InsaneJournal

Who: Seifer and anyone else that might be in the infirmary. (OTA!)
When: Around 8:30-ish. Right around the same time as this
Where: Complex infirmary
What: Holy shit, why was I in a coma?
Rating: PG? PG-13 at the worst.
Warnings: Yeah, absolutely none at this point.

Why was a question that Seifer was asking himself a lot lately. Why he’d let himself get so twisted up? Why fate saw fit to spare him when so many of his victims were in pine boxes or in pieces across battlefields? Why did this seal pull him through instead of Squall? The last question bugged him the most. Squall was the big damn hero. If this seal was pulling people through for the war effort, Squall would have been the better choice. No matter how Seifer felt about what he’d done, Squall was the legendary leader that had saved the world. Seifer was the enemy of his whole world and he’d go down in history that way. His legacy was nothing but brutality, suffering, and a pathetic puppet position. Seifer didn’t brood about it, or at least not often. That legacy was no less than what he deserved. No matter what, Ultimecia had never directly possessed him. She’d never even used her magic to screw with his mind. Every choice he’d made had been his own, and if his name became synonymous with horror and genocide for it, he would just have to deal with that.

But what was he supposed to do here? He wasn’t a hero. He was more insecure about that now than he ever had been before, and that was saying something. He wanted to help, but could he? Could he trust himself not to make the same mistakes he had back home? Sure, there was no megalomaniac wearing a face that was important to him here, but so what? He hadn’t believed Edea was in control of herself for most of the conflict on his world. He’d been so wrapped up in the glory and prestige that came with being her Knight that he hadn’t even cared. For a tiny little while, Galbadia had loved him.

For the tiniest little while, he’d felt loved.

That was why he’d done what he’d done, when you scraped away all the rationalizations and boiled it down to its simplest point. The little orphan boy that couldn’t remember his parents just wanted to feel like somebody gave a damn about him. It was why he’d initially been taken in by Edea’s face and why Ultimecia had been able to twist him around her little finger. The woman was nothing if not manipulative. So how could he be sure that wouldn’t happen here? Confidence had never been Seifer’s strong suit, despite outward appearances to the contrary. It was why he was always so loud and reckless, and why he always had to be better than everyone else. That tendency had been curbed somewhat since regaining his sanity, but at least part of that came from the calming presence of Fujin and Raijin. They were his friends, his posse, probably the closest thing to a family he’d ever have. Without them here, all Seifer could do was try to mask his insecurities the best he could.

Squall, on the other hand? Squall always seemed so self-assured. Everything seemed to come so damn easily for him, and he didn't seem to care about any of it. Maybe that was just Seifer’s perception of him, but the guy just infuriated him. Everything just seemed to fall in the guy’s lap. Squall just meandered around, stoic and totally clueless about the love people were just heaping on him for no reason. Why was it that the guy who always acted like he wanted people to go away got droves of friends without even trying? Why was it that Seifer couldn’t have the same kind of luck when he actively tried to put himself out there? Why was it that Squall had to be a gunblade specialist, and why the hell did he have to be better? Why did he get to be the hero? As much as Seifer did respect the guy for his ability, he just couldn’t quite get rid of the irritation, either.

It wasn’t that “why” that was bugging him right at that very moment, though. The why that was bugging him right then? Why the hell summoning Bahamut had put him into a freaking coma for almost sixteen hours. That was absolutely not supposed to happen. Seifer hadn’t relied on Guardian Forces quite as much as Squall and his merry band of heroes had, but he’d summoned more than his fair share during his training, and none of them had ever hurt him during the summoning. Bahamut may have nearly killed him during the fight to acquire him, but that was it. He hadn’t heard of any Guardian Forces, not even the probably evil Diablos, that hurt the summoner during the summoning. So why had summoning Bahamut last night dropped him? Why was he still feeling like warmed over roadkill? What the hell was going on with his summoning?

It was bugging him, but it wasn’t a question he would be able to answer, either. He wasn’t a moron, but he wasn’t an intellectual either. Maybe Quistis would know what was up with Bahamut, but she wasn’t here. Without her around, there was simply no real chance of finding an answer to the question. So with no answer on the horizon, Seifer wasn’t going to just lay here in some infirmary bed and ponder the question. Brooding was Squall’s thing. Action was Seifer’s. If he couldn’t do anything about the conundrum of Bahamut, then he would focus on something he could do something about: The bugs. He still wasn’t really sure how to kill them, although if what held true for hive minds on his world held true here, it could be as simple as killing the leader and then picking off all the little guys while they ran around in an disorganized chaos. The question then became where was the leader? Another question he didn’t have the answer to, and without knowing more about who the leader was, it was another of those unanswerable questions. So all he could really do was just get back up on his feet and go back out there.

It was the getting up part that was currently posing a problem. Seifer felt weak. Weaker than he had in a long time, and that was just laying there. Would he even be able to get up? Rolling out of bed proved fairly quickly that the answer to that question was a resounding barely. He was on his feet, but even that was enough to send the room spinning. His legs felt like gelatin under him, just barely solid enough to hold him up while still. “Okay. Alright, you can do this. C’mon.” He took a deep breath, hesitated for a second, and tried to take a few steps forward. He managed two steps before his legs started to betray him, and while he was able to stumble sloppily into the wall to keep from falling, this wasn’t good. Whatever summoning Bahamut had done to him, it was more serious than he’d first thought. “Whatever. You’ve dealt with worse. C’mon…” Taking another deep breath, he tried to make it a few more steps and stumbled back to the bed, where he slowly leaned on it for support. “Alright. Okay…” He was standing. Sure, he was pale as the grave and a little green around the gills, but he was standing. He was walking. He could fight. He was a damn soldier, he could fight through this. He just needed to get back out there.