Warnings: Symptoms of a dissociative episode are described in moderate detail. Please DON'T read this chapter if you will be triggered by this. As always, your mental health is more important than this story.
Also, side note: I'd appreciate it if you didn't bully Corrin for this chapter. (Go wild with Zelda though, she fuckin' deserves it)
Corrin's knuckles hurt, but he didn't really feel it. Even as he stared directly at the split skin that was slowly bleeding and the way a bruise was slowly appearing around the edges of the bleeding wounds. He couldn't even form a fist with his right hand anymore, but he didn't care.
He just stared blankly at his fucked up hand, feeling more and more like he was just a spectator watching all of this unfold before him. Outside noises were hazy and it was almost as if he was underwater, but again he didn't care. Couldn't care.
Everything was just... numb.
Zelda's voice- at least, he was pretty sure that was Zelda's voice, it was hard to tell through the fog in his head- suddenly cut through the space and he looked up, the movement sluggish and robotic feeling, almost as if he was a puppet being forced to obey someone else's whims.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Zelda shouted.
Who was she yelling at? Corrin didn't know. Was he supposed to know? He didn't know that either. All he knew was the numbness and slight sting of his (probably) broken knuckles.
The muffled response didn't make any sense in his head, so he didn't know how the other person defended themselves.
He got the vague feeling that there was someone who was supposed to be here. Someone who was supposed to be next to him. But he felt so disconnected from everything that he couldn't remember who that was supposed to be.
"He's dead and it's your fault!"
Zelda's voice was very clear for some reason. He could hear her but not whoever she was yelling at. Why was that?
A little bit of light glinted off her hair in a way that was familiar to him, but in a detached sort of way. Whoever she was angry at was just outside of his field of vision- it was awfully blurry for some reason, why was that?
She was pointing at him now and saying something, but she had lowered her voice now and it was really hard to hear her. Something about a wall... hm. Had he done something wrong? If he had, he couldn't remember it for the life of him. Maybe he ought to be worried about the blood, but his hand hurt to move and some vague part of him prevented him from moving it any more than he absolutely had to.
A little bit of light glinted off her hair in a way that was familiar to him, but in a detached sort of way. Whoever she was angry at was just outside of his field of vision- it was awfully blurry for some reason, why was that?
She was pointing at him now and saying something, but she had lowered her voice now and it was really hard to hear her. Something about a wall... hm. Had he done something wrong? If he had, he couldn't remember it for the life of him. Maybe he ought to be worried about the blood, but his hand hurt to move and some vague part of him prevented him from moving it any more than he absolutely had to.
Faintly, he was aware of someone moving across the room and coming to sit in front of him, and then their hand was on his shoulder and he only felt more severely separated from his body, unable to do anything as he smacked the person's hand away with his left hand and curled into himself like he could just hide away and nobody would notice him.
Go away go away go away
Did he speak the thoughts or did they remain unsaid, bouncing around in his skull like so many bullets off of rubber walls? He couldn't tell, and he couldn't hear or even properly see who was in front of him anymore.
Their lips moved but he heard no sound. Were they trying to talk to him? Please no. He didn't want to talk. The numbness was giving way to a feeling that everything was wrong, that something had gone terribly wrong and-
Wrong. Yes. Something was terribly wrong but he couldn't remember what it was, and he wasn't certain that he wanted to know what it was. Someone had died if Zelda was to be believed, but Sheik hadn't been very certain that she was trustworthy recently and if he didn't trust her then Corrin saw no reason why he should either.
Where was Sheik?
Why wasn't he here?
Corrin's breath hitched in his throat.
"...you hear me?"
Oh. He could hear the person in front of him now. It sounded like Lucina. Maybe he said something in response. He couldn't hear his own voice if he did.
"I need to get you to the med wing so they can look at your hand, okay? Staying here any longer isn't going to help you at all." Lucina said softly, careful not to touch him like she had before. Had he hurt her? He hadn't meant to. He was just so... wrong. Everything was wrong. Was he still here? Or was this some kind of twisted dream?
He wanted it to be a dream. That way he would wake up and Sheik would be there and everything would be okay.
Lucina helped him stand up, even though he didn't want anybody touching him because it only made the disconnect worse, but he literally couldn't stand on his own and could hardly walk because his legs didn't feel like his anymore.
As they left, Zelda started shouting again, her words barely decipherable save for the honestly impressive strings of curse words.
How long did it take them to walk to the medical wing? Corrin didn't know. He hardly registered anything, including the impact of his feet that didn't feel like his feet against the ground. Lucina tried to talk to him, but it was useless. He just... couldn't.
One of the doctors glanced at his hand and immediately said something that sounded like "broken knuckles," but Corrin couldn't be sure of what he had said because he forgot it a moment later.
They tried to get him to sit down so they could wrap it up and give him pain medication, but the feeling of hands on him was too much and he wanted it to stop and he needed someone he trusted and everything was suddenly too loud and too quiet all at once-
Distantly, he was aware of someone yelling something. Was it him? It might have been him.
