December (6)

"Well, you look like shit."

Colin blinked awake, heart racing from a nightmare interrupted.

"Wait— sorry, were you asleep? I didn't mean to wake you up."

He turned his head to the side to identify the visitor, then couldn't quite suppress the eyeroll once the whole situation resolved into coherency. "Did you mean instead to sit in the dark and watch me sleep? Seems a bit over the line even for you, Harry."

"I've got a little pocket flashlight, I was actually just going to read," Myrddin said, his expression pulling sideways into a half-grin. He'd come without his robes and mask, but the self-proclaimed wizard still had his staff with him, and Colin spotted the oversized stick leaning against the wall next to the chair where Myrddin sat, the man stretched out across seemingly half the floor as well. Colin was tall enough, but Myrddin was taller, and he was built to a far more lanky design that made the difference between them seem more than it was.

"You can read anywhere," Colin muttered, then made an attempt to rub at his eyes and clear his vision a bit. He must have still been dreaming when Myrddin woke him up, at first glance the room had looked much darker and claustrophobic than it was. Great, and his ears were ringing again, too. Not a high-pitched whine like he associated with the aftermath of gunfire or explosions, more of a faint, crackling sound. Like hearing radio static from an adjacent room.

"Sure, but reading here lets me check in and see how you're doing. And how are you holding up?"

"Didn't you just say I look like shit?"

"I didn't mean it," Myrddin protested, then sighed. "Mostly, anyway. You don't look well. And you look really weird without your hair, I'm sorry to say."

Colin's hand twitched, but he managed to resist the impulse to reach up and touch the ugly line that traced along his scalp. He didn't like being reminded of it. "I'm fine."

Myrddin was quiet for a moment. "Colin, I don't need Michael's Truth and Justice aura to know that's a lie."

The sound of his own name made him twitch, for some reason. "...I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright. Then what would you like to talk about?" Myrddin asked, as he settled back into his chair. Colin blinked at him, which only prompted the other man to repeat his question. He… wasn't going to insist? Or leave? Colin and Harry didn't agree on much (or… anything, to be perfectly honest) and after having known him for a while, it was Colin's opinion that Harry simply enjoyed being a contrary bitch. This might have been the first time that Harry had ever done or said something that Colin completely supported; he might have to give him more credit, in the future. Though, he was still putting the onus of finding a topic on Colin, and they didn't have a whole lot of shared interests. Maybe he could just ask about the news, or how Chicago was doing, or—

"Anything but the present," Colin said, and immediately regretted it. He hadn't meant to say that. He'd— he'd meant the sentiment, if he were being honest, but he'd never choose to just say it like that, to just ask for a distraction. Why had he done that? "Sorry, I don't— I didn't mean—"

"It's fine. Hey, did I ever tell you and Michael about this villain we had on the South end of Chicago…"

* * *

Myrddin was still talking over an hour later. Chicago might not have been as virulent with parahuman crime as Brockton Bay, but Harry had a singular knack for having trouble stumble across him while on its way to do anything else, so he had a surplus of stories to tell, and he was naturally chatty enough to be fine with telling them. And with more than one of them, if Colin hadn't seen for himself the sorts of decisions that capes made, he'd have sworn they were complete fabrications.

"So, wait, let me get this straight," he said, interrupting Harry near the tail end of the latest anecdote, "This guy was a Striker only? Not a Master?"

"Mhm. Still don't know if he was actually limited to vermin, or just small animals, or if that was just his preference."

"Who the hell chooses to carry around a bag of scorpions that they can't control?"

"Well as it turns out, a lot of villains just aren't very smart."

Colin had to laugh, just a little: truer words had never been spoken. Granted, that phrase applied to a lot of heroes, too, and the times it turned out false and a villain was acting with intelligence tended to take any humor out of the situation… For a moment, Colin wondered if Chevalier had heard this latest anecdote from Myrddin already. There was a good chance of it; not just because they tended to meet up more often than Colin could afford to, but because even when he did get out of the Bay, he had a habit of focusing on whatever Tinkering he had at hand to do instead of the conversation. He'd certainly done so last time, after the Leviathan fight, and the time before that, after a Behemoth fight…

Myrddin caught his attention before he could follow that train of thought any further. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, the humor vanishing from his face as he asked, "So, really— what happens now, anyway?"

That was not a question he'd been hoping to answer. It wasn't a question he'd even considered, in fact he'd been pointedly refusing to consider it as much as he could. He knew that the doctors and the nurses had been telling him, but beyond that, well… Any time he tried to even wonder about it, the awful quiet would press in, his chest would tighten and he'd start feeling so nervous he'd get sick from it. He hadn't even been able to answer Miss Militia, when she'd asked.

