Chapter Text
He’s supposed to be dead. That’s his first thought when he wakes up in a fiery aircraft with smoke burning his eyes and nose. But he’s not.
A part of him wants to lie limp, let the fire consume him. But fear is one hell of a motivator. He looks up past the bent metal and hanging wires. There’s a gaping hole in the side of the helm. He barely has enough cognition to grab a med-kit from under a panel on his rush out.
His leg catches on something sharp, but he only feels the motion as his flesh tears. There’s too much adrenaline in his system to process pain.
Even as his feet hit the ground the oppressive heat on his back reminds him of the imminent danger. The metal around the gas compartment has a high melting point, but it’s only a matter of time before it blows. He needs a minimum of 400 feet to be safe from the main explosion, but the recommended is twice that. If the core has a reaction, well, he might as well stop running and cherish his last moments alive.
It’s just his luck that he crashed in a thick forest. The trees have fat leaves that give him thin scratches on his face as he runs. It’s slowing him down, but if the ship blows maybe the curving trunks will help protect him. No harm in hoping.
His pain kicks in at maybe 300 feet, it’s hard to tell when he can’t look far in any direction. His leg is absolutely searing and begs him to stop running, even just for one moment. He doesn’t listen. He knows that if he stops he won’t be able to start again.
But the pain across his chest is almost worse. The safety harness saved his life, no doubt, but his diaphragm is struggling to function. He wheezes shallow breaths as he runs, fighting his own chest to expand each time.
He doesn’t know how far away he is, but when he feels the rumble through his feet before the sound he hits the deck, throwing himself behind a tree. The roar of the explosion blends with the agony of his own body, and he can’t tell if he had died in that instant.
No, not dead. Alive.
He lays there for a moment, even though it’s harder to breathe lying down like this. He has to get up.
It’s so hard, his muscles tremble as he forces himself up and against the tree he dove behind. He’s survived the main blast, but now he has to see if he’ll survive his injuries too.
With a shaky hand he peels what’s left of that pant leg aside. It’s grotesque, a large, open gash starting from the knee and stretching to just above his ankle. He thinks there’s a little bone peeking out. It’s hard to see through all the blood.
He looks over, mouth open as he pants. The med-kit is close, but he has to lean over to grab it. He almost can’t sit back up again.
It’s so painful to move, even while he knows he has to. His wound is bleeding too heavily to leave alone.
He compromises, taking the cheap skin regenerator out. It’s not meant to be used on lacerations this deep, it has risks of causing permanent nerve damage, but his hands are too useless to do anything else. He can barely grip the regenerator as it is. He holds his leg and pushes the edges of the wound together as he clicks it on.
The relief is immediate. It pieces together the skin, although it leaves gnarls and white scarring as it works. But he didn’t use it so he could look pretty.
One of his eyes struggles to open, and he wipes his face to see coagulating blood on his hand. Head wound.
He feels at the cut, it splits up and into his hairline. Not too long, and not slipping to expose his skull. It’s much safer to use the regenerator on this one, and he can only feel the shallow dip of the scar afterwards.
He has other scrapes, but hesitates to use the regenerator on them. If he’s stranded here alone, it could come in handy for more serious injuries.
He ends up using a disinfectant spray for the cuts on his legs. He realizes halfway through he’s started to slouch over, but it’s too painful to right himself. He tends to the rest of his cuts and scratches while lying on his back. It’s significantly more difficult to get to them, but at least it’s easier to breathe than on his stomach.
When he gets a hold of himself, or rather when the painkiller kicks in, he manages to sit back up against the tree.
He rubs the gross scar. The fresh skin is sensitive, but not painful. There’s only minimal areas of numbness around the knots. It’s a small relief.
He can’t go back to the ship yet. It will still be burning for a while.
Speaking of, he should get going. He doesn’t know how flammable these plants are, and it wouldn’t take long at all for a fire to spread if they were. He picks up the medcase and begins his trek.
