You know, being injured fucking sucked. Back home, Octane would have slithered his way into Caustic's labs, and splayed himself across the scientist's counter. He would shove all the papers off, knowing it would piss Caustic off, and wait. He knew how it would play out. Caustic would get mad at him, grab him, slam the daredevil into the counter, and oh, he would hold Octavio's throat so tight. Caustic would mercifully finish him off, knowing Octavio would be popped into a new body, good as new.
They couldn't do that anymore, and Octane's twisted, poisoned subconscious hungered for the end that was not the end. Danger and death were adrenaline, and the rush was far more gratifying than anything Stim or weed could ever give him. This cheetah vehicle was not tarnished in the same way Octane's human self was. It was not constantly abused and updated, it didn't know Caustic's hands or bullets ripped through it. Debatably, his human body did not know pain that well, either. It was updated for new scars and no more, but it never felt pain long enough to learn to tolerate it. Octane realized if he kept sustaining injuries in this form, and healing slowly from them, his tolerance would increase. Such thoughts upset him, and Octane detested the idea. It was more work for both of them, but... did it matter? He could he be useful or run if he was sitting around injured half the time? Like he was now.
Octane had sent a bird Caustic's way, one of the NPCs with a poorly-written letter that explained his injuries. He hoped, the wolf would be here in a day or two and not leave him to suffer alone. Knowing Caustic though, that fucker would leave him on read and when only come at Octane's pestering. Octane could pester only him now by sending more birds, but that would take too long.
Octane laid on the floor of his hut now, door wide open as an invitation to come inside. Rain fell outside, wetting the doorway of his hut. He laid on his back, legs held awkwardly close, as if he was trying to cross his arms. He had popped off his legs hours ago, tossed to the side and wiggling in an attempt to stimulate himself. He rolled to his side, claws gripping the wall and digging right in, dragging down the side.
A trap of his own accord, in a way. He was too injured to get up properly and move around, without being sore or reopening any wounds. Octane felt like a caged tiger snapping at the bars, and he didn't know if he would snap at anyone who walked in here, either. He was twitching and he kept dragging his claws along the wall, leaving marks in the wood. It wasn't productive by any means, but it was something material and it made noise. He was trying to remember something, maybe some of the songs lost to the other dimension, as he beat his paws into the wall. Oh, how did it fucking go? "So you're a tough guy, like it really rough guy, just can't get enough guy," Songs from the generations before that survived the wars and time, artists born generations before him, only surviving on the legacy of music, free on public radio. He hummed out the drum beat,
"I'm the baaaaad guy. Duh." This would have been the part where Octane made a shooting motion with his hands, but settled for hitting the wall again. If he could just like, smash his head right through that would be great.

Michael had been injured a great deal in the past, for quite a variety of different reasons. Usually it was because he had pissed someone off and they had identified that, of the pair of he and Trevor, he was the weaker target of the two of them. To his credit, Trevor certainly didn't do a bad job acting as grunt and bodyguard for his smaller counterpart, but the smaller criminal had a bad habit of getting himself on the shit list of a lot of different groups, and Trev couldn't always be around. Thankfully nothing had been able to take him out – at least not yet, anyways – but it meant that the bobcat knew well what it was like to be trapped inside a hiding place or base, bored out of your mind. Hell, he'd even done it fairly recently, recovering from the wounds that he had sustained going up against the dire wolf with Roxie. That recovery had been one of the easier ones, thankfully, since instead of a boring, puny two person camp with Trevor, Michael had the entirety of the Typhoon to keep him entertained whole he was injured. Or at least, the parts of the Typhoon he had been able to drag himself over to in his state. That had consisted mostly of just Roxie, Roan, and Trevor, but that had been enough to keep him entertained until he was back in "top" shape.

Unfortunately for Octane, the daredevil didn't even have a little support group like Michael had to get through his own injuries, so it was natural that he would begin to grow restless. Especially with the frantic, near endless energy the other seemed to exude. However, this didn't make it any less surprising to hear the heavy – and slightly annoying – beat of paws up against the wall of one of the nearby houses, something that caused Michael to pause in his trot. The thief had been eager to get the hell out of the rain, a fat fish pierced on his fangs as he had headed back towards his home, but it sounded as though maybe a detour would be more interesting. Michael cast one glance down at his fishy dinner before he sighed, heading towards Octane's home and placing the prey down near the door of the hut. The door was wide open, so Michael felt little shame in stepping inside without knocking, just clearing his throat as a way of announcing his presence, along with the usual faint jingle of his jewelry. He had begun to put it all on more often as of late, since he no longer had open or bandaged up wounds to worry about irritating.

The male felt his ears flatten down against his skull for a moment, mainly at the sound of Octane's slightly off key rendition of a song that sounded vaguely familiar, for reasons Michael couldn't remember. Perhaps Trevor had put it on one night, or insisted on singing his own rendition to Michael himself. Either way, the bobcat found himself wondering – not for the first time, mind you – what exactly Caustic saw in Octane. He'd sort of explained it on Valentine's Day, but Michael still just sort of stared at the cheetah in thought before he eventually spoke, "Octane? Uh... are you doin' alright? Cause normally people don't just go bangin' on their walls like a mental patient unless they're gettin' a bit desperate." His tone carried its usual faintly sardonic lilt, something that the bobcat was simply unable to truly get rid of. Somebody had once tried to tell him that it was a way of defending himself, putting a thick layer of sarcasm between him and anything that came his way, but he tried not to think about that.

