#something went wrong when they pricked me and so the pressure was going haywire

[oediex]

When the blood donation centre calls me, I usually recognise the number before I pick up. But on Friday their opening line was different from the usual one.

"We have vegan Magnums!"

In the summer, a freezer occupies the recovery spot at the centre, where you can have a drink and a snack. Besides the usual biscuits, cakes and pieces of fruit, you can have some ice cream. A treat. As a vegan, it's usually slim pickings. Just one or two types of ice lolly. Orange flavoured. Boring.

But when I donated earlier this summer, the nurses were all excited that, for once, they had seen vegan Magnums on the list of products that could be ordered. All of them were very keen to inform me.

"We've been saying, when Oedie comes, she can have a vegan Magnum!"

But when they went to check the freezer that day, while I was still locked to the machine singling out the plasma and platelets in my blood and giving the rest of it back to me, they returned with a disappointing message. Apparently, the vegan Magnums had not, in fact, been ordered. Bummer.

Hence Friday's opening line.

But today was the day. And as I was leaving after a, unfortunately, failed and early-terminated donation session (it happens), the nurse I get along with the most says conspiratorially, "let me come with you to get the vegan Magnums."

They had, I kid you not, hidden the vegan Magnums at the bottom of the freezer, underneath all the other ice cream and ice lollies, just to make sure that I, the one donor they know to be a vegan, would not miss out.

[deviantconnorarmy]

Statistically Speaking...

AN: Done for @tea-with-loki Torn In Two challenge. I got the idea almost immediately, but it was 3 a.m. So I jotted down notes/important snippets/information and it was tabled till the morning (later morning, after sleep). P.S. I love Breaking Benjamin, I usually end up listening to BB for the darker parts of my stories for inspiration.  Also...this is actually short by my standards.  Even for a one shot.

Hindsight AN:  This has turned into a mini-series.  I’m calling it the “Survivability” Mini Series.

Characters: Connor, Fem!Reader, Hank Anderson

Pairing: Connor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language (I’m not posting any other warnings here cause spoilers. I will still tag the story so no one is blindsided by unwelcome triggers)

Word Count: 1527

Masterlist   Next Part --->

"Is this the fate we fall between? Deface the life inside of me. Drain the heart with atrophy, and take away the remedy. I am torn in two...Hold on, hold on, we're barely alive. I am faded through...Hold on, hold on, the fallen arise. I will fight this world for you, and let the dawn of love survive. Broken, I crawl back to life!" --”Torn In Two” by Breaking Benjamin

*Connor POV*

Red and static glitched across his vision, marring the pure white of the snow covered abandoned parking lot. He was damaged, his systems informing him of how much damage had been taken and where, that he only had a sixty-one percent chance of survival if he took a very specific path of escape at this very moment. A few paces away, he could see you laying face-down in the snow, crimson slowly staining snow around you.

An ambush. Of course it had been an ambush. There had been a high probability that the information you both needed for the most recent turn of the Deviant case--androids being used to smuggle drugs one of which had caused a red ice lab to explode and killed dozens when it had gone deviant--could be found here. Connor had thought that the potential to find beneficial information had outweighed the risk.

He'd been wrong.

The shooting had started, and Connor had been the first one hit, his clearly android clothes making him an obvious primary target. The bullets had continued to be unrelenting as you both dove for different spots of cover behind broken down, rust covered cars. Connor was in bad shape, but behind the car ten paces to his left...

Chance of Survival: 3%

Three percent.

She's not going to make it.

His escape path was clearly mapped out in his mind. He only needed to follow it. You weren't going to make it no matter what he did, not with those odds.  The best thing he could do was limp back to the precinct and tackle the case from a new angle. It was the only logical option. Leave you. You were practically already dead.

So why hadnt he moved yet? A precious second went by and his survivability dropped to fifty-nine.  He needed to act.

But he couldn’t leave.