There's not as much fauna aside from a bluish grass type of plant covering the ground. Just some scattered fern-like plants and skinny bushes. He’s grateful. It means he doesn’t have to step around things and can go in a fairly straight path.
He reaches a clearing. It’s not very big, but he can see the sky. The smoke is far in the distance. Not very flammable, then.
His legs wobble when he lingers, and he keeps himself moving.
He doesn’t encounter any creature beyond small lizard things, thankfully, but when the sun starts setting he knows he has to find shelter.
His search would probably be easier without all these trees in the way. He resists the urge to kick one, he might be the one that actually falls down.
It’s almost time for him to have another painkiller anyway.
He’s getting desperate when he finds a creek. It’s shallow, but the overhangs around it suggest the opposite.
His thirst has grown enough that he bends down to stick his face right into the water. He knows its stupid to drink another planet’s water when he doesn’t know the contents, but it’s not like he has what he needs to test it anyway. If this planet's water turns out to be poisonous, then at least chances are this would kill him faster than dehydration. His face stings when he wipes the excess water off.
He walks along the bank, searching through the overhangs for a possible shelter. He finds a tree with roots that hang down to form a kind of wall around the area. It’ll do.
The only remotely blade-like thing he has is a mini scalpel from the med-kit, but it’s sharp enough to cut a narrow path he can barely squeeze into. The roots cradle a small area inside, and he curls up as far back on the dirt floor as he can.
He’s hungry, but as the night sets in he doesn’t move. He just grips his scalpel tight and eyes the darkness beyond the roots warily.
Surprisingly, he’s able to drift off after only a couple hours. But morning brings its own problems.
Namely, his chest hurts mercilessly. He maneuvers out of his raggedy jacket, feeling restricted by it and thinking he’ll be able to breathe easier. He has to take breaks, contorting his shoulders this way strains the bruises on his chest. But when it’s finally off, he thinks it helps. Kind of.
He fishes a small blue pill from the med-kit. The painkiller will take care of most of the ache in half an hour.
Now his next problem will be food.
He has seen some lizards, but he doesn’t even have a lighter. His mind entertains the thought of retreating back to the ship to cook over the flames of his failure. The core hasn’t breached yet, it would have been loud enough to wake him. Maybe it’ll be kind enough to put him out of his misery after he eats. A smile creeps it’s way onto his face despite the horrible situation.
His tongue clicks dryly on the roof of his mouth. But before s’more roulette, he needs water. He ties the jacket around his waist before wiggling out of his cocoon. The roots are rough against his bare arms.
He cups the water in his hands and brings it to his mouth. The coolness is refreshing. The small win of safe water, probably, is huge for him.
He washes some of the blood from his pants and jacket where his cuts were, but he gets tired of it halfway in. It’s hardly a priority right now anyway.
It'd be nice if he had a bottle to take some water with him, but all the containers in the medkit are full of medicine.
Well, there is the barfbag. But he should walk along the stream before he resorts to using that. Then he can also keep track of where he is, and backtrack to the roots at nightfall.
The walk is long. Less than an hour in, his healed leg starts to cramp, and he has to sit down and massage it. As he rubs it, he desperately hopes he hasn’t fucked up his nerves. Pain after using a skin regenerator is never a good sign. He tells himself it’s just his muscles being weak and unused to all the activity.
He sees more lizards. He drops the medkit to try and catch one, but they’re fast. But he manages to corner one against a nook, his hand around their middle as they thrash and try to bite one of his fingers.
As it's squirming, his brain stutters, not really even expecting to be successful. There's plenty of rocks on the riverbed, and he smashes it in it’s skull with one.
So, now he has a dead lizard the size of his palm. If he can make a fire, he’ll be all set.
He thinks back to the scalpel in his pocket. Maybe he can do one of those light-reflectant tricks.
But he needs more sun first, it’s too shady here.
After even more walking, and his leg beginning to cramp again, the stream leads into a clearing. The sun is warm on his face. He lets him enjoy it for only a moment before getting to work.
