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fairfowl · 4 years ago

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Lie There and Breathe pt 4: Awake

A horde clone oc story (part one here, part two here, part three here)

tw: gore, ableism, eye trauma, pneumonia, suicidal implications, mentioned disordered eating, horde typical cult mentality (it's only a little sad I'm just being cautious)

Time seemed to stretch out like the empty space between stars. The chaos of the healing tent continued to ebb and flow but the clone did not move from his cot.

While he was much more comfortable now that his head was no longer swathed in gore-soaked bandages, he was still more drained than he could ever remember being. He felt dizzy and tired, and his covered left eye throbbed unceasingly. Sometimes it hurt so much that the clone found himself wishing that it had been simply ripped out rather than left in it's socket to ache.

In the long hours he saw other patients come and go, wheeled in and out on gurneys by teal robed apprentices. The sickest and most injured were removed, while patients with grisly hastily-treated wounds were brought in. The clone assumed that the new ones were being pulled straight off of the battlefield or from emergency camps. It must have been some time since the battle had ended but the clone knew that all cleanups took time.

He was relieved to find that clones and Etherians were both being brought in, and that his brothers seemed to be treated fairly so far.

The clone wondered what his brothers were doing, spread throughout Etheria, cut off from the hivemind. He wondered how many thousands were now wandering the planet, maybe they were seeking each other out in the same way that he had sought The Breather.

Far into space ships filled with countless brothers must have been traveling without direction, lost and purposeless. The clone hoped that they were responding to the crisis better than he was, he hoped that they were able to communicate effectively even without the comforting network of the hivemind, that they felt a similar need to survive and preserve the lives of their brothers.

He hoped that if they felt the same will to live as him they were less helpless to act upon it.

The clone rolled over with a sigh, facing towards the canvas wall of the tent when he could no longer bear to look upon the injured and their healers.

Everything had become overwhelming.

The voices of the injured, the sound of the wind on the walls of the tent, even the continuous rasping of The Breather seemed cacophonous and the noises rang sharply inside his aching head. His left eye throbbed in its socket and the ever looming tide of panic once more rose within him.

Since the fall of Prime the clone had been hanging onto his composure as though it were a lifeline, knowing that if he gave in to fear then he risked losing what little control that he had over his own fate, but now the truth set in. He had no control. He was stuck, too weak to even sit up from the cot where he lay.

He had no way of knowing how long it had been since he’d awoken in the tent, but the clone did know that aside from the water earlier he’d had no sustenance. Oral ingestion was not the clones’ usual method of sustaining themselves, but it was utilized on ground campaigns with some frequency and the clone had eaten before although he was not fond of the sensation. Now as his body felt as though it were crying out he wondered if he could even tolerate solid food if it was offered.

For all that Prime had gifted them with sharp canines and strong molars their systems needed time to acclimate to solids, and even on ground campaigns it was standard practice to process food before consumption. Very few of them had ever ingested anything that they would have needed to chew.

Maybe he, The Breather, and all of their brothers were going to starve to death here on Etheria.

Maybe that's what Prime would have wanted.

The clone tried to curl in on himself but his limbs would not cooperate. He was dimly aware of his breaths growing shorter and his shoulders starting to shake, but it was if the sensations belonged to someone else. It was as if he was feeling an echo through the hivemind.

But the hivemind was dead.

All of them were dead.

He was crying again, short choked sobs rocked his frame as tears once again wet the bandages on his face. This time he could see, and the tears were not of relief.

The clone could see carnage and pain and chaos, he could see his brothers torn apart, but he could not feel them. He was weak and disfigured and alone, and he could hardly breathe from crying.