// cw for lots of thoughts about death

Octane should have locked his fucking door, used one of his legs as a prop to keep it shut. When Michael enters, the Cheetah's head turns to look over his shoulder. Octane's ears are laid back, pupils small in an expression of frantic jittering. He feels his breathe shake as he exhales, muscles coiling as the back of his brain spills out commands. He wants to lunge at Michael, like the feral beast he was.
Octane knows, he is the loaded spring of a gun, and Caustic is the hammer. Sometimes, Caustic is the safety too- the scientist completes what Octane wants but also keeps him from getting too terrible. Octane knows Caustic can never comfort him, hold him close like a tender lover, ask the speedster how his day was, and that was fine. Octane didn't want that because he could not give Caustic that. Caustic only comforted Octane by killing him, and that was fine because that was what Octane wanted. He knows Caustic rewards him for being fucking awful by killing him. It was always too easy to get what he wanted from the wolf.
Octane finds his claws digging into the wall, he is still staring at Michael with that same feral expression a scared piece of prey may give him. He vibrates, still as he can, but Octane cannot help the jitters he makes with his shoulders or the cheetah's chirps falling from his lips.
Why can't Caustic show up already? If he was bothering to come, he would be here by now. Maybe they could try to do something close to what they had, but the risk was too high and Octane knew he would push the wolf too far. The cheetah pulls against the wall, briefly imagining his own toes ripping out at the motion, and sits himself up to rest on his elbows. Octane takes a breath, pulling himself all the way to a sitting position, his stumps awkwardly sitting out. He pulls his ears up, but finds his legs shaking. Octane is trying to pass off some semblance of being relaxed. He opens his mouth to speak, and Octane is ready to lash out. The cheetah stops, only for a moment, watching Roxanne approach. He wants to scream at them, tell them to get the fuck out, lunge at them and take all of Michael's pretty jewelry. "N... No." Octane finally sputters out, eyes casting to the doorway behind them, as if hoping he would be there. He hopes a simple 'no' is enough to answer both of their questions. Octane tilts his head, feeling the scab patched around his neck cracking and blood leaking ever so slowly into the wrappings. It's painful, and not in a good way. It's not quick and its unearned. He shifts, his wounded hip causing him the same pain, and Octane shifts his weight to his other hip.
"I want to die," he finally says, tongue idly licking at his own teeth. Maybe it's meant to be a joke, but Octane knows there's some truth to it. Death is a release from the pain that ails him, and his scientist was there to mercifully finish him off. Being unable to respawn has changed their parameters. He has ruined the trap he set for Caustic, and maybe, what they have by confining both of them here until their naturally met deaths.
And Caustic didn't even have a fucking clue.

Michael was only slightly comforted by the presence of Roxanne at his side, the feeling of their pelts brushing together providing him with a much needed sense of familiarity when Octane turned his gaze towards them. The fugitive was thoroughly caught off guard by how furious Octane looked, used to the cheetah being a carefree presence that he had only ever seen goofing off or teasing him about something. He knew from Octane that his relationship with the scientist was far from the healthiest thing in the world, and he had hardly ever assumed that the daredevil was in a particularly good headspace, but to see him like this? He looked more feral than Roxie had when she had torn into the dire wolf. Hell, he looked as righteously furious as Trevor did whenever he went into one of his killing fueled rage states. However, Michael was always used to those rage states being focused upon people other than him, so when he saw the look in Octane's eyes and the way his body trembled, he felt the need to recoil, and get away from the situation. Instead, he just pressed farther into Roxie's coat, seeking comfort in her fluff like a frightened child, despite the fact that his jaw clenched, fully ready to fight back if Octane finally snapped and launched himself forward. Despite the many jokes made at his expense, Michael Townley was far from defenseless, and he would let Octane know that through force if needed. Especially if he knew that Octane was eyeing his jewelry, desperate to rip into it despite the fact it held no real value to him besides representing the destruction he could be causing.

Thankfully for all present, Octane seemed to force himself to calm, and Michael felt his muscles relax as well, albeit not all the way. He was prepared for Octane to shrug everything off, and pretend like that burst of vicious emotion had been nothing but a fluke, but he was caught off guard when the male responded with a "no", an answer that was appropriate, but far from what he himself would've given. The bobcat watched as Octane tilted his head to the side, a wince passing through his body when he saw the way the cheetah's movement pulled at wounds and drew blood. He would've thought that Octane would be enjoying himself, given what he had learned about the other from Caustic, but that didn't seem to be the case, considering the frustrated and vicious look in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Michael listened intently when the legend spoke again, a soft snort leaving him when he heard the quiet request for death, almost like a plea. Had it been anyone else, perhaps Michael wouldn't have allowed himself the little huff of amusement, but considering what he had learned thus far... it hardly surprised him. Shaking his head from side to side, the thief glanced over at Roxie before he spoke, his voice curt and perhaps the slightest bit worried – but only a little, "That's not usually a good thing, you know. You should talk to somebody about that. Caustic, maybe." Michael froze after he spoke, his own eyes widening minutely at the slip of the tongue he had just let out. He hadn't meant to let Octane know that he knew Caustic... ever, really, but he supposed the cat was out of the bag. Hopefully that wouldn't just drive Octane into another furious trembling session.