#gotta fix those janky eyes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aclosetfan · 3 years

Text

Parasomnias

Summary: Three foster brothers–Brick, Boomer, and Butch–are relocated to Townsville and are less than happy about their new placement. When a group of their “strictly-out-of-necessity” friends take them to the old “haunted” preschool, they don’t blink an eye. They’re a product of the foster care system, how could they possibly be afraid of an old nursery rhyme? (They will admit, though, that the killer doppelgängers are slightly concerning)

genre: horror/suspense/friendship content warning: cursing, underage intoxication, gore, body horror, child neglect (alluded to, not specified), insomnia, demonic horror

a/n: I always forget the rest of the world solely uses the metric system. In America, you learn both the imperial and metric system (why? —the industrial revolution is to blame). In this chapter, I describe a length as 100 feet, to save you all the trouble that’s about 30-31 meters. At this distance, people need to shout to communicate. Could I just change it to meters and make it easier on everyone? Sure. Am I going to? No, there’s no fun in that.

Also, yall wouldn’t believe how long it took to find a reference to the pppk mirror. I was happy to find that the actual shape of the dresser-part of their vanity really worked for my purposes. Here is the punks og comic btws with the vanity clearly in the panels!!

story navigation: one two three four five six

————————————

CHAPTER 2: pride dines on vanity

“There are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely.” - Bram Stoke

————————————–

Compared to the rat-infested nightmare they had just been wasting their time in, Brick thought the janky wooden hut in front of them could hardly be called imposing, let alone "cursed." The shed blended in well with the surrounding tree-line, but overgrown foliage aside, it looked more well maintained than the preschool did. Sure, the wood of its walls was worn and weathered, and the glass of the tiny windows was covered in thick dust and cobwebs, but the structure as a whole seemed relatively untouched with no vandalism in sight. Even the air around it seemed free of malice or ill-will, which Brick had always figured lingered around haunted places—if "haunted" places actually existed.

Which they didn't. People were just gullible.

Boomer's eyes were wide when he stepped in Brick's way. "Okay, dude," He squeaked, his voice cracking and making Brick cringe, "this isn't funny anymore. Let's just go."

"I'm not being funny." Brick glared at the shed, tracing its' outline with his eyes before blurting out, "How the fuck are we supposed to get in if there's no goddamn door!"

"Ya gotta look between the two bushes!" Pablo yelled back.

Brick stared at the building again—the permitter of which was entirely lined with overgrown bushes—and then whipped his head around to glower at the other boys who stood about one hundred feet behind them.

"How the fuck is that helpful!" He shouted, "Just show us!"

Harry cupped his hands around his mouth, "Fuck that! You've got eyes! Use them!"

"Yeah, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, right? Figure it out!" Mitch's yelling joined the mix.

"Just keep going straight!" Pablo yelled, "You'll be fine—well, aside from the whole cursed thing!"

He ignored how they laughed, flicking them off before turning back to the shed.

"This is so stupid." He bemoaned to his brothers, pushing into the foliage, "I swear if I get any ticks because of this, they're dead."

"Brick," Boomer latched onto his shirt as he dug around in the bushes, "come on, please, let's just go, okay? Like, you saw the twins, I know you did. I don't wanna mess—"

"If you wanna be a pussy—ah-ha!" He smiled as his hand latched onto a doorknob, "—if you wanna be a pussy about it, Boomer, go stand with the rest of them, I don't care. If not," Brick fixed his pouting brother with a glare, "stop crying and help me with this bush."

Boomer looked back at the other boys before turning back to him, "Fine. But if we become mirror zombies, I'm going to be really pissed off."

"We're not going to become mirror—hold it back like this," He instructed Boomer, who held part of the large bush to the side, allowing them to see the warped wooden door, "good, stay like that—like I was saying, we're not going to be mirror zombies." Then, he snorted, "It's all fake."

"If we know it's fake, then why do we have to do this?" Boomer argued, his voice rising in octave, his voice only slightly muffled by the shrubbery.

Brick turned the knob and pushed against the door, but with a frown, he realized it was stuck. The door was more warped than he had initially anticipated. He knocked on it, looking for a weak spot.

"We're not going to let a bunch of six-year-old girls outdo us." He finally answered Boomer.

"This is about the girls!" Boomer let go of the branches, and in an unstoppable flurry, they all slapped against him.

"Hey!" He cried, tumbling over, choking on a mouthful of leaves. His face bloomed as laughter erupted behind them. He kicked at his brother's ankles, "Asshole! What gives!"

Boomer ignored him and went on ranting, throwing his hands into the air, "Brick, those girls don't even know we exist! Why would they even care, let alone know, we were here!"

Brick glowered, picking himself off the ground and wiping the dirt from his pants. "It's the principle of it, Boomer." He spat, "Now either stay or go. I don't need you here."

"I'm not going to let you die!" Boomer proclaimed, "I'm not going to let you be a mirror kid like—like Harry's brother! I can't deal with that!" Then, Boomer's hands tangled in his hair, pulling on the blond locks, "I don't know pig Latin!"

"It's not real!" Brick countered, "It's all fake! Just a stupid story, and the moment we prove that to everyone, the moment they shut up!"

"But what if it is real!"

"It's not, idiot!" Brick pried the branches of the bush away from the door by himself, "It's not, and if you aren't going to help me, then leave already! I don't need someone like you mucking shit up and getting in my way!"

"Someone like me?" Boomer echoed quietly, hurt evident in his voice, "What's that supposed to mean, huh?"

Brick didn't answer. In fact, he hadn't even meant to say what he had said in the first place. Instead, he swallowed the guilt and ignored the two sets of eyes on his back, "Just shut up, Boomer."

And Boomer, like Boomer always did—because he was the only one who ever really listened—went quiet. Then, a second later, Boomer took the bundle of branches he was wrestling away from the door and held them back, glaring a hole into the grass and dirt Brick had just previously landed in. Brick floundered a moment, taking in the glare that should have been aimed directly at him, and hated himself a little because of it, but steeled his expression and looked back at the door.

"It's just a stupid shed," He grunted as he slammed shoulder first into the door. When it didn't budge an inch, he huffed and repeated the process.

"I know we're not listening to me anymore," Boomer snapped after Brick's fifth attempt, hardly looking up from the ground, "but I think we should take this as a sign."

Brick glared over his shoulders at his brothers before zeroing in on Butch. "Would ya mind?" He asked through gritted teeth, gesturing to the door.

Butch glared back—probably for Boomer's sake because Butch had always loved Boomer more than him—and stepped forward, shouldering him out of the way. Butch hit the door handle with two solid kicks, splintering the old wood around the handle lock, loosening it up. Then, happy with those results, he twisted the knob and slammed the door open with his shoulder. He presented the opening to Brick with an obnoxious bow, stepping away, so he could enter the shed first.

Brick didn't pay the gesture any attention, stomping past his older brother into the shed with a huffy, "I loosened it up for ya."

He listened as Butch huffed back but was focused more solely on the interior of the shed. It wasn't any more impressive than the exterior. It was dusty, old, and dark. He pulled the flashlight Harry had handed him out of his pocket and flicked it on. The dull beam did little to illuminate the place, but it was more than nothing.

He panned the light towards each corner of the room, quickly darting it around.

"See, just a shed," Brick heard himself murmuring, examining dusty shelves with old gardening supplies and a long-abandoned workbench with one lone bucket resting on top of it. One corner had an old broom with a chunk of bristles missing from it, propped up next to a rusty shovel. Near the door, there were three miscellaneous buckets stacked on top of each other. Finally, an old vanity-shaped piece of furniture was opposite the door, covered by a thick white tarp. Brick assumed that under the tarp was the infamous mirror.

Boomer sneezed next to him, interrupting the quiet, and Brick brought his hands to his ears to block out the sound of the next three sneezes that followed the first.

"Sorry," his brother whispered, itching his nose, "dusty."

Brick grumbled a quick "it's fine" under his breath and moved forward into the shed, deciding that he had already been enough of an asshole to Boomer for one day. The shed wasn't the smallest room in the world—it could likely fit a small twin-sized bed and have room to spare—but it still felt cramped, especially with three people.

Together the three of them made their way to the vanity.

"Looks like someone's been here recently," Brick pointed out, flashing the light towards the wooden floor. In the dust and dirt there were close-to-fresh footprints, where one foot seemed to drag with every other step. Considering how hard it has been to open the door, it was odd.

"Trash too," Boomer whispered with shallow breaths next to him, pointing towards the leftover hostess pastry wrappers, "I don't like this."

Brick frowned. It was just footprints and trash, but even he couldn't deny the eerie feeling that began to creep up his spine. Everything was so mundane, but the more he stood in it, the longer that feeling stretched into a new, more frightening territory.

Suddenly, the door behind them swung shut. The three of them jumped in unison, and Brick whipped around, shining his light every which way to search for the possible intruder. When the light caught on a figure, Boomer let out a sharp gasp.

"L-look," He snatched the light away and pointed it directly at the door, where a spray-painted smiling lobster man smiled down at them. It was almost identical to the one in the preschool, except this one's head cocked to the side in amusement. It stood with its arms spread wide, lobster claws open, as if barring the exit, while little stick figure children—all holding hands in a circle—seemed to "dance" around its feet.

HIM, they chanted. The sound of their high-pitched chants filled Brick’s head as his stare locked with the gaze of the lobsterman. HIM! HIM! They began to screech, their volume growing close to unbearable—but that was impossible, right? It was a painting. He couldn't actually hear them chanting—

"HIM," Boomer read with a swallow, "Let's leave."

Brick startled, ripping his eyes from the acidic stare of the graffiti portrait. Then, with a shake of his head, he turned away from the picture towards the tarp. It had to of been his imagination, the beer he drank, the now-intense headache pounding behind his eyes; Brick heard a lot of sounds, sounds other people couldn't, but he couldn't hear a picture. That was impossible.

"N-no," Brick shook his head again, pressing his fingers against his temples, "it's just a—some stupid picture."

"Just a picture?" Boomer's voice was close to shrill, "Just like how this is just a shed? Dude, come on!"

Brick squeezed his eyes shut, the pounding in his head painful enough to make him puke. "Stop—" he choked out, "let's just—get this over with."

A hand landed on the base of his neck, and he tensed before registering that it was just Butch, massaging some of the tension away. His older brother stared at him with a frown, but he shoved him off.

"I'm fine, I—let's just get this over with." He repeated, reaching for the tarp in front of him and tugging it off. He tossed the fabric away, letting it flutter to the ground, and allowing the three of them to finally get a look at the fabled mirror.

It was a vanity, just as he had guessed—a woman's vanity with peeling, faded light pink tarnish. The antique didn't belong in the shed but in an old-timey powder room with its feminine charm and large heart-shaped mirror.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the furniture, almost waiting for something to pop out, but as the seconds ticked by and nothing continued to happen, he again began to relax.

"What's all over the mirror?" Boomer shone the flashlight onto the vanity, leaning forward to get a better look but not daring to step an inch closer, "It's all smudged."

Butch took a brave step forward, squinting against the light reflecting off the mirror.

"Blood." Came his raspy voice, "Bloody fingerprints."

"What!" Boomer squeaked, "Blood?"

"I guess Harry wasn't lying," Brick stepped forward too, examining the fingerprints in full. They covered close to every inch of the mirror; there was hardly a free spot left without a small rusty-looking fingerprint smudging the surface. From the number of fingerprints, it was apparent how popular this place was—no wonder there were footprints and trash. Vaguely, he wondered where the three girls' fingerprints were, searching for tiny children-shaped ones, but it was futile. There were too many.

Butch pointed to the candle melted to the slight dip in the middle of the vanity's dresser. The candle's wax had dripped down the front of the vanity, but for all the wax the candle had lost, the candle itself seemed only half used. It was plain, white, and its wick was a burnt black.

"Well," Brick spoke again, gesturing for the flashlight, "now, where's the phrase? Unless Trailer Trash was right too."

Reluctantly, Boomer handed it over, all kinds of anxiety written on his face. Brick could see in the backlight that his lips were pressed tight and thin with eyes transfixed on their reflections—or maybe just the bloody fingerprints. In the mirror, Brick glanced at Butch's reflection. He seemed only slightly on edge, glancing every now and then over their shoulders, which Brick was admittedly glad for; he didn't think he could look back over at the lobsterman until they left.

With the flashlight in hand, he began pulling open the drawers of the vanity, but nothing of interest revealed itself. Just a few lingering bobby pins, likely from the lady who had once owned this mirror. His frown deepened as he continued to look, shining the flashlight around. He was with Mitch—this was obviously just another scary story—but he was loathed to admit that Trailer Trash had actually been right, that there was no magic phrase or whatever. The older boy pissed him off to no end.

He stared at the fading varnish and then looked around the little shed, careful to avoid the lobsterman, but still ended up with nothing.

With a sigh, he shared a look with his brothers, "There's noth—" His flashlight passed along the top of the mirror, and the way the light caught on the peeling varnish made him pause "—wait."

"Oh jeez," Boomer let out a breath, "no. Please don't say—"

"I found something."

"—that." Boomer deflated, "Please don't say that."

He stepped closer to the mirror, trailing the light along the rim of it, "See, here on the edge, the paint isn't peeling. It was scratched." He ran his finger around the heart, feeling along the gouged wood, "They're words." He stood back and nodded, "Butch, hold the light while I make 'em out. Boomer, write 'em down, so we don't forget."

"I don't have my bookbag," Boomer squeaked, ignoring the long look Brick directed towards the bookbag Boomer was always carrying around.

"The longer it takes, the longer we're here." He deadpanned.

"I think I found my bookbag, guys, no worries," Boomer responded a millisecond later, pulling his bookbag off one of his shoulders to rummage around for paper.

Brick turned back to the mirror, tracing the letters, "Alright M-I-R-R-O-R, that's mirror," He waited for Boomer to scratch it down before moving to the next. It continued like that until, finally, they reached the other end of the heart.

"—and it ends with another mirror." Brick stepped away, "It's like a nursery rhyme."

Butch nodded in agreement.

"A bad nursery rhyme," Brick added after a beat, taking a jab at the writer, "read it back to us Boom."

"What! No way!" Boomer threw the paper towards him, "It's bad enough I had to write it down, but say it? I don't have the death wish you do."

"Fine," He snapped back, swiping the paper from Boomer, "Butch, a little light?"

Butch stepped closer, aiming the flashlight over his shoulder.

"Mirror, Mirror," Brick read off quickly, "let them draw near. As we peer, make them clear. Our faults, our fears, bring them here, oh dear, Mirror, Mirror."

He frowned and shared a look with Butch, "What does any of that even mean?"

Butch shrugged, glancing back at the mirror, then down at the paper.

Once more, silence settled into the space between them before he cleared his throat and spoke up, "Well, okay, let's get this done then. I got a light," He announced, pulling a lighter low on fluid out of his pocket. It took three tries for it to light before he could bring it to the candle. Once lit, the candle produced a strong flame, but it did little to really light up the place; instead, its' flame only made the bloody fingerprints more pronounced.

"Butch, ya got your pocket knife?" He asked, and Butch nodded, pulling it out of his back pocket and flicking it open.

"Light the candle, prick your finger, touch the glass, and say the phrase," Brick repeated the instructions out loud, "it's been easy so far. Turn off the flashlight."

"For real?" Boomer asked with a groan, "Why?"

Brick shrugged, "we gotta do it right. Just the candle."

"We really don't, though." Boomer argued, but Butch nodded and flicked the light off.