The clone did not wail, he did not scream or curse, but he wept. He wept and could not stop.

~~~

He did not know how long he lay there, lost within himself, a slave to his own fear, but by the time that a hand met his back and jostled the clone out of his misery it seemed that it had been an eternity. The clone stilled.

His tears had dried up but he felt yet more exhausted than before. The clone found that he was furious with himself. He had given in. He had lost control. Something soured deep within his chest at the thought that he had curled up and cried, and in his negligence failed to keep watch over his friend beside him. His self-appointed task was the one thing that he had been able to do since his injury and now his attention had lapsed. How could he be so selfish?

He ignored the hand on his shoulder for a moment longer to listen for The Breather. He listened and listened, but the steady rasp failed to make itself known.

The space beside him yielded only silence.

As quickly as he could the clone rolled himself over, the ensuing pain from his sudden movement lost in a spike of terror that overrode all else.

As he turned the clone was met by the concerned face of The Breather; awake and reaching towards the clone across the void. The familiar face was drawn but alert, his green eyes open as he propped himself up on his elbow.

"Oh!" The clone half choked as he tried to speak. He felt his heart stutter along with his voice as terror turned to shock. The Breather said nothing but his eyes were wide, surprised by the clone's sudden movement. They both held their breath as they took each other in.

"You're awake."

His friend nodded, continuing to stare silently at the clone from his own cot.

"Yes," The Breather eventually croaked, his eyes never leaving the other clone's. "Was I unconscious for long?"

The clone sniffed and quickly wiped his face, wincing as his clumsy hand made contact with the pulverized flesh beneath his bandages. He took a long breath and tried not to look pathetic.

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly. As he pulled himself together he felt once again like a dutiful agent of Horde Prime; one who was communicating pertinent mission details to a fellow soldier. The feeling was comforting but fleeting.

His friend was wheezing again.

"I have been awake intermittently for at least a day and a half" He continued, not letting his eye leave The Breather's face. "In that time you have slept beside me without waking."

For a moment The Breather seemed to draw into himself, his eyes grew distant. The clone waited, his friend had been silent for so long that it seemed no struggle to wait now. Even if he never spoke again the clone felt that he would be content to know that The Breather was alive and awake.

Eventually the other clone bowed his head, before pulling himself into a curled position on the cot. He was still in the propped half-sitting position but he lay facing the clone, he looked as drained as the clone felt.

"The hivemind is gone." He said eventually, a dull finality to his tone. "If we are cut off from the hivemind, why are we still alive?"

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly.

"It's so quiet!" His friend whispered, looking anguished as his hands rubbed roughly against his ears. The clone felt his own twitch in response and found himself pushing aside a shock of pain as his cut left ear pulled against its stitches.

“It is, it is.” The clone agreed. He kept his tone even, afraid to startle his friend. “But we are alive.”

“Why are we alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was strange to listen to his friend after he had been silent for so long, and stranger still to hear his own thoughts reflected back to him. Those thoughts did not hum through the hivemind, but were carried by the rasping voice of his new friend. “But we are. We are alive and if we want to remain so then we must be calm and not alarm the Etherians.”

“The Etherians!” His friend scoffed. “Why should we care what the Etherians think? Why should we care if they kill us, if Prime is not here why should we remain?”

A wave of frustration overtook the clone as he watched his companion lose his composure. He did not know if the fury stemmed from the behavior of his friend or his own thoughts and he didn’t find that he cared enough to dwell on it. If this emotional outburst continued it would surely draw attention to both of them, and after worrying so much about keeping The Breather alive it was unthinkable to imagine him throwing both of their lives away for nothing.

Prime was dead.

Why should he care what Prime wanted? Prime couldn’t control him from beyond the grave, couldn’t help or guide him. Horde Prime was useless to him now.

“We are still here.” The clone said gravely, feeling his brow crease sternly although the expression was obscured by the white bandages that bound his head. “Even if Prime is gone we are still here. I have decided to keep myself alive, and if I can I’d like to keep you alive as well.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” And it was as simple as that.

His friend looked as though he was going to continue to argue but as he inhaled the breath seemed to get stuck in his throat, pulling the other clone into a fit of sharp forceful coughs. His shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around his bandaged chest clutching at some unseen wound.

Startled, the clone reached out, running his fingers across his companion’s heaving shoulder. He hadn't expected this. This intensity of emotion.

