Archive of Our Own

Carlos hadn't seen Kevin all day.

This on its own wasn't concerning. After all, they both had their own work to do, and neither of them were the type to take breaks. Kevin had told him he had a personal matter to take care of, and at first, Carlos thought nothing of it. 

But as he checked on the decomposition rate of a specimen Kevin had brought him, Carlos realized he'd spent far more time in his lab than anticipated. Kevin should be back by now.

For the last few months—or at least, what the two had roughly decided was a month in a place where the sun never set—Kevin had been having issues. At first, it was just the occasional jitters. Jitters turned into constant tremors, which became frequent full body spasms. Mild nausea spiraled into violent fits of vomiting. And although Kevin refused to admit it, Carlos could tell it was impacting his mood. He could barely concentrate, often getting disoriented mid-conversation.

Carlos was a scientist, not a doctor, but even he knew what was going on. And with some pressing, Kevin finally confirmed it. His Strex-issued collar had run out of drugs to inject into his system. And whatever cocktail of substances were in those small vials, the withdrawals from it were far from pretty.

Then there was the issue of the shocking mechanism. As Kevin cheerfully explained (to Carlos’ abject horror), each Strex collar came with a remote controlled shock device—surgically attached to the spinal cord. 

(When Carlos asked how that hadn't killed anyone, Kevin nonchalantly said it had. Many, many people.)

Some internal component had broken, causing the collar to spontaneously shock Kevin with no warning. The resulting pain and muscle spasms were often strong enough to knock him to the ground. 

Clearly, the collar had to go. But Carlos had no surgical equipment to remove it with, and despite Kevin's insistence he wouldn't mind, there was no way he was doing it without anesthesia.

Kevin could have been incapacitated by any one of those issues while Carlos was busy. One day, Kevin had broken down and begged Carlos to take the collar off, no matter what he had to do. Carlos could only apologize and say he couldn't risk it. Remembering that, he realized with horror what the “personal matter” was. 

He was going to remove the collar himself.

Frantically scouring their small settlement with increasing desperation, Carlos finally found the exact scene he was expecting when he opened the door to Kevin's shack. Except, it wasn't really the scene he was expecting.

It was much, much worse.

In absence of any surgical tools, Kevin had resorted to a handsaw. Loose bits of flesh hung off the serrated edge of the tool, which rested on a blood-soaked table. Shards of metal and broken vials littered the floor, so bloodied that they resembled the shredded muscle tossed haphazardly beside them. And in the middle of this gory scene was Kevin himself. 

His head was tossed to one side, and initially Carlos thought he was just getting a better angle. But as the scientist drew closer, his stomach dropped. Kevin wasn't tilting his head.

It was falling off.

Half of Kevin's neck had been torn open, and it wasn't a clean cut either. After all, there were no precise methods Kevin could use. Only scavenged junk and his own two hands. The wound that resulted looked more like raw ground beef than a surgical incision, though it was hard to see with all the blood pulsing out of severed arteries.

That realization wasn't even the worst one Carlos would have to experience. No, by far the worst part was that despite everything, despite being nearly decapitated —Kevin was still going . 

Carlos wasn't a particularly squeamish person. After all, about 80% of science was gross, which was a very scientific percentage to have. But seeing his best friend partially beheaded, still sticking shaking fingers into shredded flesh to tear out jagged bits of metal…

Well, vomiting was also very scientific. The mechanisms of nausea were their own field of study. And so, Carlos suddenly felt the need to run his own experiment—directly onto the viscera-covered floor.

The noise of Carlos’ impromptu experiment caused Kevin to look up from his “surgery”—or, at least, as much as you can look up with a severed head. He made an attempt at a greeting, realizing too late that his vocal cords were already severed. The result was a strangled gurgling, followed by coughing up a copious amount of blood.

Shockingly, this didn't make Carlos any less nauseous. 

The rest was a blur. Vaguely, Carlos was aware of his own voice saying something, probably some plea for Kevin to stop. He felt his body move forward towards his friend, his hands trying to tilt the severed head upright—the actions felt like something that happened around Carlos, rather than ones he had chosen to do. And then, one thing made reality hit all at once.

Kevin went limp in his arms.

“...Kevin?” Carlos managed to croak out. “No, no no no no…”

Desperately, Carlos tried in vain to realign the head to fit on the shredded flesh of the neck. The body of Kevin was completely unresponsive as Carlos cried out his name, the words devolving into sobs.

He couldn't save him. He was too late.

Suddenly, a twitch.

Carlos thought he imagined it at first, a product of wishful thinking, but soon enough the body in his arms was spasming harder than he'd ever seen before. The scientist struggled to keep the head steady as the erratic motion threatened to tear it off completely. 

But it didn't. Instead, something much stranger happened. The stringy tissue wove itself back together. Thread by thread, muscle fibers intertwined and snapped back into place. As the tendons reformed, the body had stopped shaking in his arms, and Carlos found that he no longer had to hold the head in place.

“...Aw, Carlos! If you wanted a hug, you could've just asked!”

Carlos looked up in disbelief at the grinning face of Kevin, who seemed completely unbothered by the whole affair. The only thing he could do was laugh at the absurdity of it all, which quickly became more sobs as he clung to the friend he nearly lost. 

“Carlos…” The harsh chipper tone softened into hushed concern. “Why are you crying? I didn't make you unhappy, did I?”

Of course that's what he would be concerned about. It would almost be endearing, if not for the fact both of them were soaked in blood. 

“No, I'm just…” Carlos sniffled. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

“I'm always okay!” came the automatic response.