And as Brick had guessed, the candlelight was definitely not strong enough to calm any of his sudden nerves. The only thing in the tiny shed that was now illuminated was the fingerprinted mirror. All he could think about was the lobsterman behind them, watching their backs as they stood in the semi-darkness.

"Okay," He spoke before he could lose his nerve completely, "now the fingerprints."

Butch nodded, pricking his finger and passing the knife to him. He poked the sharp end of the blade into his pointer finger and watched a few tiny drops of blood spring out. The sting went away quickly as he passed the knife over to Boomer.

"Hurry before the blood dries," He instructed, but Boomer still hesitated. With a quiet sigh, he began to pull the knife away, the guilt from earlier rising up in his gut once again, "Listen, you don't have to do it if you really don't want to."

Boomer's eyes shot up from the knife to look him straight in the face, his stare narrowing, expression steeling, as he gestured for the knife, "I'm not going to let you two go die on your own, so might as well do it together. Don't want to be a pussy about it, right?"

"Right," He looked away sheepishly, an apology resting somewhere on his tongue.

"Then let's do this," Boomer pricked his finger and pressed it to the mirror, "but for the record, nothing about this is good. I don't like the way its' looking at us in the mirror." He nodded his head at their reflections, and for the first time, Brick noticed how the lobsterman seemed to float behind them in the mirror; its grotesque amused smile had only seemed to grow wider in the mere minutes since his last look at the graffiti. Again, he tore his gaze away before he could become lost in its' eyes once more and focused on finding a spot to place his finger.

"We’ve all got to say it, so just repeat after me," Brick looked over at Butch, who with a displeased sigh, gave him a curt nod in the affirmative. With the three of them in agreement, Brick cleared his throat and held the paper close to the candlelight. Instead of looking at 'HIM’ in the mirror, he chose to focus on his own reflection as he slowly began to read off the words, "Mirror, Mirror, let them draw near—"

"—Mirror, Mirror, let them draw near—" His brothers repeated just as slowly, their voices low.

"—As we peer, make them clear—"

"—Our faults, our fears, bring them here—" He continued, staring at himself until his eyes unfocused and his reflection began to warp into something else not entirely human-looking.

"—Our faults, our fears, bring them here—"

"—oh dear, Mirror, Mirror—"

"—oh dear, Mirror, Mirror." Came the end of their hair-raising call and response. He blinked, and his eyes focused again, chasing away the horrid and broken image of himself.

Together, the three of them waited a moment with bated breath for something to happen, but when nothing did, Brick tsked.

"See," He looked between his brothers, avoiding the four reflections in front of them, "nothing. Just like I said."

He blew the candle out before Butch could flick the flashlight back on, but in that millisecond before the darkness overtook them, he could have sworn he had made eye contact with his smiling reflection.

But Brick hadn't been smiling.

#parasomnia ppg fic #parasomnia horror fic #my writing #ppg fic #is this one okay? i wrote it really quick and i liked it #but i didn't spend as much time on it as usual #also stg the girls are coming like one more chapter at least without them

14 notes · View notes

spaceskam · 4 years

Text

Follow up to this ❤️ special thanks to ul1tsa on ao3 for idea!

ao3

Warnings: talk Jesse and his bullshit & bombs

Michael waited a few weeks before he got drunk and lost that thing in his brain that kept him from doing dumb shit.

He went to the cabin and unlocked the door with his key. He didn't usually use keys, he had one in his brain, but there was something about having a key to Alex's place that felt special. Besides, he needed to make sure that's actually what it was. He pushed the door open and tried the light switches. The bulb on the porch was out. He'd need to get a new one.

He slowly navigated around the space, making a list of tiny things that were bothersome. He didn't even know if he was welcome here... But why else would Alex give him a key?

It was a two bedroom and had a bathroom that connected the two rooms. The kitchen was small and it didn't have a washing machine or dryer. The living room was old. None of it looked like Alex. What exactly would Alex's space even look like? He'd figure it out.

He went back outside to the wrap around porch, walking around it slowly and holding onto the rail. There were a few old boards that could stand being replaced. There was a window unit in each bedroom. He didn't figure it'd be too hard to change that for a central air system.

Michael went back inside and towards the kitchen. The refrigerator was unplugged, so he moved it to plug it back in. The cabinets were empty aside from some old canned beans and a single pan. He went back to the living room.

The couch was even more uncomfortable than he remembered, hard and a little dusty. He sat down anyway and rubbed his hand over it. When he laid down and breathed in, it didn't smell like Alex. It was unfair. Cruel, even.

He laid there anyway, lulling himself to sleep with the memory of Alex's skin.

It became a thing.

When his mind got chaotic and he needed something to do with his hands, he'd go to the cabin. He replaced boards, cleaned, hooked up a washing machine and dryer. After a couple months, he bought a comfier couch from an old lady who was selling it. He took down the hunting memoribillia and tried to find things that Alex might like. A couple trinkets bought during a trip to the nearby reservation, a painting bought from an artist who showed her work at the renaissance festival, and a hand-woven blanket from an older lady who traveled all the way from the Navajo Nation to sell the two she made a month at the market–and then vowed that he would never pay that much money for anything ever again.

He started spending more time there than he spent at his airstream and, after passing out on the couch after spending his entire day off trying to set up a central air system, he decided it might be worth buying food. So he did. He bought a few things, added three extra locks to the front and back doors, and brought his thrifted silverware and dishes from the airstream to set up a place for himself there.

It was slowly coming together. It felt like a home. He bought a broom.

He didn't tell Isobel or Max about any of this, they didn't need to know about Alex. Instead, Michael kept it to himself and spun lies about where he was whenever they asked questions. Usually they didn't. He was Michael, after all, it wasn't that odd for him to drop off the map.

He eventually started fixing up the bedrooms which were a little harder. It looked too much like a middle aged man stayed there and that was absolutely not the look he was going for. He got new bedspreads and sheets from a discount store and matching bedside tables from the dump that only needed some sanding and some finish to make nice. A new showerhead made out of things he found around the junkyard fit nice too. He played with the water heater until it stopped needing to be manually reset every 60 gallons, sanded and put finish on the dresser, built a new bed frame and headboard out of scrap wood, and fixed the janky doorknob of the closet. It looked livable now.

Alex's birthday came around and he didn't have a number to reach him, so Michael did something a little stupid and a little sentimental and found himself at a thrift store. He bought a set of two identical rocking chairs for the back porch. He almost threw them out three times, but he decided on leaving them there and just ignoring them until he stopped feeling like they were too much.

There was something about the cabin as it came together that both felt like home and like it was far too sacred to make a mess of. He kept it cleaner than he'd ever kept a place before. The dishes were always done, his dirty clothes always ended up in the laundry basket, never let himself get drunk enough that he'd be compelled to make a mess, and he swept and mopped every Sunday. His shampoo and body wash didn't leave rings in the bathtub.

It was nice.

It was about a year into renovating and six months into practically moving in when he found a broken telecision in the junkyard that someone had dropped.off. Curiosity got the best of him and he found himself trying to make it work in his free time. There was a strange sense of pride when he plugged it in and it turned on, the picture only slightly tinted blue and the sound as perfect as the speakers would allow. He wrapped it up in a couple blankets and loaded it into his truck, stopping by a thrift store on the way to the cabin to buy a few interesting DVDs for 50¢ a piece. He couldn't remember the last time he actively sat down to watch a movie for fun.

It took about thirty minutes to mount it above the fireplace, but eventually it was up and he found himself smiling as he put in a shitty mid-2000s straight-to-DVD teen movie. It played easily and he smiled wider. If there was one thing fixing up the cabin did, it was make him smile. It felt good to fix things up.

Michael grabbed a beer that was beside the leftovers in the fridge and settled on the couch, kicking his shoes off and pulling a blanket onto his lap. His phone was on the coffee table and charging with an alarm queued up to wake him up for work in the morning .It was the most normal he'd ever felt and he never wanted to give it back.

And it seemed like he wouldn't have to until the door creaked open.

Michael shot to his feet, standing like he was caught red handed as Alex stepped inside. He was still in uniform, a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. His eyes were wide with wonder, though, as he looked around at all the shit Michael had done. It was the first time he regretted it.

"I'm sorry," Michael blurred out, catching Alex's attention, "I should've asked. I shouldn't have changed shit and I shouldn't have stayed here, I'm sorry, I'll go."

"Guerin, relax," Alex said, smiling in a pure way that Michael hadn't seen since they were seventeen, "I knew you were staying here."

"You did?" Michael asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he said, carefully putting down the duffle bag and closing the door, "Electric bill?"

Michael's eyes widened. "Oh, fuck, I forgot about that, I'm so sorry."

"Guerin," Alex laughed, "Stop. I'm happy you're staying here. I don't mind, really."

Michael swallowed and tried to believe him when he said he was happy. Because Michael was happy. Happy to be here, happy to see Alex, happy to see where tonight led. He tapped his hands against his thighs as Alex took another look around.

"I didn't expect all this, though," Alex breathed.

"It's, uh, not all of it. I can show you around?" Michael offered awkward. Alex smiled wider and nodded.

So Michael gave him a tour of his own house. He showed him the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, and how the locks on the doors worked. Alex put the duffle bag in the closet and gently touched Michael's shirt that was hanging in there like he didn't believe it was actually there. Michael stood with his hands clasped behind his back and rocked up on his toes as Alex felt over the headboard he made and the blanket on the bed. He shook his head, looking over at Michael.

"I can't... I can't believe you did all of this," Alex said, looking at him. He wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, he looked like he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Michael," he cut him, laughing softly as he came closer. He touched his arm, his hand sliding up as he moved in closer and draped his arms around Michael's neck. Michael rested his hands on his hips. "I love it so much. But it's so much. How much did you spend? Let me pay you back."

"No, don't. Most of it's stuff I fixed from broken stuff or I got for super cheap, I barely spent $300 over the last year," he said. He purposefully left out what he spent on the more decorative things, those could simply be gifts from all the birthdays he missed.

"Still," Alex said, swallowing hard as he reached out and touched Michael's cheek. Michael leaned into it. He hadn't realized how successful he'd been at distracting himself from missing Alex until then. "This is all so nice. I-I don't even know what to say. I didn't expect this at all."

"I mean... I just didn't like that it looked like an angry old man lived here, I get enough of that with Sanders," Michael said. He was struggling to see what about the dumb little things made Alex emotional. In fact, they were selfish. He wanted to pretend Alex wasn't a million miles away. That was as selfish as it got. But Alex laughed and kissed him and Michael stopped feeling guilty.

"Thank you," Alex gushed against his lips, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Everything about this was completely contrary to Alex's last visit home. It wasn't confusing or blurry and he felt safe. He felt loved. He clung to Alex and kissed him hard, trying to quench the desperate, overwhelming feeling in his stomach.

"I gotta take a shower, I'm gross from that fucking plane and I need to be clean for the things I wanna do to you," Alex breathed, pulling away just a little. Michael nodded, going in for another kiss anyway. Alex giggled and leaned back. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"I worked all day, I need one too, so let me join?" Michael asked. Pleaded, really. He didn't want to let go.

"Good idea," Alex said, "Do you have a security system set up?"

"It's next on my list," Michael said honestly. Alex grinned, cupping his cheek in his hand and slowly starting to pull him to the bathroom.

"Good boy."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything and you know it."

Alex huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Michael loved seeing him like that. His hair was slightly past regulation, laying on his forehead and smashed against the pillow. After a long shower and stumbling into bed, they'd finally wore themselves out. Now they were in bed in Alex's house.

Their house.

Alex shifted to face him, face a little too serious consider the circumstances. Michael slowly faded to seriousness to fit it. Alex reached out, fingers grazing Michael's cheek and down his neck, over his shoulder, down to his torn up hand. Michael very quickly got serious and watched him pull his hand up to his lips.

"It's embarassing," Alex said.

"Since when have I been known to judge you?" Michael asked, stretching his leg out to wedge between Alex's. Alex parted his knees just enough to lock their legs together.

"I just... I've been thinking about my dad," Alex whispered.

"Uh oh," Michael said, trying to lighten the mood. Alex rolled his eyes.

"I've been trying to work through all my issues, I guess, since I realized you were staying here. I want this to work, you know?" Alex said and Michael was all ears, "And I think I didn't realize he was a bad guy until I saw him do this."

"What do you mean?" Michael said before he could process if that was a smart thing to ask.

"Like, I spent so many years thinking that my mom was the bad one because she left and at least my dad was there. It didn't matter if he beat me as long as he was there," Alex explained. Michael didn't really understand, but, with all the things they felt that overlapped, it was fine if he didn't understand that one thing. "And I... Even when I rebelled, I just wanted his approval. Part of me still does. I think I always will. Which is stupid because all the attention he gives me is solely on his terms, especially when it's positive."

"He's not worth it."

"I know," Alex said, smiling slightly before he kissed his hand again, "Logically, I know. But illogically... I'm still trying to remind myself he's a bad guy. It just took me so long to see it."

Michael didn't say anything, simply nodded and let Alex touch him as he needed to keep himself calm. Whatever kept him in bed, kept him in their space. He didn't know how long Alex was going to be home and he was too scared to ask, so he didn't.

"But, I'm trying," Alex sighed, looking at him in the eyes. He was so intense with every look and sometimes Michael felt compelled to look away, but not in moments like this. Never in moments like this. "I don't want to mess this up by trying to please him."

"I don't wanna fuck up either."

"I think we're on a good track, though," Alex smiled, tightening his legs and tugging Michael impossibly close. Just where he wanted to be. "Off topic, but I'm hungry."

Michael laughed softly and was incredibly thankful for a subject change. "I have leftover pasta in the fridge if you want that."

Alex smiled ridiculously wide for something as meaningless as day old pasta.

"Leftovers," Alex repeated in a whimsical tone, "You're gonna make a good little househusband."

"Shut the fuck up," Michael laughed, shoving his shoulder. Alex laughed right back and moved to get up. Michael followed suit without question. There was no way he was leaving his side.

"Let's eat."

Michael woke up to his alarm and an empty bed.

Panic struck him and he thought about calling out for Alex, but his voice wouldn't work as if subconsciously knowing the answer. Terrified, even. He slowly pushed himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. Dread continued to pool in him as he tiptoed out of the room and into the empty living room. But it smelled like coffee which was definitely a good sign.

It took him only a few seconds to see that Alex was out on the back porch in one of the rocking chairs. His heart seemed to skip a beat or two or four. The sun hit his shirtless body perfectly and he seemed to fucking glow. Michael had to take a few deep breaths before he stepped outside.

""Morning," Alex hummed, looking over at him. His hair was still a mess, but he looked better rested than Michael had seen him in a long time.

"I thought you left," he said stupidly. Alex shook his head.

"I can't really sleep in anymore and I didn't wanna wake you up. Sorry if I scared you."

"It's okay," he said. And it really, really was. This was the perfect sight to see in the morning and it made him angry at Sanders for employing him. "I, uh, I have to go to work. I can call in, though."

"Don't," Alex said with a warm smile, "I'll be here when you get home."

Michael felt his whole body heat up at that. Home. Alex would be here. He wasn't sure he would actually believe it until he saw it.

"Yeah, uh," Michael said, clearing his throat, "How-how, like, how long are you..."

"Michael," Alex said, standing up and walking closer. Michael was going to melt if he kept saying his name. Alex kept his mug firmly in one hand and touched his cheek with the other. "I'm home for a month."

"A month," Michael breathed. Alex smiled and nodded, leaning forward to kiss him. It sounded like a short period of time, but it would be longest consecutive time they'd ever spent together. Ever. It sounded fake.

"So, go to work. I'm not going anywhere," he promised. It was hard to listen, but he did.

And you know what? Alex was home when he got there that afternoon.