Connor shifted to a coiled position, ready to spring forward in your direction at a moment’s notice.  Thirium dripping from his wounds and stained the snow blue, but he ignored it and the Software Instability in the corner of his vision that seemed to be going haywire.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Connor acted on what he would call instinct--if he wasn’t a machine.  He let the desire to help you however he could override the logic he’d assessed the situation with.

Three percent may have been a terrible chance of survival, but it was still a chance.

Determined, Connor leapt forward, racing to cover the distance between the two cars to get to you as gunfire rang across the parking lot once again.  Connor’s survivability dropped drastically, halved in seconds to twenty-four percent, and his systems quickly alerted him he’d sustained more damage and lost more thirium.  Another bullet hit a major component in one of his legs, and he went down, a foot from the car you were lying motionless behind.

Chance of Survival: 2%

Connor planted his arms in the ground, dragging himself against the ground to crawl forward that last foot.  He was leaving a thirium trail in his wake, another bullet grazing the back of his neck.

His survivability dropped to seventeen percent.  Yours was still clinging to that shaky two.

Connor managed to get his head and upper body behind the car, shielding the important parts from the gunfire.  Another bullet got one of his feet, and he ground his teeth together, pulling himself over to your side with more effort than he cared to admit.

Chance of Survival: 3%

Connor’s LED flashed--it had been red this entire time, but for the moment, it was yellow as he made a call for help.

5%

To his surprise, he saw your fingers twitch, and you stirred slightly.  He’d thought you’d been unconscious, but you seemed to still be responsive.

“C...Connor?”

The mumbled words were muffled by the snow, and would have been inaudible if it hadn’t been for his android senses.  It also stirred him back to action as he pulled himself over to you, putting his arm around you.  It took a few moments, but he managed to pull himself on top of you, one hand finding its way underneath you so he could put pressure on and try to stop the bleeding from one of your more serious wounds.

7%

“C...what..?”

Connor could hear footsteps approaching, and he felt his heart hammer in his chest, knowing that the people approaching had to be their ambushers.

“Don’t move,” he whispered back.  “No matter what happens.  Don’t.  Move.”

8%

Connor closed his eyes.

His own survivability flashed in front of him, a single, glaring red 1%.

In one last attempt to help your chances, he did his best to heat up his temperature before you were both found, not wanting you to freeze to death.

“Found it!”

Connor felt panic--actual fear--as the voice echoed above the two of you, and his grip around you involuntarily tightened as he saw that last chance of his survival disappear.

0%

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

*Hank POV*

Hank didn’t waste any time in getting to the parking lot Connor had directed him to, the ambulance he’d also requested struggling to keep up with Hank’s speed.

It would just have to keep struggling--there was no way in hell he was slowing down.  Whatever was happening, Connor had sounded like it was urgent, clearly life and death.

“You better be all right, you fucking plastic prick,” Hank muttered out loud as he took a risky hard turn into the abandoned parking lot, the hula girl on his dash dancing wildly.

Hank only bothered to pull into the parking lot enough so that the ambulance still had room, jumping out of the car and pulling out his gun and a flashlight as he rushed into the parking lot, flashlight sweeping behind car after car when he didn’t see Connor or you out in the open anywhere.  The android EMTs followed a few paces behind him, waiting for a signal that would tell them who their patient was.

He’d been searching for almost ten minutes when he caught sight of something blue glowing in the snow, the clear sign of an android.

“Connor!”

It was already a bad sign that the android was on the ground and covered in snow, but the fact he didn’t respond to Hank’s call only made the fears hank had been trying to suppress worse.  As he got closer, he could see the thirium stained snow leading from one car to where Connor was currently lying motionless, and then he saw the crimson...

Finally he got close enough his flashlight illuminated Connor’s body, riddled with bullet holes and lying unmoving atop something Hank couldn’t see.