Really he hadn't expected anything. He'd been living moment to moment when not wallowing in despair, and the idea of what would happen once The Breather awoke had barely crossed his mind. He'd wondered if his companion would be disgusted by him, but he hadn't stopped to consider anything else. Now his new friend was before him, awake, upset, and in the midst of a coughing fit that seemed as though it was going to go on forever, and the clone had no idea what to do.

It hurt—the not knowing, the helplessness—in a way that he had never felt before. The sharp ache in his chest was entirely new. His whole life had always followed a set path, he had always followed orders and obeyed the word of Horde Prime, and where had it gotten him?

His companion's coughing eventually weakened, quieting to painful sounding gasps. The clone watched on, unable to do more than stroke his arm in long slow movements. He hoped that it was calming. He hoped that it meant something.

A moment of inspiration struck him as the gasps turned to wheezing. The clone reached for the half-full cup of water that he had abandoned on the small folding table that Dawn had left behind after re-wrapping his bandages. He didn't give himself time to hesitate before grabbing the cup and offering it to his companion. He pressed the cool ceramic against his shoulder and waited until his friend’s attention turned.

"Wet your throat." The clone said, when his friend finally looked at him. "Slowly. It will help.”

He was still dizzy, still exhausted, but the clone needed to comfort the other however he could. Although he could not feel the echoes of his companion’s terror through the hivemind he could see it on his face and hear it in his voice, and like a phantom pain it hurt to watch.

With slow hesitant movements his friend reached for the cup, and he guided it into his hands, mindful of the bandaged fingers. Reaching his arm as far as he could stretch the clone supported the vessel, providing stability to his companion’s shaky hands. And his friend drank, slowly.

As he sipped on the water his breathing slowed. While his breaths were still short and pained, the terror in his eyes cleared bit by bit. The clone watched as his friend took in their surroundings, his bright green eyes flitting from palace to place, from the patients on their cots to the healers in their white and teal robes. His gaze lingered on the sunlight glittering through the curtained door of the healing tent, and the clone glanced after him, only looking away as his head throbbed from the light. His bad eye was pulsing with his heartbeat and though the clone did his best to ignore it the ever constant discomfort followed him.

Eventually his friend lowered the cup and looked at him gravely.

“You said that you wanted to keep me alive. Why?”

“Because you were here.” The clone said.

It had all seemed so simple before, but now his clumsy words could not give justice to his motives. The feelings were so bright and pure, his desire to survive hummed through his core the way that the Words of Horde Prime should have. It was like distilled light, like hunger. Simple and organic and so suddenly obvious, despite the fact that mere days ago he would have gladly sacrificed himself for Prime and watched his brothers die in droves.

“I couldn’t be alone, and you were here.”

His friend’s hands tightened on the ceramic cup, and he looked down. He didn’t understand.The clone felt his heart sink.

But then something in his friend’s posture shifted. He seemed softer, somehow.

“Thank you.” He said. While his friend still wouldn’t look at him, the clone felt his heart lighten at his friend’s words. He hadn’t done anything for acknowledgement—praise was more alien to him than the Etherian Healers that surrounded them—but it was a relief to hear something positive.

His arm was getting sore, stretched out to support the cup, and he nudged it upwards, encouraging his companion to take another sip. His friend obliged, carefully. The clone suspected that the ease with which he took the water was due to the fact that he had eaten and drank orally before, he wondered if the other clone was a ground soldier like he was.

Earlier—While he lay blind on the cot— he had heard the sounds of other brothers choking and coughing, likely a response to their need for hydration and nutrients coming in conflict with a lack of amniotic fluid within the healers’ tent. The clone supposed that it was lucky that he and his friend were more practiced at swallowing than some. His first few times had taken some perseverance.

His friend finished the water, and passed the cup back to him, and the clone pondered over what they would need to do next.

So far his strategy had been to lay as quietly as possible and not draw attention to themselves, but that plan could only be viable for so long. The clone could tell already that he needed nutrients, as well as further medical care. From what he had observed from Dawn and Mendus the bandages that stretched across his face covered carnage that was far from healed.

At some point while he had been unconscious someone had tended to his friend, but the clone had no idea what kind of injuries hid beneath The Breather’s bandages. Something was hurt inside of him, that much the clone could tell. His breaths wheezed with each inhale and they were short as though the very act of breathing pained his friend. There were also bandages wrapped around the other clone’s foot and hand.