But Myrddin didn't answer to Armsmaster, didn't need him to do anything but speak. And with him here, it wasn't so quiet in the room that Colin couldn't try and order his thoughts a bit.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm… being moved to a rehab center tomorrow, but the neurologist wouldn't give me any ballpark odds on if I'll ever walk again."

"...I'm sorry."

"I thought about— what I could do to Tinker around it, but— well, it's complicated," Colin said, unable to stop the grimace. If it had only been his legs that were broken, he could have had a dozen different solutions by now. "My armor wasn't designed with any sort of impulse system. That is, it can't move for me. I'd have to make an entirely new suit design from scratch and I honestly don't know where I'd even start, I'm not specced for robotics."

"Well, what about—"

"Cybernetics? If I could design and install them myself, maybe, but I don't have any designs that provably work with a biological component, and besides, I would think it'd be kind of insanely risky to try and implant anything into still-damaged brain tissues." How long would that take to heal? And with neuroplasticity being what it was, would a post-injury brain map correctly to where things were supposed to be? He'd never tried to build any of the designs he'd been given by his power, never gotten them prototyped or run any function tests or simulations on them. They'd probably work fine on the mechanical end, interfacing with different examples of tinkertech, but that wasn't the important part. And Christ, even if he'd had a working design, he'd never be able to build it if he couldn't get his goddamn hands to stop shaking!

Colin stopped himself, focused on breathing and not just losing it. Harry was quiet for a moment, letting him at least pretend he had privacy. "Can't someone else do it for you, then? There's more Tinkers in the Protectorate than just you."

"That's—" Colin stopped, and dragged a hand down over his face. "There are, but it won't happen. PRT doesn't permit its Tinkers to augment much, and especially not on other people."

"What? Why?"

"Master-Stranger protocols," Colin said bitterly. "Augmetic, for example— he's a cybernetics Tinker. Or Cranial, over in Toybox. Tinkertech needs maintenance, which means something like a replacement organ or a brain implant like I'd need… it's effectively handing over a killswitch to the operating Tinker. High-impact blackmail."

"But Augmetic is Protectorate," Myrddin argued. "I can see them downvoting Cranial, but Augmetic is a hero. He's on our side, there's no blackmail in that."

"Not now, no. But it could be, and that's all the Oversight Committee sees," Colin sighed. "And they're not even wrong about it. Just because Augmetic wouldn't betray the Protectorate doesn't erase the fact that capes like Heartbreaker exist. Someone subverts him, then anyone he's operated on is compromised by default."

"...I'd wondered why we never had a bunch of mundane troopers with, like, dermal implants or something," Myrddin finally muttered.

"Well— something that simple is more a matter of consent. The whole maintenance thing," Colin explained, and waved one hand in a vague motion. "Not a lot of people lining up to get elective surgery every month."

"Ah…" Myrddin trailed off. After a few moments he sighed through his nose, then looked up and glanced around the room. "There a clock in here?"

"If there is, it's not where I can see it." That was frustrating. Being hospitalized had completely ruined Colin's carefully-measured sleep schedule, and now he kept falling asleep and not knowing when, or for how long. Time was passing, and he had no say in it. He hated that.

"Mm. Sorry, but I should start getting back to Chicago. Got evil plans to thwart, fires to start, all that. But keep me updated, alright, Tin Man?"

Colin nodded, though he rather doubted he'd do so.

"'Will do, o handsome and daring Scarecrow', he said," Myrddin narrated for him, then departed with a smile and a wave. Colin watched him go, then settled back with a sigh. At least he wouldn't be here much longer? That was good. And the ringing in his ears had settled, so there was that. He searched for scraps of optimism for a bit longer, came up short, then finally gave up and resigned himself to waiting for tomorrow.

* * *

The inpatient rehab center had a ridiculous name, 'Hope Gardens' or something, and it had doubled down on the motif by putting framed photographs and cheap oil paintings of plants and nature scenes everywhere. It had bright, airy rooms full of tables and chairs, and different props and tools for physical therapy exercises, and none of it did anything to disguise the fact that most of the patients were doddering old men or hunched-over old women. It was better than the hospice care center, but not by much. Colin stayed silent as an aide wheeled him through the center in a chair, then settled him into his new room. Yu had insisted that he'd stop by later, after school, and he'd thoughtfully offered to bring Colin his clothes from the drawers at home (thus saving Colin the embarrassment of having to ask for them). Until then, however, he had the day to himself to adjust to his new surroundings.

They weren't encouraging. Sure, the room was clean and relatively spacious, seeing as how it'd been designed for wheelchair access, but that meant the measurements for everything were just off. The bed was lower down than he'd expected, as was the sink in the attached bathroom. Little things like that; nothing bizarre, but enough small differences to be disorienting. At least there was a visible clock.