Then there was a sudden sharp pain in his neck that cut through all of the fog in his head and numbness in his body. Blackness followed soon after, though it was surprisingly soothing to all of the terrible emotions running through him.
././.
Vague impressions of memory slip by him.
His smile, his laugh, the little glint he gets in his eyes when he's telling a joke.
Is he really gone?
He feels so real... Corrin can almost reach out and touch him.
But when he does, his fingers meet nothing but air and everything comes rushing back to him at once, only to be immediately stifled by the numbness again. The abrupt switching of emotions from intense to numb only further serves to further figuratively take him out of his body. Even the distant stinging from his knuckles that's still present and feels like it should hurt more just doesn't.
What's wrong with him?
Why does he feel like his head is stuffed full of cotton?
Corrin opened his eyes, distantly surprised to find himself still in the medical wing. Lucina is there, talking quietly with someone he can't see. She looked over at him- he must have said something, but he didn't hear whatever it was. And then she said something and he didn't hear that either. Or maybe he did, but it just didn't register at all. Maybe that's what had been happening ever since Chrom had looked him in the eyes and he'd glanced around at the others, barely even noticing how few of them there were now before being told that Sheik wasn't coming back, that he wasn't even breathing anymore because his entire team had been caught and brutally murdered.
He's having a conversation but he doesn't remember what he says as soon as the words leave his mouth. And he certainly can't remember what Lucina says. All he knows is that one minute (or is it fifteen? How long have they been talking for? How long did it take him to leave the Rebellion's headquarters with Samus and Lucina by his side?) he's there and one minute he's in his apartment and the pain hits him over the head like a physical blow.
Sedative. The word curls through his head, bringing with it a foggy memory of Lucina explaining the needle that had been stuck into his neck before he passed out. That explained some of the shit he was feeling, but it didn't even begin to cover the disconnectedness from long before that was still present even if it hurts so much more now.
Everything hurts. Is it a trick of his mind or is there an actual physical problem with him?
Corrin stumbled over to his bed and laid down on his side, staring blankly at the space where Sheik should have been until the lingering claws of the sedative pulled him under once more.
././.
He continued to drift in and out of consciousness for the next few days. His memory is foggy at best of the times he spent awake, but he dreams of things that both happened long ago and that never happened in the first place, instead being mere constructs of his grief-stricken brain in the attempt to convince him that everything is okay and that his heart doesn't feel like it's going to split in half. Those dreams always make him happy for a little while after he wakes up again, but as the days go by and Sheik's possessions begin to gather dust, the illusion becomes easier and easier to shatter completely. And then everything hurts all over again, much like ripping off a bandage after the wound has already partially healed, making it raw once more. He can't bear much more of this circuitous cycle of elation and then crushing despair, because each day sends him further into the torturous what-ifs and thoughts of a life that they will never get to live together.
A letter waits for him on the desk, carefully placed there by Lucina... two days ago? Or was it last week? Corrin no longer has any sense of time passing. All that he knows is that he feels like his life isn't his anymore and that his mind hasn't been with his body for however long it's been since Sheik died.
Even before now, he had experienced episodes like this. Always whenever he was stressed out beyond belief. His Gift made stress harder to handle, but it had never been this bad. He should have worked out coping skills, but nothing was working anymore and he didn't want to face the outside world any time soon. Lucina was the only one he tolerated now, and even then he hardly bothered acting like he was okay enough to have a normal conversation. Hell, he could hardly even remember half of the things they talked about.
Maybe he should read it. But he can't muster up enough energy to do anything. His limbs feel heavy and his mind floats above it all, slipping between past and present and impossible future.
Another few days passed, but these were spent slowly diving deeper into a well of anxiety within his chest over whether or not to read the letter. He knows it will break him, but he wants a tangible thing of Sheik's that isn't just his favorite sweatshirt, which he hasn't taken off since he had a bout of motivation to move while he was within the throes of a particularly bad bout of anger and intense sadness. He went to grab it off of the back of the door where it had previously been hanging and for a while he was able to trick himself into thinking that Sheik was still here.
He wants him back but he's gone and Corrin isn't.
That thought is what inevitably propels him to the desk, reaching for the letter and then returning to sit on the bed again.
Dear Corrin...
If you're reading this letter, I'm gone. I really hope you never have to read this, honestly.
It already hurts. His chest aches and he almost can't breathe.
As I write this now, I'm about to leave for my scouting mission. I'm sure you know the one I'm talking about. You're still asleep. You look so peaceful when you sleep, I almost don't want to leave. But I know I have to, and so I will. Once I finish this, of course.
Why did you go?
He didn't want him to go. Even more so, knowing what he now knows.
Last night, you told me that we'd spend the rest of our lives together. I want that. I really do. Or, more appropriately, I suppose I should say that I wanted that. You gave me the happiest few months of my life, and I was looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you.
...I'm not going to lie, it's a little odd, talking about your own death like an imminent thing when you still want to live, hahah.
