Chapter Text
“Check it out! I’ll shoot a pepper out of whichever nostril you pick.” The voice started, before deciding to backtrack. “I mean— choose!”
“Yeah. Like one nose shake a day isn’t enough.” A familiar voice entertained.
Too familiar. It was all too familiar.
Alejandro jumped with a start, tumbling from off the aged economy class benches with a surprised yelp. The two voices, which he has now recognised as Owen and Noah, pause their immature conversation to peer down at Alejandro.
What?
Like what the fuck?
This cannot be happening.
He lost. He lost and Heather won. She kicked him down the volcano, specifically in the balls. It sucked ass, because he was humiliated hardcore on international television. Also because of the fact that he lost.
And then it was dark. And he was so lonely.
It was Chris — he was trapped in that robot suit. Chris put him in that robot suit to avoid getting sued? Or facing the consequences of his actions? The Burromuerto’s?
(Alejandro’s family most likely felt blessed after he was trapped in that robot suit. They wouldn’t have had to bother with a failure of a son).
When being submerged into complete isolation, it’s difficult to recognise the difference between a second and a hour. Hours drag on, yet glide by. Seconds fly by, but are drawn out. Minutes do not contain seconds, because in complete, and only complete and utter isolation, a second can be whatever you want it to be. Take it your home, a place where most would find comfort, in a blink of an eye you could be there. Figuratively. You obviously wouldn’t actually be there. You’ve been completely isolated, after all. Time doesn’t exist in isolation. Nothing exists when being isolated.
That was confusing to read, wasn’t it? Complete isolation warps the mind.
That’s why he’s dreaming, right?
Because this isn’t real. It’s a figment of his imagination.
All Alejandro needs to do is blink. Blink, and he’s back. In complete and utter isolation.
“O-M-G! Alejandro practically made out with the floor with how he fell off the bench! Heather — watch out — you’ve got some game!” Sierra frantically types at her.. keyboard. “50 characters left. What else can I say?”
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” Heather rolls her eyes, dragging out the action for so long the others fear it’s permanent. “Seriously, do you always have to make everything about you?”
So he blinks.
It’s not like he’s desperate to go back to nothing, but at least he knows what to expect. A whole much of nothing.
But— but this just doesn’t make any sense? Like at all! One would say nothing about Total Drama, or the accident, or even his life made any sense.
But this just reached a whole other level of strange.
“Al— what a fall, were my nose shakes that disgusting?” It’s pretty self explanatory who’s stomped their way over to Alejandro. “Hey, why are you blinking so much. Did you get some of my nose shake in your eye?”
By now, he’s pretty sure he’s shoved himself against the closest vertical surface. His legs— his working legs!— are splayed out in front of him. Owen is crouched down next to them, his countenance slowly morphing into something resembling extreme concern.
For the life of him, Alejandro couldn’t think of any type of insult or way to berate Owen for using that disgraced nickname.
Because his legs. He swears he just felt it twitch.
“Alejandro?” Courtney asks, nearing the question almost everyone in the room was scared to ask. “Are.. are you alright?”
“This is not happening.” He whispered to himself. God, how long has it been since he’s spoken. Since he’s seen an actual face? Since he hasn’t been alone? “Don’t fuck with me.”
Owen blinked, although they were no match for Alejandro’s rapid ones. The Spaniard shuffled onto his knees — not yet trusting his legs will be able to hold his weight — and snatched Owen’s shirt collar between his fingers.
His fingers! He’s actually touching something. If Alejandro wasn’t so freaked out, he could be skipping with happiness.
“Al—“
“Por favor, te lo ruego, sé sincero.” The panicked pleaded, ignoring the way Owen attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. “Do not fuck with me!”
Commotion could be heard in the background. The cast was gossiping, talking between themselves. How has the star of the show, the hottie, Mr ‘I-could-pull-any-girl-or-guy-I-wanted’ fallen to this?
It was too much, to say the least. Alejandro hasn’t heard a thing for.. he doesn’t know. His concept of time wasn’t the most repliable in the robot suit. Give or take, a year? Or a week? Time does not exist in complete isolation.
Neither does sound. Or touch.
Holy shit, he’s touching someone! It’s been so long, or at least he thinks. Holy shit, he’s touching someone..
Before his mind can catch up with his actions, Alejandro violently flinches away from the big guy. Owen takes this opportunity so shuffle as far away from Alejandro as possible.