He placed the cup back onto Dawn’s table.

Dawn.

She and Mendus had been kind to him despite the fact that he was their captive, they had changed his bandages and treated his wounds. If he wanted to have his injuries seen to, and to ensure the health of his friend, then they would be helpful allies. He was hopeful that they would at least.

Laying back he let out a long breath. His arm dangled over the side of the cot as he closed his eye and let his head rest against the cot. He would need to make contact with Dawn again, she would be their best chance at moving forward. If he managed to get more information about their fates from her then the clone would be able to plan properly. He wondered what they were going to do now.

He had always been a soldier, maybe he would conquer in the name of Etheria. While the clone had no loyalty to them if it meant his continued survival he thought he could do it. The very thought felt like a sin, as though he were being disloyal to Horde Prime, but Horde Prime was dead. If he planned on being loyal to the dead then he might as well have died along with him.

Maybe he would be afforded some leniency if he volunteered his service. The clone was not sure how useful he would be now—his left eye was almost certainly permanently damaged if not entirely ruined—but once he regained his strength his limbs would be as strong as ever. If the clone proved that he was useful he might be able to protect his companion in some way. Perhaps they would receive better nutrition or shelter than those who resisted.

“I wish I could tell what you were thinking.” His friend murmured. “Without the hivemind I might as well try to feel the mind of a stone.”

“I was just… just wondering.” The clone replied, unsure of how to voice his thoughts.

“Wondering?”

“Wondering how to keep us safe.” It felt silly. Just days ago he would have been understood entirely. Silently. It was the sort of thing that they had known about one another intuitively; and they had all been so similar, so devoted to Horde Prime, that they were as many extensions of one person. One Little Brother.

Now he was one. Himself. The clone wasn’t sure if he liked that, but he decided that now wasn’t the time to be upset about such things. It wasn’t as though any of them had any choice. Now if he was to make himself understood then he would have to explain his thoughts.

A hand reached over to brush against his fingers, instinctively he caught it and held.

For a moment they lay in silence their hands clasped together in the voice between their cots, contemplative but trapped within their own minds.

“I am going to keep us safe.” He vowed, his one good eye staring intently at the canvas ceiling of the tent. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. We will find a way to survive this.”

“Okay.”

*****

I cry when I'm hungry too lol

“companion’s” etymology breaks down into “one with whom you break bread” I like that a lot

I’m adding the ��disordered eating” tag because the way that the clones have learned to consume nutrients is inherently disordered. They had no choices and have only experienced eating as we know it (orally) due to necessity, although I do believe that sipping water was practiced amongst the Horde if only due to its practicality. This story is not about Hordak, but I do headcanon that in his case this cultural disorder segued into a more traditional eating disorder

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fairfowl · 4 years ago

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Lie There and Breathe pt 5: At the Same Time, to the Same Place

A horde clone oc story

tw: mild violence, discussions of injury, loss of agency

They were being moved.

An apprentice had approached them and informed them of this fact before hurrying off, tapping patients on their shoulders and marking those who could not answer with a bright red strip of tape. Each patient he approached was added to a list. The clone watched as the young Etherian rushed from cot to cot.

He had a dark brown smear across the sleeve of his teal robe. Eventually the apprentice rushed out the door taking his list with him.

After that things happened quickly.

Unfamiliar Etherians had approached his cot and a tall furred person then asked the clone if he could stand. When he found that he could not, the tall Etherian directed the others to pick him up and put him on a gurney. The clone did not have the time nor the strength to stop him, but as unfamiliar hands pulled him from his cot he cried out, first in pain and then in horror as he realized that his friend was being left behind.

"No!" He shouted, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the gurney. A forest of hands grabbed at him, trying to push his shoulders back down. The clone screamed and bucked against them with all his strength. There were hands on every part of him grabbing and pushing as he struggled.

Over the noise of their harsh voices he heard his friend calling out as well, and the sound bolstered him in his struggle.

"I won't leave him! No!" He could hear the blood pounding in his veins as he fought, claws and fangs ripping at anything that they could touch, but he saw nothing. The only thing he knew was that he would not be taken without his friend. More hands pushed him downward, pressing his claws against the gurney. He bared his teeth, panting.