The bathroom had a mirror as well, also too low down to be normal, but at least it was there. Colin examined his reflection for a bit, ran shaking fingers through his beard; it was getting scruffy again. He liked his beard, he didn't want to just shave it off, but needing help to use a trimmer was similarly unappealing a prospect. Aside from that, he reluctantly had to admit that Harry was right: he did look weird without his hair. Hopefully it would grow back quickly. At least there was nothing to get in the way of that, Allen was probably bald as well but he'd heard that chemo could make hair regrow a bit patchy—

Colin had to grab the edge of the sink and lean against it. Allen. If he'd needed chemotherapy, then yeah, he was probably bald too. It was just a statement of fact, it was just an idle thought, why did it have to feel like he'd been punched in the chest?

Colin waited for the sudden tremors and tightness in his throat to calm down. He'd never called, he'd meant to but he'd never— he'd written it down on his calendar. Had it been 90 days yet? He… he had his phone, it and his laptop were the only possessions he'd brought with him to the rehab center. He could call now. He wasn't used to the wheelchair yet, so just getting over to his bag and fishing the phone out of it was a lengthier task than it needed to be, but he managed it. He'd remembered to put their number in his Contacts, at least, and after a few moments of wrestling with the phone he got the number to (probably) Akane's cell displayed.

It took another few moments of staring at the Call icon before he managed to force himself to press it, but he did. Colin tucked the phone into the crook of his neck, holding it with his shoulder rather than his unreliable fingers, and listened to the ring.

The call connected with a click, and a woman's voice. "Hello?"

"This is Colin Wallis," he said on reflex. "I'm looking for—"

"Oh, so you do know my number after all. Could have fooled me, Colin." Akane's voice was bitter, even exasperated. "After this much time, I didn't expect you to call at all."

"I'm sorry, Akane. I've just… been busy," because that was a good excuse. Maybe still better than dragging out old wounds, and admitting that he didn't think his attention was wanted.

"Sure."

Maybe this was a mistake. "H-how… is he? And you," he added. "How are both of you?"

"Alive, thanks for asking." Then she sighed, and her tone lost its sarcasm, but kept the bite. "Surgery went well, but Allen hasn't quite finished up his radiation yet, so I'm stretched thin trying to care for him and keep up with work. And not so much as a hello from you? It's been three months, Colin. Three months before you bothered to even ask. I'm really curious, what got you to pick up the phone?"

"I—" Colin swallowed, and cast his gaze around his bright, cheerful prison full of handicapped-accessible fixtures. No, no there was no way he could mention that. They had their own problems to worry about, they didn't need his as well. He couldn't do that to Allen. "I just wanted… your address."

"What?"

"It's— it's December. I mail a card every year. But I didn't know where to send it this time."

There was a long moment of silence from the other end of the line. "That's it? That's what made you pull your head out of your ass, Colin? No checking in, no offers to help, no, it's a card you're worried about? And you wait until the last minute on that, too? What is even the matter with y—" Click.

Colin blinked. The phone was in his hand again. He stared down at it in horror. He'd— he'd hung up. He'd hung up on her.

...

Well, good job there, Colin! That was only the worst possible response to give, holy shit. If Akane hadn't hated him before, she sure as hell did now. That was just— God damn, anything he touched turned to ash, how did he manage to be so consistently terrible at everything?

A nurse came by not long after, and had him sedated and helped into bed after she mistook his attempt to spontaneously will himself out of existence for a panic attack. Time got rather incoherent after that. He was barely awake when Yu arrived, with a small bag of his clothes and a number of questions. Even while answering them, Colin wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, or if he'd remember later. Whether he made sense or not, Yu didn't complain. He just sat near the bed and listened, until the room got dark and the everyday noise and clutter from outside his small room quieted down.

"Uncle… I am very sorry that this happened," Yu said quietly. "I am going to do whatever I can to make this right. But I want to ask you something."

"Hm?" A vaguely-questioning noise was the best Colin could manage at the moment. He tried to focus his thoughts past the medicinal haze.

"I am sure there are many things you wish you could accomplish; I know you have worked very hard to be a hero. So… if you could still do one thing, what would it be?"

One thing, as a hero? There were a lot of things he still wanted to do. But if he had to choose, then… there was really only one goal he'd been working towards, no matter how far away it always seemed:

"I'd kill an Endbringer." Colin heard Yu take a sharp breath, then exhale slowly. He closed his eyes, sleep claiming him.

"Alright, Uncle. Then... that is what we will do."

.

..

…

"I promise."