"Where the fuxk are you living?"

"Airstream."

Michael spoke casually as Isobel stood by his feet as he worked on the car. He knew it was wrong to lie to her about something like this, but, fuck, he was barely sure this was real himself. He'd woken up to Alex for three whole weeks and he only had one left. He wasn't wasting that time and he wasn't bursting his domestic bubble.

"Stop lying to me! You haven't lived at the airstream for months now," Isobel argued, "You're never here at night and if I call you, it takes you for fucking ever to get to my house. Where are you staying?"

He sighed, trying to ignore her more and more. It didn't work very well as she stood her ground and basically decided she would follow him when he left work if he didn't tell her.

"It's a cabin outside of town, okay?" he caved, deciding on a half-truth. He didn't need to say it was Alex's.

"A cabin?" Isobel asked skeptically, "And you just haven't told me or shown me? What if something happens? I need to know where to find you, Michael."

"Fine, fine, okay?" he sighed, "Just, give me a week. It's a fucking wreck."

"You promise?" she asked. He nodded. "Good."

If he couldn't keep his home a secret, he could at least keep Alex to himself for a little while. He could deal with that later. In a week, his house would be empty. In a week, his bed would be empty.

He could deal with her then.

The bed was a lot of colder than he remembered.

January 30th, 2017 at 21:45.

Or, at least that's when Michael found out. The actual event happened on the 26th, a bombing injuring 30 Airmen and killing 3. There wasn't an article about it and he didn't receive a call. Instead, when he was stalking one of the mothers of a guy in Alex's group, he saw she posted about the bombing and saying her son was one of the lucky ones and thanking God. Michael nearly had a breakdown.

He spent the next hour calling Alex and when that didn't work, he started calling down a list of military hospitals. He found him eventually at Landstuhl and had to lie about being his brother to get him on the phone along with a warning about him being drugged up. But at least he was alive.

"Alex?" Michael whispered. Once again, he found him scared that Alex wouldn't answer. But he's spent an hour panicking and he wasn't about to just not talk.

"Huh?" Alex said, voice hoarse. Michael closed his eyes, bowing his head. It was small, but it was something.

"Hey," Michael croaked, doing his best not to cry. He wanted to go see him. He couldn't. It didn't work that way. As nice as it was when they pretended they didn't have a care in they world, they did have a care. His name was Jesse Manes. Not to mention the giant alien hole he hadn't even told Alex about... "You scared me."

"Sorry," Alex said. Michael breathed in deep.

"No, it's okay. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he whined, "I wanna see you "

Michael looked up, blinking away tears as quick as he could. It was difficult, but he managed it. He could cry later.

"I know, I wanna see you too. Maybe you can come home soon and I can," Michael suggested. Alex hummed a noncommittal tune. "So, uh, what all happened? Did you get, um, get burned or something?"

"A little," Alex said. Michael swallowed harshly. "Hey, you know what they did? They took my leg."

Michael's breath caught in his throat.

"What?"

"My leg," Alex repeated, that sort of dazed tone in his voice, "Couldn't save it, had to go."

Michael didn't know what to say. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to this. There wasn't a handbook. Instead of letting himself react like he was the one who lost something, he fed off of Alex's tone.

"How do you feel about that?" Michael asked. Alex hummed.

"My foot itched all day and there was nothing to scratch."

Michael huffed a laugh, rubbing the hell of his hand beneath his eyes to try to get rid of the tears.

"Well, if that's the worst of it, sounds like you're doing good."

"They gave me so many drugs," Alex told him, yawning halfway through. Michael smiled and nodded even though he couldn't see him. "I'm tired."

"Do you want me to let you go to sleep?" Michael asked. Alex didn't answer and that felt like an answer enough. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Mhm."

"I love you so much," Michael said. He didn't think about it, he just said it. It needed to be said.

"Mhm."

Michael huffed another laugh again, "Goodnight, Alex."

He ended the call and looked around the house that he'd spent over a year of his life renovating. He tried to picture Alex in it again, a version of Alex who might need accessibilities he didn't think of when he did things the first time around.

And now he had new projects.

Turns out it was pretty easy to widen doorways.

It took Michael about two days to widen one Interior door, ripping off the door frame and sawing through the wall itself. He widened them all from 30" to 38" in width and felt thankful that the exterior doors were all double doors. He didn't even know if Alex would be using a wheelchair, but it felt like a safe option regardless.

He ripped out the tub from the bathroom, replacing it with one with a little more traction on the bottom. He installed bars all around the bathroom and a wooden seat that was attached to the wall so it could fold up or down when he needed it.

Again, he found himself taking a lap around the porch to check for any loose boards or nails. He fixed any that even might've been questionable. It gave him the idea to add ramps beside the steps to the porch. He built them and jumped on them as hard as he could go make sure they didn't break.

It helped when he got angry–ngry at something, angry at nothing, angry at everything–to put things back together again. It made him feel useful even when phone calls consisted of Alex being short with him and hanging up. He was focusing on PT and learning how to use a prosthetic and Michael knew it was frustrating. He could hear it in his voice even when he refused to talk about it. He always refused to talk about it. Some days he refused to talk at all.

He refused to let it out distance between them.

On extra bad days, Michael would drink and Google random accessibility ideas. He knew Alex. As sweet as he thought his renovating for him was, he knew Alex would be too stubborn to ask him for help on anything. He wanted to make it so he didn't have to as much as possible. Open spaces, all but gluing the rug down, a bench at the foot of the bed, a chair in the bathroom, a stool with wheels in the kitchen, sanding down the sharp edges of the kitchen table, dumb shit that might help maybe once.

He was trying because Alex was trying. They still wanted to make this work.

And they were going to no matter what.

#malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #rnm fic #my fic #verse: just one normal night

93 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 5 years

Text

Contact (Ch. 2/4)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (No TW this chapter)

Words: 3.0K~

Summary: The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

Chapter Summary: Help arrives. Amethyst struggles to cope amidst the chaos.

So this fic is Steven and Amethyst centric, set during the 2 year time skip. It’s also kinda in conversation with An Indirect Kiss, and explores the idea of what could happen to a hybrid with a cracked gem. This chapter has no specific trigger warnings. It will be exactly 4 parts.

AO3 link and a link to the first chapter can be found in the reblogs! Support there or here (via reblogs) is very much appreciated! <3

____

Chapter 2: The Worry

A frantic phone call and a few minutes later, one of the decommissioned Roaming Eyes that’s been stationed on Earth carefully lowers through the gaps in the forest canopy. Amethyst lets out a sigh as it lands in the clearing with a solid thunk, her fiercely protective grip on Steven’s hand relaxing a little. Stars, she’s never been so relieved to see one of these clunkers in her whole life.

Those passing minutes are what really worry her, though. Transport will be quick now, but there’s still too many awful what-ifs hanging over her like an anvil to her gem. Like, what if they’ve already wasted too much of Steven’s precious time? What if he’s gonna be permanently damaged ‘coz of all this, since he’s a hybrid, so extraordinarily different from the rest of them? Or, what if there’s not enough water left in the fountain to heal him in the first place? Last she saw, its finite supply was pretty lacking. It’s why they’ve transitioned to healing the corrupted Gems at the Temple as of late, utilizing the Diamonds’ bottled essence rather than the scrap leftovers of the fountain water they anointed in person last year.

But Steven never bottled any of his. And now, with the source of his healing magic totally busted, there’s nothing they can do but visit the fountain and hope beyond all hopes there’s some of Rose’s tears still there.

Oh, if only they were closer to a warp. If they were, then Amethyst could’ve hefted him into her arms like she always used to when he was smaller, carried him there, then bam- they could be on location in an instant. No transport ship needed. Unfortunately though, the two of them hiked a good half hour before big ol’ nasty caught wind of their trail. Like it or not, the warp pad is simply too far away. And she’s not about to risk worsening his crack by jostling him as she runs on such a long trip.

So yeah, this particular Roaming Eye may be old, janky tech, but it’ll have to do.

The teen stiffens in her hold again, eyes growing bleary. “A… A-Amethyst?? I think I’m—“

The violent muscle contractions cut off his words as quickly as the slash of a whip. Knowing the drill by now she lightens her hold, allowing him just enough space to seize without hurting himself. She grimaces. It doesn’t even sound like he can catch a full breath as his body jerks and spasms against his control. The helpless, labored wheezing pouring out from him is almost physically painful to listen to, her own form glitching in sympathy for a split instant.

“Shhh,” she whispers, delicately dancing around the innate fear of the situation. “Don’t talk. Save your energy, remember? I-I... we’ve got ya’. Y’see there? They just landed!"

Blessedly, his seizures reach their end by the time the engines of the craft fully shut off. His whimpers slowly lessen, his eyelids fluttering shut in all his exhaustion.

Her fingers comb through his thick dark curls. “We’ll fix ya’ right up, buddy…”

She’s mopping the sweat off his forehead as the door slides ajar, and Pearl dashes out of the ship with Greg practically sticking to her heels. Amethyst braces herself for the inevitable chastising.

“What on Earth were you thinking,” the Pearl in her subconscious squawks, “letting him get hurt like this?!”

But the reprimanding she instinctively expects never comes.

Instead, the ivory Gem sprints to her side alongside the boy’s father, and— dropping to her knees— envelops her in what’s perhaps the tightest hug she’s ever received from her.

“Amethyst!” she cries, lithe fingers gripping at her long lavender hair. “Oh, thank goodness you’re okay! What happened?”

Clasped tight in her embrace, she allows herself a moment to catch her breath as the world ticks onwards around her. It’s but a small kindness. Admittedly, she’s still too shell-shocked about all of this to give a swift response, too distracted by the overwhelming reality of Greg’s anguished expression as he takes in the sight of his son lying prone before him, his paleness stark against the soft blue of his t-shirt.

“Steven!”

It’s hard to watch. Humans get so weirdly sensitive on the topic of injury— but then, she figures that’s because humans are so squishy and fragile, and always fixated on how short their lifespans are and how easily they can be cut short. Even if Steven’s special, even if in the end his crack will be fixed and he’ll likely be fine, (of course he’ll be fine, he has to be fine!), she supposes it’s only natural for Greg to worry. When the man collapses to his knees in front of him, he grabs Steven’s hand and babbles reassurances into his ear, words spoken too light for either Gem to pick up. Steven’s eyelids subtly twitch upon this appeal to his humanity.

Her glance flicks towards the Roaming Eye as Pearl waits for her to say something, anything.

“I…” she begins with marked hesitation. “I’ll explain everything once we’re on the ship. Gotta help Steven first, yeah?”

She nods, pulling away to stand. “Y-yes, of course. You’re right.”

Kneeling beside her, Greg’s voice quivers, ever so slightly. “You’re gonna be fine, buddy,” he whispers to the boy, his hand squeeze only barely reciprocated. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

Pearl interrupts his frantic reassurances with a nudge to his shoulder.

“We need to carry him,” she says, voice strained. It’s clear she’s only barely choking back her panic. “One mustn’t waste any time when it comes to cracked gems, after all!” Without skipping a beat, she leads the human’s quivering hands to the teen’s ankles. “Here, you can lift him by the legs like so, Amethyst, his torso, and then I’ll be at front supporting his neck and shoulders—“

Steven gives a soft whine, breath fast and shallow.

Amethyst swallows, drinking in the nuances of the scene. Steven’s jaw is clenched. Clearly, he’s holding back on expressing how much pain he’s in, bottling it up for their sake. Meanwhile, Greg— anxious single father that he is— is about one second away from breaking down entirely. She‘s almost scared what his reaction will be if Steven experiences another one of his seizing fits in his presence. And Pearl? Much as she loves her, uptight and fraying at the ends is most definitely not the sort of leader they need right now. Truth be told she’s not confident she is either, but hey, hard times call for unexpected solutions.

Gently, she stands to her feet and guides her away from Steven’s body. “Hey, Greg-o and I got this, P. No worries. Just have the ship ready for us.”

“I— are you sure?”

“Yeah, we can carry him no problem, right Greg?”

She turns to match eyes with him, every fragment of her being silently pleading for his agreement.

“Uh, I— sure,” he says, although he doesn’t sound so confident. “I think so. Let me just...” He huffs as he pushes himself off his knees, and shifts closer to his son’s head. “I’ll hold him up front, okay? I’m taller, an’ I’ve carried him before, an’—“

Amethyst’s tone softens. “Hey.” Straining to hold herself together for his sake, amidst all her doubts and fears, she moves to pat his forearm. Attempts to ground him. “Hey, you’re good. We can do this.”

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply to calm down her own unsteady form. No panic. Don’t let them see your panic. You’ve gotta be the mature one here. It’s gonna work out, Steven will be fine. You’ll all be fine.

Breathe. Just breathe.

“Pearl, start the ship for us,” she says once she’s balanced herself. Not a question, not a request, no hesitation in her tone. Not a confused, defective Quartz soldier waiting for orders, nor a naïve Gem clinging on the heels of the first living souls she ever saw, nor a loyal teammate constantly deferring to another’s judgement out of insecurity, out of the flawed belief that no one would ever take an overcooked runt like her seriously. No, no. Not today. Instead, as she rises above the shadowed, fettered memories of her past, Amethyst takes hold of the reigns of leadership as easily as grasping her whip.

Pearl offers a weak smile as she nods in confirmation, and starts to scuttle back towards the Roaming Eye’s door. “Yes, of course!”

Good, she thinks. One issue taken care of. Now, as for Steven and Greg...

The two shift in tandem around the cracked boy as they prepare to lift him. In his current state, it’s imperative that they’re careful. She clasps her hands around his ankles, feeling a twisting close to her gem as she watches him instinctively flinch at her touch.

“Shh-shh, it’s okay,” Greg whispers. “We gotcha.”

“Dad,” he croaks, the first words he’s had the strength to speak in a good while. “Duhh- D-Dad, I... Ahm- I’m suh... sss-so sorry—“

Her hard-light form nearly spikes cold with fear as he continues to mindlessly babble. Shards, now his words are becoming slurred! He’s deteriorating. They gotta make this quick.

“Steven, we’re gonna pick you up on three, capiche?” She locks eyes with his father, her friend, seeking confirmation. “Ready?”

“One,” Greg mutters, solidifying his hold under his armpits.

“Two...”

“Three!” they say at once, hefting the teen’s full weight up off the forest floor with a grunt.

He produces a sharp gasp in response. The sound makes her cringe. She knows they can’t avoid jostling him altogether if they want to transport him to the fountain, but... geeze, she really hopes they’re not hurting him any more than he already is. And she hopes he doesn’t seize up on them again while he’s off the ground. That could turn out disastrously.

Working together, they carry him across the grassy clearing and up the shallow incline of the ship’s ramp. Slow and steady, as careful as they can be... Greg’s breathing hard by the time they reach the entrance, but his grip holds strong. Meanwhile, Pearl sits at the cockpit, punching in coordinates for Rose’s fountain. Besides her, the ship is empty.

“No Garnet?” Amethyst asks as she leads them inside, finally seeing fit to bring up the obvious question.

She shakes her head in fervent stress. “She’s still away on her mission on the Niessea Belt worlds. I tried contacting her, but—“

Steven gives a painful, keening cry, his entire body shooting rigid in their hold. Her eyes snap open wide.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, not now, not now—

“Greg- Greg, hold him!” she shouts, slipping into hysterics as he begins to seize again, limbs jerking and breath coming in quick shallow gasps. She can feel the muscles of his legs spasm in staccato bursts under her hands. “Hold him, don’t drop him, you—“

Pearl jumps up from her seat upon hearing all the commotion. “What’s wrong with him??”

