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cyberpchela · 4 months ago

Text

Gift for you

Homicipher One-shot

Wordcount: 2.4k

Tags: MC/Reader thinking about their loss of humanity, panic, overthinking, crying, hurt/comfort (it ends in comfort!), mentions of christmas, Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Silvair and Mr. Gap being sweeties🥺

Notes: Little Homicipher one-shot to get back into writing. I’m so obsessed with this game and these silly creachers🥰 This isn’t christmas themed, but i mention christmas time. I didn’t specify if reader celebrated christmas or not to be more inclusive!!

This is my christmas gift to you all!! While i’ve only written a couple of LaDS fics, people here and on AO3 have been incredibly sweet and encouraging about it. I hope i can find the time to write more soon. This is cross-posted on AO3 as well.

❗️Human language is written normally, and otherworld language is in italics! I thought it would be easiest like this.❗️

Another earthquake, another change of room layouts. With that also comes rubble falling from a place you can’t see. Rocks, dirt, metal, and, as you have come to find out, a lot of items from the world you used to call home.

While the shakes are inconvenient at best, and fatal at worst, you have found yourself looking forward to these small glimpses of your old human life, despite having gotten comfortable in the ‘otherworld’. Even though your brain is scrambled a lot of the time, and your memory getting worse by the day, these mountains of junk bring a bit of clarity into your changing mind.

Most of the items are broken or trapped under huge chunks of debris; half of a rusty bike, smashed chairs, ripped up mattresses, sometimes even things as big as a piano or a car. Even so, once the rumble stops, you always find yourself sorting through the piles - if it is safe to do so, that is. After all, wandering rooms of concrete day after day can be incredibly dull, despite the danger of death that, more often than not, spices things up.

So, once more, you find yourself on your knees, pushing away stone, brushing off dirt, just for that little bit of recognition of your former life.

Mr. Crawling is, of course, sitting by your side, looking curiously at what you’re doing. While he does not recognize any of these objects, your reactions seem just as satisfying to him, especially so when you find something that makes you smile. Whenever that happens, he lights up as well.

“You happy!” Is what he usually says, followed by a: “What this?”

It’s cute how innocent he can be, despite being… whatever he is. These little questions give you the chance to practice his language, as well as learn a couple of new words on occasion. Figuring out how to piece together an explanation with such simple vocabulary is a challenge - one that is more enjoyable than expected, now that you have a grasp on how to use the basics of the language. And, naturally, Mr. Crawling’s adorable reactions make the moment you get things right all the more rewarding.

After searching through a lot of trash, you stumble across a pair of broken roller skates. You pick them up and brush the dust off of them. The colors are faded, and almost all of the wheels are missing, but the way they make you feel is nice all the same. If you tried hard enough, you could imagine what it would be like using them; rolling along the asphalt on a sunny day, having the wind cool down the warmth clinging to your skin, fluffy, white clouds floating through a sea of blue sky… How long has it been since you’ve last seen or felt any of that?

Before you can follow that rather devastating train of thought, the weight of Mr. Crawling’s hands on your shoulders, followed by his chin hooking over your right side, brings you back to the present moment.

“You okay?” He asks, tilting his head a little. His long hair brushes along your dirty raincoat, almost making you regret wearing it. “Sad? Troubled?”

Ah, it seems you got lost in thought, your expression most likely showing as much.

Putting the roller skates back onto the floor, you turn your head to smile at your ghostly companion, patting his head in a familiar gesture of affection.

“Me okay. Not sad.”

After a moment, he smiles at you, wrapping his long arms around you proper. “Happy?”

“Happy.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, nuzzling into your neck and staying there. His hair now finally tickles your skin, and his body, although cold, brings a comfort you’ve come to crave. So you let him be and continue looking through the objects you can reach with Mr. Crawling clinging to you like a koala.

After a couple more minutes, your hand brushes along something soft and fluffy. With a small hum, you grab the fabric, holding it up. Even with all the dirt covering it, and the colors muddied, you know what it is by shape alone.

A Christmas hat.

…

Is it that time of the year already?

…

How long have you been here anyway?

With no sky and sun to tell the time, and definitely no working clocks, there is no way for you to know what day it is or how much time has passed. It could’ve been weeks, it could’ve been months. It stopped mattering after a while, but faced with such clear evidence of the changing seasons, something inside your chest feels heavy.

Christmas… did you ever celebrate it? You can’t remember. Instead of bringing you comforting apathy, that fact makes your heart ache. Did you ever put up Christmas lights? Set up and decorate a tree? Did you have family to celebrate with, family that might be missing you right now?

Or were you alone? Uncaring of these traditions and festivities for whatever reason?

…

Your hold around the hat tightens unconsciously.

Does it matter if you celebrated the holiday? You can’t remember anyway, so there is no use thinking about it. It’s not like it is a thing in this world anyway, so why get hung up on it?

And yet, the heavy feeling does not leave you, no, it seems to grow the more you stare at the tattered wool in your hand. But why? You’ve come to terms with the slow loss of your humanity, did you not? You’ve accepted the fact that you won’t leave, or rather, can’t leave. So why? Why now?

Each beat of your heart feels like a stab, dull, yet painful, as if it yearns and grieves for memories and experiences of a former life lost.

