Chapter Text
Alexander could still recall the previous malfunction. One of Octane’s legs had attempted to regrow. Not of its own accord. The cocktail of drugs that the delinquent used to keep himself competitive did not have any spectacular side effects that could regrow limbs.
Technology could be imperfect. Some simplified error had pulled from the incorrect historical data before it could be stopped. His right leg had remained missing, as to be expected. His left leg had reappeared, nerves and bone and muscle attempting to wrap around the metal prosthetic. His shrieks had been exhilarating, but it had forced a variety of new measures to be put into place. Additional backups, more frequent data downloads to maintain consistent data.
Lifeline, he recalled, had demanded to know why they would have kept the ability for Octane’s legs to be returned to him to themselves. It had not concerned Alexander enough to pay attention to the results. Judging from Octane’s still-metal limbs, either her outrage had been sufficiently quelled or the boy knew that he would stand little chance of remaining competitive without his modified legs.
He had often found himself longing for the malfunction to occur again. For his fingers to feebly try to grow around the prosthetic replacements. Would the flesh flay open? Would the bones snap? It was an immense curiosity, but one which he never had the joy of experiencing.
The earlier match had ended hours ago, the sun long since set. Knocking pulled him from his research. He’d expected Walter. He had not expected Walter this early in the evening. Not after his loss, at least. He would typically spend time with the winners of the round, drinking and sharing stories to ‘dull the sting of losing’, as he had put it. Alexander never understood it.
He’d only caught part of the match, some explosion had blown Walter’s metal arm clean off, and Valkyrie had finished him off in a rather spectacular manner. She was an alcoholic as well, from what he had gleaned, and would likely have offered Walter a drink as a means to apologize.
But Walter had raced to his lab, banging on his door with an urgency he had never heard. The distinct sound of metal sounding clearly off from Walter’s usual knock. Closer to a slap. Alexander opened the door, barely processing how Walter was holding the metal arm by the hand, how it wasn’t connected.
How he had two arms.
Walter nearly shoved his way into the lab, looking frenzied and panicked. He unceremoniously dropped the metal arm, the clatter of it too loud and ringing out in the silence of the room. His breathing uneven, his eye wide and unfocused.
“I see that another malfunction occurred.” Alexander forced his voice to remain even. It was abundantly obvious that this had not been desirable for Walter. The Salvonian’s ordinarily missing limb was limp, and he found himself wondering if it was intentionally so.
“Mate.” His voice had a desperation to it, croaking and raw. Alexander had never heard it. It made the hairs on his neck stand on end. “They won’t get rid of it. Say it’s healthy tissue. It needs to go.”
Alexander stepped forward, cautiously touching it. Even without a careful examination, he could feel warmth. It surprised him that they would refuse to remove the limb, especially as his metal arm carried more than half of his offensive kit. But he had been signed before the accident. Perhaps they hoped to change his offensive capabilities to more closely match his experience in the Bonecage.
He looked at Walter’s eye. The same panic remained. “You are not experiencing any pain?” He checked the shoulder, recognizing the scar tissue. There could be some slight internal bleeding from where scarred flesh had to give way to returned bone.
“Does it bloody matter?” Walter grabbed his shirt, sucking in several deep breaths of air. Steadying himself. “I came to you ‘cause I trust you.” His lips were against Alexander’s. Soft, but the underlying desperation bled through. Urgency. It left Alexander breathless as the weight of what was being asked settled over him.
“...Very well.” He ran his thumb over Walter’s cheek, breathing in sharply. The pressure was wrong. He could tell that the eye was back as well, hidden beneath the eyepatch. Alexander locked eyes with Walter.
Walter’s expression had dulled. “Noticed, ay?” He tried to smile, looking utterly dejected. “Me eye don’t matter as much, it can wait. But, the bloody arm has got to go.”