“I’m trying, I’m—!”

“Set him down, set him down! Quickly! We gotta get him back on the floor where it’s safe, I can’t let him get hurt again, I can’t—“

“Sh-shta...” Steven slurs, face contorting as he rides this episode out. “Puh... please, I—“

“I’m starting the ship!” the ivory Gem says, punching the last few buttons needed to close the door and launch them on their way.

The Roaming Eye shakes ever so gently as it lifts up out of the dense forest. Amethyst stumbles, legs slightly wobbling as she coordinates with Greg to deposit Steven safely on the cool metallic floor, his head resting in his father’s lap. His spasms are more intermittent now. Hopefully this means this latest round of seizing has reached its end.

For now, she can’t help but fret, swallowing with a heavy gulp as she watches Greg comb back his sweat slicked curls. Until they can fix that crack in his gem, he’s gonna get worse and worse. She knows this from experience. Simply put, being cracked long-term is a nightmare. You can’t think straight, you can’t speak straight, you lose all control of your physical form... She’d willingly poof a thousand times if it meant she could avoid janking up her gem like that again.

Which is why it absolutely shatters her to have to watch Steven suffer through this too.

She watches silently as the boy lets his eyes slide shut for now, held safe in his father’s embrace. His rest isn’t exactly restful— as evident from how his brow and nose keep scrunching inwards as he seethes from the sensation of it all— but anything is better than nothing in this state.

“So you- you said he’s cracked?” Greg asks, looking up at her with dampened eyes. His hands are shaking now. The man is clearly a hair’s breadth away from breaking down in tears. It’s genuinely a credit to his strength as a father that he’s holding it together at all.

Gently, Amethyst lifts the hem of his shirt to reveal his gemstone. The deep gouge marring the diamond at his navel says everything her words cannot. The others’ reactions are immediate, their eyes blowing wide with fear. Even Pearl, even someone who knows the power of Rose’s healing magic firsthand. Horror clutching with a vice-like grip upon her gem, she notes that the crack has expanded since she last looked.

“We were just tracking down that corrupted Gem that tripped our detectors this morning,” she explains. “But it ambushed us! I... geeze, I thought we could like, poof it no problem, but...”

“It got the jump on him instead,” Pearl says in a blunt, grim manner. She balls up her hand at her chin, expression haunted by the very thought. “Stars, I can’t even imagine how badly this hurts! It must have taken quite the hit to crack a diamond like this.”

His father rubs at the boy’s shoulder, wincing at the sight of his baseline quivering, his jaw clenched like a knife to the grindstone and his eyes twisted shut. “Is there anything we can do right now to lessen the pain for him?”

Hmm. She curls her lip, musing on this. Good ol’ Pierogi probably has human pain killers stashed away somewhere in that pearl of hers. But there’s no guarantee that such a remedy would do a single thing to help, given the nature of his injury. It’s the Gem half of him that’s hurt, not the squishy organic half. So whatever they do it’s gotta be a Gem remedy, and the only Gem remedy she can think of for an injured Gem is...

“Well,” Pearl begins cautiously, her gaze drifting between the three of them, “when Gems became cracked during the rebellion, we used to poof them until Rose could return to use her healing magic, so they wouldn’t have to deal with the trauma of glitching out so badly. But of course, Steven’s different! He’s half human. We can’t expect it’ll work in the same way!”

Although...

“Can we poof him?” she shrugs, playing devil’s advocate for a moment.

The whites of Greg’s eyes expand as he gawks at her. “W-what are you suggesting, exactly?”

“I mean, he can fuse, right?”

“Well, yes—“

“An’ same as poofing,” she cuts back in, holding up a finger for emphasis, “fusion is a sorta... shifting of our hard light forms. His organic half goes somewhere during all that, yeah? If he poofed, maybe it’d be the same.”

The man’s sunburnt face drains just about as pale as Pearl’s as he clutches onto his son all the tighter. “Uh, I don’t think now’s the right time to test a hypothesis like that. Or ever.”

“Greg’s right,” Pearl says. “There’s simply too much we can’t say with certainty about his hybrid nature.” Tears building in her eyes, she brushes her slender fingers against his cheek. “But he’s a fighter, our Steven. He’ll carry through.”

Below her, Steven lets out a soft whimper. Realization hits her with the force of a quartz’s strike that she genuinely has no way of knowing for sure how much or how little he’s aware of his surroundings right now. Her face flushes dark with shame. Held taut at her sides, she clenches her fists tight, mentally pulling away from the conversation in which clearly her stupid half-baked ideas are unwelcome and instead fixating on the quickened thrum of the hard light running in channels through every square inch of her form. A pang of anger swells up within her, all putrid and stale. What on Earth was she thinking?? He’s in agony, he’s broken, and yet she has the gall to suggest such a moronic, risky idea anyways? When his very survival hangs in the balance? Geeze. What the hell.

She’s disgusting.

She hastily stalks away from the trio to catch some fresh air, slouching against one of the windows and pressing her cheek to the glass. A small sliver of her can’t help but admire the view through the Roaming Eye’s wide windows. The ship running on autopilot, they’ve long since lifted through the clouds and into the stratosphere. It’s all white and grey swirls as far as the eye can see. The reds and pinks of sunset edging at the visible horizon greet them with warmth.

With everything else plaguing her it’s a hollow appreciation, though. No matter what thoughts she tries to distract herself with, the memory of that ill-fated fight sinks its claws into her mind more and more by the minute. Every tangible stimulus— the sights, the smells, the sounds, the pains— it all plays on repeat. It’s insufferable, obsessive. Like some self-despairing sapphire she traces each and every decision that led her here, bolds and underlines every mistake.

And no matter how many times she tries with desperation to make up for it, tries to save him, no matter how many loops through recent past she takes, it all brings her to one single, overwhelming conclusion:

All of this... all of this needless suffering...

It should’ve been her.

#su #steven universe #amethyst #pearl #su fanfiction #greg universe #my writing stuff

97 notes · View notes

awful-roffle-archive · 4 years

Text

Meteors dot txt

A/N: this definitely got to a point i just took the characters and setting and did my own story with it but uh. its fine. no idea if i’ll ever come back to this but?? im running out of writing spoons rn so! you get this as is with its really choppy ending :^) nothing’s been proof read by someone else but i tried my best so uh. enjoy lmao

word count: 3,420

"Today's broadcast reports there will be a meteor shower raining over Pelican Town this evening! Make sure to take an umbrella with you! Hehe." The meteorologist quips before the broadcast goes back to the news about the latest about the Gotoro Empire. Rayzan sighs and shuts the TV off, sipping at his coffee.

"What's so important about some damn meteor shower? It's... what, space rocks? Big whoop." He mutters to himself, shoving a rather... strange (to put it lightly) tasting cheese cauliflower into his mouth. It's what he gets from buying food from Joja - hopefully he wouldn't start glowing or something as a side effect. With a grunt he pushes himself off of the floor, throwing the plastic container to the side. He'd clean it up later. Probably.

He jumps as there's a rapping on the janky screen door, and he instinctively grabs his gun from behind a potted plant. Pulling the door open, he aims it directly between the other's eyes.

"What the fuck do you want." His tone is harsh and cold, and he never breaks eye contact with her.

"Oh!" Maru stumbles backwards on the porch, holding her hands up. "I'm sorry! I just- uh-" She falters over her words, clearly taken aback.

"Spit it out."

"Can you put down the gun? Please?" Maru chooses her words carefully, keeping her hands in the air.

"I thought I made it perfectly fucking clear I didn't want anyone bothering me." He moves the gun downward, but his gaze still seems to burn through her.

"Well, yes, but..."

"But you wanted to anyways, right? You decided your high-fucking-horse is more important than my privacy."

There's a long pause before Maru says anything. She just stands there, gawking at him. "I just wanted to tell you about the meteor shower tonight. Everyone's going to be gathered at the beach, if you wanted to come." She speaks simply before turning around and stepping off the porch. "Yeah. I'm aware." He slams the door, the screens rattling as he locks it. "Yoba damn everyone in this fucking town." He grumbles and hides the gun once more.

Grabbing whatever clothes he could find from his dresser, he stares at himself in the mirror. So much for keeping up appearances, huh? He takes a deep breath and runs some hair gel through his hair, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He gags and spits into a bucket of lake water. His plumbing hadn't worked for, well, what felt like months now and he wasn't about to go ask Mrs. 'Oh how are you? Where are you from? How is the farm? Do you have any family?' Robin for help any time soon.

Pulling a shirt over his head he makes his way outside, staring at his rather sad attempt at a garden. He was supposed to be a farmer and he couldn't even keep a few peppers alive, let alone an entire farm's worth. Deciding to water the crops, despite them being... well, very dead, he tosses his farming tools aside and heads into town.

---

The walk always felt long and tedious. He had looked into getting a car before, but the walk to even GET to a dealership was way out of the question, and with the only bus in town out of commission, he was pretty much stuck in town and on foot. The sun beat down on him endlessly, almost taunting him for daring to move during the summer.

As soon as he reaches town he instantly heads for Joja. The saloon wouldn't be open for another few hours, and he sure as hell wasn't going to sit in Pierre's and listen to his badgering about how the farm was doing. Instantly being hit with the a/c of Jojamart he takes a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Quite the walk, isn't it? You should take a sip of the latest JojaCola flavor! NuBerry - a delicious combination of raspberry and cranberry thrown together by our team of talented scientists! Joja is not liable for any injuries or side effects that may occur while drinking NuBerry. NuBerry - Fresh and full of smiles!" Morris spews off like a recorded advertisement, making Rayzan roll his eyes. He instead heads back towards the freezers, holding it open and just soaking in the cold as he sinks to the floor.

“Probably shouldn't stand there with it open like that.” A voice comes up from behind him, leaning over his shoulder.

“You and I both know you don't care about their electric bills.” Rayzan smirks as he looks up to see Shane leaning over him. “Unless you've suddenly had a change of heart?” He puts a hand to his heart, leaning back.

“Nah. Last I heard there was some freezer monster back there. Snatches up kids that don't know better.” Shane quips and stands up straighter. “Besides, I gotta put these in there.” He motions to a palette of frozen pizza boxes.

“Mind if I nab one of those to go?”

“Hey, if you can get it past Morris be my guest.” Shane pauses, “But if you get caught I didn't see shit.” He grins before going back to restocking the freezer.

“You underestimate me greatly.” Rayzan snatches a box off of the pile, waiting until Morris was busy doing who-knows-what until stealthily stepping out the door with it.

“Oi, watch it kid.” Pam exclaims as Rayzan runs directly into her, almost dropping his box.

“Whatever.” Rayzan grumbles and rushes past her, wondering where the hell he could keep this for the time being. There was no way he was walking all the way back home for just this. Looking around he exhales before checking his watch. 10:04 am. Fuck. What was he supposed to do for at least another two hours before the saloon opened?

He could go to the mines... but that didn't solve his pizza dilemma. He groans before staring down at the river. Maybe... No, that would make it soggy. Shit. He settles on hiding it behind a rock in the shade – at least it would stay cool there. Wiping his hands off he heads past Pierre's, only to get stopped on his way.

“Hey, Rayzan! How is the farm coming along? You know, if you need anything we-”

“Yeah, yeah. You sell seeds and shit. I'm thoroughly aware. It's the only fucking shit you sell.” Rayzan interrupts her, turning back around with his arms crossed.

“Well... Pierre and I have discussed expanding our stock recently. If you have anything you'd like to see feel free to let us know!” Caroline smiles, holding up a small basket of tomatoes. “These are freshly grown from our garden, they're rather fresh, too. We were thinking about selling these, would you like to try one?”

“...I'll pass.” Rayzan rolls his eyes, continuing up the path.

“Oh, well, I'll see you later at the meteor shower then!”

“Doubt it.” He picks up his pace, running up towards the mountains. The air always feels crisper up here, fresher. He takes a moment to breathe as he reaches Robin's house, then immediately ducks by it. There was no way he was sticking around for more pleasant conversations with the townsfolk. ESPECIALLY Robin.

---

As he ducks into the mine, Marlon looks over at him and just laughs. “What, are you planning on starting an earth quake and almost killing yourself again? Didn't have enough last time?”

“Shut up. I didn't even bring my gun this time.”

“You didn't bring your sword, either. Or a pickaxe... What exactly are you planning on doing down there?” Marlon points out, nodding towards him. “May be half-blind but even I can see that's not a good idea.”

Rayzan takes a moment to look over himself, realizing he didn't actually bring any tools. “...Fuck.” He sighs in exasperation as Marlon laughs at him.

“Get out of here kid. I'm not in the mood to rescue you again.”

“Shut up.” Rayzan repeats himself, leaving the cave with a roll of his eyes. He heads past Linus' tent with a nod of his head, shoving his hands into his pockets before heading up towards the train station. Oh how he wished he could hop on the train and get the hell out of here. Instead he pushes the door open to the spa, heading for the locker room. With any luck no one else would be there.

Unfortunately, this wasn't his lucky day. Alex sits up from the weight bench as he waves at him.

“Hey man, didn't think I'd see you up here again.” Alex grins. “That offer to spot you is still open. You know, so you don't drop your weight on your foot again. How's that doing, by the way?”

“It's fine.” Rayzan says simply, yanking at his locker door.

“You gotta pull it up first.” Alex speaks up after a few moments of Rayzan fighting with the locker.

“...I knew that.” Rayzan responds, moving the handle up before pulling it open properly.

“Oh! Uh, are you going to that... that shower tonight? Haley's dragging me along. Don't know, might be pretty cool.”

“Wasn't really planning on it. Everyone keeps asking me about it.” He grumbles and grabs a towel, heading for the showers.

“Well, it's just, basically everyone in town goes to these things. It's kind of a big deal, these festivals and all.”

“Yeah, I got that. Now, do you mind? I'm sweaty and I'm not going to wash myself off at home with lake water.”

“You don't have a shower?”

“No.”

“Why don't you-”

“I'm not asking anyone to fix my shit.” With that, Rayzan pulls the curtain to the shower shut and tosses his things down. What's with everyone in this town being so damn talkative?

---

He spends the next several hours in the pool, ignoring Penny and Alex talking about who knows what. His day is rather quiet after that, deciding to head to his usual place in the saloon – where, yes, he does get Gus to put his pizza in the freezer for him for the time being. He ends up falling asleep in one of the booths, nursing his glass of beer. He's only awaken by Shane poking him in the side.

“Wha-? Ah... Mm..” Rayzan murmurs, stretching his arms out. “Thought you'd have more courtesy than to wake a sleeping man.” He grumbles drowsily.

“Didn't want to, but otherwise it'd be Gus and I figured you didn't want that. He's locking up here to go see the meteor shower thing. Jas wanted me to go with her.” He doesn't sound very enthused about it either. “Want to go keep me company?”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. I know.” He frowns, but steps aside as Rayzan gets up.

“Guess so.” He sighs, then looks over at Gus by the door. “Can I get my pizza after? So I'm not holding it the whole time?”

“Of course! I'll leave the door unlocked for ya.” Gus beams before heading outside, Shane and Rayzan soon following after.

“So did Morris say anything about the missing stock?” Rayzan glances over, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Hah, no not really. Don't think he even noticed you leaving. Lillian didn't either, or at least she didn't mention it.” Shane ponders as they walk the rest of the way in silence.

---

They pick a spot that's far enough away from everyone else to not be bothered, but close enough that Jas wouldn't complain to Marnie that Shane didn't show up.

“You ever seen one of these things?” Rayzan speaks up after awhile, looking up at Shane.

