expression, as if trying to match his face to something else in his mind. Then, without warning, Ivan sat upright, peeling the blanket off himself in one smooth motion, his eyes still locked on the blond.
“Um,” Luka muttered, wrapping his arms around the baby as she started to squirm, like she even sensed the shift in the air. “What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know,” Till gritted, inching forward to attempt and calm down whatever was happening right now. “Ivan, it’s me–Till. Do you remember who I am?”
“I found him,” Ivan finally spoke. Though his words weren’t accusatory, he didn’t sound angry, or upset. He didn’t sound like anything. His tone was mechanical, devoid of any emotion.
Luka looked around, and it would’ve been comical if not for how confusing this all was. “Who?” Luka asked when he wouldn’t explain himself further.
Ivan inched closer, and Till pressed a palm against his chest. “You.”
Luka’s eyes widened, and the baby girl started to whimper. Till’s heart pounded, and he grew anxious. How was he supposed to explain a year of history in so little time? Of course Ivan would be upset, undoubtedly still reeling with hatred for Luka after everything they’ve been through. Till wondered how much he knew, but he didn’t seem like he was willing to sit down and talk. Ivan swayed slightly, still weak, but whatever was fueling him now had overtaken his need for rest. Till opened his mouth, his brain scrambling for a way to reason with him.
“You’re wanted by the PDA,” Ivan stated suddenly, and Till’s face fell. It should be a relief that he wasn’t talking about Alien Stage and all that conspired. But somehow, Till felt that this was worse. “I must turn you in at once.”
The PDA stood for the Pet Disciplinary Association. It was where captured wanted pets were sent once found–sentenced to death upon discovery. Why on earth was he talking about that? Before Till could make sense of it, Ivan looked down at him with those lifeless eyes. For a split second, it resembled the way the hallucination would look at him as it scrutinized him, and blamed him for his past, death, and everything afterwards.
“You are too,” Ivan grabbed his wrist, and Till immediately tried to yank it back. “Both of you are to return with me.”
Luka sprung out his seat, and bolted toward the door–the baby’s wailing vanished down the hall with him.
Ivan’s grip grew tighter–a silent round two. But this time, Till couldn’t find it in himself to fight back. He was in a state of shock. Ivan shoved him against the wall, his feet scraping uselessly against the tile.
“Failure to comply will result in immediate death,” Ivan kept on, as if reading off of a script. But by his force, so strong despite his near-death experience, Till could tell he was serious.
“Ivan,” Till stammered, “stop. You’re scaring me.”
“Your emotional well-being is not my concern,” Ivan replied without inflection. “I am authorized to use all necessary force to apprehend the fugitive pet.”
“I’m not a pet!” Till seethed, pushing him away but he stood tall like a brick wall. “I’m your friend, Ivan.”
“Guards are not permitted acquaintances,” Ivan said, unmoved. He couldn’t be reasoned with. Whether by design or by choice, he had a counter for everything Till tried to say. “What existed in the past is no longer an extension of me. My sole function as a weapon is to secure fugitive pets and maintain the integrity of the Segyein structure.”
A weapon. So that’s what they meant on the news. There weren’t any guns, knives, or bombs on the plane. Just guards–the aliens' weapons. If that were the case, why was Ivan the only one there?
“Alright,” Till finally gave up. This wasn’t the man he remembered. This Ivan was hollow, remnants in a familiar shell. Just flesh, a snaggletooth, and those deep red eyes tethered him to who he used to be. Back at the crash site, in the rain, Ivan had looked like his Ivan as he laid unconscious in his arms. But Till had been wrong, he hadn’t known who this was at all. “Just–let me go, and I’ll go with you.”
Ivan stared at him, unwavering. Abruptly, his grip loosened, then dropped completely.
“You asked If I remembered you,” Ivan caught his attention, and Till forced himself to meet the coldness of his gaze. “I do have recollections of you. But those memories mean nothing to me.”
Till could only stare at him with shaky eyes, mouth ajar, and he couldn’t move. Long ago, he came to terms with Ivan’s death, and all the things that he could only shout into the wind. It was frustrating at times, to be hit with a memory–a regret. To think about how differently it could've gone. Like if he just showed Ivan his stupid drawings, or if he gave him the flower crown with an explanation.
Escaped with him under the falling stars.
If they both weren’t so hot headed, inexperienced disasters created by their environment. Yet, to know he was alive all this time, remembering the things that haunted Till so much-and to feel absolutely nothing towards it? It hurt. Hurt like hell.
