Steve Burnside (
craaazyisland) wrote in
trans_92010-11-09 01:29 pm
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There's got to be a morning after [VERY OPEN]
It took a few moments for any thoughts to register for Steve when he opened his eyes. He recognized the inside of a quarantine bubble, that was for sure, but it took him longer to recognize the medical equipment hooked up to him, an IV in his arm and bandages wrapped around his bare shoulder and in a few other spots.
It didn't take long to recognize the feeling of having been run over by a truck, either. Every bone in his body ached, and even the slightest movement made him want to groan. It felt like he'd been asleep for a month-- a dreamless sleep, preceded by blurry, disconnected memories of what felt like a dream.
Memories of something he desperately, desperately hoped was just a dream. He had a sinking feeling it wasn't and part of him knew it to be the truth. But desperately hoping was the only way he could keep himself from screaming, which would hurt, so he'd keep on with that desperate hope anyway.
Steve lay awake and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he stayed quiet they'd think he was still asleep, and he could put the truth and all the fear and sorrow that came with it off a while longer.
It didn't take long to recognize the feeling of having been run over by a truck, either. Every bone in his body ached, and even the slightest movement made him want to groan. It felt like he'd been asleep for a month-- a dreamless sleep, preceded by blurry, disconnected memories of what felt like a dream.
Memories of something he desperately, desperately hoped was just a dream. He had a sinking feeling it wasn't and part of him knew it to be the truth. But desperately hoping was the only way he could keep himself from screaming, which would hurt, so he'd keep on with that desperate hope anyway.
Steve lay awake and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he stayed quiet they'd think he was still asleep, and he could put the truth and all the fear and sorrow that came with it off a while longer.
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Steve finally lifted his head up, frantically scrubbing his eyes. "I just... I can't remember much of it, and what I do remember-- scares the shit out of me."
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"But you stopped and backed up, when you could have continued attacking," he said firmly. "You showed you still could control things. You can take the fear you have and instead of letting it rule you, learn from it. That's how we continue to grow. I still consider myself a student of the Force, even though I've got the title of Master." He smiled. "You're strong, and I'm still proud of you, Steve."
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"How am I supposed to learn from something like this, again?"
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He stepped back to sit on the stool again. "And... trust me, you don't want to be a hero. It always seems to get in the way of things."
Not that Luke'd trade his past for anything. But it was a lot of work.
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Steve wasn't pleased to hear that Luke didn't have any good advice for this one. Then again, he didn't suppose a lot of people really had anything encouraging to say about mutating into a giant monster and nearly killing everybody you knew.
He sighed and leaned back in the bed, exhausted. "I hate my life."
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Steve reached up and rubbed the remnants of tears out of his eyes, shaking his head and finally getting the courage to glance up at Luke again.
"Thank you," he said after a long pause. "For not letting them... you know. Kill me."
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"I've told you before, you're like a son to me," he replied. "I'm not really okay with my family members getting killed, especially if I know something can be done about it. The people you put in the hospital - they'll heal, they'll forgive. You have to do the same yourself."
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"You know, if anybody ever offers to let your skeleton change shape twice in one day? Tell them no. Because it really goddamn hurts."
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"I'll be sure to remember that. Need me to see if I can rustle up anything for pain?"
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"And if you do you have to make sure to tell the doctors so they don't think I just died."