“Nah, I'm not really... into space stuff. There's enough to worry about on this planet, you know? Never mind worrying about whatever the hell aliens out there are getting up to.”

“Agreed.” Rayzan nods, pushing his hair up out of his face before staring up at the sky as the meteors begin raining by. Everyone is quiet other than the “oohs” and “ahhs” and other noises spoken in awe of the event. As Rayzan looks around he sees people making various wishes, Robin and Demetrius kissing, and Vincent and Jas playing astronauts off to the side. A faint smile grows on his face as he leans back, letting the sand seep between his fingers. This was nice, despite his many protests against it.

Eventually, the shower ended and the crowd started dying down as everyone went home. Shane said his goodbyes as he carried a very sleepy Jas off, and Rayzan was left alone. Rayzan sat there for a few more minutes listening to the ocean. Everything was peaceful, until a loud crash roars through the beach. The sound shakes through the town, and Rayzan jumps from his spot.

“The f-?” He suddenly wishes he had literally any weapon on him. He hesitantly makes his way over to the right hand side of the beach, staring at the smoldering pit among what used to be small tide pools. “Uh.” He mutters to himself, looking back towards Elliott's hut. No reaction. Was he already asleep? How did he NOT hear that? He shakes his head and grabs a stray stick from by the trees, poking at the object in the middle of the pit with it.

“Uh...” Rayzan repeats to himself, looking down at his hands. If he did end up burning himself Harvey wasn't asleep just yet, right? He'd probably be fine. He cautiously picks up the object, finding it to be - surprisingly - not as hot as he thought. It was fairly large, having to be held with two hands, and seemed to be glowing a soft blue aura. It's exterior was rather dark, with dull white spikes protruding out the sides. Although he tried to pull it apart it was no use – whatever it was, it was rather sturdy.

“Damn you're heavy.” Rayzan mutters as he stares at the egg-shaped object in his hands. He looks up, pondering to himself about what to do with this thing. He begins heading back up towards town, only to be interrupted by Maru.

“Oh my yoba – I could hear that crash from across TOWN! To think something actually hit the ground! And you're holding it!” Maru begins rambling off, clapping her hands together. “Can I see it? That doesn't look like any meteor I've ever heard of, but of course space is really vast and there could be plenty of different-”

“Whoa, whoa. Listen, if you want this thing take it. I don't know what to do with it.” Rayzan begins trying to hand it off, only for it to stab him in the arm. “What the fuck?”

“Oh- Oh dear, are you okay?” Maru widens her eyes, frantically trying to grab it again – only for the object to protest yet again. Rayzan grunts in pain, nodding.

“Maybe we should... not. Do that.” He hisses as he carefully sets it down – thankfully it lets him do that – before rubbing at his wrists. “Fuck, what is that thing?”

“Well, I'm not entirely sure... It seems at least somewhat sentient though, don't you think? Exciting!” Maru grins before turning her attention back to him. “...Right, we should get you to the clinic.” She reaches down to pick it up off the floor, only for it to spray some form of mist into the air. “AH!” She exclaims as she stumbles back, holding a hand over her face. “Okay! You pick it up!”

“I'm not touching that thing again!”

“We have to at least move it somewhere no one else can get hurt.” Maru insists, rubbing at her eyes. Rayzan grunts and picks up the foreign object, carrying it in his arms as he follows her to the clinic.

Harvey looks up from his paperwork as the door opens, raising an eyebrow. “I thought I locked... Oh, Maru, hello- Are you okay? What is- Rayzan are you bleeding?” He gets up frantically, moving around the counter.

“I'm fine, he might need stitches. Don't... touch that thing.” Maru aggressively points to the object. “I need to go wash out my eyes.” She motions vaguely in the air before walking off. Harvey blinks a few times before looking back towards Rayzan as he sets the object in a waiting room chair.

“Alright... well, let's get you sorted. I'll... call Gunther and let him know about this also.” Harvey furrows his brow, walking Rayzan back towards the examination room. “What happened, exactly?”

“I don't know. That thing fucking... Grabbed me when I tried to give it to Maru.” Rayzan hisses in pain as Harvey looks over his wounds.

“These look pretty deep – did it get you anywhere else?”

“Not that I can tell.” He shakes his head as Harvey frowns. “I feel kind of... sick, though.”

“Hopefully that's just from blood loss and it didn't inject you with anything.” Harvey notes before gathering everything necessary.

---

Rayzan wakes up in one of the hospital beds in the morning and groans as he sits up. “...So that wasn't a dream. Fuck.” He looks down at his bandaged arms with a frown. Harvey comes in with a smile, holding a clipboard close to his chest.

“Well, good news, you aren't going to die.” Harvey smiles before continuing, “You ended up passing out last night so I set you up here. As far as I could tell, there's nothing lethal in your blood stream either. Maru and Gunther are in the waiting room discussing the...” Harvey trails off for a moment, “Well, if you'd like to talk to them, you're free to. Be sure to keep those bandaged though, alright? And I wouldn't advise any excessive movement... If you need any pain killers, let me know.”

Rayzan nods, pushing himself out of the bed. “Yeah, thanks doc.” He mutters and heads into the waiting room.

“Oh! Mr. Rayzan, it's always a pleasure to see you. This is certainly an interesting specimen you've found here!” Gunther smiles as he stands up straighter.

“Yeah, and it tried to fucking kill me. Can't you take the yoba damn thing to the museum or something where I don't have to look at it?” He glares at it, crossing his arms over his chest before wincing and simply putting them down by his sides.

“Ah... I was looking into that, actually. It seems it's imprinted on you somehow and is rather territorial about it.”

“It's done what? I'm not a damn mother duck or something! If that shit turns out to be an alien I'm not taking care of it.” Rayzan protests angrily, leaning against the counter.

“If it would let me I'd take it off your hands after it hatches or... whatever it's going to do, but until then no one can touch it.” Maru frowns as she looks over at him. “I guess you could just drop it off somewhere, but there's no guarantee it still won't try to find you once it hatches...” There's a pause. “Though I'm absolutely open for helping you out with it as much as I can! Maybe we can be co-parents of it!” She laughs, though it doesn't last long as she sees Rayzan's expression. She clears her throat as she looks away. “Up to you, of course.”

“I'm probably just gonna drop the thing in the river or something. Maybe it'll float off to wherever. Or better yet, drown.”

“Mr. Rayzan, sir, if I may interrupt, I don't think that's such a good idea.” Gunther speaks up. “We don't know anything about this creature – it could be invasive to the local environment. It's better to keep it close so we can learn more about it.”

“Then you take it!” Rayzan picks up a wooden crate, then sets the object inside of it. “There. Yours now. Have fun with your murder egg.” He shoves the box into Gunther's arms and storms towards the door.

“Rayzan!” Maru shouts, but frowns as she turns back towards Gunther. “I think we're on our own here.”

Gunther nods, “It seems so...” He looks down at the object, then nods towards her. “I'll take this over to the museum for now and try to figure out what it likes... Perhaps find a sun lamp.”

Rayzan rolls his eyes as he slams the door behind him. He heads towards the saloon, grabbing his frozen pizza out of the freezer before making the journey home. He'd be glad to sleep in his own bed again.

#my writing #my ocs #rayzan #stardew valley #sdv #dont @ me i based this off a dream i had last night that wouldnt get out of my brain <3

1 note · View note

notaparty-trick · 4 years

Text

All Those Senseless Scars - Chapter 2

By @notaparty-trick for @asyouleft

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: T

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, May Parker & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Pepper Potts, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds

Summary: There is a rule to the way Peter lives now. He didn’t know it at first, but he learnt it.

It’s simple.

To earn what he needs to survive, he has to make sacrifices.

---

Peter Parker's life is derailed when he's kidnapped and kept in a white-tiled room with nothing: no windows, no cameras, no food, no water, no phone, nobody else. Only his own thoughts keep him from losing his mind. If he asks for anything, he must take punishment. Tony Stark will stop at nothing to bring him home.

Archive Of Our Own link here

The second Tony hits the floor, he wakes up.

Before even the throbbing of the back of his head, he notices the kid’s arms around him and recalls the last few minutes of his consciousness, the images of a blowtorch burning blue and of waxy crimson burns spidering across Peter’s face still horrifyingly fresh in his memory.

“Get a medical team to the front door right away,” he hears Pepper saying. Pushing himself hurriedly into a sitting position, Tony sees her crouched in front of them both, her widened eyes fixed on the kid.

The kid, whose every inch of skin is littered with bruises, lacerations, swelling, raised lines that look like whip marks. Who is gaunt and frail and half-naked and blue from cold.

“What should you expect, you asked? Cho, I don’t know what to say. He’s… everything. Just, every kind of injury you could think of.”

Tony has spent twenty sleepless nights looking for Peter Parker.

He’d first begun to suspect that something was amiss when he shut up his workshop for the night and realised he’d never received the quiet ping he’d programmed Karen to send which indicated that the kid had returned safely home from patrol. The protocol had been designed so Tony would get a ping from the Spider-Man suit the moment it entered the Parker abode, and, on the flip side, would send through an alert if he stayed out past his curfew, so the radio silence was what began to raise red flags.

Tony had shoved his paranoia aside for the moment and simply called the kid.

Nothing.

After three missed calls, he patched it straight through, the guilt of prying fading in comparison to a need to assure the kid’s safety, but FRIDAY had pulled him up short. “Boss, it is impossible for me to trace his phone or suit. They do not exist.”

“Sure, they exist. Be realistic, FRI. What do you mean?”

“The most likely explanation for this is that they have both been destroyed to the point where they no longer emit a tracking signal.”

Pushing out a deliberately measured breath, Tony ran his hands down his face in a habitual movement. “What are the chances he’s... destroyed all his tech and run off to join the Amish?”

“That is highly unlikely, Boss. Mister Parker spends an average of three hours on his phone every day.”

“Well - yeah. Shit.” Fighting back a growing wave of unease, Tony tried and failed to pull together some sort of plan of action which culminated in a tentative phone call to May Parker.

“If Peter’s with you right now and he hasn’t answered my texts,” she began without preamble, “You’re both in big trouble.”

Tony’s moment of silence drove her to an instant and terrifying conclusion.

“Tony, tell me he’s with you.”

“He’s off the grid. FRIDAY’s saying his suit and phone have been destroyed.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means… I suppose we’re - we’re looking at a missing kid now.”

Tony remembers with harsh clarity the way May’s breath had caught.

“Fuck, Tony. He’s - that’s my baby.”

“I know, May, I know. Best not to get - we don’t know anything for sure. There’s a best-case scenario here.” Neither of them are convinced. They’re both catastrophizers when it comes to Peter, and for good reason: the kid gets whammied by the ugliest parts of life on the daily.

“And the worst case?” May ventured.

Words fled Tony’s mouth.

“There’s a place at the facility upstate if that’s where you wanna be. I’ll kickstart a search there.”

The plastered-on bravery in May’s tone fractured a little as she affirmed, “I’ll be right there.”

Tony called the NYPD. He gathered Rhodey and Happy and Pepper and a team of specialist SI security employees. He scoured footage and followed leads himself, gave every piece of information he had to the cops, sent out teams of drones to survey as much of New York as he could until, five days later, Pepper laid her hands on his shoulders and told him, “If you don’t rest now you’re going to be useless.”

“He’s still out there, Pep.”

She simply smiled sadly at him and repeated, “If you don’t rest now you’re going to be useless.”

“I can’t just rest.”

“Yes, you can. Come on.” She let him take her arm and guided him out of his chair as if he were fragile, ancient. “You’re going to take a hot bath. I’m going to warm up your favourite pyjamas. You’re going to take some sleeping pills, and I’ll be with you all night.”

“The kid needs me--”

“He does. He needs you to be strong, and to do that you have to sleep.”

“Make sure I’m up at five.”

“Six.”

“Five-thirty.”

As awful as it felt harbouring a head full of horrific images of what could be happening to the kid while he let his muscles unknot themselves in a tub of hot water, he awoke the next morning with renewed determination for his task.

Losing Peter was simply not an option.

“Whoever’s got him, they must know a lot,” May remarked over coffee as she watched Tony at work that morning. “To disconnect his suit, too.”

She left for a shift at the hospital a few hours later - as much as she wanted to be around during the search for Peter, her job didn’t allow her to take leave for her missing nephew, and she was determined to remain self-sufficient - but her statement stayed with Tony.

They must know a lot.

When Tony stopped searching for a lone villain and started picturing a group - an organisation of some sort - the pieces began to fit.

“Show me feed 4, the 2nd of February, at... 2 pm. One of the first drone searches I sent out, right?”

“That is correct,” FRIDAY chimed. “The feed begins just over a mile from this facility.”

And there it is. The small, ramshackle building by the freeway. He’d dismissed it at first as a broken-down shelter, but it’s too incongruous not to take a closer look now.

“Send in a scout. I want to see inside.”

Not a minute later, the miniature drone whirred through a chink in its wall and revealed a room that appeared completely unremarkable but for the circular trapdoor set into the centre of the floor.

After ten minutes of studying that trapdoor, realisation - a thunderbolt from heaven, the eureka moment inventors like him grasp at all their lives - strikes him. He notices the design: a circle broken by a diagonal hinge on the bottom right.

“Bring up the Oscorp logo,” he demanded urgently.

An image flew to join the paused feed of the trapdoor. A circle broken at the bottom right.

Oscorp.

Lunging for his phone, he patched a call through to Norman Osborn - how he came to store the fucker’s number, God only knows, but he was thankful for it then - and hoped his hunch was correct.

“You took the kid.”

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” Osborn had returned with a short bark of laughter.

As he takes in the state of Peter all over again in the doorway of the Compound, he wishes he’d killed Osborn personally. Painfully. Made him feel every inch of pain the kid must have gone through.

The kid. The kid he’d taken out for ice cream on his sixteenth birthday last summer. The kid whose screams are still freshly ringing through Tony’s mind.

He hovers his hands over the motionless body beside him, searching for somewhere to make contact with that won’t hurt the kid.

“Fucking hell, he just - we’re - he walked all the way back.”

Pepper ends her call and immediately looks to him, gaping, her composure discarded. “What the hell happened?”

“I found the place,” he blurts. “Tried to get him out, but I must’ve knocked my head. He… took us back.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“You should get May on the line,” Tony says, trying to clear a path through his jostled brain. It throbs, but his heart aches more acutely.

Pepper just nods, rushing to find the number.

Swallowing away the breaks in his voice, he tugs off his jacket, shakes away the coating of dust from the explosion, and lays it across the kid’s back. He seems even smaller under it, like he’s shrinking by the minute to a shell of what Tony remembers him to be. Unwilling to gather him up and risk aggravating any of his injuries, Tony takes hold of one of his hands: there’s a litany of half-healed scrapes marring the knuckles, but all the fingers look to be in their proper place, which he can’t say the same of about the other. God. “Kiddo, are you awake? Can you try and open your eyes? I just - we’ve just gotta know you’re all good.”

“May, he’s here,” Pepper says. “We have - no, I’m sorry. He’s not awake. Just - come.”

Tony brings the limp knuckles to his cheek, then his chest. “Look, it’s okay to wake up now. Here’s my janky heartbeat. You always recognize it, remember?” He laughs hysterically, tearfully. Tony Stark is on the verge of tears. “We’ve got a team coming - they’re gonna get you on the good stuff, yeah? Stuff kids your age pay hundreds for. Lucky punk.”

Inexplicably, the kid’s eyelids choose that moment to begin dragging themselves open.

“Oh. Kid? Pete?”

Peter’s face screws up the moment he wakes; he groans, a dreadfully tormented noise.

In his peripheral vision, Tony spots the elevator doors opening to allow out an assemblage of medics.