"Stop it!" He forced himself to still as he realized that his struggle was hopeless. The clone took a shuddering breath as he tried to push down the panic that burned his lungs. After a few moments the hands loosened on his limbs, but they did not release him. Distantly he heard his friend crying.

"I won't go without him." He said, his voice shaking. "I don't want to be separated. Don't try to take me."

It was a warning as much as a plea. Although the clone could not sit up on his own, and had no strength left in his limbs he was prepared to fight them with everything he had. His claws were still sharp, as were his teeth.

"You listen here," The tall Etherian leaned in, pushing his hot breath against the clone's bruised face. Frustration was clear in the Etherian's eyes, and the clone felt his heart stutter, but he did not look away. He would not back down.

"It is my job to get you out of here, and safely to the mobile hospital in Dryl and I will get you there whether you like it or not."

The clone bared his teeth but continued to lay still. He heard his friend crying more clearly now, and listening to the sound of his weeping felt like dragging his claws through an open wound.

"You're buddy over there is coming too, so don't fucking fight me."

For a moment the clone and the Etherian stared at each other as the clone took in what he had said. The sound of weeping had turned to nearly silent gasping sobs.

"I want to go with him." The clone said finally, watching the others who had accompanied the tall Etherian out of the corner of his eye. "At the same time. To the same place."

"Yes" The Etherian replied, throwing his head and arms back dramatically. "That's what I said!"

The gesture made the already huge Etherian look larger-than-life, the thick fur from the top of his head fell over his shoulders like a waterfall and his two sharp horns nearly scraped the canvas ceiling of the tent. For the most part the clone realized that the Etherians were shorter than him and his clone brothers, but this one was at least as tall as Horde Prime himself.

"No." The clone said, "No it's not."

He took a steadying breath and listened again for his friend's quieting sobs.

"You didn't say anything. We were told that we were being moved and then you all came up and grabbed me. I didn't have any idea where you were taking me, or if he was going too." He bared his teeth and watched, gratified, as a few of the smaller Etherians stepped back.

“Well I am taking both of you.” The tall etherian grumbled. “But if you don’t calm down you’re going to Dryl in a straitjacket. I won’t have you hunting my transport team understood?”

The clone nodded, the pain from his flailing was beginning to seep in as his adrenaline wore off, and he just wanted to sleep. The persistent sobbing breaths beside him served as a reminder that he could not rest yet. As if to emphasize the clone’s conviction his companion choked on his sobs and began to cough.

“Braham, what’s going on?”

Dawn’s antlers, and then her head, appeared over the tall Etherian’s shoulder, her long face pinched at the brow with concern. She seemed small beside him, but her posture was that of one in control of their situation, and that comforted the clone. Dawn had been kind to him thus far, and knew of his attachment to his friend.

“This clone went wild on us.” Braham's entire mannerism changed as he turned to face her. The clone watched the interaction warily but said nothing. “We went to get him on the transport and he scratched Wilbur’s arm and then he bit me!”

Braham’s eyes widened and he tilted his head pitifully as he waited for her to respond. Somewhere below him, the clone bared his teeth and reached for his companion, who was much closer to him now that the clone had been moved to the rolling gurney. His friend clutched desperately back at him, half-sitting up to shield the clone.

It struck the clone as he lay there, dizzy and exhausted, that this was not how he had meant for his relationship with his companion to go. He had vowed to protect the stranger who lay unconscious beside him, and although the stranger had been comforting to him simply by being present, he had not expected anything in return. Now they clutched at one another in a way that would have warranted purification in Horde Prime’s infinite wisdom, and his mind reeled at how much had changed in such a short time.

“You probably hurt him.” Dawn chided, her voice rising as she looked down at the tangled clones. She put a hand on Braham’s shoulder and turned him partially away. “The one with the bandages on his head has an orbital roof fracture, the frontal bone of his skull has a gouge in it a centimeter thick! I think he must also have a concussion but I can’t really tell because he has no pupils.”

As she said this Dawn gestured emphatically, her ire directed at Braham and his cronies who were backing away submissively.

“I need you to be gentle with my patient, don’t assume any of them are stable until we can get them to a proper facility and evaluate them.”

“Okay, okay Dawn, jeez!” Braham was outright whining now, and the clone felt his companion shift so that he could also watch their interaction. The clone did not know if he had ever witnessed this sort of exchange between alien species; usually when he interacted with those outside The Galactic Horde it was during combat. Even when he had witnessed Mendus and Dawn speak while they had cared for him earlier their conversation had been between a master and subordinate.

For all that Dawn and Braham were disagreeing with one another they also appeared comfortable enough to do so without actually fighting. It was fascinating.