Till sniffled, and ran his sleeve under his nose. Ivan continued to give him that blank look, as if observing how he would proceed. Like a robot. But Till just stood there, lips threatening to spill out cries he wouldn’t be able to control. Ivan began to say something in that same dead tone–something about retrieving Luka–when a dart whistled through the air, and lodged into his neck.
Till went rigid. Ivan’s eyes widened–just slightly, as he made a fist around the tranquillizer. He didn’t even get to attempt to yank it out, his eyes rolled over, and his body hit the tile beneath them. Till snapped his head towards the doorway, and Isaac stood there with a tranq gun, lowering it when he deemed the threat subdued.
“You okay?” he asked him, walking into the infirmary. Luka stood at the threshold, bouncing the fussy baby, watching him with those solemn eyes of his. He’d gone to get help.
Till nodded, his hand crawled up his throat, and wrapped around his neck. “I’m alright. Just–shaken up. I guess.”
Till exhaled, and quickly went to help Isaac lay Ivan back into the cot. He staggered, and fell back into his seat beside the bed. He was so confused, the man’s words kept playing in his head. A total stranger in a body he used to know. Isaac gazed at him, as if sensing his inner turmoil.
“I’m going to go feed her,” Luka mumbled, the baby’s limbs flailing with growing protest. He unbuckled her from the carrier and cradled her in his arms. She settled instantly, her cries melting into his sweater.
“Okay,” Isaac said, giving him a small wave.
Luka gave Till one more of his sad, unreadable almost-smiles before turning down the hallway and disappearing out of the building. Till wiped at his eyes, his gaze falling to the scuffed toes of his boots. Isaac pulled up a chair beside him and sat quietly, and a moment passed before he placed a hand on his lap.
“I should’ve told you,” Isaac said slowly. “That this is how guards are. I just… never thought it would matter.”
“So they’re all just unfeeling robots?” Till spat, bitter. Not at Isaac. Not even at Ivan. He wasn’t sure who the anger was for anymore.
Isaac gave a reluctant nod. “Humans are emotional by nature. You can’t be a guard with that still intact.” He hesitated, but carried on. “We’re still not certain, but the theory is that the aliens repurpose the ones who flunk out of Anakt Garden. Brainwash them, condition them, and then assign them some other purpose.”
“But Ivan didn’t flunk out,” Till strained, persistent. “He died, Isaac–”
“I know,” Isaac cut him off, his head snapping away–voice stiffening. “I was there. Remember?”
Perhaps there was more to that action, and those words.
“Look,” Isaac said gently, gathering Till’s hands in his. This was when he felt most like a big brother; when the urge to comfort outweighed the bitter, blunt truths he could’ve given instead. “For whatever reason, the aliens decided he was more useful alive than dead. I don’t know why, and I doubt even Ivan knows why. But we count that as a win. Alright?”
Till nodded, though his heart still felt the impending doom. That dark ozone of emotions that wouldn’t dissipate anytime soon. “When he wakes up, he’s just going to want to turn Luka and me in again.”
“I’ll handle that,” Isaac assured him. “I know it’s painful to see him like this, Till. But we have to remember not to be angry with him. There’s always different degrees to this stuff–and we just have to be patient.”
“He said I meant nothing to him,” Till said. It wasn’t sad. It wasn’t angry. Just a fact.
“He won’t be like this forever,” Isaac stressed.
Till didn’t believe him. It felt impossible that this cold, mechanical version of Ivan could ever be the one he once knew. That version was gone, Till wasn’t stupid–he knew that.
“Everyone is capable of change. Look at Luka. See how much he’s changed?”
Till felt a smile twitch at his mouth, and Isaac caught it, grinning as he latched onto it. He gave Till’s hand a squeeze, nudging him with his shoulder.
“Look at you ,” Isaac said, his voice thick with something close to fondness. “How far you’ve come. The Segyeins might think no one’s beyond their reach–but no one stays in their grasp forever, either.”
Though the words left Isaac’s mouth with confidence, Till could see the uncertainty in his eyes. The truth was, this was going to take time, and everything Isaac said felt more like hope than fact. They’d never taken in a guard before. No one really knew how deep the grooming went, how far those vines twisted around the mind–if they remained permanent. Their eyes drifted back to Ivan. He looked peaceful, maybe because being asleep was the only time he ever got to actually be. There was no telling when he’d wake up again, but he needed the rest in order to heal. All Till knew was that it was probably best he wasn’t here for it. He let Isaac pull him up from the chair and guide him out of the infirmary. They tossed him one more look over their shoulders, and then Till flicked off the light and closed the door. It pained him to watch Isaac lock it behind them–but they had to.