Plan B

Chapter 7 | Is This the End?

The guilt was completely, absolutely crushing. Sure, he could always remind himself that it wasn't his fault, that it was all a mistake, something he had no control over. He could do that all he wanted. But, as true as it was, no amount of telling himself that would make him feel any better about it. If anything, it just made him feel worse. The remorse amplified with every passing thought of it, and he just found himself wishing he hadn't been so helpless. All he had really been was a powerless, silent spectator, only able to watch as everything went wrong. Unable to act. To tell the truth. Like he'd so desperately wanted to. It had been as though he was trapped within an encasement of rocky walls, watching as they slowly caved in on him. Closing off his oxygen supply. Suffocating him.

It was one of Roy's favourite old tricks, he knew. Using his machine to manipulate the words and actions of anyone in its database. But what made this trick so much more horrible for all those involved? The fact that the mind was not also taken over. One might think it would be better if one could think one's own thoughts whilst being controlled, but truly, it was the polar opposite. It was torture to have your mind be your own at the same time your body and words weren't, forced to know and see, in the moment, everything your pilot made you do.

Every one of the Teachers knew this trick, among many others, perfectly well. It was possible that even the Trio knew somewhat of it. They'd all seen it so much by now that it was essentially a tap run dry, and on most occasions, they would see right through Roy's deception. Besides, until now, it hadn't been used since the plug was pulled.

So, even if it hadn't been used in a while, Colin still couldn't help feeling that he should have known. He should have known it would happen. How had he not seen it coming? He wished he had, so he could have been better prepared for it. He should have warned Tony in advance that if he ever started acting unlike himself, it was certainly Roy messing with the two of them. But then, momentarily, that had made him wonder how he hadn't realised in the first place. That was, until he remembered how Tony had been overtaken by fear and panic. He hadn't been thinking straight. He couldn't. And, no matter how badly he might have wanted to, Colin couldn't tell him that he'd been listening wholeheartedly to every word he said.

He was still himself. In every sense. Only, his body had been reduced to a vessel for Roy to speak his sick words through. Nothing he'd said to him that morning had truly come from him. He wouldn't ever say anything like that of his own accord; even the thought of it made him sick. He had felt sick hearing the words coming out of his mouth. How could Roy say that, through him? In a way that made Tony think he was sincere? What was so twisted inside him that made him do such a thing to them?

He just wanted to tell him that it wasn't Colin he had been talking to earlier that day. It was something that he knew could be resolved so easily, if he could only go and find him. He would. He would assure him that, if he was ever forced to choose between Roy and rest of the Teachers, he would always choose the latter, no matter what.

The other Teachers had always meant the world to him. He wouldn't ever, ever leave their side of this raging war. And, as long as he was within his own mind, he would definitely never leave Tony's side. After all they'd been through, it was something he didn't even want to imagine. So knowing that Tony was somewhere close by, left dejected and confused about what had happened, opened up a pit in his stomach that wouldn't close up.

I love you, Tones, he thought forlornly. I do. I promise. He was sure that there existed no world in which he turned away from him in favour of assisting Roy, let alone a world in which he miraculously forgot about the light he gave to him in the darkness of this doom. He was certain that could never happen. The thought of him could be either a glimmer of hope or a crushing hammer to the chest, and his presence like the North Star, guiding him home for just a little while.