His head throbbed, and the clone winced into his companions arms. He wondered what a gouge through his skull could mean for him, but did not allow himself to dwell on it. He already knew that his injury was severe, he knew that he would have been decommissioned had his injury occurred just a week ago.

It would not help to dwell upon it.

He supposed that as long as he was conscious it must mean that the damage to his brain could not have been too terrible, although he would certainly agree that he was probably concussed.

“Just…” Dawn covered her face with one long-fingered hand and sighed. There were dark green and red-brown smears across her sleeves as well. “Just take them, one after the other. Make sure they stay together in-transport. If these guys keep each other calm then that’s a blessing, and we need all the blessings we can get right now.”

…..

The transport was a rough land vehicle made of riveted metal. It’s hull was painted a dusty matte black with the Horde insignia painted in red along its side. It didn’t look like any of the Horde vehicles that the clone had ever seen, but he did not get a very long time to look at it before being loaded into its hold.

The inside was unpainted and bare, with only front seats for the vehicle’s operators. As he was propped against the wall the clone wondered if it had been made for cargo prior to it’s impromptu use as an ambulance. His companion was nestled beside him on the floor, padded only by thin blankets under and around them, and they were once again shoved into a corner as more and more patients were loaded on. The sickest and most injured were laid down the middle of the floor on stretchers while those who were conscious and able to bend their limbs were pressed against the sides with no room between them.

It was not an elegant arrangement.

He had budged himself to the side so that his companion could lay his bandaged leg flat, and he leaned the uninjured side of his skull against the wall in an exhausted slump. From then on it seemed as though time stopped.

The transport bumped along an unseen road, and little outside light reached the injured inside it’s cabin. The air was stale and the sound of crying, moaning, and panting breaths mixed with the roar or the engine. The clone lost himself to the sounds, his arm wrapped around his friend as they moved.

The sound of his breathing was constant and comforting, still audible as they held each other close.

It seemed to go on forever.

At some point the clone gave into his exhaustion, and when he woke the scene was much the same. The patients’ bandages were wetter, their moans quieter, and the air staler, but their positions were unchanged as was the roar of the engine.

He twisted his spine and moved each limb experimentally, careful not to disturb his sleeping friend. His friend’s rasping breaths seemed to have cleared somewhat and the clone found himself thanking Prime for their hearty construction.

Thinking of Horde Prime as he sat pushed into a corner of a strange vehicle felt absurd, even pathetic.

Surrounded by the injured as they were ferried off to locations unknown may have been the furthest from Prime’s light that he had ever been. The clean bright halls and steady unwavering camp lines that had made up his life so far felt impossibly distant, and the comforting hum of his brothers’ minds was yet silent. The only thoughts in his head were his own.

He tightened his arm around his companion’s shoulder. The other clone could not lean his head against the clone’s bandaged side without hurting him, but they’d huddled together arm to arm, glad for the opportunity to be close. Had he ever been so physically close to anybody? Perhaps on the battlefield when he and his brothers had crowded together, an eager pack to be let slip upon a planet’s population.

This is different, he thought before closing his eye and drifting off again.

When he awoke again the transport had stopped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again thank you for reading, I really wanted to get the plot moving earlier but alas

anyway I have some small notes

The apprentice at the very beginning is documenting which patients are moving by their cot number. As of now only Hordak and Wrong Hordak have names so the clones present something of a problem when it comes to organizing. The Etherian healers know how many clones they have in any particular tent, but documenting which injury is connected to which clone has necessitated a (pretty disorganized) numbering system. Some clones will probably be lost in the shuffle

Braham the Minotaur wasn’t supposed to exist, he inserted himself into the story with all the elegance of a bull in a china shop

But I like that he’s here. I feel like the repeated general decency (and he is supposed to come off as decent, if rushed) of the Etherians is helpful in making the poor lost clones realize that they aren’t going to be treated cruelly

Though he is pretty incautious and obviously frustrated. It’s easy to just want to move people quickly and quietly, especially in emergency situations, but also important to remember that your patients are probably terrified and if you manhandle them they might hit you

#spacebats #horde clone oc #horde clones #spop #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #hordak #mystacore #Lie There and Breathe #Chamomile the Clone #Calamine the Clone #spop oc #wrong hordak #original #i contributed #My fic

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fairfowl · 4 years ago

