It's maybe the angle of Wash's face that makes who he is not immediately obvious. Turned away just slightly, resting against a cloth partition. Eyes closed, for a moment, as he catches his breath after the mission. He's also got some kind of healing goo the transport medic put on a few patches of his face for the acid burns.
But it's also just a different face, the way you can sometimes notice the difference between "pushing thirty" and "pushing forty." The lines on his face had been there when he was younger but they were so fine then. Now they've solidified into permanent frown lines and eternal bags under his eyes that didn't used to be there. His hair is no longer in that sporty, spiky hair cut, it's just short and sensible, and there are a few tiny places where there are some strands that are a little too light to be blonde.
Wash's face is even a touch older than he remembers it due to the missing memories, but at least that was only a few years. To North, it may as well be the face of a stranger.
Especially when Wash never looked that worn down. It's a face that looks cold, and distant, and hollow. Eternally tired. Whatever took hold of him after the failed implantation of Epsilon...it looks like it never let go. It's a far cry from the upbeat goof who got his nuts grappled and mastered the art of eating with his helmet on because he thought it'd be more "efficient." That's the most noticeable change, in the end. When he finally looks over at North, sees who's actually talking to him, the light in his eyes that used to be there? That's gone.
Even when he sits up, eyes widening in shock, even as he huffs out a little shocked breath instead of words he can't find, and sucks another breath in, even when he's alert and paying attention to something, the light is gone.
He lets out the breath he'd been holding.
"I...I guess I fell asleep."
He says it in a very vague way, like he's talking more to himself than North, and leans back again.
"So why are you here, to do some kind of Jiminy Cricket thing? Is that how this dream is going to work?"
That's what this has to be, his subconscious trying to punish him for making the deal he made with Jorgmund, for caving into their threats. And it picked one of the few people that could actually make him feel guilty to do it.
That's the only thing this could be because it can't be North. North had been a corpse last Wash saw him, and thanks to Wash, he wasn't even that anymore. Now he was just charred dust.
iii
But it's also just a different face, the way you can sometimes notice the difference between "pushing thirty" and "pushing forty." The lines on his face had been there when he was younger but they were so fine then. Now they've solidified into permanent frown lines and eternal bags under his eyes that didn't used to be there. His hair is no longer in that sporty, spiky hair cut, it's just short and sensible, and there are a few tiny places where there are some strands that are a little too light to be blonde.
Wash's face is even a touch older than he remembers it due to the missing memories, but at least that was only a few years. To North, it may as well be the face of a stranger.
Especially when Wash never looked that worn down. It's a face that looks cold, and distant, and hollow. Eternally tired. Whatever took hold of him after the failed implantation of Epsilon...it looks like it never let go. It's a far cry from the upbeat goof who got his nuts grappled and mastered the art of eating with his helmet on because he thought it'd be more "efficient." That's the most noticeable change, in the end. When he finally looks over at North, sees who's actually talking to him, the light in his eyes that used to be there? That's gone.
Even when he sits up, eyes widening in shock, even as he huffs out a little shocked breath instead of words he can't find, and sucks another breath in, even when he's alert and paying attention to something, the light is gone.
He lets out the breath he'd been holding.
"I...I guess I fell asleep."
He says it in a very vague way, like he's talking more to himself than North, and leans back again.
"So why are you here, to do some kind of Jiminy Cricket thing? Is that how this dream is going to work?"
That's what this has to be, his subconscious trying to punish him for making the deal he made with Jorgmund, for caving into their threats. And it picked one of the few people that could actually make him feel guilty to do it.
That's the only thing this could be because it can't be North. North had been a corpse last Wash saw him, and thanks to Wash, he wasn't even that anymore. Now he was just charred dust.