Work Text:
Sun's eyes are a bright blood red. Moon's sure he's heard something from someone about that colour and Sun, but he can’t linger on that train of thought right now.
He can fix it in a second. Right after he stops the screaming.
Moon’s fingers fly across the keyboard. It would have been faster to simply plug into the back of Sun's head and go from there, fight the code at the source, but then Moon would risk exposing his own system. He can't help if he's in the same state as Sun.
A cable connects Moon's computer to the mess that is currently Sun's code. Its jumbled and tangled. Moon is supposed to know nearly every line of it, but right now there's a lot that shouldn't be there.
There's a selfish part of him that's glad this is what the current threat against Sun is. Software, Moon can fix. He's good at that.
Emotions are another story, but he just has to shove the uncertainty aside for the moment. Right now he needs to be focused.
The first thing he manages to free from the assailant’s grasp is Sun's voicebox. No longer locked at its normal volume, Moon is able to dial it down enough that he's if not confident then fairly certain it won't wake the others in the house.
He can't shut it off, since he needs to know if anything about Sun's state changes, but he sets it low.
It's still loud enough that nothing is left to the imagination, though.
Not that it would need to be. Moon knows better than anyone else what Sun's pain sounds like. If he were to shut the voicebox off, his mind would jump in with exact recreations of Sun, down to the exact quaver of his voice as he pleads for mercy, the hitch in his words as he begs, artificial tears running down his faceplate-
Moon stuffs those thoughts into an unimportant corner of his mind.
He needs to focus.
He continues typing. He wouldn't describe it as desperate, his actions, but he's sure other individuals would. He fights the invading code, trying to hack away at the vines choking Sun, keeping him trapped within, stabbing him.
Moon knows how to tune out the sound of Sun's cries. It's almost instinctual to him.
Beside him, Sun spasms, eyes continuing to dart around the room. Moon barely glances over as he continues his desperate work.
Dazzle, his brain suddenly reminds him. He tries to push the thought away, but the rest of it shoves back, and a piece of his focus drifts.
July 16th. When Bloodmoon took over, Sun's eyes were red. When you left Sun alone, with only the killcode for company. When the young, innocent children-
Moon manages to push down the rest of the thought. He needs to be at full concentration. He can't fix the past, as much as he so wants to.
He can fix this.
He doubles his effort, if such a thing is even possible. For now, he just won't look at Sun's face.
A task that becomes immediately challenging as strangled gasps begin to choke out from Sun. He's no longer thrashing, instead now just fighting for air.
Technically, they don't need to breathe. This information does nothing to help neither Moon nor Sun.
Moon knows how to ignore the sounds of Sun’s pain. So, he does.
Some time that Moon hopes is only a short period later, Sun’s gasps fill the room again. This time, thankfully, he seems to be taking in air.
Moon types quickly. Eventually, finally, the last thorn ensnaring Sun is cut from him.
Moon crouches on the floor. He's sure his face is not the first thing Sun will want to see after being freed from an agony keeping him trapped in his own mind.
A little too close to home, that one.