Alexander led him back into one of the testing chambers. Perhaps not the ideal operating room, but he did dissect test subjects within it. He would theoretically have the tools necessary to perform such a removal. “I have several chemicals that can be used to temporarily dull the pain. Are you aware of any aller-”
“Don’t. Bloody do it.” Walter’s voice had risen briefly. The request made Alexander’s heart skip a beat, looking at Walter for a confirmation. “I’m no bloody sook. It needs to go. And I wanna feel it go.”
He watched Walter hop up on one of the tables. Not typically where he would perform a dissection, but he hadn’t the heart to tell the Salvonian to move. Questions threatened to force their way out into the overly quiet room. Walter’s urgency, the way that he removed his vest and undershirt, carried with it an enormous sense of anxious excitement.
Alexander forced himself to focus on the procedure instead, preparing his work area. “I will need to insert an IV for a blood transfusion. Your body will go into shock during this procedure, particularly without anything to numb the pain.” He listened to Walter’s even breathing, finding himself almost at a loss for how this appeared to be calming for the Salvonian.
“I will need to temporarily suture impacted arteries to limit the risk of a hemorrhage.” His medical knowledge remained sorely limited, relying on his memories from his textbooks and his unorthodox experience with living, and dead, tissue. “I will require you to point to where the incision needs to be made. The incision will take time, as I will be cutting to the bone before I retrieve the saw.”
Alexander looked over, finding Walter’s silence to be disturbing. “If the pain becomes too great, tell me. I will halt the procedure. However, any numbing agent or pain medication will take time to take effect, even if I utilize the IV.”
Walter breathed in deeply, his chest rising and falling as evenly as it did when he slept. “Yeah, nah. Didn’t need it when it came off, did I?” His arm remained limp. Was he unable to use it? Had the nerves failed to reconnect? “Had to walk a bloody long distance to the doc to get it fixed up. Get it done fast, mate, and it won't be half as bad as that.”
He moved to insert the needle, noting how Walter had not pointed to his arm. He did see the scar tissue, and he saw where the tissue abruptly stopped. Healthy flesh where it had once been whole. A closer examination confirmed his suspicions. Internal bleeding, likely caused by the sealed stump erupting from the return of bone.
“You are already in pain.” A statement of fact. He fetched several of his clamps, mind beginning to race. He had performed live amputations before as a curiosity. Never on a willing test subject. Walter is not a test subject. Alexander moved Walter's hand into position before clamping it down. The fingers curled. His nerves were functional.
Walter’s eye was on him, distress evident. “They wanted to put me under. Fix it up so me arm would reconnect.” He looked genuinely disgusted. “Got out of there first chance I got. You mind if I talk through this, mate?”
Alexander breathed in. “Not at all.” Ordinarily he would find it irritating to have to endure an endless array of casual chatter, but this particular situation lent itself to open communication. “I will remove your arm precisely where the scar tissue indicates it was removed. However, there may be additional internal damage that requires repair.”
“Nah, that’s fair, mate.” Walter had turned his head to face away from Alexander. “Shouldn’t bloody be here.”
He hesitated as he finished clamping Walter’s shoulder down, scalpel in hand. There was no indication that the Salvonian had meant himself. No movement to escape or shy away. In fact, as Alexander pressed the scalpel to his arm, he hardly reacted at all. A brief, sharp draw of breath, and then a sigh.
Alexander watched the blood drip down from the incision, then began to trace a path through healthy tissue. He could have used the saw for the entire cut. This did not need to be precise. Yet, he did not find himself wanting to rush this. Not when Walter appeared to be entirely willing to endure the agony of a limb removal.
“Soon as I felt it, I tried to grab me knife to hack it off meself. Doc gave it-” Walter’s words caught in his throat as the scalpel dug down, tearing into muscle with lethal precision. “-Doc gave it to Houndy. Houndy...thought they’d get it, strewth.” His voice had grown strained, although it was unclear how much came from the pain and how much came from the memory upsetting him. “They went-went along with it. Bloody hell, that feels different than a grenade.”
