Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Doc's chest ached, and felt hot.

It wasn’t always like this, but when it was, put simply it really fucking sucked- especially after a long day when he just wanted to sleep.

It almost felt hard for him to breathe- each breath he took was short, and shaky. The room also may be cold, but he was sweating.

The feeling would probably go away, at least for a while, if he just got some sleep, but every time he laid down he just felt exposed. 

No one was there- but what if they were? What if he missed something?

It didn’t matter which way he slept. If he laid on his side with his back to the door he would constantly sit back up to check it over his shoulder, and facing it only encouraged him further to just lay there staring at it. Laying on his back had the same problems as laying on his sides, and trying to sleep face down is what got him up to the low point he’s at now- sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest, staring out across his room at the door.

Somewhere between being awake, and unconscious, he had mistaken the sound of his own breathing, and his breath against his mattress for someone else being in his room, and it had sent his heart up into his throat. In the moment Doc had even reached for the gun that he kept next to his mattress until he had put together what he was actually hearing.

He felt stupid. It WAS really stupid. Here he is with his back against the wall though anyways, unable to sleep.

It was quiet, and peaceful even at the moment- not the way anyone with a brain would usually describe a place in Nevada- and something about that made the feeling much heavier on him, and twice as frustrating.

He just wants to sleep while he can. 

He can only keep himself awake for so long.

The small place 2B had been sharing with Hank, Sanford, and Deimos should be safe. They’re all here. The room he claimed is even the furthest from the front door. There’s no reason for him to feel this way, and yet…

He put his face in his hands, and breathed in deeply to relieve some of the weight from his chest.

This place really is good. Better than a lot of the other ones Doc had stayed in- with, or without them. They could likely stay here longer than they have in others before it, and they could potentially defend it as well. The position was great. The idea of having a much more permanent base was very exciting.

In the last couple places they had lived out of, they had also had to sleep in sleeping bags or just on whatever furniture was available, but here they had gotten really lucky when it came to things to sleep on too. It had a couple mattresses left behind in it from whoever the previous residents were. Originally the one in Doc’s room even sat on a bed frame, but he quickly pawned that off on Deimos for his, and Sanford's room. 

Sleeping elevated had only given him more things to check on while he had it. It had kept him awake longer than usual because he just kept getting up to repeatedly check under his bed. 

He felt like he was losing it. 

No one is here except who’s supposed to be.

Maybe if he said that enough to himself his body would finally believe that.

It would only continue if he didn’t sleep. It would get worse.

Regardless he was afraid to lay back down. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, and clutched his shirt over his heart.

God.

It’s going to be another long night.

Chapter Text

To say he felt nothing wasn’t quite right. There was something there at times-

Hank often felt numb though.

He laid there flat on his back staring at the ceiling, his mask and goggles long since discarded, and sitting on the floor next to his mattress. It was far too small for his oversized body, but it really wasn’t important. It was strange how much that seemed to bother the others though- it was such a silly thing to worry about for him. Thoughts like that in general were pretty pointless. He wasn’t thinking much of anything though at the moment. 

His head felt foggy, and his limbs felt heavy. 

Something was screaming at him to get up and do something despite how late it was, while the other piece of him just wanted to continue on as he is.  

Thoughtless.

Exposed?

Hank had a brief moment of clarity, and looked down at their clawed hand. He let a short burst of electricity, and sparks trail up his hand to his fingertips. 

Exposed.

What’s the point of all his strength if he can’t use it properly? He can barely think for himself, all his thoughts have been so damn cloudy recently. Half of his actions recently have been nothing but automatic. Robotic. At times he may as well be nothing more than their dog. What the hell is wrong with him?

When did they get so bad?

He stopped what he was doing and gripped his head with his hands, tightly clenching his teeth. 

It wasn’t always like this. 

He swears it wasn’t.

Right?

Hank wanted to just say it started when he was revived, and Magnified, but couldn’t even be sure about that. His memories felt murky. He felt fried. 

Everything seemed to hit him at once and it made his head hurt.

He wanted to be angry at someone or something for making him like this, but there wasn’t anything that didn’t sound like stupid grabs. He ISN’T stupid. They can think for themself. They can.

He wasn’t angry about being alive. If he wanted to be dead, it would not be hard for him to make sure that next time there would be nothing for them to be able to bring back. He wasn’t necessarily angry with Deimos either for what happened. Even if he wanted to be, they were in similar states honestly at the moment, and the added strength, this power, IS great but…

The heavy internal fog that hung over everything he did was driving him up the fucking wall.

His head, and body just don’t feel familiar to him anymore. He can barely recognize himself. Looking at himself more often than not brought on a great deal of discomfort.

It made his skin crawl.

It was hard to recall if he’d always felt that way, and that it was just the same shit as always, or if this had only gotten worse with the recent changes to his body. He felt like he was drowning in himself. His memory is so jacked, and this body isn’t his.

This is pathetic.

The numbness Hank felt was quickly overlaid with more, and more anger the longer he thought on it. Now THAT was a familiar feeling. A more welcome feeling even.

He sat up, still holding his head. 

They refused to sink back under the haze. He needed something. Anything. As long as it made him feel physically or otherwise. 

He stood. Hank could feel his body protest against it. He barely had, or allowed himself any time to heal as is, but he had to move- it made it feel better. It let him think a little clearer. He’ll take anything. The aches were just another thing he could focus on to keep his head above the water.

Hank truly hated these quiet moments by themself. 

He quietly started pacing his little room, trying to be careful not to bump or knock over any of his things scattered around in it. 

The others need to rest more than he does. The last thing he needs is to wake any of them up. 

He’d be a liar to say his body is just used to a lack of rest, but he can manage it better than he’s seen them do. They get sloppy after a while; he can’t afford to be- at least not if they want to survive. What he is used to though is dragging himself onwards regardless of the condition of his body.

Hank hugged his larger, spiked arm tightly against himself. 

He can focus on this, maybe wear himself out, and just pass out when the fog stops hanging over him so heavily. It’s already slightly easing up. It’s fine.

They don’t need to know about this.

They can’t help him.

He doesn’t want their sympathy.

It’s pathetic-

Nothing more.