He puts the lizard on his medkit and goes to collect leaves. He searches the nearby woods for any dry materials. There are some dead branches with withered purple leaves, and he gathers up a small bunch of them. Maybe this will work.
He doesn‘t know a lot about making fires, but he knows you’re supposed to have them on dirt, or something. Usually they also have borders of rock or metal too.
He only puts the base out from the river far enough to be in the sunlight. It’s too painful for his chest to lug the stones much farther.
But then he has the materials in front of him and he’s angling the scalpel to shine a dot of light against the branches.
It takes forever to get it going. He almost cries when he accidentally puts out the small flame he gets going an hour in. But he does it, and he has a delicate fire going.
It’s somewhat revolting, cutting open the lizard. It’s organs bulge out at him, and he has to restrain himself from gagging as he carefully cuts out the intestinal tract. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to remove anything else, but he lets the rest of the organs stay inside.
He spears the lizard clumsily on a stick and props up between some rocks next to the fire. Now he has to go fetch more branches to keep the fire going long enough to cook it.
He rotates the lizard a little bit every time he comes back, and tentatively takes it when it’s crispy. It’s a thin thing, so it should be cooked all the way through. It’s even burnt around the feet. It must have been enough. He shuffles in his crouch eagerly as it cools.
Cooked or not, his jaw is aching only a couple bites in. It’s so damn chewy. The organs disgust him a bit, but he knows this isn’t the time to be picky.
The tiny bones are annoying too, and he knows he probably swallowed a couple without noticing. When he’s eaten all of the most accessible meat, he works to strip any lingering bits from the bones. He even picks away the broken shards of the skull to get at the brain. That’s the part that really repulses him, but he’s so hungry.
He doesn’t understand why he’s so hungry, he just ate, shouldn’t it be sated somewhat? But as he looks at the pile of bones and scorched claws all he wants is more.
It’s still the afternoon, the sun high in the sky. He has time to cook one more, if he can find it quick enough. Next time he’ll catch more before settling down to cook them.
Next time. Ugh. He doesn’t want to think about staying here for days. But he sucks it up, and goes to look for more lizards.
He only finds one more, and manages to cook it up before heading back to his makeshift shelter. It’s almost pitch-black and his leg and chest are aching badly by the time he gets there. He pushes through to get himself into the hideaway.
The first thing he does is pop a painkiller in his mouth, and then he settles down to tend to his leg.
The soreness of his bruises is bearable, but the cramping in his leg continues. He whines under his breath when it doesn’t lessen under his rubbing. It’s inescapable, and he hits the scar just to have some control over it. All that does is make it worse, and he has to resist digging his nails in to try and claw it out.
He stretches the leg out in front of him on the dirt. He flexes the muscles in his calf, but it only does nothing for the agony. If only he could cut it off, anything would be better than this.
The root-laden dirt wall is hard when he slumps back onto it defeatedly, unable to do anything but ride out the waves of shooting pain. Warmth drools over his cheeks and he must be crying. He sniffs and it gurgles in his nose loudly. Great. Another thing he can’t control.
It would have been better to bleed out. Now he’s on this strange planet and he’s barely able to choke back his gasps and groans.
He presses his hands into his eyes as his leg spasms around, hitting one of the walls of the enclosure. He’d do anything for relief.
He’s so preoccupied with it that he almost doesn’t notice a thump from outside the roots. He stiffens, clenching his teeth as another surge of pain lances up his leg.
It’s impossible to see anything, it’s too dark. He can’t even make out the roots of the outer wall. But he listens as carefully as he can.
A second movement, closer than before.
This is it. His pathetic whimpering has attracted a predator and he’s going to be eaten alive.
Then there’s a click and he’s blind. It’s so bright, he freezes and his mind goes blank. The light moves down out of his eyes and he blinks back to awareness. It’s a flashlight shining at him.
