I was alive, for a moment, you see [Wander]

Wander wakes to a blank ceiling, a stranger with dark skin and bright eyes staring at ver over the top of a tubed silver mask in the moments before the room goes dark, and, after several more seconds, a choking sensation. On instinct ve raises the hand that doesn't hurt to vis own mouth, but finds nothing; when ve tries to say "What?" it comes out in an intelligible but inexplicable whine like creaking wood.

If this is the afterlife, it is way weirder than anyone said it would be and Wander is way too tired for it.

A couple heartbeats pass, and that sinks in: Wander is tired. Wander's arm hurts. Voices rise, indistinct and unfamiliar but unmistakably human, in the background.

What.

The stranger—still there, ve realizes as vis eyes adjust to the dim light and their shape forms slowly against a backdrop of shadows and tiny, blinking, electronic lights—explains: suspended animation and triage and the Capitol and the better part of the day. Wander's first frenetic thought is Ripred, of course, do they auction us now or shove us in that museum with the rest—until what got lost in the blood and sweat and stolen moments of laughter filters back in. This was still a quell.

"Oh," ve says aloud, dropping vis head back. After days spent sleeping on a flag wrapped around a jacket full of shiny rocks, the pillow registers vaguely as slick and squishy and horrifically uncomfortable. Absently ve spins the ring, looking for something familiar, not even thinking to wonder whether it will be there until ve's already tracing the warm metal. "Oh. Okay."

Not okay, none of this is (none of this has been), but... vis heart is beating. Vis family won't, presumably (hopefully), mourn forever. One way or another, Temple and Bette and Eve—sweet Eve, trying so hard to throw herself on a blade so no one else had to, Ripred—will outlive the next sunset. Carmen will see her sister—

Parson and Fiona are alive. Yusei, too.

... Carter?

Wander lifts vis head again, peering at the stranger—vis surgeon, ve supposes, or one of them—taking readings from a machine ve can't make out. "Is—everyone?" ve asks, meaning to go on but starting again at the squeak.

Wordlessly the stranger jerks their thumb over one shoulder. Wander blinks into the darkness, then hums softly at the voices ve thought ve didn't recognize—pitched up, of course, like vis own. Ve still can't make out the words, let alone distinguish the speakers, but that must be all... what, nine? (Ten, eleven? Wander had other concerns, that morning, than counting cannons.) "Got it," ve mumbles, wheels spinning.

Those conversations will hurt, but they're all alive to have them, or at least for Wander to try. Nothing else, ever again, has to end with a javelin or a scream or a lost bird circling in the dark.

The doctor blocks ver from swinging vis legs over the side of the bed with a firm hand. "You don't move until I say you can."

"What, I could walk to the ocean like this but I—" They don't move their hand. Wander relents, pulling vis legs back to the center of the bed, but huffs a sigh as ve does. That, if nothing else, still sounds normal. "How do I get you to say I can?"

If they make any expression, Wander can't tell through the darkness and the mask, but they hand over a plastic and metal handle with a dial on top ("Wrap your fingers around that. Your other hand." "That one hurts!" "Yes, hence the test."), and trial by trial the rest of Wander's life begins.


title song is "Song of the Sea" by Cake Bake Betty.

would you try to test grip that soon after someone got stabbed through the hand? beats me and cursory searches aren't helping so I'm calling on "it's the future, so whatever" again