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Lie There and Breathe pt 2: A Poor Choice of Watchmen

A horde clone oc story (part one here)

Tw: mild gore, cult indoctrination

The next time that the clone awoke it was to a feeling of coldness. The bandages that were wrapped around his head had become soaked.

The clone reached a hand up to touch the wet cloth over his face, wondering if someone had poured water over him while he slept, but as consciousness returned to him he realized that it was more likely blood. The wetness had dampened the bandages, and then dripped down onto the thin pillow under his head. It was very unpleasant.

The emptiness in his mind seemed to amplify the pain from his wounds, leaving the frantic signaling from his nervous system to echo around inside his skull rather than travel outward into the hivemind as intended. He missed feeling his brothers, and being felt. He missed the comforting thought of Horde Prime Feeling him and Knowing him as an extension of his own glorious self.

It was no wonder, the clone thought, that other species were so desperate and primitive. How could one be anything but when left trapped within their own mind?

He was already tired of being alone.

The clone took a slow breath, and listened for his brother The Breather beside him. He quickly isolated the familiar rasping sound from the chaos surrounding them. The wheezing sound was quieter than it had been, and the clone reached out, hoping that his companion had not been moved further away. His talons at first met empty air.

The clone strained further, partially lifting himself off the cot as he reached blindly across the void.

Eventually he found what he sought.

The soft strong skin of a fellow clone.

It appeared that while the clone had slept someone had come and propped The Breather up in a half sitting position. The clone noticed that his companion's breaths seemed to come easier from the change and wondered at the improvement as he traced The Breather's arm from wrist to shoulder.

He scooted as closely to the edge of the cot as he could manage, still too weak to sit up on his own, and rested a hand on his companion's arm.

"You should wake up Brother." He said softly, his voice rough from disuse. "I don't know what's happening but with two of us we will stand a better chance than one."

The Breather slept on, each breath long and slow. For his part the clone found that he didn't mind.

"That is fine." He said aloud, feeling silly and slightly hysterical. "I will keep watch for both of us, I-"

The clone stopped abruptly, as the tide of panic lapped at his mind once again. For all that he had been blind since first awakening the darkness seemed to become more menacing the more that he thought about it. The clone shuddered but soldiered on, continuing his one-sided conversation.

"Although I am a poor choice of watchmen at the moment."

He needed to remain calm. If he kept his wits and didn't panic he and The Breather would still have a chance.

If he stayed calm then they might survive.

He did not stop to wonder when he had become they. All the clone knew that he wanted both of them to make it through this, although for the first time he did not know what the future held. It had all seemed so simple before, he would have served Prime for the length of his existence, whether he perished in battle or simply reached the end of his useful life. Now Prime was gone and the clone was still shocked by his own urge to continue living.

On an impulse, the clone stretched further across the void to hold his companion's shoulder bracingly, craving the grounding physical contact-

And promptly toppled to the ground as his cot overbalanced, the wooden frame falling on top of him with a crash.

For a moment all he knew was pain. His head rung like a struck bell, and warmth bloomed upon this wounded face, mingling with the now cold fluids that already soaked his bandages. Smaller sharp pains pulled and stung across his body. The clone was surprised to find that he had yet more injuries, he had been so distracted by the persistent pain from his eye and face that he simply hadn't noticed. Not until he moved.

Still the discovery of his collection of cuts and scrapes was immediately overshadowed by the new bruises that he had surely just gained.

The cot was heavy, pressing hard onto his back and legs, and the chaotic noise of the tent had fallen to a hush.

"Are you okay?" Someone was beside him, kneeling down to his level. The clone briefly considered yelling but decided that it wouldn't help. Instead he simply scoffed and tried to lift himself from the ground.

After a few moments of futile struggling the clone felt two arms grab him beneath the arms, hoisting him up and righting the cot with a set of practiced movements. His head spun.

He listened through the relative silence for The Breather and concentrated again on the repetitive rasping noise as he was set down on the cot in a seated position, his legs dangling as counterbalance while the stranger supported his shoulders.

The new person was talking to him, but he did not hear them. The clone was too focused on breathing in time with his companion, slowing his heart rate as his head continued to spin. Eventually he regained control of himself, and tuned head towards the person beside him.

"Hi" they said, their voice low and soft, as though they were speaking to a frightened animal. The clone had already guessed that the person interacting with him was Etherian but now he was sure. They smelled like grass.

