Disparity

Hank sat in the far back of their covered army Jeep, arms wrapped around his legs as they drove home. He felt like his skin was crawling with worms under it, he felt like he could claw his eyes out of their sockets, and his clothes felt too tight, like a straight jacket you could move in.

He kept this to himself though, he didn't want to worry Sanford or 2BDamned. Ever sense the loss of Deimos, everyone had been somber, but Hank knew who really did it, he never told anyone what he did after he found Deimos.

It ate him up every night, he hardly got any sleep, and he got haunted in his dreams by every bad thing he'd done over the years. Every mistake, every mess up, every word he'd said that hurt someone. It'd all come back, every night, after he'd been distracted. But it happened so frequently that he never could forget about it anymore, he could see everything he did so clearly when he closed his eye for even a moment. Every blood splatter, every punch he received or gave.

"Hank, are you ok..?" Sanford asked, shifting gears, and pulling up to their driveway. "Your awfully quiet."

"Mhm. I'm ok.." his voice cracked when he said it, and he rubbed his face. "I'm gonna... never mind." He trailed off, getting out of the back of the Jeep and carrying three boxes. He set them down in 2B's workspace inside, then crawled on his examination table like he did after every mission. He lay on his side, curled up and facing the wall with the pale white light of a hanging lamp shining over him, like he was being framed.

He sniffed, sighing and itching his arms. He never did that, but this uncomfortable feeling of guilt and shame kept washing over him, like an unpleasant toxin.

The door opened, signaling 2BDamned had entered the room. Hank shoved his tears and feelings down below, and rolled onto his back obediently, like he always did.

"Alright Hank. We'll just do a quick look today. I'm busy so this will be rushed," He told Hank, taking out an X-ray scanner and sweeping his body swiftly. He gave him a quick injection with a needle, popped one of his joints back in place, and sent him on his way.

Hank went straight to the roof, taking off his googles, mask, and head wrappings. He set them down and looked out over the desolate wasteland of Nevada's hidden landscapes. Feeling sweat build on his forehead in the cold air, he screamed. He screamed as loud as he could, hopping anything would fall from the sky with his voice vibrating off the mountains. He yelled for a long time, until his broken voice couldn't hold a sound any longer. He slammed his fist on the concrete railing, storming inside and leaving his things outside.

He sat down on the side of his bed, holding his head in his hands. He took the bandages wrapped around his head off, letting them fall in a pile at his feet.

A cold hand fell on his shoulder, and a familiar raspy voice that sounded like it was far away spoke.

"It's not your fault. Stop. Let it go. It'll just make it worse," Deimos's shattered figure said, a ghostly pale figure sitting beside him. It looked he always did, his jaw just a black mass and teeth, his stomach practically ripped out of his body, a faint red tint to every wound. He still held a cigarette in his fingers, his hat still crooked like it always was.

"I CAN'T LET ANYTHING GO, ITS ALL MY FAULT YOU DIED, AND I ONLY MADE IT WORSE YOU'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO COME BACK!!! I KILLED YOU!!!" He screamed at the opaque Deimos, lifting his head up to glower at him. Tears he stifled for weeks came pouring down his face, sliding down his metal jaw.

The longer he cried, the more ghostly body's piled up at his feet, his own included. A pile as high as his roof filled the room, he felt so trapped.

Gripping his head tighter, and closing his eyes, he tucked his legs up and curled up on his hard bed. He screamed again, terrified of everything that kept wiggling its way under his eyes and into his mind.