“Connor!” Hank shouted, tucking his gun away as he dropped next to the android.  He tried to roll him over, only to realize Connor’s arm was wrapped around something.  Hank quickly switched tracks, pushing Connor the other way and rolling him onto his back.

As well as revealing you were hidden underneath him.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank swore, one hand reaching out to Connor while the other landed on your shoulder.  Not a single bullet had pierced through Connor to you, but his clothes, especially his jacket, was soaked in thirium, the same blue blood coming out of his nose and mouth, eyes still closed, LED dark.  “Jesus Fucking Christ...”

Hank rolled you over carefully, expecting to see you riddled with bullet holes and dead as well.  When he did, he only saw a couple gunshot wounds, and he could see--now that you were on your back--that Connor’s hand had been over the worst, keeping you from bleeding out before help could arrive.

Your chest rose.  Marginally, but enough for him to see you were somehow still alive.

“Get your asses over here!” Hank hollered at the EMTs, who were already hurrying over with their stretcher.  “Shit!”

Hank looked over at Connor again, taking in the blue blood drag mark from the other car, and the crimson snow that hadn’t budged, the bullet holes all over him, your blood on his hand.

It wasn’t hard for Hank to put together that whatever had happened, Connor’s actions saved your life at the cost of his own.

Your life took precedence.  Hank went with you to the hospital, hoping you were going to be all right--especially with what Connor had sacrificed to keep you alive--unable to help but think of Cole.  It wasn’t like he could do anything with Connor’s body, though--Cyberlife had a certain way of doing things.  They were supposed to be called when there was a destroyed android.

They didn’t come for hours, though, unbeknownst to Hank, or you, lying in recovery in the hospital, currently in a coma but the doctors optimistic considering how far you’d defied the odds already.

Connor remained lying in the snow for hours, surrounded by blue, white, red, and rusty metal.  It started snowing again, gradually hiding the android from view of the outside world as time slipped by.

There was a soft whir that hummed through the parking lot.

A dull red glow emanated from beneath snow.

Next Part --->

[welcometophu]

Missed Fortunes: Self 6

Twinned Book 2: Missed Fortunes

Self 6

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Risks are terrifying things, and Carolyn really doesn’t like taking more than one in a week. At this point, she’s lost count for this week, and it’s only Thursday.

On the one hand, she has a girlfriend. A sweet, adorable girlfriend.

On the other hand, she still has to convince Del to help with her final project. And while there are still more than two months left in the semester, Carolyn feels an urgency and need to help Sam now. She needs to make this call.

After more than two years of silence, it feels strange to dial Del’s number. Carolyn sits on her bed with her back to the wall. Nikita and Heather are curled together on Heather’s bed, sharing headphones as they watch a movie on Heather’s laptop. They offered to leave, but Carolyn asked if they could stay. She knows that it’s a crutch, but she also knows she might need Heather to help her stay calm, feel even and safe enough to have this conversation. And just that thought pricks at her skin, irritated by how much she’s let herself lean on Heather over the years without learning how to handle her own emotions.

Still.

This conversation isn’t going to be easy.

The phone rings at least six times before Carolyn fully realizes it. She takes the phone away from her ear, puts it on speaker, and lets it ring two more times.

It’s not going to voice mail, so she presses the button to end the call. She drops the phone on the bed, leans her head back against the wall with a thump.

“No luck?” Heather asks, her voice a little too loud.

Carolyn shrugs. It’s not like it’s time critical.

Lie.

There’s certainly a possibility it could be time critical. Sam’s been stuck there a long time, but it could be getting worse. Something’s been pushing him to try to escape. That’s why she’s doing this now, rather than putting it off until later in the semester. Until she’s done more research, until she has a better basis for what really needs to be done.

Her phone rings, the loud sound muffled by where it’s slipped under her comforter until she digs it free of the bed. She presses the button to answer, then speaker, waiting a heartbeat before calling out, “Hello.”

Heather glances over; Nikita touches the keyboard to pause the movie.

