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vargaslovinghours · 10 months

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Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

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Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

#💟#Fanfiction #Blank Slate AU #Edgar #Scriabin #Todd #Shmee #He's technically in there but once again no speaking lines :P Yet anyway lol #It's fanfic time again! I fell into yet another writing fugue and finished Chapters 1 and 2 in like four days lol #If you'll notice tho ♪ Neither of those chapters are featured under the cut :3c Pls do read Ch. 1 at least to get caught up before diving in #This one took a bit longer but that'd be because it's Almost as big as both previous chapters combined lol #I'll update it to the chapter list in a few days! Y'all get a preview here :D It'll be the same there with slightly different formatting #Decided to try something new since tumblr doesn't normally allow underlines but it's very important to Scriabin's syntax #I promise they're all just links to the first chapter lol - you're welcome to check but I promise I didn't put a sneaky link anywhere lol #My one gripe is that it doesn't look as good on-blog :/ Fine on the dash! But I'm not willing to sacrifice the dark colouration on the links #Italics were chosen as the only light feature for a reason ♪#I mean at least it's not Bolded lol I'll take it #These were a lot of fun to write so far ahhh <3 I've been wanting to dig a little deeper for a long while now!#I mentioned this idea offhandedly in the tags of Incoming Outgoing but ahhh it's very rewarding to put to words :D #Fun Fun Fun

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solalunar-eclipse · 9 months

Text

(Avocado) Horizon Line

Chapter 1: A Heart of Logic and Empathy

AO3 Link

Summary: Due to an unfortunate accident, Avelyn finds herself injured and stuck in a stranger's house in the middle of nowhere. Eco, meanwhile, is just trying to deal with having another person living in their home. Under other circumstances, neither of them would have guessed that they'd get along so well, but maybe with time, they'll find out that this accident wasn't so unfortunate after all...?

(The world of Deltarune belongs to Toby Fox, Avelyn and Link belong to @pukeseven, and Eco and Click belong to @brightgoat.)

High above the dark sea, a biplane weaves amongst the green light cast by the grid that stretches across the sky. The plane’s pilot steers it through a series of increasingly complex maneuvers, showing off the fact that she is extremely skilled. (She knows it, too.)

However, all the skill in the world isn’t enough to help her when a critical component in the engine, weakened from all of the back to back long-distance flights across the water, stops working entirely.

As the plane begins to lose altitude at dangerously high speeds, the pilot struggles to eject, only to discover that this is one of the systems that has failed her. Left with no other options, she works to maneuver her aircraft into a glide, fighting to bring it closer to the faint lights of the shore in the distance in hopes that someone will see her.

Clinging to the yoke with all her remaining strength, she braces for impact—

…

“NEMMUY…”

“Good night to you too, Flash.”

Eco smiled at the pod of poppups that lived in the channel of water by their house, taking their time to give each one their own special good night. This was one of the few routines of theirs that they maintained with each new pod of poppups that passed through their house, and they liked to think that it made each member of the pod feel special and loved. To be fair, it also helped them to grow up into healthy and friendly advertisement companions, but they’d be lying if they said that was the only reason they did this each and every evening.

They waved at the entire group one last time, before walking away somewhat reluctantly. It was always sad for them to say goodbye to their beloved creatures, even just for a night.

Suddenly, a loud crash resounded nearby, startling some of the younger poppups out of their sleep and making the scientist’s fins shoot up in surprise.

“Really?!” Eco hissed to themselves, their heart racing. “I just got the little ones to settle down!”

They hurried back over to the channel once again. “Flash, Ink, Escape, you three take care of the little ones, alright? Everybody, behave yourselves while I’m gone.” As much as they would have liked to stay and comfort their poppups, they had to make sure that…whatever that was…didn’t pose a threat to anyone.

The ad-creatures were abnormally silent and wide-eyed, clearly frightened by this unexpected occurrence. Eco offered up a small, sharp grin in response. “Hey, don’t worry! I’ve got this under control!” they insisted.

Then, they raced off to go see who or what had dared to disturb their pod. Sand wasn’t generally the best surface to run on, but Eco was used to it enough that even in their high-tops, it hardly slowed them down at all.