(Because oh, he’s literally just touched someone first then first time in a year)
Thankfully, Owen’s stature was big enough to block the (judgemental? worried? confused?) looks of his cast mates — the cast mates he had all beaten. All but one.
Now that Owen’s fled away, their expressions are all on display.
It is waaaay too much.
“Alright there, big guy?” Noah, the nimble bastard, shimmies his way over to Owen’s aid. There is a lack of emotion is his voice, however, his sarcastic response is laced with too much concern to be considered nonchalant.
“Yeah— I— is he?” Owen stumbles over his words. If Alejandro was in his right mind, he’d be able to recognise and cherish the fact that he had silenced the unsilenceable; Owen.
And then Courtney is striding over to him, in three, swift steps. Noah isn’t far behind, however, he’s taking a much cautious, slow approach.
Noah turns towards Courtney to call her name— a second too late, however, as she is already barking out at Alejandro.
“What were you thinking?” She yells, her voice an octave higher than usual. “Attacking your own team mate? Right before a challenge?”
Alejandro abruptly stands up.
A challenge? He can’t do a challenge. Not now. Because each challenge brings him closer to the end.
He wants this to end. So bad. But not in a robot suit. Not in complete isolation. Not with Heather winning the million.
Courtney stops, coming face to face with a barley standing Alejandro. Noah follows slightly behind them.
“Courtney, he’s—“ Noah starts, before being cut off yet again.
Yeah. Ignore what the brainiac has to say. You’re a CIT after all, Courtney.
“What’s wrong with—“ She begins to ask, concern oozing from her bossy tone.
And suddenly, he’s walking. He’s actually walking away from it. From everyone! Do you know how long it’s been since Alejandro’s actually walked anywhere? Neither does he. Say it with him;
Time doesn’t exist in total, complete and utter isolation.
You’re getting the hang of it.
“What is he doing?” Heather asks from the sidelines, bewildered.
And suddenly, he’s falling. In front of everyone! Do you know how long it’s been since Alejandro’s fallen down?
Fortunately, Courtney and Noah are there to feather his fall. Well, mainly Courtney, Alejandro doesn’t believe Noah can even hold his own body weight, let alone Alejandro’s. B for brilliant attempt. He may get an A if he actually manages to, you know, help.
They manage to manoeuvre his muscular, dead weight limbs back onto the floor.
“What is happening?” He cries. Almost. Burromuerto’s don’t cry. So, it may be more accurate to say he whines. Although Burromuerto’s don’t whine either. Let’s settle with Alejandro gulping down air, because he can’t currently breathe.
And, oh so suddenly, the reality of everything settles. He’s back.
“You tell us.” Noah comments, sarcastically. “You’re having a panic attack.”
By now, a crowd of the occupants from both teams have gathered around the three on the floor. Worry is written all over most— if not all of their faces. They murmur to one another.
“Panic attack?”
“But he’s not attacking anybody.”
“That’s not what it means, Tyler.”
“Does he need anything?”
“We should probably let Chris know.”
As she’s helping to settle Alejandro against the wall, a lightbulb does off in her head. Courtney flies to her feet. “Chris! We’re suppose to be in London any minute! I have to tell him — Alejandro can’t complete any challenges in his condition.”
Courtney turns towards the crowd, before turning around to the two on the ground. “Make sure he’s okay.”
Silently, Noah nods in her direction. Turning back to Alejandro, he needs to find a way to calm him down.
Why did he always get the shit end of the stick?
Taking care of the guy he doesn’t even like? The most untrustworthy person on this plane (that including Chris and Heather). But..
He can’t just leave Alejandro like this. Noah’s skin and bones, and uses sarcasm as a defence mechanism, but he’s not heartless.
In the distance, he hears Gwen fumble for an excuse to follow Courtney.
“This is not real.” Alejandro whispers to himself, curling more into a ball. His hands jump to his head, fingers working their way through his locks. And he pulls. The feeling is so overwhelming, Alejandro can’t tell if it’s helping him right now. “Esto no puede ser real.”
“Alejandro, can you hear me?” His hand moves towards the other, then he hesitates. Is it best for Noah to touch him now? It could just send him into another fit of panic.
“Does it look like he can hear you?”
“Does it look like you’re helping?” Noah snaps, glaring at Heather, because of course, it was a very Heather comment. “Does it look like any of you are helping? Stop crowding around him like he’s a science project. Mind your business.”
Despite being bluntly, and quite literally being told to fuck off, the crowd dispersed. There were a few grunts and side comments, although none of which were from Heather.
