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Slowly, [i]agonizingly[/i] slowly he patched himself as much as he could, he- [i]Zigmund[/i] was a bastard but he was an efficient bastard, the punctures were clean enough that one may be able to see throught him, he wasn't sure if he could manage to hold until help arrived but frankly he was out of options. It rankled being left at the mercy of strangers but what truly hurt was knowing he couldn't patch his friends himself, fucking joke of a healer he was. Didn't help that he was feeling guilty about causing the injuries in the first place.

Yeah, turns out conducing surgery on oneself is oddly meditatig, who could have guess that was what would resolve his state of mind.

Okay maybe [i]resolve[/i] wasn't the proper word, his head was still a mess but at least he could think as himself now. The Blessing was... weird, even after using he still felt like he didn't comprehend it at all, after it was activated for a fraction of a second it was like he saw, felt, experienced and became everything about Zigmund, if he closed his eyes he could vividly remember the memories of the other man, his memories now, of scurring along the streets of the capitol, of getting into mischief with his fellow rats as a wee lad, of his crimes, of his archievments.

Of his sins.

[i]Fuck[/i] he remembered the glee he felt just a couple minutes ago when he was demolishing his friends, except that all he could feel now was the burning mix of shame, guilt and disgust that threatened to make him vomit wha little he had of breakfast.

But that wasn't him, those weren't James' actions, they were Zigmund's... right? Frankly, he couldn't tell where James finished and Zigmund started anymore, to him it felt abnormally natural, he was James who was Zigmund who was James, and that felt like the correct answer. The only answer.

He instinctively knew that if Zigmund, the other Zigmun, was still alive he would be dealing with the exact same thing, at the thought an alien yet familiar part of him couldn't help but feel bitter at the bastard for dying and leaving him as this mess, despite it being caused by his -their? Nha that felt weird, caused by his actions in the first place. But that felt like part of course didn't it? Just a stupid idiot making a mess and having to deal with the consequences.

Thinking back on the corpse, didn't that meant that James, the part that was him inside that Zigmund died alongside him? A pit opened on his stomach, that would mean he just created a copy of himself and sentenced it to die before it could fully form. A diferent coin toss and he would be the dead personality, yet he didn't find himself frightened by the though, he could easily imagine the other James would be happy to have died helping take down Zigmund.

Fucking hell that brought a new host of confusing feelings to his mind. 

Speaking of confusing feelings.

Clive was dead, he killed him, except Clive was alive now and he killed Zigmund, there was some sort of irony or dark humor in that a part of Zigmund was still alive but he didn't feel like laughing when he was the butt of the joke. At least James was happy to see a comrade back.

Gods he was feeling tired.

He sat there, letting his thoughts run rampant, there was a halfhearted attempt to listen to the conversation going around him but he abandoned it as soon as he realized he just didn't have the strength to focus on anything. Instead he just stared at the corpse, the corpse that belonged to a man who lost his way a long time ago and who did things he wasn't proud of. What a fucking mess.

When the help finally arrived he allowed himself to nod off.

He dreamed of his childhood, of his loving family waiting for him to return.