Once they saw the smoke rising in the distance, however, their speed only increased, but now fueled by fear instead of frustration. No matter how annoying the noise had been, the scientist could never stand to see anyone get hurt. They’d always been that way for as long as they could remember—it was part of why they were so good at caring for poppups.

As Eco skidded to a stop in front of the wreckage littering their beach (their poor beach!), they offhandedly noted that it resembled a modified amphibious plane, retrofitted for light cargo flights. The scientist didn’t know much about airplanes, but they did at least know that light cargo transports…were still required to have pilots.

And at that very moment, they noticed the one thing that definitely didn’t match the rest of the wreck—a flash of reddish-orange amongst the twisted metal. Quickly making their way over and around the broken remains, they found an unfortunate Addison trapped inside what had most likely once been the pilot’s seat.

With a decent amount of effort on their part, they managed to shift the broken pieces enough to get the Addi free, lifting them up in their arms. The pilot was completely unconscious, but thankfully seemed to have been protected from the brunt of the crash by their cockpit and flight gear. Their ankle did seem to be swelling slightly, though, and Eco knew they’d have to take a look at that once they got back to their house.

Once they were sure that the other was secure, they rushed back the way they’d come, slipping slightly more on the sand now that they carried an extra weight. Careful not to jostle the mysterious pilot, they called for another member of the pod, Tracker, to come and help open the door to their house as they approached.

“What are you even doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” Eco muttered to the unconscious Addison.

Gently laying them down on the sofa, the scientist began to heal what injuries she could, switching to her first aid kit once her magic began to falter. There was only so much she could do, anyhow, given that the pilot had some nasty scrapes plus a twisted ankle. Quite frankly, they’d been extraordinarily lucky as it was.

Once she’d done all she could, Eco ran out quickly to settle her pod down once more before they slept. “Don’t worry, guys!” she reassured them. “It’s all going to be okay. I’ve fixed everything up, I promise.”

They seemed plenty reassured by that, given that one or two had even fallen asleep by the time she’d finished checking on them. For that, at least, she was grateful.

Then, she came back and sat down on the couch next to her unexpected guest, keeping watch over them until they woke up.

She didn’t have to wait long, as it turned out—only half an hour. In a fraction of a second, the pilot jolted from sleep intto full awareness, gasping. Their eyes darted around, and they began to push themselves upright…only to be startled again by the sight of Eco. This time, they glared directly at her, scrambling into an upright position (and wincing as their injuries clearly flared up).

“Hey, take it easy!” Eco cried. “You’re going to hurt yourself all over again!”

The other Addison simply continued to glower. “And why do you care?” they snapped. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me and my plane alone.

Eco sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly. She really didn’t have time for all of this—she had enough on her plate with this pilot’s presence alone, without also having to convince them that she wasn’t the bad guy in this scenario. “Listen, if you want to be like that, could you just go do it to someone else who didn’t save your life? I literally just finished patching you up after you crash-landed on my beach.”

“Crash-landed? I—” The Addison sprang up off the couch. “Oh, god! Airdr—owwww…” They winced, lifting their twisted ankle off the ground.

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” Eco said, giving them a stern look as they sank back down onto the sofa. “You’re going to hurt yourself more if you keep acting like that!”

“Fine…” they muttered.

Eco folded her arms, not ready to let up just yet. “You have sustained severe bruises across your entire body, mild lacerations on your arms and side, and damaged your ankle. I would not recommend doing any kind of strenuous physical activity whatsoever for the near future.”

“Geez, not pulling any punches with that, huh?” the pilot said. They sat there in silence for a moment, but then sighed. “Sorry. I was just rushing home after a massive delivery job, looking forward to resting…and now I wake up in a stranger’s house with a busted ankle and an even more busted plane. Not exactly the way I was hoping to spend my night, but none of that’s your fault.”

The pilot cracked their first smile since waking up—a small one, seeming slightly embarrassed now. “I’m Avelyn, she/her. Nice to meet ya. And, uh, sorry again for snapping earlier.”

“Eco, she/they. You too, and thank you.” the teal Addi replied, feeling some of the tension in the room dissipate.