His eyes are blurry with tears, but it also feels as if he's watching himself read it over his own shoulder. It's a surreal experience, one that only exacerbates the ache in his chest and the tears that will fall in a matter of time.
And, well, you were the reason for that. I truly wanted to die in order to escape the demons of my past. But you changed that. You gave me a reason to live, and then another, and another, until I no longer found myself planning my own death. Those thoughts turned into passing "what-ifs," because they never would leave me alone. For this reason, you were, and always will be, my one and only.
Now he's crying. He's crying, which he can't actually remember doing before now. Maybe he has cried before now, but in this moment everything feels so raw and hurts so much that he's almost blind to it.
If what the Sheikah say about fate is true, then we were living on borrowed time anyway. I don't want to believe that, and I want to believe that our borrowed time will stretch on for the years I want to live. But because you're reading this now, that means it couldn't possibly have happened.
Sobs wracked his body. His hands are shaking so badly that he has to put the letter down, because he can no longer read it at this point. After taking several deep breaths to calm himself down a little bit, he picked it back up and continued reading.
I'm so sorry that I'm leaving you like this.
His heart hurts, almost like someone took a dagger and stabbed him with it. It hurts and he wants it to stop.
I love you. Now and always.
Does always apply even after death?
You were the only person I could imagine giving this to.
Confused, Corrin picked the envelope back up and felt the weight still there. He slipped his hand inside of it, his fingers making contact with a cold piece of metal.
A ring.
Love, Sheik.
Oh.
Oh gods.
A choked noise halfway between a laugh and a sob slipped past his lips, the letter falling onto his lap as he let go of it again. He transferred the ring to the hand that's in a brace and covered his mouth with his now free hand, staring at the little piece of metal lying on his palm and trying desperately not to break down completely.
He stays like that for a long time or not all that long at all. He can't tell. The ache in his chest, which he hadn't thought could get any worse, had increased exponentially and he almost felt like he couldn't breathe.
Flickers of memories that aren't his and never will be his now dart through his mind- the ring on his finger and Sheik's hand moving to cover his, a quick glimpse of his smile as he says something that Corrin can't hear.
It takes a lot for him to even think about wanting to get up for the next few days.
././.
"Look, Corrin, when was the last time you ate anything?" Lucina asked. Her voice is distant and hard to hear despite the fact that she's sitting next to him.
He just shrugged dully. He doesn't remember eating anything since it happened. Sometimes he can feel his stomach practically gnawing on itself, but it doesn't bother him much because he spends so little time in his own body.
"You're going to die if you keep this up. Chrom is going to force you back to service soon, because there's so few of us left now."
Corrin didn't respond. He just kept staring blankly at the wall, like he always does whenever Lucina comes to visit. Why she kept coming was unclear to him. It wasn't like she had anything to gain from this.
Lucina stayed quiet for a while, clearly hoping that he would respond. But he didn't, and eventually she sighed and Corrin thought she was going to leave. No such luck, though. Instead, she took a closer look at his left hand, which was curled into a fist around the ring, and said "Is your hand alright?"
She shifted, and Corrin thought that she was going to reach for his hand and try to get him to show her what he was holding, so he flinched away and brought his hand closer to his chest. "No!" he rasped, his voice raw from disuse and the crying fits that came and went along with his lucidity. "Don't touch it!"
"I wasn't going to...?" Lucina responded, clearly confused. "Is everything alright?"
"It's his. I'm holding on to it for him until he gets back." Corrin whispered, hardly aware of what he was saying. "He's coming back. I know he is."
"Corrin..." Lucina whispered, an expression that looked like it was a mixture of sympathy and genuine sadness crossing her face.
"He's coming back." Corrin repeated, a near hysterical tone creeping into his voice.
He felt Lucina's hand on his back. Initially, he flinched away from the touch, but subconsciously he knew he trusted her, so he relaxed again.
"I'm so sorry."
She probably said something else, but Corrin either didn't hear or didn't remember it.
././.
Write him a letter.
That's what Lucina suggested he do. She said that she writes letters to Robin whenever she's really upset. It's supposed to help ease some of his guilt and pain and anger. It wasn't going to work, but he still dragged himself out of bed, grabbed a clean piece of paper and a pen, then started to write.
To my love, Sheik-
It doesn't feel like you're gone yet.
It's not fair.
I miss you. I miss you so goddamn much.
I don't even know how long it's been since you left. I can't keep track of the days anymore. My head constantly feels empty and my mind is never where it needs to be, with the rest of me.
Everything hurts now. I can't see the point in continuing to fight in this pointless war when I no longer have anybody worth protecting.
You were my everything. That's the only way to describe how I feel about you. And I know I've told you that before, but I have to say it again. This is the last time I'll get to do it, so...
It's not fair that you're gone and I'm still here. You promised me that you'd come back. But here I am, and there you are. Despite that, I want to thank you for making me the happiest man alive for such a short period of time. I want more time, but I guess it really wasn't meant to be after all.
I love you. I love you so much, Sheik Harkinian.
...Who am I even kidding? It's not like you're able to read this anyway.
Love, Corrin.