Or. The Among Us au.
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Now, Cellbit thinks that there may be a problem when he wakes up one Tuesday morning to find tentacles bubbling out of his mouth. Because he’s reformed, see. He went to prison. He went to therapy. He did his time. He’s better now, and so, really, he should be human. He’s gotten very good at it.
But it’s also the morning after his arrival on the ISS Quesadilla, himself being one of five new crewmates sent by the Federation to explore the galaxy and look for… something. He doesn’t know what, exactly; he doesn’t have high enough clearance yet, and he never will if he doesn’t get his fucking tentacles-
On the bunk across from him, Mike groans and throws a lumpy pillow at him.
“Stop being an alien, God,” he groans. “Go back to sleep, our shift doesn’t start for another three hours.”
And, well. Cellbit can’t argue with that logic. He’s probably just nervous, that’s all. He’ll be back to looking like a human when he’s calmed down some.
Cellbit closes his eyes, lets out a long, artificial breath (aliens don’t need to breathe, after all), and he lets himself relax. It’ll be fine.
-
It isn’t fine. It’s five hours later and his tentacles are gone but his teeth have sharpened into four rows of fangs and it’s very hard to talk. Luckily, his helmet is covering up most of the nasty stuff. Luckily, almost everyone on his shift already knows he’s a secret alien except for Forever, and Forever seems smart enough not to snitch if he knows what’s good for him.
The problem is that Cellbit knows why he’s suddenly devolving. He knows exactly what’s going on, and he really doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because he was alone in the universe two days ago, and now his internal biology is registering the presence of another alien somewhere on the ship, and it’s horrifying.
Cellbit can’t concentrate like this. He keeps biting his lips when he tries to communicate with his team. The wires in the electrical panels aren’t making any sense all of a sudden. His hands are shaking too badly for him to be able to swipe his I.D. card. He explains it to his Federation supervisor as space sickness and Pac and Mike back him up, and he assures Cucurucho that he’ll be in working condition by the end of the week, he promises!
But then it’s lunch, and Cellbit is eating alone in his and Pac and Mike and Forever’s cabin because his mouth is a biological garbage disposal.
This sucks.
Cellbit picks at his food, unable to even digest it in the state he’s in. Aliens, unlike humans, can’t eat vegetables. They eat flesh. Any kind, but Cellbit grew up eating human flesh. But that was then, and this is now, and, now, Cellbit is looking at a tray of frozen space vegetables and he thinks he’s going to be sick.
Knock-knock!
Cellbit’s first, instinctual response is a hiss as he flinches. His jaw splits in half down the middle, fangs bared, but then he remembers, wait, humans don’t fucking do that.
So he forces his jaw shut with his hands and pulls on his helmet. Just in case.
“Hello?” he calls.
“Hola?” is what he gets in response, and his stomach clenches because this is a very human-sounding human. “You are Cellbit, right?”
Cellbit ponders. Then, “Yes. Why?”
“Okay, yes! So Cucurucho sent me to bring you to medical-”
Oh, God. A scan is the last thing that Cellbit needs right now.
So Cellbit immediately interjects. “No, no! I’m fine! I told them I’m fine!”
“Oh, you’re fine,” the human sarcastically says. “You’re wearing a helmet, culero, I can hear it from out here. Come on, man, the faster you do this, the faster it is over with.”
Well. He does have a point. Besides, Cellbit has fudged his way through plenty of scans before. This one will just be a little more difficult, that’s all.
Cellbit puts his lunch aside and he opens the door and he stops pretending to breathe. The other crewmate is also wearing a helmet, but, through it, Cellbit can see the most beautiful eyes in the galaxy.
Said eyes crinkle up in a smile as Cellbit steps outside into the hallway and closes the door behind him. The helmet’s visor only allows access to the eyes, but Cellbit has a feeling that this man’s face is just as captivating.
“Great!” the human cheerily says. “You don’t look dead, at least!”
He laughs, and Cellbit finds himself laughing along with him. It’s catchy. This is fine.
“Come on, you’re new, right?” the human asks. He turns around and starts down the hallway to the left towards… medical? “I’ll show you the way.”
Cellbit swallows a tentacly lump in his throat and follows, two exact steps behind.
“It’s always good to get new people,” the human says. “We lose a lot of crewmates.”
“I’ve heard,” Cellbit politely says. He bites his lip again and winces. Attempt seventeen of trying to will his teeth into their human forms, go!
It’s true, though. The Quesadilla goes through more crew members than any other ship in the Federation’s fleet. It’s probably why nobody in Cellbit’s group had actually been interviewed before they were hired. Amateurs…
“It’s crazy, man. They’re dropping like flies!” the human exclaims, hands gesturing wildly.
He turns his head back to look at Cellbit, crinkled eyes glittering.
“Good luck,” he says.
Cellbit smiles back. Thank goodness for his helmet, because he can feel his jaw begin to split apart again.
“Thank you,” he weakly says. At least his vocal cords are working… and at least he doesn’t actually need his mouth to speak. “Maybe we’ll even get to work together in the future.”
He hopes so. He hopes that he can find this other alien and try to work with them to get themselves (because he knows that the other alien has to be having the same problem as him right now) together. Then Cellbit can actually do his job, and then he might even get a promotion. One step closer to his goals, and one step closer to-
The human clicks his tongue. “Now, now, don’t you know who you’re talking to?”
He taps at a badge on his chest with a gloved finger.
“‘Roier’,” Cellbit reads.
“Uh-huh. I’m Cucurucho’s favorite.”
“I didn’t know that they could have favorites.”
The human- Roier- sniffs haughtily. “Yes, and I am one.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t ever work together,” Cellbit says.