“You’re okay, kid - it’s me, it’s your Mister Stark, yeah? We’re gonna get you all fixed up.”

“M’s… s’k,” Peter garbles.

“Uh-huh,” Tony assents, although he hasn’t a clue what the kid is trying to tell him.

His gaze is brimming with exhaustion, anguish, pain, a host of harrowing emotions that Tony doesn’t ever want to see there again, but through it all shines trust.

As the medics set down their equipment, he squeezes Peter’s hand and receives a slight twitching of the kid's fingers in response. Encouraged, he prepares to make full use of his skills in comforting monologues. “You’re gonna get lifted onto a gurney in just a second so we can get you tucked up in a bed and fixed up. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Peter whines, long and low and broken. After Tony had watched him rein in his response to pain in the white tiled corridor - the fierce, guarded demeanour he’d taken upon him - he reckons the kid deserves to cry out as much as he wants. He must hurt like hell.

Tony can feel it.

He keeps his hand locked around Peter’s as the medical team lifts him onto the gurney on his stomach, the kid locking his gaze on him as if his life depends on it. As he’s carried back towards the elevator, Tony jogs beside him. “And we’re off on a magical adventure to the MedBay,” he jests feebly. One side of Peter’s mouth actually lifts a little. “Get ready to sleep for a decade. I know you’ll love that. No more getting up at the crack of dawn to take the subway, doctor’s orders.”

The elevator takes them briskly upwards, but to Tony it still isn’t fast enough. Through his tirade of falsely-chipper reassurance, the medical team makes a cursory assessment of his injuries and responsivity.

“Your aunt is on her way. She’ll be here real soon, so expect a lot of kisses. From me, too. If that’s alright.”

“Sir, we need you to clear the room while we prep for surgery.”

“Oh.” They’re in an operating room, he realises dimly. “Yes.”

Although it tears at his primal protective instincts, Tony knows he has to step away for the kid’s ultimate wellbeing. Hysterics in the OR will do nothing to ease the process along.

Laying a hand over the crown of Peter’s matted hair, he tries to imbue his own strength into the kid through his touch, though all he’s got at the moment seems to be an overload of frenzied determination.

“Be brave for me, Pete,” he whispers.

There’s an affirmation of his request in Peter’s eyes, he thinks.

He steps away; the doors glide shut before him.

“Well, fucking hell,” he remarks to Pepper who he hears approaching behind him.

“Yes, fucking hell. Do you want to explain why you were passed out and slung over the kid’s shoulder?”

“I found where they’d kept him. Well, I didn’t know for sure, I just… I’m sorry. It was a gut instinct. Couldn’t slow down if there was a chance it was the right lead.”

“Who was it?”

“Oscorp. They brought him to me, and - God - they, he was…” his headache arrives in full force, half-knocking him off his feet with the sudden dizziness that accompanies it. “Maybe we can talk about this after I’ve got some Tylenol in me. Pretty sure I’ve got a concussion.”

“Okay.” Caring Pepper returns. “Let’s get you checked out, too.”

---

Peter opens his eyes to white tiles.

The pain he’d felt so potently the last time he’d been awake has dimmed significantly, leaving him with dull aches; a mattress cushions his smarting back. It’s heavenly, almost unreal.

“They said he’d only be out for an hour or two, right?”

“It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong, May. He’s just exhausted.”

It’s the familiar voices that bring him back to reality, that cement sweet relief in his heart.

Rolling his head to one side, he finds May attached to his hand.

May. May. May who smells of freshly-washed scrubs and orchids and home.

He flexes his fingers in hers and she startles, pressing her lips together in a trembling smile. “Peter, baby. Peter.”

At the affection in her words, a bright golden thing deep in his chest that has been left neglected in a white tiled corner for twenty-one days flares to life, thawing, easing him.

He attempts to turn his head the other way but finds a wad of gauze across the side of his head that prevents him from seeing all of Tony. He spots the elbows resting on his mattress, the downturned countenance harbouring something deep and raw.

Grief settles heavily in the room. Peter’s had enough of grief.

“Tha’ was,” he tries through his numb mouth, “Tha’ w’s a trip. An’ all I got w’s… was this…” He attempts to indicate himself with a hand but finds the arm that isn’t enclosed in May’s hand trapped by a sling and a number of casts.

Like the force of gravity has suddenly been applied to him and he’s hit the ground with a thud, Peter remembers the snap of those bones breaking, the wordless screams nobody had heeded, the bloodstains that had tarnished undulating white tiling, and feels a painful lump well up in his throat.

“I d’n’t even ge’ an’thing.”

A tear races unbidden down his cheek.

“That w’s a lousy joke. ’m sorry.”

The lamentation trapped within him has been caught behind his sternum for twenty-one days; now that it’s beginning to escape, it’s impossible to stop.

Peter swallows. Another tear falls, sinking into the gauze across his face.

“Hey,” May murmurs soothingly to him, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

Everything.

“Forgot how nice y’ were, May,” he tells her, trying to distract from his crying, trying to smile. The gauze and the numbness of the side of his face gets in the way. “Ev’ryone’s real nice ou’ here. Y’ were - m'ster St’rk, y’ came?”

“I did,” he receives in reply. He’s never seen his mentor look so wrecked.

It’s not every day he returns from a kidnapping, he supposes.

“‘M - ‘m back.” He feels as if he needs to say it aloud to solidify it.

“Yes, you are.” May brushes a fond hand across his hair, tucking away his still-dirty bangs. The touch is more tentative than her usual calming gestures, but she offers him a smile that, although plastered on, holds at least a fragment of genuine positivity. “Everyone’s very happy about that, you know.”

His mind turning to the days at school he never attended, the unanswered texts in his phone, the life he’d left behind, Peter tips his head back restlessly. “Di’ Ned… we were g’na…”

“He handled your World History presentation,” May says with a huff of laughter that is mirrored by Mister Stark. “Don’t you worry about it.”

“Goo’. Prou’ of him.” He is. He misses him and MJ like hell.

May’s countenance affects stern incredulity, although she can never muster up any real discipline while he’s bedbound. Peter has learnt this through a long period of trial and error where, after engaging in some form of stupid behaviour, she’d always wait until he was back on his feet to grill him out. With the state he’s in now, he guesses it will take a while this time. She chuckles wetly at him. “You walked yourself all the way back here, you crazy boy.”

Peter takes another hazy stab at lifting the mood: “Crazy, ‘s m’ - uh, my…”

“Middle name?” supplies Mister Stark, subdued.

“Mm. M’ middle name.”

The crease in his mentor’s brow sets off a warning pang in his chest.

“M’ster St’rk?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Is ev’rythin’ all, uh…” his brain and mouth won’t work together to produce the words he wants. “All, all, um.”

Tony seems to sense the root of his concern. “You’re safe. I made sure of it myself. Multiple times. We have those guys handled, I promise.” He rests a hand on Peter’s knee, pats it a few times, but he gets the feeling that he’s holding back from doing something as intimate as wiping tears from where they’ve halted, quivering, in the hollows of his eye sockets. In a quiet corner of his mind, Peter wishes he would.

“Oh. ‘kay.”

He can’t quite bring himself to believe it.

---

The next time he wakes up, he’s gained a new level of coherence that leads him to take stock of the state he’s in. The dressing on his face feels damp but cool with whatever they’ve used to treat the burns. The burns he doesn’t want to think about.

There’s a splint and a layer of gauze across his nose to reset it; a cast on his hand, one on his forearm, and a sling holding the whole arm at a 90-degree angle. It alleviates the burning pain he’d barely even processed in his collarbone. He can feel a dressing across the lashes on his back, too, and an ice pack laid across his swollen ribs over the hospital gown he’s now dressed in. He’s free from a cannula, thankfully; there are just two IV lines trailing from the crook of his arm and the back of his hand respectively.

God, I’m a mess.

It’s certainly the most wiped-out he’s ever felt. His eyelids are ten-tonne weights.

The trouble comes when May offers him a plastic cup upon noticing his return to consciousness. “Do you want a couple of ice chips, honey?”

“Would you like some clothes?”

Peter’s heart picks up the pace.

“Uh, I - I don’ know.”

“You don’t know?” May presses, brows knitting, and he’s letting her down. She wants an answer.

“Wha’s, wha’s gonna happ’n?” he asks tremulously, recalling the thump of a whip descending on his back, the echoes of his own screams accompanied by the sickening cracking of bones, a million hands pressing him to the ground, and simply needing to know that he’s safe from it.

He is safe. He knows that. But a more primal part of him is terrified.

“What do you mean, baby? Are you feeling okay?”

From his accustomed place at Peter’s right side, Tony leans forward in his seat and interjects. “Hey, is this something to do with…?”

Peter isn’t sure why he says it. It just comes out. “T’ earn wha’ I need, I gotta take punishmen’.”

There’s an ugly silence. Tony sets a hand over Peter’s ankle; Peter can pick up the tremors in his grip. May chews on her lower lip.

“Kid,” Tony says quietly.

“‘M sorry, it just… that’s wha’ they said. I know ‘s not… bu’, uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Tony frowns good-naturedly, signalling a Mister Stark-patented statement on the way, and sure enough: “I don’t want to hear the word sorry out of your mouth for at least a month.”

It’s familiar, comforting, and helps Peter ground himself in the room, the hospital bed, the safe place.

He smiles wonkily at Mister Stark. “Y’know tha’s unrealistic.”

“Seriously, kid, are you gonna take the ice chips?” is the amusement-tinged response. Tony nods towards the cup now set down on the overbed table, his countenance radiating a schooled softness. “No strings attached, that’s a guarantee.”

“Sure,” Peter blusters, shrugging then regretting it as his collarbone is struck with a stabbing pain. “‘kay.”

May pushes a few chips into his mouth, softly pushing away his good hand, which he notices is weighed down by fatigue and more spindly than the last time he’d been in the MedBay. Almost a month of starvation does that to you, he guesses. The ice chips are heavenly against his arid throat.

“Is that how you got all banged up?” Tony inquires softly, re-igniting the previous thread of conversation, and although it unearths the reel of harrowing memories that blemish his recent past, something in Peter yearns to tell Mister Stark, to show him that he’d tried his best, even if it doesn’t appear that way.

He’d gotten captured, kidnapped, and absolutely wrecked, and he’d just waited around until Mister Stark had come to save him. Whether Oscorp was involved or not, it fosters a rankling sense of shame in his gut.

If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.

“Tony,” May hisses.

Peter nods anyway, the rustling dressing over his face irritating him. “Yeah.” He searches for Tony’s gaze, injects sincerity into his garbled speech. “I didn’ wanna ask f’r anything an’ I made it five days wi’out water. Bu’... I had to.”

“Course you did,” Mister Stark tells him with a startling level of empathy.

“I tried t’ be smart,” Peter continues, “S’ they wouldn’ hurt me t’ much.”

“Pete, I’m not grading you on how well you handled yourself in there. Relax. You got out, that’s all that matters.”

“You go’ me out,” mutters Peter.

The crow’s feet lining Mister Stark’s eyes deepen. “Same difference,” he affirms.

But it isn’t.

“Di’ you hear me, May?” he finds himself saying, blinking away a haze of rumination from his vision.

“What?”

“I called you in there, y’ know.”

The feel of the vintage telephone he’d wished into being is somehow more concrete than the real memories of pacing the floor and sleeping on the ceiling and not-crying and crawling when he became too weak to stand and screaming to a helpless Mister Stark as fire licked the side of his face.

“You - there was a phone?” May asks quizzically. She’s trying her very best to understand him, Peter knows, to listen to him and fix any problem he voices, to make it all better. It’s him who’s all over the place.

“No. There wasn’ anything. Just tiles. Bu’ I pretended. Thought y’ might hear anyway.”

His remark breaks something in May. With a sharp inhale, she pushes back her chair and stands, looking anywhere but at Peter, at the casts and dressings and stitches that hold him together. “You know what?” she says loudly, “I’m gonna - do you want a milkshake, Peter? I’m getting you a milkshake. Something nice to get you back to solid foods.”

She rakes a hand through her unwashed hair and leaves.

The mattress feels too soft for Peter now, dipping under his weight. He wallows in his own stupidity.

His memories are now too dark to share with May: she isn’t a superhero, just a woman who has lost her husband and who didn’t ask to be pulled into a world where she risks losing her nephew too. She didn’t ask to have another person to worry about, but here Peter is, breaking her heart. He almost wishes she didn’t care so ardently as she does, didn’t long so fruitlessly to protect him from the wear and tear of the superhuman world.

The silence between him and Mister Stark hangs heavily, riddled with tension and the shared recollection of Peter’s screams.

Only when Tony clears his throat and says, “I set you up a new phone,” is he pulled away from his thoughts.

“You di’?”

It’s tossed into his lap. “Go ahead and text your little Gen Z heart away.”

As hard as Peter tries to turn the device on and swipe over to his apps with his one uninjured hand, it just slips from his grip. His face reddens.

“M’ster S’rk?”

“Yuh-huh?” Mister Stark hasn’t yet noticed, having angled himself away from Peter a little and placed his head in his hands. At Peter’s sheepish call, he twists to face him again in a series of jerks. “Oh.” He lunges for the phone, newly sober. “Oh, yeah. How about I read everything out for you?”

In an instant, the notion of Mister Stark seeing all his texts manifests in all its horrifying glory, and Peter finds himself fearing something as trivial as the discovery of his awkward message history with MJ and nerdy conversations with Ned. It’s oddly relieving.

“Don’ spy on my texts,” he protests weakly. The blue light reflecting on Mister Stark’s face serves as a blatant reminder that his mentor might just be betraying him already.

Tony smirks. “I can’t not spy on them if they’re right there.”

Peter lets out a huff that he hopes conveys the entirety of his indignance, although he’s aware the side of his face that’s free of dressings probably doesn’t create a very threatening image.

“There you are,” Tony chuckles in the face of his display, “I was waiting for that little frown.”

“‘M not little.”

“If you say so, pipsqueak.”

Peter rolls his eyes as dramatically as he can. “Jus’ let me talk t’ Ned ‘nd MJ.”

“Video call?” Mister Stark suggests as if he hasn’t yet noticed the way Peter’s face must look.

The thought of his friends seeing the human punching bag he’s become cuts a sense of horror in him too deep for the lightness of the interaction he’s engaged in.

“No, no, no,” he rushes to say before hurriedly covering his panic with a languid shake of his head. “No calls. Text.”

“And you’re gonna dictate them to me like I’m a medieval scribe?”

“I dig tha’.” Peter finds himself letting out a short bark of laughter despite himself. He’s a melting pot of emotion, experiencing everything at once.

“I resent that,” retorts his mentor lightly.

“Suck i’ up, M’ster S’rk. ‘m an invalid, y’ gotta do what I say.”

Tony just swallows. Peter hopes he didn’t say the wrong thing again.

“Di’ Ned say anything?” he prompts eventually.

“A great many things. Forty-two, in fact.”

“Oh, man.” Just the thought of forty-two things makes his head spin. Ned probably went out of his mind. “Don’ think I c’d process tha’ right now. Jus’... tell him I’m alrigh’. ‘M alive an’ he can finish the Imperial S’r Destroyer wi’out me.”

“The Imperial Star Destroyer?” echoes Mister Stark, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Peter remembers the enthusiasm he used to hold for things like this. He tries hollowly but valiantly to recreate that excitement as he replies: “‘S got four thousan’, seven h’ndred an’ eighty four pieces, M’ster St’rk. Isn't tha’ crazy?”

His mentor’s eyes crinkle amiably as he regards Peter, shifting back a little in his seat as if the levity has physically purged some of his stress. “You built all of that?”