“Hi, Carolyn.” Del’s voice is light, but Carolyn hears the rustling of papers in the background. She’s fidgeting. Even after all this time, Carolyn can imagine the way she moves things around, picking up papers and neatening piles to have something to do with her hands.

“Are you alone?” It comes out sharper than Carolyn means it to, the words landing heavily enough that Del laughs.

“Why, is this some kind of weird—no, I’m not even going to go there,” Del says. “Yes, I’m alone. No Shawn, if that’s what you really want to know.”

Carolyn cradles the phone in her lap, breathes through the tension in her shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I really wanted to know. I don’t want to talk to him right now, just you.”

“Does this have to do with him?” Del asks.

Carolyn licks her lips. There are so many holes in this plan, so many things she hasn’t figured out and can’t get data for. But she gets the feeling that Del’s asking about an entirely different conversation, and this isn’t about that. Not really. Even if Shawn might have to be involved in the ritual. “Not right now, and not that way. Eventually we need to talk about him. But this is actually about Sam.”

“Oh.” The sound of a chair dragged across the floor, squeaking as Del settles into it. “Has he been trying to reach you again?”

“He did. And I went to see him.” Carolyn bends her knees, props her phone on them so she can wrap her arms around her legs and hunch over slightly. “We talked, as much as we could. He was only with me about half the time, maybe, but I’m guessing that’s better than usual.”

“You didn’t hurt him like I did,” Del says softly. “I loved him, you know that, right? I didn’t want to hurt him, or any of you, on purpose.”

“I don’t think what happened was entirely your fault.” Carolyn can’t say that none of it was Del’s fault. The more research she does, the more she thinks that she and Sam and Del might all have been on the same axis of Talent as Dreamwalkers, and their ritual probably enhanced it to the point where it catapulted them into the Dreamscape. Or wherever it really is. “But that’s all past, Del. What we need to do is figure out how to unmake the problem.”

“And you think you know the answer?” Del’s tone puts up walls against the idea. Disbelief.

“I think I have enough pieces of the puzzle to put together a ritual that should work. With Pawel’s help,” Carolyn says slowly. “I’ve sent him a pitch and I’m meeting with him tomorrow, along with Kit, and Kit’s boyfriend.”

“Kit has a boyfriend?”

“Soulmate, actually.” It would be easy to shift topics, to skate away from the difficult things while rediscovering friendship and bonding around the good things in their lives. Carolyn can’t let that happen. “You can talk to him when we all get together.” For all she knows, Rory may end up somehow involved; she’s not sure exactly why Kit’s bringing him to the meeting in the first place, but there must be a reason. “That’s not the point of this.”

Silence for a long moment. “I know.”

Carolyn picks at the fabric of her pajama pants, waits to see if Del has anything else to say. As the silence stretches out again, Carolyn gives in and breaks it first. “So, he was telling me about the Dreamscape. About what he sees, when he’s there.”

Del makes a small noise, and Carolyn interprets it as go on.

“He’s in a forest,” Carolyn says quietly. “He’s lost in a forest, and there are paths everywhere. He thinks it’s your forest, and he thinks you’ve stuck him there.”

“I’ve never seen a forest,” Del says.

“You have the meadow. He knows about that, too. We were all there together.” Carolyn glances over at Heather and Nikita, who are absolutely focused on her conversation. “But now he’s in a forest and he think that when we went into the Dreamscape, all our Talents leaked out and into Shawn. But he’s self-destructed since then because he was never meant to hold it all. And now… Sam thinks we all need to find the right path to walk to get free. All of us together.”

“In the Dreaming,” Del says quietly. “You want me to put all of us into a dream, then we walk some kind of path and it puts us back to start. Like senior year never happened.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Good. Neither do I.” Del’s words fall harder than Carolyn’s, tone sharp and vicious. “Nothing is going to reset this, Caro. We did what we did. There was fallout. There’s no path that’s a magical reset button.”

