Stark

Stark had come back to himself when the sun came up. Which meant he'd woken up, huddled in his costume cape, in an alleyway. Without his mask. Not the ideal way to wake up when you were someone who needed your mask to keep energy from leaking out the space where the rest of your face ought to be.

A brief but frantic search of his surroundings was interrupted by remembering the events of the previous evening. At that point he'd bolted for his apartment, muttering darkly to himself the whole way.

Hopefully he'd be forgiven for slamming the door to the apartment so forcefully once he arrived.

Once safely inside, he had changed into warmer normal clothing, flinging the costume into a corner to be dealt with later. Now he just needed to find something to cover his face with until he could figure out where his mask had ended up. At least he had some experience with improvised face coverings.

Halloween, he'd decided, was not something he intended on celebrating again. Possibly ever. And going out in public wasn't looking great for the foreseeable future.

[Very open should you wish to see a maskless alien stomping around talking to himself and looking for something to wrap around his head.]

Nightmares were nothing new to Stark. He’d had nightmares most of his life. Cycles of it had been living nightmares. What was happening now felt different than the usual bad dreams. It felt much more real. It felt like being back in every terrible memory he had. And he had so many memories between his own and those he had absorbed from others.

So when he’d woken early Wednesday morning shaking and his cheek wet with tears he had shrugged, washed his face, and carried on with his day. When the same thing happened Thursday, even earlier, he’d paced anxiously around the entire apartment for hours as if to reassure himself there were no Scarrans, there was no Scorpius, and he was not trapped in a cell. Of course there were no Scarrans here. There had never been Scarrans here. Scorpius was long gone. Stark hadn’t been in a cell for a very long time. His doors locked from the inside now. He was free to move about as he liked.

He’d stayed awake until it was time for class, still anxiously pacing, still finding himself reliving moments best forgotten. Class had thankfully been uneventful.

Now it was very early Friday, at least he thought it was, and things had only gotten worse. He’d tried to avoid sleeping but that hadn’t helped. It still wasn’t helping.

Every door he runs toward is closed. Every route he takes that might lead to Command is blocked off. Still he runs through Moya’s corridors, desperate to find a way. He has to get there. The alternative is unthinkable.

“Where to go? Where to go? WHERE TO GO?”

He keeps running. Keeps trying every path he can think of. Keeps finding nothing but dead ends.

He knows what’s about to occur. He knows Zhaan is leaving him, leaving all of them, and he can’t let that happen. If he can get to her though, if he can reach her, he can stop this. He can stop her. Or at the very least he can be with her. Go with her. Help her. She shouldn’t be alone. HE shouldn’t be alone and she’s going to leave him alone. Again. There wasn’t enough time. They had just needed more time. He needed more time. He could find her a planet where she could heal if he only had enough time.

Another sealed passageway and he knows it’s too late. He won’t be able to reach her. He turns away from this final failed attempt and falls to his knees, screaming. She is beyond his reach. She is beyond his touch. She is beyond his help. It isn’t fair, and nothing has ever been fair, and she is going to be lost forever and his screams are echoing throughout the passageway. He is alone, again. Still.


[This was meant to go up earlier and the day got away from me but time is meaningless so it’s fine. Can absolutely be open if any neighbors heard the screaming. Also he’s totally always been living here since he came back what do you mean you never noticed? He’s been here the whole time. For reals. I swear.]