“We w’re gonna,” shrugs Peter.

“He’s typing already. It’s… I have to break it to you, Pete, but his fine motor skills seem to have declined significantly in the time you were gone.”

“Wha’ do y’ mean?”

“It’s just a string of random letters.”

“He’s keyb’rd smashin’, M’ster St’rk,” Peter giggles, ignoring the rasp of his throat.

Tony clicks his tongue. “I won’t even ask.”

Making an attempt to lean upwards in his bed and towards the glow of the screen in Mister Stark’s hands which is quickly aborted by the ache of his ribs and back, Peter urges, “Wha’s he sayin’ now?”

“I think I made out a holy shit somewhere in there… I’m gonna kill you, I thought you were dead… No, I am not finishing the Destroyer without you…”

Peter smiles.

“What happened? With an abundance of question marks.” Raising his eyeline with a dip of his brows, Tony studies him for a moment.

“Tell him i’ was S’ider-Man stuff an’ I got in trouble but ‘m alrigh’,” Peter tells him as firmly as he can.

“You’re not gonna tell him?”

“He’ll stress ou’.”

Setting aside the phone in favour of lacing his fingers together atop his lap, Tony sighs, heralding a lecture to come. “Kid, I won’t lie to you,” he says with surprising softness, “Not everything just goes away once you’re back in the world. Some things never do. You - you know that, right? You’re prepared for that?”

At that very moment, Peter is saved by the bustling entrance of May, who sets a creamy drink before him and smiles hopefully. “I got you salted caramel.”

“Th’nk you so much, May.” Inexplicably, it’s the drink, the way his enhanced senses pick up the rich, sugary smell and the slow bleeding of caramel syrup into the milky base, which rekindles passion in Peter, infuses a little color into his world. He lifts his hand until it rests on her arm, too weak to raise it further, and she sets her hand a little awkwardly but with sincerity over his.

“S’lted caramel’s the bes’.”

“I know, honey.” Returning his smile shakily, she squeezes his hand and tells him, “Now, I want you to enjoy it, okay? It’s - it’s your first...”

Where she trails off, he picks up. “My firs’ drink back in the real w’rld.”

May nods, blinking fiercely. Everything Peter does seems to upset her. So he shuts up and latches on to the straw of the drink.

It’s mind-blowingly good. It’s cool and thick and delicious and makes him feel a whole lot better.

“Can I swear?” he pipes up out of the blue. “Jus’ once?”

Mister Stark indulges him. “Go on.”

“H’ly fuck , I’ve missed s’lted caramel.”

---

Peter tried to escape. He did.

The second time he heard the rhythmic beat of boots nearing his cell, he leapt up onto the wall right beside the door, flattening himself against the tile in the hope that the masked group would be taken by surprise by his sudden attack. With nothing but unbridled terror on his side, he prepared to take out four armed guards who had wrestled him easily to the floor the day before.

The force of the group was unneeded, it transpired. As soon as Peter threw his first weakened punch, the room filled with the torturous whistle, making him drop to the floor in shock.

“Would you like anything?” he was asked mildly after the noise had ceased at last.

From his sprawled position on the floor, hands still covering his ringing ears, Peter shook his head vehemently. “No. Please, go away.”

White tiles spun with the dizzying motion of a carousel before his vision, the cacophony of retreating boots at odds with the thousands of dismembered feet he sees tramping across the unidentifiable orb of the cell. Peter bit back a cry of pain as the slam of the door assaulted his ears, rocking his head back and forth, back and forth, losing himself in the distracting motion.

His swallows became avalanches, blinking like the shutter of a camera pressed against his eyes.

“Oh, man,” he mumbled unevenly, nausea creeping up his throat. “Pull yourself together, Peter. Come on. Just - chill.”

It wasn’t the first time his senses had overloaded. The bout of sickness after the spider bite; his first overwhelming patrol; a school day he’d attended on a single hour of sleep; all had brought about these almost familiar symptoms. But before, he could crawl between his sheets, relaxing in the familiar scent of his room, and call it a day. He could stumble through his day in sunglasses and headphones, knowing it would pass. He could even lock himself in the dark, soundproofed room in the Compound - the isolation room - and shut out every sensation but his own breath and heartbeat. In his box, there was nothing to distract him from the frightening lack of control that came with the sensory overload but his own sheer willpower.

So he continued to rock back and forth for what could have been hours, simply waiting for the storm to pass by.

---

Peter wakes to a sweat-soaked hospital gown and a lump in his throat.

Sucking in a raw breath, he takes in the room: Tony stirring at his side and May passed out at his other. Nothing out of the ordinary. He burns all over, however, damp and shaky and aching.

“Kid?” Tony mutters, righting himself and rubbing at his eyes.

“Mister St’rk, I gotta go t’ the isolation room,” he blurts.

That gets Mister Stark up quickly. He takes in Peter’s taut face, his good hand clenched in the sheets, the beads of moisture at his hairline, and nods.

The transferral from his bed to a wheelchair is awkward and excruciating, with Tony struggling to bundle his fragile limbs and IV lines safely into the seat while Peter shuts his eyes against the red-hot pokers of Tony’s hands on him and the shifting of the synthetic overhead lights against his skull and the jostling of his arm and back and ribs and face. It’s worth it , he tells himself. Just a few minutes and there will be blissful silence.

“Nightmare?” Tony asks him in a hushed tone as he wheels him down corridors and into the lift.

“Flashback, I th’nk.”

Tony’s hand settles in his slick curls; he wordlessly combs them out, his touch feather-light, and it’s a welcome distraction from the deafening creaking of the cables around them.

Guiding him and his IV stand into the darkened room, he half-shuts the door and breathes, “Anything you need, give FRIDAY a command, remember? She won’t make any noise. I’ll come and get you out when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, his brain rattling with the volume.

The door is eased shut, leaving only blissful quiet.

Blissful for a short while, anyway.

Peter has never loved the isolation room. As helpful as it is to rebalance his senses, the very name reminds him of why it scares him - isolation. Now, bound to his wheelchair, hearing only his own heartbeat, all he can think of are the days in his cell wracked with pain too great to allow him to move but also gripped by terrible loneliness.

The fear of being alone has dogged him all his life. Re-starting his life without his parents. Watching Ben bleed out on the ground before him. Floundering under the weight of the collapsed warehouse. Never was it more starkly exposed, however, than the twenty-one days he’d spent in his box.

He’d been scared. He could have rotted there forever, his last breath plagued by the loneliness he’d fought so hard to run from.

“FRIDAY,” he gasps, “Get me ou’ of here.”

Tony comes rushing through, concern clear on his face, but Peter wants nothing more than to cling to him and never let go, so he does just that, clutching him until he grunts at the pain radiating from his ribs.

“Kid, I’m here. You’re fine.”

“Didn’ work,” he says into Tony’s shoulder.

“I know.” Mister Stark’s voice brims with sadness. “It’s okay, let’s just - take a breather for a minute. Sit here.”

“Can’ do much else,” huffs Peter.

They rest, Mister Stark breathing into Peter’s hair while he keeps his hand stuck stubbornly to his mentor’s back.

#fanfic #fanfiction #irondad #spiderson #tony stark #peter parker #whump #angst #hurt and comfort #notaparty-trick

1 note · View note

thewakingcloak · 5 years

Text

ProtoDungeon: Episode II

(Quasi)Daily Updates Thus Far

Hey all!

ProtoDungeon Episode II (TWC prequel) is coming along nicely, and I’m building out a lot of vital systems for it, future episodes, and The Waking Cloak. I also began a sort-of-daily update on the Discord server that I’ve been meaning to post here but keep forgetting to because I am a scattered, scattered person.

Anyway, uh, yeah, there are a lot of these, lol. I’ll try to post these more regularly in the future, but I hope this is fun and informative for those of you who like reading weirdly specific details about gamedev.

Daily Update - May 24, 2019

Summing up what I've already done before today: -Ring mechanics are done -Day, night, and light sensors are done (though don't have any art) -Created an object that will switch day/night

Today: - Reworking my "interaction" code so that you stop walking after interacting with something during the walk state.

Daily Update - May 25, 2019 -Finally resolved the "interact" code by adding a new player state. Now the player actually stops when interacting with objects instead of just walking into them the whole time. -Fixed a small bug where dialogue boxes would show up with the first message already "fast-forwarded" to the end with no sound. -Started working on polishing up the day/night switcher object (this is what the interact code was for). Should be important in this dungeon since the player won't have the cloak!

Daily Update - May 26, 2019 -I tend to take Sundays easy. I worked on a bed sprite for like ten minutes though!

Daily Update - May 27, 2019 -Added the ring and its upgrades to the test room! We're now technically ready for super early patron alpha testing, which I'll put up sometime in the secret patron channel in the next few days!

Daily Update - May 28, 2019 -Set up the Itch build for pre-alpha patron testing -Worked on figuring out how to clarify the day/night and ring mechanics, visually -Began sketching out dungeon layout, now that I have mechanics set (as opposed to Episode I where I had to retrofit my design a few times after it was mostly done).

Daily Update - May 30, 2019 -Finished the rough draft of the dungeon layout!!!

Daily Update - May 31, 2019 -Finished the second draft of the dungeon map, including several more detailed rooms with puzzle designs

Daily Update - June 1, 2019 - Finished the THIRD draft of the dungeon map, think I've finally got the layout and puzzle locations pretty much settled (it's been a toughie with day/night/dayshift/nightshift)

Daily Update - June 3, 2019 -Updated level 2 of the Ring of Starlight to generate two blocks instead of one block with a dayshift/nightshift effect. This is like what was originally level 3, except the blocks will move in sync with each other -Changed the ring upgrade descriptions. I'm going to try for a more lore-based, somewhat poetic approach for these over a mechanical explanation. (Level 3 is obviously a temporary description) -Pushed the build up to Itch as v0.3.0

For those of you who have access to the pre-alpha and are using the Itch client, updating should be very easy! However, since something got renamed somewhere along the line, you will most likely have to remove the previous version of the game if you don't want it to ask you to select your version when launching the game. I don't think this will happen again... probably. :) I'm still working on the level 3 mechanic, also.

Daily Update - June 5, 2019 -Decided on new lvl3 of the ring -Fixed blocks so they now fall into pits. Long live the king. -Updated Itch app to v0.3.1

Daily Update - June 7, 2019 -Added level 3 of the ring. -Fixed a bug where pushable blocks couldn't be pushed. You had one job, pushable blocks. -Fixed a bug where the player wouldn't fall into a pit after swapping with something that's over the pit. -Fixed a bug where the synced level 2 ring block would not collide with objects when starting from "rest".

Daily Update - June 8, 2019 -Fixed bug where the dialogue box would crash sometimes. I fixed this bug before. I don't know why it came back. The code I used to fix it was gone. Will keep an eye on this code to see if it disappears again. -Updated HUD to display ring and ring level instead of scroll and swap spell level. -Fixed the controls. Space was mapped to both item "A" and item "B", and apparently it doesn't work that way when the item isn't mapped to both slots :P -Fixed a bug where the game would be very, very tiny if it was not in focus when starting in fullscreen mode. I commented out a line of code when updating the application surface resizing and forgot to uncomment it. -Updated v0.3.9 to Itch -Started work on the next draft of the dungeon sketch now that the ring mechanic has been finalized wooooo

Daily Update - June 12, 2019 -Competed new draft of the dungeon, pretty happy with this one. I'll just need to work in the puzzles and make sure the dungeon graph (a la GMTK Boss Keys) works out so players can't get stuck. -Fixed an issue where you could push blocks past the edge of the screen (and a related one where when you tried to do that, you would keep moving through the block while the block stayed still). -Fixed an issue where you could create blocks on top of each other.

Daily Update - June 14, 2019 -Started working on Tiled draft of dungeon -Began experimenting with larger default room sizes. One aspect I liked from Blossom Tales. Still keeping rooms, of course, since that's what counterintuitively makes an overworld feel big, but bumping up their width/height by about 50% each makes them feel that much larger and explorationy. -Updated test room to new room size. -Uploaded v0.3.12 to Itch, which includes the new room size, as well as the fixed bugs from the June 12 daily update

Daily Update - June 16, 2019 -Continued working on Tiled draft of dungeon. Slow work at this stage, but I believe the overall layout is complete. -Started laying out my sticky note version of the dungeon and puzzles. Lots has changed since last time I built puzzles for this dungeon, so reworking it has been fun.

Trying to decide whether the blocks should stay put when you move out the room, or disappear like the Cane of Somaria. Persistent blocks would make for some interesting puzzles.

Also trying to decide how the overworld will map down to the dungeon, since some of the dungeon rooms are a bit small and constrained. I'd like them to line up. Might still make them the same size as the overworld rooms, just with long connecting bits.

Daily Update - June 18, 2019 -Puzzle design is done! -Tiled map draft is coming along much faster now that I know what to fill the rooms with. Already making tweaks to the puzzles (and I'll certainly make more tweaks when building in GameMaker, just how it goes)

Daily Update - June 19, 2019 -Tiled map draft is almost done! Getting verrrry close now.

Daily Update - June 21, 2019 -Tiled map draft is COMPLETE!!!

Daily Update - June 23, 2019 -The actual dungeon in GameMaker is underway and making quick progress. Already improving on the Tiled map, I think! Could be done with the graybox and have it playable for patrons by the end of the week--stay tuned. Lemony Snicket voice "Graybox" here means "with crappy programmer art and white/black tiles"

Daily Update - June 24, 2019 -Made major headway on the dungeon in GameMaker. Very close to wrapping up the graybox tiles, and I've made a bunch of refinements to the existing layout and puzzles!

Daily Update - June 26, 2019 -Layout and graybox tiles are done -Colliders are done -Cliffs are done -Stairs are done -Pits are done -Item upgrades are placed -Some keys are placed -Buttons are placed (not hooked up yet)

Quasidaily Update - June 27, 2019 -Worked on hooking up buttons and bridges and simplified the lvl1 ring room (for me, should be about the same for the player)

Quasidaily Update - June 28, 2019 -Finished doors and hooked up buttons -Fixed various puzzles and rooms that weren't working correctly

Quasidaily Update - June 39, 2019 -Finished the ladder! -Finished bridge collision -Completed... the trap room -Hooked up the doors/buttons I missed (pretty easy to find since I use a red color blend on the offending buttons ingame) I... uh... am just gonna leave that as the 39th Very very close to alpha now, unless those two bugs end up just crushing me

Quasidaily Update - July 1, 2019 -Added day/night blocks -Added a missing teleporter (int/ext door) -Fixed one of the two softlocking bugs (in about 5 minutes)!

Remaining before patron alpha release: -Secret thing -Second bug -Verification that the dungeon is playable from start to finish

Quasidaily Update - July 2, 2019 -The second bug is technically fixed, but it's pretty janky and unpolished. I'll keep working on this tomorrow. -Cleaned up and optimized the block pushing check logic, which had all kinds of duplicate collision checks and wack timers being set all over the place

Quasidaily Update - July 3, 2019 -Finally fixed the second bug. This was a block syncing/pushing issue that would've prevented everyone from completing the dungeon -Began testing the dungeon's playability from beginning to end. Ran into a few more things I fixed: -Added a level 3 ring upgrade description since it actually does something now -Some bridges were missing pits under them, so you could walk across even if the bridge wasn't activated. -Discovered the level 1 and 2 ring blocks don't fall in pits anymore. Oops. Gotta fix this still. Quasidaily Update - July 3, 2019 PART 2 -The dungeon is playable from start to end (except you can't get in the final room yet, but that's a quick fix) -Hooked up MORE buttons/doors that I had missed -Replaced/moved the keys around--I think this will be much more satisfying now -Added the method to get to t h e s e c r e t Pretty pleased with it this time around--I think it's even more cryptic and fun to discover ehehehe "ehehehe" is to be read with a witch's voice

Quasidaily Update - July 4, 2019 -Tweaked t h e s e c r e t entrance ほほほ -Worked on t h e s e c r e t puzzles.... they're pretty devious お~~ほほほ

Quasidaily Update - July 5, 2019 -Fixed broken challenge puzzle. -Fixed bug with lv1 and lv2 ring mechanics--they weren't falling down pits anymore. That just makes this game way too easy. -Fixed a bug with lv3 ring blocks that was also breaking the challenge puzzle -Added some tiles to cover up my greybox "answers" -This wraps up all the changes for alpha. We'll go live with the alpha for patrons early tomorrow!

