Work Text:
Here Heart was. In the pit. He would rot here until someone helped him out. If someone helped him out.
It was always cold, damp, and dark in the night, or at least what he thought was the night. He couldn’t tell, not anymore. Not with eyes like these, distorted as they were. Soul said it was a miracle that they could perceive light enough to ache, but it didn’t feel like one when the pain was the only sense he got from the remains. To feel the pain but not see it; what a fate.
In the daylight, it was swelteringly hot, with no in-betweens. Heart had lost count of the number of times he went from shivering to overheating in barely a second. Time shouldn’t move that fast, but it only seemed to speed up.
He was going to rot here, wasn’t he? Cooked alive before being preserved in the cold. He’d remain stagnant while they went about their lives above him, as they should. Maybe they’d make a new cover. One without him.
Maybe Mind would learn how to feel, and wouldn’t that be something? The only thing it would cost would be him. Mind would grow and change and learn, while Heart would deteriorate, deteriorate, and deteriorate. He couldn’t even bring himself to hate it. He spent all his life despising Mind, cursing him and doing his best to make his life miserable, and now all that hatred was gone.
Soul would forget him, he hoped. He wouldn’t shed a tear for the bugs beneath a rock, had he stepped and heard a squish. Soul shouldn’t shed a tear for creatures like him.
After all, he had nobody to blame but himself. It was him who dug this grave, not Mind and not Soul. Six feet deep, and then some. It was childish to ever think he could come up with a good, solid plan to teach Mind a lesson. Did he think he was stronger than Icarus, just because his wings were made of flesh and bone rather than wax? Icarus flew from his prison and dared to fly to the Sun. Heart flew to one made to cage the Sun, daring It to follow and be trapped, only for his wings to crumble and fall in himself.
He would be stuck here until the maggots pecked at his bones. The maggots didn’t deserve such a fate. They didn’t. Mind was right all along. He could still hear his taunts. He thought it was supposed to be night, but he could hear him. No, it was too hot. If he strained his ears, he could all but make out Soul, a minor relief. He sounded happy. That was good.
Heart used to care for him as much as he spited Mind. Why couldn’t he muster up that care now? He couldn’t hate Soul.
But Soul was complacent in this, no better than Mind. Mind may have stabbed him, but it was Soul’s trident that he used. If he cared, wouldn’t this have been prevented?
It was Heart’s folly to think that he could retaliate. What good was a gun against the Sun? He knew he’d been had, but no anger could give him the strength to knock It off Its pedestal. His worst crime was missing. The second worst was pointing the barrel at Mind instead of himself.
Why did he bother with the past there was nothing Heart could do to change it? He couldn’t bring himself to care. He used to loathe Mind’s apathy, but he’d have to rot in his own instead. Even his thoughts were tainted by him. He wished he could wail, cry, or rage. He couldn’t. He couldn’t! If only he kept the gun fell.
He wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to pick it up anymore.
When he dug this pit, shovelful by shovelful, all he could think about was how much Mind would suffer. He thought he would overheat in the day, malfunctioning like the robot he was. He thought his body would freeze over in the cold. Heart didn’t bother bringing any blankets or pillows. He brought no food, even to work with, since his rage and disdain fed him well enough. It would’ve been a small comfort, had he left anything here.
It was too cramped to even lie down properly. Dirt got into all the crevices he didn’t have the tools to clean. His wings. His hair. His clothes. He wasn’t a germaphobe by any means, but Mind would’ve hated being covered in dirt. Of course, no harm ever seemed to reach him. The Moon had no effect on the Sun’s orbit. If it ever dared draw close, the Sun would exterminate it without realising It had done wrong.
Heart was rotting already. None of the scrapes he got from his fall healed an inch. Maybe he was already dead, and that was why they weren’t coming for him. Dead, but not buried. He must not have deserved that dignity. Health couldn’t be a concern, either. He was at his most parasitic when he was alive.
It wasn’t the wrong decision to leave him here. He should’ve tripped in earlier. For the Whole, he would rot.