“That’s not what we’re looking for.” Carolyn hugs her legs hard, the press of her thighs against her chest a comforting pressure. “Del.”

“What.” It’s not a question. It’s a defensive word, thrown up like another wall between them.

“You’re helping Kit,” Carolyn says quietly. “You’re helping Kit with that project he’s working on with Rory.”

Silence for a long moment, almost long enough that Carolyn wonders if she needs to break it.

“Rory,” Del says slowly. “Wait, he was holding hands with—is that the boyfriend?”

“Please don’t get sidetracked.”

“I just realized that I may have missed some information along the way, but hey, I’m not designing the Ritual so I’m not the one trying to account for interpersonal relationships,” Del says glibly. “On the other hand, maybe that’s where we went wrong in ours.”

Oh.

She doesn’t mean….

“Del,” Carolyn says quietly. “None of what happened was because Shawn—”

“You and Shawn fought,” Del responds, just as quietly. “You fought just before everything happened, and when things went sideways, he was locked out of the Dreaming, just as much as the three of us were locked in.”

“That could affect a Ritual,” Heather murmurs, and Carolyn’s heart skips. She’d almost forgotten they were still sitting there, listening to every word.

She licks her lips, picks at the fabric of her comforter. “Fine. When things went haywire, I was probably at least a little bit at fault,” she mumbles. “We were all a mess. Don’t forget Kit was outside the Dreaming as well.”

“And he didn’t end up with less or more power after,” Del says. “He wasn’t affected. It’s like everything just skipped over him.”

Carolyn chews on her lower lip. “Okay. Yes. Point taken.”

“Okay,” Del agrees.

Silence again, and this time Carolyn’s lost track of the conversation. Del somehow railroaded them so far off track that Carolyn isn’t sure there’s an easy way back.

Which means taking the hard way instead. It’s time to be blunt.

“I need your help,” she says quietly. “And I might need it soon. This is partly a final project for my independent study, so technically Pawel can say we’re waiting until April and I’ll be required to listen to him if I want to get credit for it.”

“Would you?” Del asks, and Carolyn ignores the little dig.

“The thing is, Sam’s getting worse. This is obvious to all of us, and to his mom. And it might actually be that he’s getting better: he’s reaching out, which means he’s more in this world. But it makes him a more difficult patient since he’s not really, truly coherent.” Carolyn pauses for a breath. “I’m going to push for that Ritual design to be finished when we meet with Pawel tomorrow. I want to go see Sam this weekend. And I want to get him out of there. I want this over. The rest of my semester can be spent peacefully looking at the sociological and psychological implications of the links between different Talents, and maybe Kit can look at the biological side of the same thing, I don’t know. I just know that we need to help Sam, and we need to do it now.”

“So all four of us go to Sam,” Del says slowly. “And I take you all to meet him in the dream, and then all five of us walk out.”

Carolyn exhales. “Yes.”

“What if I can’t?” A soft hiccup from Del’s side. “Carolyn, this isn’t exactly a natural Talent that I’ve had much control over. I’m a Mage. I’m not a Dreamwalker, and when we go in there, it feels like I change. Like I—like there’s someone else inside of me. She knows how it works, but she isn’t telling me, and she isn’t telling you, and I think she wants us to stay there. In her domain.”

“You’re not insane, Del.”

“I’m not saying I am.” More rustling as Del fidgets. “I’m saying I’m scared, Carolyn. I’m actually terrified. I don’t want to go in there, and I don’t want to help Sam more. And what if instead of helping Shawn become stable, I just somehow make things get all shaken up again? What if this time you get stuck, or Shawn does, or we all do? What if we come out and now Shawn goes traveling through pictures, and Sam gets his illusions back, and you’ve got nothing? What if I just make a mess of everything?”

“There are a lot of variables.” Carolyn’s notebook is on her desk, nowhere near her. Heather slides off her bed, grabs the notebook and pen and hands it to her, anticipating her need. Carolyn flips it open and starts making notes. “And you’ve got things I didn’t even think about.”