He could start crying even louder, it must be a rescue team. His arm reaches out towards the light without him commanding it. The pain is still throbbing in his leg, but in the face of safety it’s before a lesser priority.
The light is shining through the roots, but he can see a thick hand come to bend the roots away. That’s when he realizes something is off. The hand is way too big, and it snaps the roots too easily.
He flinches back, hand coming to fold against his chest. He pulls back his legs too, even when the effort makes a whine escape his locked jaw.
They pause, but only for a moment. Their light is pulled back slightly, and a head, longer and more angular than any human could have, noses through the gap they made.
Terror fills him as it shoulders it’s way in, cracking through the root walls with it’s massive form. The flashlight tilts as the hand holding it is brought in, shedding light onto their figure. If he hadn't taken a leak an hour ago, he would have pissed himself.
The head, three times the size of his, is illuminated. They’re like a monster straight from hell. Red slitted eyes find his and a black scaled muzzle leans much too close for comfort. They breath across his face hotly.
He’s going to be eaten. He cowers back, shivering under it’s intense gaze. He wants to shut his eyes, but he can’t look away.
A hand comes, wide with long fingers, and settles on his head. Sharp claws prickle along his skin and scalp, and he waits for them to kill him.
But nothing happens.
He searches their face, but can’t recognize any expression they might have.
Then, softly, it ruffles his hair.
What the fuck?
The hand retracts slowly, and they shuffle closer. His heart leaps in his throat when they do, flinching back as if he wasn't already flattened against the dirt as far back as he could go.
They move the flashlight to their other hand and bring it out so that it shows both of them.
He can see them more fully now. Their body dwarfs his even more severely than he thought. They’re not even fully inside, their legs and, is that a fucking tail, disappear into the darkness behind them.
They’re wearing something black, he thinks it’s a cloth-like material. He only realizes they’re wearing anything at all because of the white collar of it around their neck. They aren’t a monster. They’re an alien.
His eyes dart back up when they shift a little closer still. Their head bends down to his and their nose puffs out air on his. It hits him that they’re sniffing him. Then they press the nose against his cheek. It’s surprisingly cold.
There's still a ball of anxiety in his stomach, but his body is relaxing. His pain is starting to come to the forefront of his mind again, but he tries to suppress it.
Something brushes his side and he jerks away. It follows him, and he glances over to see it’s the alien's hand.
Cautiously, it wedges itself under him. It’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t protest. He wouldn't dare risk angering this huge alien. The light clicks off, and there’s some ruffling of clothes.
Then they lift him up, and he can’t help but squirm. They bring him up against their chest, the sides of their heads pressed together.
He can feel their rumble through their chest, and then they’re pulling him out.
It’s awkward, and his hisses in pain when his scar scratches against the roots. They pause and reach down their arm to touch the scar, gingerly tracing along it. Their hand covers it as they pull him the rest of the way out.
They’re holding him against their chest, an arm shifts him up so his legs are being supported and not just dangling in the air. They settle back into a crouch with him coddled in their arms.
He feels like a baby being held like this, but he doesn’t voice any complaint. The arm under his legs shifts and a hand is brushing at his hair again. It makes him nervous as the rough surface brushes against his skin and hair.
He only has to tolerate a couple minutes of this weird petting before they’re standing up. He can’t see anything, but he grabs a hold on their shoulders. They’re definitely much taller than him.
Then they’re walking. He’s stunned at how quiet they walk, it’s no wonder he didn’t notice them until they were right there.
It's a gentle ride. Despite himself, he’s dozing against them. But he can’t bring himself to feel too embarrassed. The pain in his leg has died down enough to ignore, and he has had such a hard day.
He’s jolted back to reality when he's being set down. It’s soft, his hand splays out on it and it feels like fabric.
He enjoys it for a few moments before the alien lays down next to him. The bed, because what else could it be, slopes towards them and he slips down to press against them.
An arm comes to hold him securely, and they rumble before falling silent.
Their heart beat is loud behind his head, and he finds himself drifting off again.