Quasidaily Update - July 6, 2019 -Released the patron alpha! Woohoo! Rali has been enjoying it at least/ -Released v0.4.2 update: -Fixed two unmarked pits. Kinda sucks to fall into the solid ground. -Game Over now resets only the player, not the entire game.

Quasidaily Update - July 7, 2019 -Released v0.4.4 update: -Added collision around water bridges so you can't walk on or get trapped on the water... -Removed a call to GMLive that may be causing a crash on the PlayerEquipmentRingState script.

Quasidaily Update - July 7, 2019 PART DOS Released v0.4.10 update: -Removed "You got a key!" text because... well, it should be obvious. -Do not freeze player on headstone moving. -Fix stutter when a level 0 equipped item is "used." -Made it so you can't push jars and blocks up stairs. They are TOO HEAVY. -Added an escape route to the challenge room so you don't have to throw yourself in a pit to get back to the start if you get stuck. It doubles as a "skip" for one of the puzzles once it has been opened. -Fixed challenge room exit so you don't get trapped. :)

Quasidaily Update - July 9, 2019 -Fixed colors on the east/west player "use ring" sprite so that the night palette shader doesn't miss it (meaning it would render her skin in the day palette) -Updated teleporters to use channel strings so I don't have to manually set the target coordinates for ALL THE TELEPORTERS AAAAAAAH. -Oh, and yeah, most importantly: released v0.5.0 update! Completed dungeon remodel!! It uses the build-a-final-key method like in Episode I. This allowed me to make the dungeon a bit less linear. It also meant I knocked down a wall or two, added another puzzle or two, and all around made something I'm much more satisfied with.

Quasidaily Update - July 10, 2019 Released v0.5.5 update! -Fixed a crash when attempting to push arrows (read: moving toward an arrow while it's trying to kill you). -Toned down the arrow knockback effect -Fixed awkward/slow interaction with arrows knocking you into pits -Shortened room respawn freeze time -Fixed a bug where the player could walk directly into the arrow and avoid taking damage. Pretty sure that's not how arrows work (this was related to the pushing bug above!).

Quasidaily Update - July 11, 2019 -Starting to place actual tiles over the greybox tiles and gosh it's nice to have real art.

Quasidaily Update - July 12, 2019 -Majority of the final tiles have been placed and it looks great. I still need to make a few interior wall sets and a handful of floor tiles. It really brings the dungeon to life

Quasidaily Update - July 14, 2019 -Released v0.6.0!!! I'm very excited about this one because it's the first of the graphics updates. The majority of the basic final tiles have been placed. There are more graphics updates to come (which you'll note if you play this version), but is the biggest of 'em. Looks great in day and night!

Quasidaily Update - July 15, 2019 -Added new one-way-jump wall tiles -Completed secret room tiles and decorations -Added lighter tall grass

Quasidaily Update - July 16, 2019 -Today was a writing day, mainly. I'd like to have the little snippets of dialogue and bookshelves and so on done in a day or two. It's exciting stuff, showing off the tips of all these icebergs. -Last night I pushed v0.6.4, an update that had lots of good graphics updates. Except I forgot to replace the player back at the start of the level after testing, so neipo had some fun times starting at the END of the level. Fixed and uploaded in v0.6.5!

More! -Uploaded v0.6.6 in which I fixed an arrow issue that I already fixed previously. Except, I had only fixed it for ProtoDungeon I. Which is why @neipo13 ran into it to my great confusion.

More!!! Uploaded v0.6.8: -Fixed one of the lvl3 ring puzzles so it didn't have a ridiculously easy solution (thanks for finding that, neipo). -Fixed description of round key.

Quasidaily Update - July 17, 2019 I intended to do some writing today, but I got more excited about something else.... sooooo, cue the upload of v0.6.13 - The Optimization Patch! - in which the average framerate on my dev laptop is now 260fps up from 120fps. -Moved the half-speed/GIF mode to only be available in debug mode (this was "G" on the keyboard, so people could just press it and not be sure why the game was running so badly). -Scott's [regular & mod on the server] lappy had major framerate issues running the game, so I did some optimization and found out the pits were accounting for 50% of the time of every single frame. The best part: they only needed to run the offending code ONCE. So I moved that code from the step event to a one-time event and voila, framerate is way more stable. -Turned off GMLive entirely and added an easy toggle for me. This is very useful during development, but it likes to make lots of calls when turned on. -Updated the "listener" step event, which was setting a blend mode every single step. In debugger mode, this is so that stuff like buttons and doors turn red if they're not hooked up. Otherwise it "unsets" the blend mode by setting it to -1 every single step (regardless of debug mode). Apparently this has some unexpected overhead, even if the blend mode is ALREADY -1. A quick and easy fix. -Swapped out the existing (non-moving) tombstone objects for different objects. Almost all of the tombstones were instances of the same object as the ones that move, but that came with a lot of additional overhead (my "listener" object still accounts for a lot of time because it's doing some checking with ds_lists every frame for every listener object; the moving tombstones have listeners, the normal tombstones do not). They're behaving themselves now.

Quasidaily Update - July 18, 2019 Uploaded v0.6.14! -Fixed up collision in the secret room -Finished secret room lore dialogue

There's still more writing to do for the headstones, bookshelves, and a certain NPC who isn't in the game yet, but yeah! Getting there!

Quasidaily Update - July 20, 2019 Over the last day or two, I've slowed down a lot--think I'm getting close to burning out, plus not certain I'm satisfied with the story implementation thus far in Episode II (am I too obscure? Revealing too much? Will people care? etc). That said, I've gotten some stuff done, and uploaded v0.6.19 -Fixed some borked collision near the hut (thanks for finding that, Rali) -Fixed tombstones so they could display text -Added text to various tombstones >:) (and bookshelves) -Fixed the interaction check so that you don't interact with objects to the north of you when facing to the east or west.

Today I switched gears and created a batch file that could compile an executable without even opening GameMaker!! This is actually pretty exciting. I could almost, at this point, switch completely to GMEdit, which is significantly faster and more intuitive tham GM workspaces. Oh, and the batch file also uploads the compiled exe to Itch

Quasidaily Update - July 20, 2019 I decided to switch gears again and work on the save game feature. Not done yet, but it IS saving the player/inventory objects, and I'm setting it up to be pretty easily able to take in any set of objects, auto-read all their variables, and set 'em.

Quasidaily Update - July 22, 2019 Been working on the ol' save system still. It's going well. I had to fight a bit with my camera system (like always lol), and now I'm making sure the ring blocks properly reset--currently they crash the game which isn't quite right...

The system as planned for PDII will essentially be an autosave that triggers on entrance of each room. When loading the game, all solved puzzles should remain solved, and ring blocks should remain in place, and you'll appear at the entrance of whatever room you exited the game from. At some point in a later episode I'll include slots and specific save points not unlike bonfires from Dark Souls

Quasidaily Update - July 23, 2019 Saving and Loading Continued Cleaned up the loading--it would snap you back to the load point and the camera had trouble keeping up. Now it's a nice, clean fade transition with no camera moving around.

What's left: -Properly saving blocks and other puzzle elements. Currently it, uh, duplicates them? So that's nice. -For some reason, the ring itself disappears when you reload the game -Need to set up the fadeout transition so it finishes before puzzle elements get reset and the time of day changes -Set up an autosave on room enter -You can actually get stuck in the first ring room by crossing a bridge and having that bridge disappear behind you, then quitting and loading your save. I'm trying to think of a good way to solve it now and in the future without making it easy to miss setting up something manually.

Quasidaily Update - July 25, 2019 Moar Savingz Ring blocks are finally managing their own order, and it's wayyyyy more stable and uses a ton less code than before. Previously, during the player's "use ring" state, it would call the inventory manager to update the order of the blocks, which it stored in two variables. It worked, but occasionally the order would get really weird and so on, plus it was going to be a nightmare for reloading. The problem is that the inventory manager was holding the ring block IDs in those two variables, and IDs are not guaranteed to be the same on re-run.

Solution: ring blocks get an integer variable that stores their order, called order. When a ring block is created, it tells the other block to update its order. If that order is already 2, destroy it. Simple, and easy to save since it's an int.

In a pre-quasidaily update today Daniel learns why his ring blocks aren't loading They are And then they're instantly destroying themselves Because of the code he wrote To tell them to destroy themselves Thank you

Quasidaily Update - July 26, 2019 Uploaded v0.6.22, possibly the final 0.6 version since saving is coming sooooooooooon. BUT. Here's what you guys get: -Fixed some more collisions near the hut (seriously, did I move that entire room over one tile somehow) -Allow jumping off ANY ledge (WOOO) -Fixed occasional crash when creating ring blocks

The save/load system is working also, but not available outside of debug mode yet! As far as I can tell everything is saving and loading properly as expected. There are a couple places you can save scum past, and I have a few ideas for handling those, but that probably won't be something I deal with for a bit. However, the player is not currently able to save or load (unless they're in debug mode, as mentioned), which leads me to the next major update I will be working on: M E N U S and O P T I O N S

Quasidaily Update - July 27, 2019 I'm 25 minutes through a 70 minute series by FriendlyCosmonaut on a menu system. This is a lot lol.

In the process, I did a little bit of reworking/cleaning on my controls system. I now have some global variables that hold all the currently configured controls, instead of hardcoding the controls into the input manager. This was in preparation to allow control remapping!

Quasidaily Update - July 30, 2019 Been quiet for a few days--hard at work on the new menu system. This one is a doozy, you guys. I haven't done this much straight code on the TWC "engine" since Episode I.... maybe even longer.

Finished the FriendlyCosmonaut series, which was a great foundation. Now I'm building off it (and trying to get tons of parts of it to actually work still). I'd ideally like to have it look a lot like the old mockup from my blog post on difficulty settings (many of those difficulty settings will not be used in ProtoDungeon or TWC).

Here's what I got so far. Still a lot of the FriendlyCosmonaut design in this, which is good, but doesn't quite fit with this game.

brightness/contrast do nothing, window actually works pretty well--unless you change the smoothing size, in which case it starts acting up...

vsync.... I think works? I haven't even tried toggling screenshake I want to use the "bouncing arrows" style from the mockup instead of color, fix the on/off to use arrows instead, fix the sliders so they use pixel arrows instead of drawn circles.... so much left to dooooo I just have to remember it was loading a black screen this morning

Quasidaily Update - August 7, 2019 Been alternating between taking breaks and working furiously on menu stuff, as you can see with screenshots.

Spending a lot of time on remapping. There's a lot to polish here, stuff you might not think about on first glance (What happens if a key is already mapped to another? Do you handle the menu not closing while you're remapping the menu key? Do you handle the menu so it doesn't navigate when mapping the back key? Do you include primary and secondary control sets, and if so, how do you display that clearly? Etc.)

Not all these questions have difficult answers, but they add up. So that's basically all I've been working on for the past week or so :)

Today I got the gamepad up and running and the secondary control set as well. I forgot how good it feels to play the game with a controller vs a keyboard. My wife happily exclaimed "You're playing with a controller!" :D

The secondary control set was a back and forth decision. The deciding factor was mainly wanting to ease the initial "time to start" for different players--so you can move with WASD and the arrow keys, or with the dpad and the stick. I have a pretty good idea how the UI will work for this too, so now that the gamepad is working, I'm gonna start on the secondary controls.

Quasidaily Update - August 11, 2019 -Primary and secondary gamepad button remapping are working -Got some cool new gamepad icons, improved thanks to Corvos -Fixed the menu so you couldn't close it on the menu page when starting the game -Added a second, ingame menu with resume/settings/save & quit as options -The new menu will pause all "actors" (objects with states) -Fixed a bug where the secondary gamepad right input was not mapped

Quasidaily Update - August 13, 2019 -"Defaults" option now works for keyboard and gamepad -Fixed an issue where you couldn't remap some of the secondary keyboard inputs (broke it with the gamepad remapping). -Fixed an issue with the menu arrow being in the wrong place (broke it with the gamepad remapping). -Removed light blue coloring on selected menu items. Judging by other menus, arrow seems to be enough by itself. -When remapping, the current selected control will now blink instead of remaining static. -Made sliders more usable--it wasn't really possible to move them 1% at a time, which was unwieldy and annoying. Now they have a "ramping" speed and are much easier to control.

Quasidaily Update - August 13, 2019, Part II -Toned down the strength of the brightness slider just a bit. -Updated the shaders to affect the GUI as well as the game. This should include the menu as well as the HUD, the dialogue box, and, in TWC, the inventory screen. I kinda like this. We'll see if it bothers people. :D

Quasidaily Update - August 17, 2019 -Fixed an issue with menu sliders not being drawn when the shader is applying to GUI elements. Turns out the built-in line drawing doesn't pass texture information to the shader. At this point I'm not sure how to configure the shader correctly, so I just made the lines into sprites instead lol. -Added title to the top-level menu! Yay! -Fixed game loading so it would load the correct room (both GameMaker room and in-game "area"). -Autosave the game on room entrance. -Autosave the game on getting an item (this way you can't cheese certain rooms). At this point, playing the game, quitting, and coming. back to continue is working REALLY WELL. -No longer save "region" (rooms in the game) objects, since these get created and setup perfectly fine on room creation. -Added SOME SECRETS YAY! -Autosave the game on "teleporting"--going through doors, up/down stairs, etc. -Fixed the "circle out" transition, which was apparently not working or used anywhere. -Changed all "teleportation" to use circle-in/circle-out transitions--a little less visually jarring and much nicer looking than a fade-to-wipe-from-center.

Quasidaily Update - August 19, 2019 -Added tiny pause in the middle of the teleportation transition so that it's a bit less jarring -Simultaneously, allowed toggle to camera easing so that I don't have to add fragile pauses to loading and certain transitions and so on (to wait for the camera to finish moving to catch up with the player loaded position). This fixed a small camera jerk when loading the game. This will eventually be an option on the menu for those that don't like the easing (and also because turning off subpixels makes camera easing REALLY BAD). -Fixed issue with audio groups not loading (by loading them, wow). This is probably temporary since next big task is to add the Wandersong audio engine, but the fix let me actually see my debug messages instead of spamming "Audio Group 2 is not loaded" whenever a sound is played lol. -Fixed bug with loading the game on a teleporter (doors, stairs, etc.) where it would immediately take you to the target location. This had multiple parts, but namely 1) just making sure to set the global "isLoading" flag and to not teleport during that, and 2) setting the "isLoading" flag earlier, since the teleporters were faster than my load manager lol. -Fixed "New Game" issue where it would fade to black, start the game, and then fade to black again. Turns out if you call "fade out" twice, it will fade out twice.

#gamedev #indiedev #devlog #devblog #game development #The Waking Cloak #prequel #ProtoDungeon

42 notes · View notes