Chapter Text
John 10:27-28
Jesus said, “My sheep know my voice, and I know them, and they follow me; and I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, and no one shall snatch them out of my hand”.
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Nick throws up. His insides are everywhere, and no matter where I look he's there, and it's black and it's bloody and it's his. The Flood flows through his veins and it's in every crevice of the ceramic floor, in the vomit that I know will stain and take days to scrub away. Poor cleaner.
I had felt Nick's emotions earlier, after being done with the nurses and after he left for his quarters. I felt how scared he was. All his hope was gone, so I had rushed to find him, praying he wasn't killing himself. It was much worse. I found him hunched over the bathroom toilet, maroon slop covering every surface and dripping down his face.
I was horrified, to say the least.
He reminded me too much of myself. The sound of his gurgling and panicked choking seemed too similar to my own. I didn't want this to happen to him, all the suffering I've gone through.
I kneel beside him now, my voice having screamt in horror enough.
“Gurh-” He tries. His voice fails him. Get out.
I hold his shoulder reassuringly. “Nick, I've been through this before. I can help you, I can heal you-”
“DON'T!” He croaks. “Don't…” He throws up again, into the garbage this time. He's polite enough not to vomit on me even when I'm seated on his insides.
“This is hurting you. You have to listen to me. Nick? Are you listening?” He gurgles a noise of approval. I continue. “I can get rid of the Flood, and then you'll be safe. The suffering will stop, okay? I need you to trust me.” I speak with a comfort I've barely known before.
But- this. The link.
It feels weird to switch back and forth from my head to talking, so I shut my jaw. I hadn't realized it hurt.
All I care about is your safety right now. Can't he just let me save him?
You can't force me, Benji.
So you want to suffer?
Only because I get to do this with you.
I stay silent.
Sometimes I can't talk. The link could help me in more ways than one.
You can't just stay half-grace forever.
With you I could.
So you want to stay this vomitting mess?
I don't think you understand what the link could mean.
I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do. It involves too much pain.
I can handle it.
No, you can't. It's a suicide mission. I doubt I'll be able to keep you from dying or becoming a Grace.
Nick is silent this time.
But you know that, don't you?
He stays silent.
I thought that too, you know.
He quirks an eyebrow.
I thought the Flood would kill me. I hoped it would, at least. The transition into a divine monster isn't pretty. I don't think you realize how horrible it is. To be in constant agony but unkillable, basically.
Nothing is unkillable. Not even Graces. Not even you. I flinch at the words, not liking the implication. If I turn evil he will kill me. I don't blame him, I'd do the same.
To be a Grace is to be in the backseat of your mind yet feel every shot your body takes. It's torture. Hell-on-Earth type torture. I explain.
He stops for a moment, and I think he'll throw up again but he turns to look at me, really look at me, and it's so unlike him I shut up.
Can't you just… remove only some of the Flood? Leave just a little for me, for us? He sounds desperate.
I weigh the pros and cons. What would there be to lose? If something goes wrong, or if he gets too sick, I can just save him. And we get to keep telepathy. But no matter what, he'll always be just a little bit sick. Continually unwell.
I nod. Only if, if something were to go wrong, I'm allowed to rip away all the Flood from you.
I see him think, weighing his own pros and cons. He nods. I stand.
It seems sacrificial, almost. I suppose it partially is. The Flood in him isn't just some infection, it's become some horrid part of him. Easy peasy, right? I can do this.
Nick is kneeling in front of me, looking up through his eyelashes, so I hold a hand up and rest it on his head. We breathe in once, together.
I pull the Flood from him. I search through his veins, his organs, and I rip it from him like I'm deweeding a garden. Chunks go flying, oozing from his pores, and his orifices bleed of black, his mouth agape. I think I hear him scream, or maybe he's laughing, but I can't tell the difference in the deafening flurry of my own banshee shrieks. The energy this takes is drained out of me, yet I feel light, too light, like I'm floating and I realize I'm flapping my wings in this cramped bathroom, the tips grazing over the walls again and again and again.
I leave a tiny pebble-sized amount untouched, right next to his heart. The rest floats towards me, towards my chest, and I absorb it. It takes a second to settle, like a weight in your stomach, but after a few seconds it relaxes. I relax, out of breath.
Nick, even though he looked like the demon you exorcise from a possessed soul just a second ago, seems clean and proper now. His hair is disheveled and he has a couple bruises, sure, but the Flood that was flowing down his face like tears is gone.
He breathes, hard, and crumples over. He clutches at his chest.
Nick? I try. I call into the void that is Nick's brain, hoping for an answer. Seconds pass. I almost give up.
Benji. I laugh, relieved, but it sounds more like a snarl. Nick lets out a chuckle alongside me.
“How do you feel?” I say, wanting to get out of my head for a second.
“I'm fine, thanks to you.” Nick tries to smile.
“Show me how you feel, with the link.” I suggest. He listens.
He shows me the bad. Heartache. Acute pain. Like his heart is being stabbed with a million needles. It's quick. Never-ending. I inhale sharply.
It stops just as quickly as it started.
Then Nick shows me the good.
Soothing sting, like alcohol in a wound. Calming burn, like a too-hot shower. Reassuring soreness, like a great workout. The comforting weight of the pain, like a too-tight hug squeezing his heart. I exhale slowly. The feelings fade away.
“Personally, I think the suffering is worth it.” Nick adds.
“We'll see about that. Promise that if it gets too much, you'll tell me? So I can heal you?” My voice cracks. I just want him to be okay.
“Promise.” I wish I could believe him.
He hobbles up, using the sink as leverage to stand on his good leg. I help him. He reaches for the crutches that had fallen down during my flight. We expertly starts to walk out, but stops.
“I'm pretty tired after all this… I think you are too. Wanna head to the sleeping quarters with me?” Nick avoids my gaze, but his face dusts with pink. I try to read his mind, but he closes it up before I get the chance to see. I follow him out.
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We walk—well, he limps and I drag my feet, but you get the point—all the way across the building to the sleeping quarters. It takes time with our conditions, but it's an enjoyable slow silence. We send little emotions back and forth, testing our non-verbal limits. Fear, anger, sadness. Happiness, relief, love. We shy a bit at that last one, unsure, but we find the courage to send it to eachother. It's nice. It's finally the calm we both needed to decompress after everything.
I'm happy, for the rarest time in so long. He's not even talking and I'm laughing because he made me feel ticklish with our link, and I'm happy. God, I'm happy.
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Revelation 21:4
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.