Walter laughed, the action shaking his body enough that Alexander had to pause. He waited for the shaking to cease before resuming his incision. He peeled back the first layer and held it in place with forceps, pausing only to swab away blood. Carving deeper made Walter groan, the sound louder than he had expected, yet far away from a yell. His scalpel hesitated. More blood was swabbed away as he squinted at the oddly colored obstruction within. Alexander’s assumption had been correct: he could see the stump, bone piercing through it and sinew twisting around it. Through it. It would be difficult to fix.
“Took some convincing before Houndy helped me get out. I owe them another beer, that tab’s gettin’ long.” Walter gritted his teeth, hissing faintly. His clamped down hand was twitching, unable to control the spasms as his nerves were plucked.
It never ceased to impress Alexander how high Walter’s pain tolerance appeared to be. Even through what must have been agony, his reactions remained subdued. Or his mind remained so utterly distracted so as to behave like a sedative.
“It’s wrong, is what it is.” Walter’s voice carried an anger to it that made Alexander’s eyes flicker over to his face. Obscured, neck craned to avoid looking. “I see this bloody arm, and I see her.”
Ah. Alexander understood in an instant, carving through sinew. That drew out a louder sound, almost a bark of pain. He felt Walter try to twist away, the clamps holding him from moving his arm.
As soon as he attempted to back away, Walter’s other arm swung around. His hand gripped Alexander’s forearm, his eye burning with an indescribable emotion. “Don’t you bloody stop, ‘Xander. I want it gone.”
“Yes.” Alexander’s pitiful attempt to justify his hesitation died on his lips. He returned to the painstaking movements, severing nerves and muscle as swiftly as he could. Mindful of every connection that poked through the healed over flesh. Walter’s hand dug into his forearm, shaking from the pain. Or the anger. He could no longer tell.
“This arm. She took it from me, held it over me head. I’d sooner die than have it back.” Walter’s blunt nails were digging tightly into his coat, bruising. Were it not for the lab coat, his arm would assuredly be bleeding. Alexander let the scalpel fall onto the table. Walter’s eye studied him, curious.
And then Alexander dug his hand into the open wound.
Walter shouted, tearing his grip away from Alexander’s arm, clutching the table. It was a dizzying moment for Alexander, one that he could hardly center himself through. He leaned forward, considering his words carefully. “Then let this replace your memory. I am taking your arm.”
His eye was on him, wide. Alexander considered potential alternative readings of what Walter had meant. The loss of his arm had been at the hands of the mad woman, yet it would also be a lasting memory of her. It could have easily been an overstep, an action that demonstrated how little he valued Walter’s intricate relationships.
And then Walter leaned forward and kissed him. Shaking, holding onto a fistful of his lab coat for support. Bone exposed. “You bloody beauty.” Walter’s voice was a restrained whisper, something wild in his eye. “I knew you got it, mate.” His iron grip loosened, but he remained in his partially upright position.
Alexander wasn’t entirely certain what he got, but it appeared to have satisfied Walter. That remained the important part. “I will be sawing through the bone now.” He schooled his tone, even and flat. Distant. “The tool produces noise. Would you prefer music to distract you?”
Walter thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “I wanna hear it.”
A surprise.
He had fully expected Walter to want to listen to music. The Salvonian would often play his guitar, whistle, hum, sing. More than a few radios had appeared within the lab, none of which Alexander had purchased. The silence did not bother him, but he had assumed it bothered Walter. Or, he views the sound of a saw as music in its own right.
The whirring whine of the saw did carry a certain appeal. Walter’s eye remained glued to it, his breathing heavy. “Won’t lie, mate. Might pass out.” He sighed, his breath rattled. “If you can stop me from passing out, that’d be aces.”
Alexander shut off the saw. “Let me see what can be done.” He fetched his laptop, smearing blood over the casing. Too excited, fingers trembling. He left red smudges on the keys as he rushed through his notes, attempting to find the correct blend of chemicals to keep someone alert. There had been plenty of situations where he had forced victims to remain awake until they drew their last breath. The body had defense mechanisms designed to protect the mind from such suffering to divert energy to survival. All of those could be stripped away.
