Grief 7.19
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?
Greg’s head hurt. Bad.
Not like a punch. Not like a headache. Not like anything. It was big. Wide. Heavy. Like something inside was crushed, leaking out into everything else.
He didn’t know how to think about it.
He didn’t know how to think.
His hands twitched. He was standing, but not standing right. Legs wrong. Feet wrong. Too soft. No, too hard. Something was wrong.
He blinked. It took too long.
His eyes opened again, and everything was… different. Sharp and bright, but also messy. Colors too strong, edges too loose, like the world was smearing itself apart every time he moved his head.
Something dripped down his cheek.
Wet. Warm. Sticky.
His fingers brushed against his temple, smearing red across his skin.
Blood.
His blood.
Why?
Greg’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Just a slow, heavy exhale.
His body swayed, arms lifting too slow, like something was pulling them down. His knees locked up, then buckled, then locked again. Moving was hard.
He was missing something.
His brain was missing something.
It sloshed in his skull, slow and thick, every thought heavy, like trying to run in water. Nothing stayed still.
Think.
He tried. Really tried.
His lips pressed together, muscles in his face moving in ways that didn’t feel right, like he was trying out an expression he hadn’t used in a long time.
There was someone here.
Small. Blonde. Purple.
His head twitched toward them.
They were saying something.
Their mouth was moving, but the words crashed into him sideways, sliding off before they could stick. His ears worked. He knew they worked. But the sounds weren’t making sense.
His fingers twitched.
His brain twisted itself up, trying to pull the sounds apart, force them into something real.
“Hey there, bud,” the girl said, slow and sweet, like talking to a puppy. “You probably can’t understa—” she stopped, blinked, and tilted her head. “Wait. No. You should just be able to understand me right now.”
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Greg stared at her.
His head pulsed. A deep, dragging throb behind his eyes.
“Look at you,” she cooed. “Who’s a big boy? You’re a big, strong boy? Still standing, still moving. Even with your brain half out? Do you actually need that to survive? Did you need it before your powers?” Her shoulders moved up and down. “Either way, impressive.”
His jaw clenched.
He didn’t know why.
The girl sighed, shifting her weight. Her eyes flicked sideways. “Finally outside,” she murmured, stretching out her arms. “God, fluorescent lights are the worst.”
Greg twitched again.
Her voice was wrong. Too soft. Too sharp.
Familiar.
No.
Yes.
No.
His fingers curled, nails scraping against his palm.
She knew him.
Maybe.
She was talking again, but he didn’t hear it. Couldn’t. The words got lost somewhere between her mouth and his ears.
Something was dripping down his chin. More blood.
He swayed on his feet, stomach twisting. Something about her face made his thoughts slip, made everything feel even more wrong.
His eyes slid past her.
There was something on the ground.
He blinked, forcing his vision to focus.
A shape. A person. Lying still.
He knew what it was.
He should know.
His mind fought itself, trying to pull the pieces together, trying to make it real.
Dead. A dead person.
A dead body.
Greg’s breath hitched, fingers twitched, brain ached as his chest rose and fell, breaths coming too fast, too slow, all wrong. Something inside his head cracked, deep and jagged, like a splinter of ice digging into his skull.
"You want the guy who sent him after you, right?"
The girl’s voice cut through the noise, smooth, light, like she wasn’t standing in front of a half-dead kid with blood still dripping down his face. Her head tilted, a smirk playing at the edges of her mouth, but her eyes—too sharp, too knowing—watched him carefully.
"The guy who put the price on your head? Who gave them your mom’s name?"
Greg’s breath stuttered.
His brain lagged, tripping over itself, trying to put those words together, trying to make sense of them. They landed wrong, slipped sideways, but-
That.
That was—
Pain flared, twisting sharp and deep in his skull.
His mouth opened before his brain caught up.
“Y-y-yes.”
The word felt weird. Thick. Like it barely fit in his mouth.
But the girl just nodded. “Oooh, ominous.” As he felt his eyes narrow, the girl held a hand up for some reason. “Alright, alright, relax, big guy. Can’t have a little fun after you gave me a seizure, I guess.” She adjusted her cap before getting a bit more serious again. "His name is Coil. Real name Thomas Calvert."
Coil.
Greg’s head throbbed.
He did know that name. Didn’t know it, know it, but something about it stuck, burrowed under his skin. The girl—Tattletale, his brain threw at him suddenly, like a puzzle piece snapping into place—kept talking. He remembered her... the blond who was part of the villains with the giant dogs... after Lung...
First time Lung...
That was months ago.
Greg tried to listen.
"Tall guy, real dark skin, jaw that could cut glass," she listed off like she was going down a grocery list. "Long story short, you give him headaches. Not even bad ones, just mildly annoying. But he’s a drama queen and can’t stand when things don’t go his way."
She kept going, words slipping in and out of focus, sharp then distant. A car. A plate number. Something about mercs. About a highway. Boston.
Greg’s fingers twitched at his sides.
"Lots more guesswork without getting to see the future pan out," she said, voice lilting into something almost amused. "But not important."
His head hurt.
Words drifted in and out, but his brain wasn’t keeping up. Like he was running after something just out of reach, something just a little too fast.
A flicker of white.
Something landed at his feet.
Greg’s eyes dropped.
A card.
"In case you forget."
His stomach twisted.
Because she was right.
His memory was slipping, trying to hold onto something that kept sliding through his fingers. He could feel it, the edges of it unraveling, fraying, pulling away.
"I’m gonna leave now,” Tattletale said with a sigh.
“You’re gonna be as smart as a six-year-old in almost… a minute.” She raised an eyebrow as she pulled what look like a pill from her jacket pocket and tossed it in her mout. “Insane, right? I wish my brain worked like that. Either way, I’d rather not get turned into charcoal when you have enough brainpower to get angry." She stepped back and away from him.
"Door me."
Greg flinched as space ripped.
A black hole opened behind her, swallowing up the air around it, curling at the edges like paper burning. Tattletale adjusted her jacket, finally meeting his gaze.
Her smirk had faded.
"Good luck, Greg." Her voice was quieter.
And softer as her eyes looked his way and spoke in a way that seemed downright sad. "And… also, this whole thing… it was kind of my idea, so… I’m really sorry for what’s about to happen to you."
She stepped through and vanished.
