Michael watched as Simon breathed his last. He listened to exactly what he told him. He understood. It was the first time on this island that he felt he actually understood what he was supposed to do. It was the first time he knew exactly what to do from this point on.
He didn't really feel much for Blaine after he killed him, sure there was this satisfaction about getting revenge for the shit that happened to him, but it was gone as soon as it came once he realized what happened to Simon. Michael realized that it doesn't really matter if you avenge someone who died. They were still dead, they weren't coming back. But if he was just a bit quicker, maybe, just maybe Simon would've still been here, and Michael could've called it a victory.
He realized what it was. It don't mean shit if you just kill someone who killed your buddies or hurt you. It meant something if you stopped them. That was the difference between a hero and just a somebody. A hero saves people. A hero stops people from dying in the first place.
It wasn't about stopping some sick fuck from ever hurting anyone ever again, it was about stopping him before he did. He failed today, he failed yesterday, but he wasn't going to fail again. He wasn't going to let the island fuck him up that easily. He could still breath, and he could still fight.
He got it. He understood.
"Thank you Simon... You saved my stupid ass in more ways than one now... I'll pay you back somehow. I don't know how, but you best fuckin' bet I will."
He placed Simon's arms over his chest, and made sure to close his eyes. Once Simon was taken care of, he reached into his pack and pulled out the first aid kit. If he was going to do anything besides die, he needed to fix his shit up before it all fell out of him.
As he opened the box and pulled out the equipment, there was only one thought on his mind.
This was gonna hurt like a bitch...
And one last adjustment... The trickiest one. Michael reached in his pocket for the last tool he needed for his surgical procedure. He pulled it out. It was a small, long, black instrument, with silver lining. One of his most used tools, he was an expert with this instrument.
He brought it up to his most well known feature, and began the repairing process. Y'know; if there's anything for Mike to be thankful of, he was pretty thankful that Blaine couldn't find a pair of clippers around. One great thing about having such great hair is that people would be less inclined to look at more negative features as they're enthralled by the cosmetologist genius of Mike's abilities with gels, combs, and sprays.
It was mostly muscle memory by now, he'd worked on his hair for so long he didn't have to look at himself as he fixed it back. Even when he looked towards the mirror, he expected his face to be fucked. His hair on the other hand, would not be. Once he saw his reflection, he knew he was right.
Barring the easy part, the last hour and a half was hell. Stitches, anti-septics, eating pain medicine like candy, gargling medical alcohol like it was mouthwash... He regretted that last decision deeply, though at least he was certain his mouth was clean. The hardest part of it all was the obvious one though. He didn't even want to bring up any of the shit he had to do for that.
All it took for his hands was a lot of cleaning, and some adhesive bandages wrapped around his fingertips. The scratches on his arms were practically nothing. Slapped on some gauze and cleaning shit, and they were good. The harder parts were his face and...well yeah.
Without all the blood on him, he at least looked passable, in that weird I'm looking at myself from the bad future where Skynet blew everything up and now I lead the human resistance passable. The only problem was blood stains that trickled down the collar of his shirt, and the insert-tampon-joke-here splotch on his jeans. Maybe he could find a replacement in the warehouse, though probably not. That little jean stain kind of threw the whole grizzled survivor look out the window.
Though all in all, it could've been worse. Way worse. Could've lost the use of a leg, or an arm, an eye, an ear. Everything hurt right now, but he wasn't impaired. He was definitely not going to be going too fast any time soon, and once his adrenaline wore off, moving faster than a jogging shuffle was fucking terrible, but he wasn't a damn cripple yet, so that was good.
He leaned back against the wall, happy that he was done with the worst of it. That was another thing that hit him, one that lifted his spirits just a bit.
It couldn't get any worse than this...
Michael opened up one of the bottles of water in his pack and took a sip, careful not to drink too much so it didn't just spill out of the sides. He smiled as he swallowed.
"Yup, couldn't get worse than this. You got one nut and your face is all fucky, but you know what... It can't get worse. Ain't nothing they could do to scare you now..." It was a good thing. After all the shit that's happened to him? Anything else next to dying would be a fucking cakewalk. He just survived the worse this island had to offer, he could take any fucking thing they threw at him. It was the worst way to describe it, but a blessing in disguise was still a blessing, as fucked up as it sounded. After everything that happened, he still had another chance; and sometimes, all you needed to fix shit was a second chance.
He beat Blaine. The bastard thought he could break him, but all he did was make him stronger. He fucked up yesterday, sure, but yesterday was done, and there was no point in dwelling on that shit. Maybe he could make it up to Sebastien, maybe not, but there wasn't no point in not trying. He knew he could find Ev and Scar again, and he knew what he had to do once he saw them.
He'd find them, he'd make things right... That was later though, right now he had to sit here and rest. He still had a long fucking time ahead of him.