With the correct blend identified, he mixed ingredients. It was impossible to hide his excitement, his breath coming in short, rapid puffs. He buried his head in his sleeve to cough as he measured the cocktail, then used the inserted IV to deliver it. “You will feel everything. I promise.” A terrifying threat to anyone else. As he looked into Walter’s eye, he only saw a trusting smile returned.
He waited a few minutes, composing himself. Clearing the coughing fit from his lungs before it could interfere with his work. He turned the saw on once more, carefully manipulating the flesh to show the bone protruding through. “I will need to remove much of the healed tissue within. There are nerve endings here.” Alexander paused, the saw millimeters away from bone. “This will hurt.”
The whir of the blade shifted as it bore down on bone. Walter’s breath choked in his throat, a horrible gurgling sound. Alexander focused on the task at hand, applying more pressure to rip through bone. He could see Walter’s hand clutching at the air.
Alexander moved a pair of forceps to hold the flesh open, his newly freed and bloodied hand drifting over to hold Walter’s. Walter clutched it tightly, their fingers threading together. He could feel Walter’s eye on him as he worked, as the saw carved its path. The other arm seemed useless now, only attached to his shoulder by a few tenuous scraps of flesh, the fat and muscle exposed in a way that made it difficult for him to breathe.
He clicked the saw off, using his scalpel to sever the remaining scraps of muscle. Walter’s arm fell uselessly on the table, unwanted flesh. Alexander plucked through his kit until he found a file. Rarely used, the absurdity of filing down bone settled over him. He had never needed to consider rounding off the edges. Every scrape drew the faintest sob from Walter. The pain, he realized, had to be far beyond acceptable. Walter had gone deathly silent.
Alexander tested the bone, then reluctantly pulled away. He watched Walter’s hand fall onto his stomach. His breathing was mostly even, save for the way that it hitched and dragged. He was in agony. Even if he pretended not to be.
Something about it twisted Alexander’s stomach.
He shook off the feeling and turned his attention instead to finding a suture kit. “I need to sew the incision closed so that it heals properly. You will need time to sufficiently heal. Or perhaps you will not, should the system correctly pull your archival data.”
Alexander returned with the needle in hand, working quickly to both clean the area and to seal it. Walter’s lack of response would have been a cause of concern if he did not see the Salvonian’s chest rising and falling. His eye appeared to be studying the ceiling. “What method of disposal do you desire for the arm?”
Walter breathed in sharply, his eye drifting down to the limb. “‘S yours, mate.” His words were slurred, too much saliva. “Do wha’you wan’ with it, ay?” He closed his eye. Swallowed. Breathed in deeply. “Bloody hurt.”
“You wanted it to.” Alexander finished his stitches with a sigh. “Will you permit me to carry you to the bedroom? The blood loss will be disorienting until you have had time to recover.” He waited for Walter to nod, then removed the IV and scooped the older man up in his arms. The blood would be irritating to deal with on his sheets, but he would resolve that issue later.
He could feel Walter’s breath against his throat for the entire trip. It served as a reassurance that he was still alive, as his silence was worrying. Alexander ran through the data, considering how much blood he had lost, the shock of the pain, any potential side effects from the chemical cocktail. Too many variables.
As he set Walter down, he leaned down to kiss him. A kiss which was returned immediately, Walter’s hand stroking his cheek. “Thank you.” A surprisingly sincere, direct statement. Walter lay back on the bed, laughing faintly. “Put it on the to-do list, mate, gotta get the eye out, too.”
Alexander swallowed the lump in his throat. An intoxicating thought. “Of course.” He looked at the stitches on Walter’s shoulder. Not identical to how it had been. Uniquely his work. “Will you be dissatisfied if I choose to keep your severed arm for my tests?”
Walter hummed softly, closing his eye. “Wouldn’t want it any other way, mate. You took me bloody arm, ay?” He sounded distant. Disoriented, perhaps. He didn’t look pale enough for it to be from blood loss. “Mags has nothing on me anymore. Good.” Walter rested his hand on his stomach. “If this happens again, can I count on ya?”
“Of course.”