He dares step closer until he and Roier are next to each other. They’re about the same height, he notices, though he can tell even through the bulky spacesuit that Roier is far more built than Cellbit has been since he was a teenager.
“I don’t know,” Roier replies, shrugging. “Maybe. Who knows? Cucurucho is picky, you know?”
Cellbit remembers the disdainful look send in his direction when he had failed his first card swipe. Yeah, he knows.
The conversation slows to a comfortable silence, mostly because Cellbit is tired of almost biting his own face off.
And then they’re at Medical.
Cellbit pauses outside the door. Roier rolls his eyes and yanks him in, announcing their presence with a loud, “Ay, Missa!”
The medical staff on shift, a tall human in a black spacesuit with his helmet off, screeches and tumbles out of his chair.
Cellbit bites back a laugh. Roier doesn’t bother even trying to stay professional. He even walks over to Missa’s crumpled form and kicks him lightly in the side.
“Roier…” Missa complains.
“Do your job, pendejo, Cucurucho sent us.”
At the mention of Cucurucho, Missa scrambles to his feet, pale. He picks up a clipboard off of his desk and moves to close and lock the door.
Cellbit shuffles awkwardly to the side. Okay, deep breaths…
“Space sickness,” Roier explains.
“But I’m fine, really,” Cellbit tries.
Missa shuts him down with a firm shake of the head.
“Strip,” he says.
And then he flushes a bright red and stammers, “I- I mean your suit! You can hang it in a locker!”
Clearly embarrassed, he points toward a line of lockers against the far wall.
Cellbit gulps. But he… strips, gloves first and then his suit. Last, his helmet, which really should’ve been done first, but…
Luckily, his face is mostly under control again. He doesn’t feel too inhuman as he adjusts his hair in the reflection of a nearby data screen. He may be about to receive a death sentence, but he can at least look good doing it.
He turns around and faces the scanner, blushing just ever so slightly as he hears Roier gasp to himself. If he was human, he wouldn’t have heard it, it’s so quiet. And so, since he’s supposed to be human, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Just step on up, and we’ll get you done,” Missa says. He smiles, trying.
Cellbit offers a closed-mouth smile back, not trusting himself to show teeth.
He steps onto the scanner and closes his eyes, desperately hoping that it comes up as human as the ones back on Earth did-
“Oh, shit,” he hears Missa say. “It isn’t- oh, shit!”
Of course.
“What is it?” Roier demands. “Tell me!”
“I need to call Cucurucho, Roier, call Cucuruch-”
He coughs and slumps to the floor and slides off of Cellbit’s sharpened tentacle before Cellbit even realizes that he had transformed.
Oh, fuck.
Panicked, Cellbit recalls his tentacle and flinches at the taste of blood, delicious and disgustingly familiar, and his eyes open instinctively but he can’t see, it’s all just a blur, and he backs off of the scanner and-
“Hey! Cellbit! It’s fine, okay?” he hears Roier say. His voice is distant, like a dream. But Cellbit latches onto it, anyway.
Two heavy hands settle on his shoulders. Cellbit hisses, eyes narrowing and jaw splitting and fangs emerging, but then-
“Calma,” Roier gently says. “Hold on. Let me show you something.”
Cellbit can’t move. Roier is letting go of him and reaching for his own helmet, still unremoved. And then he removes it, and Cellbit is so shocked that he can’t keep his tentacles from falling out of his mouth again.
Roier is beautiful. High cheekbones, freckles, smiling eyes, soft hair, and fangs the size of toothpicks forcing his mouth ajar.
“See?” Roier asks, and that’s when Cellbit realizes that he isn’t talking in any human language anymore. This is their language, one Cellbit thought he was the last living speaker of. “It’s fine, okay?”
He smiles, and it’s terrifying in its beauty.
Cellbit manages to suck his tentacles back up, and then he smiles back.
“I thought I was alone,” he says.
“How do you think I felt, huh? What are you doing here!”
Roier lightly punches Cellbit’s shoulder.
There aren’t any security cameras in the Quesadilla, Cellbit had made sure if that before signing up for the trip. And if he can’t trust another alien, then what’s the point of this biological homing device? Aliens stick together, that’s how it always has been. Well. Had. (It’s a little hard to stick together when you’re all dead.)
So he doesn’t hesitate at all before saying, “My best friend is on board this ship. He was kidnapped.”
Roier’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit! Is he-”
“He’s human.”
“Oh.”
It’s just the two of them.
“Okay,” Roier says. “So now there’s two of us.”
“Yes. And it’s a little inconvenient having to deal with the, uh…”
Cellbit glances towards Roier’s fangs. Are they sharper than his? God.
Roier shrugs. “Eh, it’ll be fine. We just keep our helmets on until our bodies decide to calm down.”
Well, he isn’t at all concerned. He should be. He absolutely should be. But… there have been a lot of disappearances on the ship.
Roier, it seems, is very good at playing human.
Cellbit lets out an excited, nervous breath. He glances at Missa’s corpse, surprise and fear still written on his face.
“We need to report this,” Cellbit says.
Roier raises an eyebrow. “Por qué? Why? He is dead.”
“Yes, and it’ll look worse if we don’t tell anyone.”
This, Cellbit is more than used to. He may be reformed, but he had a very long time to hone his craft.
Slowly calming down, Cellbit goes to start pulling his suit back on. He even manages to get his fangs to shift. Okay.
“Okay,” Roier agrees. “If anybody asks, we were coming in here for sex.”
Cellbit’s face splits open in shock.
Roier cackles, and Cellbit can only wonder if this is truly what fate has brought to him.
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