A moment of mildly uncomfortable silence passed before Eco remembered what hosts were typically supposed to do. “Can I…I don’t know, get you anything?” they asked awkwardly.

“Some water’d be nice. I feel drier than a desert right now.” Avelyn sighed, sinking back into the couch.

Quickly, Eco darted off into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, which the pilot downed in one go. It was only after they’d come back again with a refill that they thought of another question to ask.

“Hey, is the couch comfortable enough for you to sleep on? If not, I have an air mattress…or I could take the air mattress, and you could take the bed…”

“The air mattress oughta be enough for me, thanks.” Avelyn said, smiling again. “Damn, you’re being awfully nice to someone who just smashed up your beach, yelled at you, and basically pushed her way into your house, aren’t ya?”

Eco grinned sheepishly, not having expected a compliment like that. “Oh, really? I’m actually surprised you think so! My friend always says I don’t know the first thing about having people in my house. He’s kind of been giving me tips…in between the sass.” They rolled their eyes, recalling the numerous choice words said friend had had for them over the years. “And the fact that you got hurt wasn’t your fault, after all, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t be decent, you know?”

“Well, maybe because I wasn’t exactly decent to you? But, uh, I appreciate that you’re not takin’ it out on me. And by the way, that guy sounds like a real charmer.” the reddish Addison muttered, rolling her eyes.

“He likes to think he is, but I would personally beg to differ.” Eco elaborated. “He wouldn’t like me saying this, but he’s actually a dork most of the time.”

Avelyn snickered. “You roast all your other friends like this?”

The scientist frowned, genuinely confused. “Other…friends? I mean, I have my pod, but he’s the only Addison I spend time with.”

The pilot’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh geez, I’m sorry!”

“What for?” Eco asked, not bothered in the slightest. “I don’t need that many people in my life—I have him, and now you’re here to stay for a while…honestly, I think that’s about as many Addis as I can handle at a time!”

Avelyn tilted her head. “Well, you don’t need to worry about me, really. I can take care of myself!”

Suddenly, a distinct growling noise came from the general area of her stomach, and she visibly cringed. “That is, if you happen to have a kitchen ‘round here somewhere…”

Eco perked up at the sight of a distinct goal once more. “Indeed I do! Why don’t I make you something and show you around?”

Avelyn made a valiant effort to stand up, but couldn’t rest any weight on her left ankle at all. Eco frowned for a moment, before their fins shot straight up. “I almost forgot! Hang on, wait right there!”

“Not like I can really go anywhere…” the pilot muttered, but Eco had already dashed out of the room.

They rushed up the stairs to their room, dug their old crutch out of the closet, and then raced back into the living room, before pushing the crutch on Avelyn eagerly. “There! Now you should be able to walk just fine.”

“…should I be concerned that you just happen to have this on hand?” she asked, raising one eyebrow warily.

“Oh, not at all!” Eco chirped, already heading towards the doorway they’d previously used. “I just got mauled by a sidebar shark once, had to use that for a week or two until my leg healed up. But now I have a really neat scar, so it was all fine in the end.”

Avelyn just stared for a second, dumbstruck, before following the scientist through the door.

“So, this is my little kitchen-slash-dining room, and over there’s my medbay. It’s mostly for my poppups in case they get hurt or sick, but I’ve used it once or twice myself.” they explained.

“Oh, so you’re a poppup breeder?” Avelyn asked.

Eco grimaced. “I don’t love the term breeder…I’m more of a caretaker, personally. I let them do what they need to do, teach them what they don’t know, give them a safe place to live until they’re needed. That kind of thing.”

The reddish-orange Addi smiled briefly. “That does sound nicer than most breeders I’ve heard of.”

Their wince switched abruptly to a beaming smile. “And I’m proud of it!” they declared, thinking happily on all the poppups they’d helped raise to maturity over the years.

“Oh, right, back to the tour.” Eco continued, gesturing towards the stairs. “I don’t want to make you go up and down those any more than you have to, so just know that up there’s my bedroom and office. I’ll run up and get you the air mattress so you don’t have to climb the stairs every night and morning.”