Owen lingers over his shoulder a second longer than the others, before deciding it’s better to leave.
“Can I touch you?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his monotone voice. Even an outsider could hear how it wavered. God, Noah hopes there weren’t any interns recording them right now.
The only answer he receives is the desperate sound of Alejandro trying to swallow air. It’s pathetic.
Slowly, he moves his hands to cup over Alejandro’s and pries them away from his hair. He settles them in the man’s lap, too comfortable with keeping contact.
Why does he always get the shit end of the stick? All he wanted to warn Courtney of the upcoming panic attack. Why does he have to get closer to the eel?
“Give—“ The Spaniard gasps, then let’s put a frustrated groan, as if he’s forcing the words from his throat. “A minute. I—“, He continues to pant. “Just— this..”
“Focus on you’re breathing.” Comfort is not his forte, if that wasn’t clear already.
Alejandro nods. Noah shuffles away from him. Alejandro flexes his fingers, staring at them in some sort of awe. Noah tries to not look uncomfortable. Alejandro cautiously moves his legs away from his chest. Noah awkwardly gives him space. Alejandro pinches himself. Noah thinks of it to be a bit weird, but whatever toots his horn. Alejandro takes a bite out of his arm. Noah—
Alejandro takes a bite out of his arm?
Uncomfortable and awkward he is not anymore. Lurching forward, he pulls Alejandro’s bicep away from his mouth.
“Dude— what?”
“This is real.”
“Uh— yeah? Of course it is?”
“But—“ He gapes. “I’m free?”
“Well—“ Noah pauses, discarding his sarcastic remark. Save it for when the guy’s more mentally stable. “From?”
“What day is it?”
“20th March.” Noah quirks a brow.
Meanwhile, Alejandro’s furrows. “And the next challenge?”
“Set in London. Chris told us this an hour ago.”
“Mierda, ¿he retrocedido en el tiempo?” Alejandro talks, although to himself. “¿Morí con el traje de robot?”
“English, please.”
He stands, legs wobbling slightly as he falls against the wall. Determined, he is though, as he moves against the plane’s walls towards first class.
Noah opted to trail behind Alejandro as he walked. He doesn’t care about the other, just looking out for his most useful team mate, is all.
“Where are you going?” Heather repeats her question from earlier, although with significantly less bite.
“I need to talk to—“
“I brought Chris!” Courtney sure does have a way of announcing herself to the room. This time, she almost knocks Alejandro, the poor guy, out with how fast she opened the door.
He’s already made out with the floor, not that excited to do so with the door, too.
“He looks fine!” Chris dismisses, walking over to the tan teen leaning against the wall.
“You.” Alejandro blinks (again), his face blank and void of emotion, before fury erupts over his face. Grabbing McLean by the collar, much like he did Owen, he shoves the host against the nearest wall. This is, one, to appear intimidating, and two, to avoid collapsing again. “You! Te mataré, what did you do to me?”
“Hey!” Chris pushes himself against the wall. “Violence against you’re host is prohibited! It’s in your contract, I could sue you!”
The tension in economy glass is so thick that Owen wouldn’t be able to eat it if it was a layered cake. The knife version of that saying couldn’t compare, as you could easily bring in a chainsaw, for example, to cut the tension. Nothing could beat Owen against cake.
Nobody in the room spoke, or made a move to dismantle Alejandro from Chris. Maybe they’d all had enough of their host. Alejandro couldn’t put it against them, with all the torment and hell he’s put them through (some of which hasn’t even happened yet!). Perhaps they’d like to see Chris be torn a new one. Maybe they thought Alejandro going batshit was hot. Whatever the case, they did not make a move to separate the two.
Sierra being an exception, she’s been furiously typing on her.. okay. There’s no point in entertaining it. She’s too busy typing on her pizza box and gripping Cody.
“Chucks. Zero characters left.” She groaned under her breath. However, her phrase practically echoed in the silent room.
“You know what I could sue you for?” Alejandro brought his face closer to Chris’, noses practically brushing each other. “Putting explosives into a volcano for a challenge. Allowing said volcano to erupt. Shoving me into a robot suit for— I don’t even know how long. Time doesn’t really exists in complete isolation. Y ahora estoy de vuelta! I don’t know how you did it. Really, I don’t. But mark my words, once my father—“ He sighs, trying to collect himself. “—No sé qué decir. Estoy jodidamente enojado contigo.“
Chris, for once, was rendered speechless. His mouth opens, then shuts abruptly, before opening again. “How did you know about that? That was the challenge meant for the final two!”