"Hello" He responded, feeling out of his depth. Was this one of his new masters? Did they know the extent of his damage? Maybe they were also someone conquered by the Etherian Princesses and the She-Ra.

“Hey,” they greeted again, the clone did not understand why but said nothing “You took a pretty bad fall there, do you think you reopened any injuries?”

Now the voice was hesitant, as though the speaker was afraid of him. Before the fall of Prime the clone would have thought them correct to be afraid, but now he lacked the will to lash out. Truly without Prime he was a pathetic creature.

“I- I think my face is bleeding again…” Indeed the warmth that had bloomed against his cheek felt as though it was dripping downward, mixing with the fluids that already soaked his bandages.

“Yeah, yeah those definitely need to be changed.” The Etherian said, a hand still holding the clone’s shoulder to steady him. “What do you think, Master?”

“I think they should have been changed a few hours ago.” The clone startled as a wry voice chimed in from a few feet away, not far from where The Breather continued to sleep. “This one’s been shuffled off to the corner, but his head wounds will get infected if we don’t clean that up. They might be infected already.”

“Okay, I’ll rewrap them.” The first voice replied. The clone felt a new hand grip his shoulder, larger and less gentle than the first, as the Etherian on his side hopped up and walked away, their footsteps vanishing into the noise of the tent.

"Master…" He said slowly, concentrating on The Breather's quiet rasp as his heartbeat quickened. Fear coursed through him but he refused to relinquish control. "Are you to rule over us now that Horde Prime is dead?"

The very words felt blasphemous, but after so many hours of lying blind and helpless with no idea what was happening The Clone found that he had to know.

"Oh! No!" The person beside him replied, his hand tightening against the clone's sore shoulder. "No no, not until you're no longer my patient at least."

The gruff voice chuckled.

"I am a Master Healer of Mystacor, you may call me Master Mendus, or just Mendus if you’d prefer.” The clone nodded, unsure of the meaning of most of the words he’d just heard but doing his best to absorb them anyway. “Dawn, the one who helped you up, is one of my apprentices. I’ve assigned you to her care.”

As if on cue the footsteps returned, and the soft voice with them.

“I got the supplies. Master, can you hold him up while I unwrap his face?” The second Etherian—Mendus—said nothing, but the clone felt him shift, and the air moved as Dawn stood directly before him.

Slightly overwhelmed by the sudden attention of two alien beings the clone felt himself stiffen up, holding himself as straight as he could manage although still relying on Mendus’s hands to keep upright. Panic still hovered at the edges of his consciousness like a threat, but he held himself together to the best of his ability.

If he lost control now he could be punished or taken away, and The Breather would be left alone. He would not leave his helpless brother to the mercies of their captors.

Dawn’s gentle hands reached up to his face and the clone suppressed a flinch as he felt her slowly begin to unwrap his bandages. Throughout his entire stay within the healing tent he had seen only darkness, swathed in bandages and blood, but as they were peeled away light shone through his right eyelid, green and dim but present nonetheless.

His heartbeat quickened, and the clone felt his claws scrape wood as he gripped the edge of his cot.

Layer by layer the bandages unwound. They stuck over his left eye, but each time they did Dawn sprayed them with a cool liquid that wet them enough to come apart without pain. Eventually cool dry air touched his face and scalp for the first time, and the clone found that the only thing covering his eyes and wound was a gauze pad that stuck there, held by the gore beneath it.

“This might hurt.” Dawn warned, spraying more of the fluid directly onto his face. The liquid penetrated the bandage and stung as it entered the wounds on his left side, he could feel fresh blood welling up and dripping down his cheek. The clone could also feel himself beginning to shake as the gauze pad was carefully peeled away, exposing the wreck of his face to the open air.

And for the first time since Horde Prime’s defeat the clone opened his eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for tuning in to the continued adventures of Chamomile and Calamine the clones (AKA the clone and The Breather)

This time Chamomile actually speaks although he hasn’t much to say, we also meet two new characters

Master Mendus is exactly what he says he is, a healer from Mystacor who has taken responsibility for the hospital tent where our heroes currently reside. He’s a good man...or a good fawn as it were...

Dawn is one of several of Mendus’s apprentices and is currently responsible for both Chamomile and Calamine, she’s a dutiful gentle young doe. She will be Chamomile’s first real link to the Etherians and will help him and Calamine as they go on. Despite her sweet nature she is isolated from her family and seeking out connections

#spacebats #horde clone oc #horde clones #spop #she ra and the princesses of power #the horde #she ra #hordak #mystacor #original #i contributed #my fic #chamomile the clone #calamine the clone #horde clone ocs #spop oc #post series #Lie There and Breathe

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