“I am the one who’s actually done this.”

“Don’t be snippy.” Carolyn quickly scribbles down as much as she can remember. “Maybe the problem is that last time we were five people sharing our Talents. Maybe this time we have to act as one person. We’re better at Rituals now. We’re older, and we understand our Talents more.”

“Maybe you do,” Del mutters dryly.

Okay, no, Carolyn really doesn’t. Things are still changing, and she feels like she’s somehow in Talent adolescence all over again with Kit. “We know how to work with variables,” she says, which is far more accurate.

“What does your professor think?” Del’s voice is small. Scared. It’s hard to reconcile the vulnerable sound with the image still in Carolyn’s mind of this strong woman, always standing up to the world in ways that Carolyn never really could.

“He kind of thinks I’m nuts, in some ways,” Carolyn admits. She has to tell the truth; they have to walk in with eyes open, aware of the pitfalls. “I think he’s exhausted, Del. He’s been fighting all of this since last fall, and it’s so much more than just this thing with Sam. This part isn’t his battle, but he’s taking it on because it’s still something to do with the shadows. And with the things killing people around here, and the way Nikita’s Talent just exploded into the worst winter storms we’ve ever had. Weird has become a way of life, and it’s burying Pawel. So if we can stop some small part of the weird, and maybe even understand it, I think he’s on board. He wants to understand.”

“And you think this’ll help us—him—understand?”

“I think it’ll be more data and I think we need it.” Carolyn glances at Nikita. “I think it’ll give us a fighting chance.”

“Okay.” The word is a soft exhale, and Heather’s suddenly there, sitting next to Carolyn, one arm around her, a calming presence against the prick of insecurity from Del’s cautious response.

“Okay?” Carolyn confirms.

Another low exhale, then Del whispers, “Fine. Okay. I’m in. Call me tomorrow for this meeting or whatever. Right now I need to—” She cuts off, and Carolyn fills in a series of potential endings for that sentence.

“Tell Shawn,” she says. “We’ll need him there, too.”

A soft huff from Del. “I will. I will.” Quiet for two heartbeats, before Del says, “Carolyn?”

“Hm?” Carolyn says.

“Don’t leave me behind.”

Carolyn exhales, the air punched out of her. It hits her then what she’s asked, for Del to take them all into the Dreamscape. Del, Kit, Shawn, herself, all there to meet Sam and bring him out. “I won’t,” she promises. “We won’t leave anyone behind. That’s the whole point of this.”

“Good. Good.” Another soft rush of breath. “I have to go.”

“Goodbye, Del. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Carolyn’s left staring at the phone propped on her knees, the call ending as the phone flickers back to her normal background image.

“So that’s it?” Heather asks. She leans with her hand behind Carolyn’s back, her head tipped against her shoulder. Her hair is out of the ponytail, curly and thick and teasing Carolyn’s nose.

She’s comforting like a blanket, tension seeping from Carolyn’s bones.

“Thank you,” Carolyn says.

“Any time, you know that.” The peace intensifies before it retreats, and as Heather sits up, Carolyn can breathe on her own. Heather crosses her legs, sits looking at her. “Be careful, Carolyn. I’m pretty sure Del knows that place better than you do.”

“And I know how weird Del gets when we go there,” Carolyn says. She remembers how strange she was in the Berman place, a little like a dream herself. “I have a vague idea what we’re getting ourselves into. Don’t worry, Heather. We’ll all come back.”

“Good. You’re my best friend and I don’t want to lose you.” Heather slips from the bed, heads back to her own to rejoin Nikita. It gives Carolyn space to breathe while the two of them snuggle under the covers, watching their movie.

It’s all set. It’s going to happen. Planning, then attack. Rescue.

Carolyn has to believe they’ll all come back. Anything else is too terrifying to contemplate.

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