“I was in the final two! ¿Puedes recordar?” Alejandro pulls the host forward, before violently shoving him back into the wall. “And you got me injured. You kidnapped me! It was not to heal me, I am aware, it was to—“
“Woah.” Chris holds up both his hands in mock surrender, guiding one of them to Alejandro’s mouth and shoving his face away from his own. “Someone’s got a case of crazy, am I right?”
He speaks to the contestants now, watching as some of them slowly, and very reluctantly, agree with him.
“¿Que?” In surprise, Alejandro’s grip on Chris loosens, which is all the other needs to flee to the other side of the room.
“New Izzy alert!” He jokes, smile tight. “Speaking of which, Izzy’s been eliminated.”
“You can’t eliminate him!” Courtney yelled, suddenly defensive of the other. “There’s something wrong!”
“He’s crazy!” Chris argues back. “Over the bend, entirely bonkers kind of crazy! You really wanna compete against that? Plus, it’s obvious he’s looked at the challenges. That’s called cheating. Cheaters get booted! Got it?”
The tension in economy glass is so thick that it could protect anyone and anything from Owen’s spectacular farting power. The knife version or the Owen vs cake version of that saying saying couldn’t compare, as you could easily bring in a chainsaw, for example, to cut the tension. Or in any other case, a plain butter knife to cut the layers into smaller, more edible pieces for Owen to consume. Nothing could beat Owen’s fart power.
“Got it!” Grateful for the silence, Chris clasped his hands and clicked his fingers. Popping out of the blue was a intern, holding a parachute. “I’m gonna enjoy this. Al—“
“What are you defending.”
Chris sighed, irritated, and reluctantly brought his head in the direction of the statement — because the way that it was spoke, it obviously was not a question.
Noah quirked his head, crossing his arms. “What are you hiding? If what Alejandro’s saying is true, about the volcano erupting and everything, count me out. I draw the line at that.”
“Seriously?” Chris smacked a hand down his face, groaning. “You believe the looney?”
“Much more than I trust you.”
“You don’t even trust him!”
“My point proven.”
“Graah!” The host childishly stomped his feet. “Just— why are you—“
“I’ll go.” Alejandro said, shrugging. Walking over, well, more like stumbling, he snatches the parachute from Chris’ grasp. This would benefit him anyway. The moment he was off this plane, he could sue Chris. He wouldn’t have to be kicked down the volcano. No more isolation.
Sure, there is a huge possibility that he could be disowned. Go figure.
“Plane’s landing in London in 10..” The intern whispers at Chris’ side.
“Voy a ir, but just—“
He didn’t even get to finish.
Because Chris McLean, yet again, has royally fucked him over.
He’s pushed out the plane before he can even think to protest. However, the many other contestants on the plane do not fail to.
The feeling of falling is comforting, to say the least. The wind hitting his ears provides a nice white noise, and the breeze against his body is a nice touch, yet isn’t too overwhelming.
And then it’s dark. Again. And he can’t move. Why? Why would they let him walk around, and talk, and feel just to send him back here again?
Maybe it was just his imagination.
For the first time in forever, he fights against the robot suit. He refuses to accept this fate.
Time is an illusion, some may say. Time is a figment of the imagination. His time out of the robot suit just now? His brain’s way of coping with reality. Accepting comfort from his team mates. Seeking revenge.
He’s never actually ever going to be free. Even if he does escape this, is the trauma worth it? What about his family, will they accept him as their own? Or will they chalk him down to failure?
Alejandro doesn’t know how long he was stuck in the robot suit this time around. Although, he assumes it wasn’t nearly as long as the first time around. A minute? But then, what is a minute?
“Check it out! I’ll shoot a pepper out of whichever nostril you pick. I mean— choose!”
“Yeah. Like one nose shake a day isn’t enough.”
He’s tipped upside down, and then he’s face down on the ground, practically sucking the economy floors non-existent tongue.
“O-M-G! Alejandro practically made out with the floor with how he fell off the bench! Heather — watch out — you’ve got some game! 50 characters left. What else can I say?”
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Seriously, do you always have to make everything about you?”
A minute can be anything you want it to be.
You thought he was gonna say it. You really thought he was gonna say it.
That’s actually quite funny. But no, he’ll leave it to you to say.
“Joder.”
He’s got another catchphrase.