“Hang on, didn’t you say you had food in this house?” Avelyn interrupted.

“Oh! The food!” Eco slapped a hand to her forehead, eyes wide. “Here, let me see—” she began rummaging around in her cabinets—“would you be…partial to…some soup? I have a can or two of that…”

“Sounds good to me.” Avelyn said.

“Excellent!” Eco cheered, attempting to sit up and promptly knocking her head into the top of the cabinet, given that she hadn’t gotten fully out yet. “Oh, damn…don’t want two of us injured here.” she muttered.

“Are you alright?” Avelyn asked, stifling a giggle.

“Yeah, I just don’t go down there very often.” Eco said, shuffling a few more things around in order to gather up what she needed. “Oof, I really need to organize this place sometime…” she added, mildly embarrassed now that she actually had a relative stranger over and looking at the moderate mess of her house.

As soon as she’d gotten out, she shot upright, putting a pan on her small stove and setting everything up. “Yeah, but soup’s good, actually,” she said, half to herself, “not a lot of work…”

“You talkin’ to me?” the pilot asked, sounding more than a little bewildered.

“Oh! No, sorry, I just talk to myself sometimes.” Eco explained, shrugging. “Comes with the territory when you live out by yourself, you know?”

Avelyn blinked. “You sure you’re not a…mad scientist, by any chance?”

“I…don’t think so.” Eco said, answering the question completely seriously. “Click calls me that as a joke sometimes, but I have too many morals and ethical constraints to be a true mad scientist.”

“…Click? Wait, is your friend from earlier Click?!”

“You know him? How?” Eco exclaimed.

“He and I hang out when I’m in town sometimes—how did you meet him?”

“He heard me talking about Addison code at some conference-type thing and wouldn’t leave me alone until I talked to him about it.” Eco laughed at the memory. “After that, we just…never stopped talking, I guess!”

“Who would’ve thought?” Avelyn muttered, shaking her head. “I guess you’re not such a stranger after all.”

“Soup’s all heated up!” the scientist declared, before replying, “He might come over while you’re here. Or he might not! He’s been pretty busy lately with that new partner of his.”

“Ooh, a partner?” Avelyn asked, sitting down as Eco poured the soup into two bowls. “I haven’t heard about that!”

“He refuses to tell me much of anything over text.” they said, before adding, “But I do know it’s his boss.” They accentuated the last word with a smirk, and Avelyn gasped appropriately.

“No! Link?!” she cried. “I’ve been away for ages on work, I didn’t even know they were into each other! How have I missed this?”

Eco grinned. “I did know Click had the hots for Link—he would not shut up about them the last couple times we talked! It was kind of annoying, but also a little cute, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, they’re definitely going to be super cute together!” Avelyn added, grinning. “Please tell me he at least told you how they got together.”

“Yeah, he did do that. He actually panic-texted me the same night it happened…” the teal Addison began, launching into the story as the two sat down to eat.

They talked for hours, but eventually the two began to grow exhausted, and headed off to set up Avelyn’s bed and then to sleep.

After Eco had gotten her new guest all set up, she turned to leave, but was stopped by the sound of Avelyn’s voice. “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You let a total stranger into your home…bandaged me up, got me food, made me feel welcome…and I haven’t even had the decency to say thank you. I guess I’m not used to this kind of hospitality, but that’s still no excuse. So, thank you. For all of this.”

Eco blushed slightly, equally unused to this level of attention and thoughtfulness. “Oh! Of—of course! I’m happy to help!”

“I appreciate it.” Avelyn replied warmly. “And…I hope you sleep well.”

“You too!” Eco replied, before leaving the room herself to (at last, several hours later than expected) go to sleep.

#deltarune #deltarune addisons #addison oc #econ o addison #avelyn addison #sol's fanfiction #how did it take me until NOW to realize that i don't know avi's middle initial????#wow...anyway #this is my first time writing both of these addis so i hope i did them justice!#also a question for anyone who feels up to responding:#the poppups are going to appear a lot more in the next chapter #do they have gendered pronouns #use they/them #or use it/its?#i have literally no idea what the fandom consensus is here #so any advice would be much appreciated #okay that's all #thanks for reading!!

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