The hat shakes. Or is it your hand? You’re not sure. For some reason, everything feels numb, far away, as if you’re not quite there, your body stuck kneeling on the ground while your mind is miles away.

“Sad?” Comes a voice by your ear, muffled, but a clear contrast to the white noise of your thoughts. “Hurt?”

Slowly, mechanically, your head turns, gaze forced away from the trigger of unwanted pain, to look at Mr. Crawling’s covered eyes. The usual smile on his face is missing, replaced by a frown. “What wrong? Hurt?”

Hurt… are you? In a way, you suppose so. But Mr. Crawling wouldn’t understand.

You lick your lips, barely feeling the sensation, trying to find your voice again.

“No…” Your voice sounds so unfamiliar, suddenly, so small. “…troubled.”

Mr. Crawling tilts his head, clearly not knowing what’s going on.

“Why troubled?”

You hesitate to answer. How could you? How could you explain the concept of human holidays and celebrations to him, much less one that involves so many traditions and customs you don’t have the ability to talk about? Words for these things probably don’t even exist in this language.

The realization of how far removed you really are from what used to be your life hits you like the debris that fell from the ceiling earlier.

Everything is different now. And you don’t even know why. You were dropped into this world with nothing but the clothes on your back, and now, you don't even have those anymore. Your hair and eyes have changed color, your skin has turned patchy and sickly, and your memories are fading fast. Soon, you’ll be left with no evidence of the person you used to be.

…

Are you even that person still?

…

A soft, muted pressure against your cheek makes you jump, head whipping back to the source of it. You find Mr. Crawling’s gaze on you, his hand in the air, one finger uncurled. Did he… poke your cheek to get your attention?

Tension you didn’t know you were holding leaves your shoulders, and you slump a bit. You hadn’t realized how much your breathing had picked up either.

His hand moves, fingers brushing against your cheek in a somewhat clumsy manner.

“You crying. Sad.”

Crying?

Your own hand comes up to your face, feeling the slight wetness on your skin. When did you start crying? And shaking?

“Me not want you sad. Me help you.”

You blink a couple of times, sniffling, before taking a shuddering breath. Your eyes soften at the worry in his face, despite not being able to see his own eyes. He really is sweet, isn’t he? Wanting to help even though he has no idea why you’re sad. A sense of gratitude fills you, gently pushing away the sorrow that clouds your brain.

He turns his head, and you follow his line of sight, looking back at the Christmas hat.

“This fabric make you sad? Make you troubled?”

You let out a breath.

“Yes….”

While he does not understand the word, he can hear the confirmation behind it.

His long arm reaches out, hand grasping the hat, and gently taking it from your grip. He looks at it for a moment, before throwing it across the room.

Your eyes widen at the unexpected action, watching the hat fly off, before slowly turning back to his face, too stunned to say anything.

“Fabric bad.” He says, slight anger in his voice. “Fabric disappear.”

Huh…

You can’t help but smile a little. The uncharacteristic behavior has snapped you right back into the present moment. Although maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, Mr. Crawling has always been the one protecting you, after all.

Seeing your expression change, his does as well, looking almost hopeful.

“Me help. You happy?”

In moments like these, his puppy-like behavior and the forced simplicity of his words is incredibly endearing.

“Happy.” You say, petting his head softly. “Thank you.”

His face brightens immediately, wide, familiar smile back on his face where it belongs.

“Happy! Happy! Happy!”

He hugs you tightly, bringing your head to his chest. You huff out a laugh and hug him back, feeling him rock you both back and forth. You stay like this for a while longer until deciding to continue walking, leaving the room behind without looking back.

After finding the room you call your own again, and taking a short nap, you feel much better. A little emptiness lingers, but it is manageable.

You sit up in bed, looking around the room. Mr. Crawling isn’t on the bed with you. Or the other bed. Or by the door. Strange. Where did he go? He prefers to stay by your side, usually greeting you happily once you wake.

Still, there is no need to worry yet, since he probably isn’t far. He never is. Maybe he is in the next room, chatting with Mr. Chopped and Mr. Silvair? That seems to be the most likely answer. So, you stand and pad your way over there, hoping to shake away the coldness inside your chest with friendly company.

You push open the creaking door, finding your three friends gathered around the table. Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped immediately greet you, while Mr. Silvair simply smiles.

Greeting them back, your eyes move down to the table, finding a bunch of stuff on it. With a curious tilt of your head, you approach. On top of the worn wood lie several broken items, some of which you can’t even recognize. Two of those things catch your attention though.

The roller skates from earlier.

Your brows furrow, looking back up to your companions.

“What this?”

Mr. Chopped, being the excitable little head he is, speaks up.

“Human objects!” He smiles brightly. “You like human objects! We bring, make you happy!”

…

Oh.

They went out of their way to bring you stuff from the rubble? To… cheer you up?

You look to Mr. Crawling. Did he tell them what happened? He must’ve. It’s a bit embarrassing, to be honest, but knowing how worried he truly was makes you feel warm. Mr. Chopped and Mr. Silvair, too, care much more than you realized, it seems.

“You like? Happy?”, asks the cute head. Even now, he is worried if they did good.

You smile.

“Yes. Happy.”

The things they brought you are essentially just trash, but the gesture alone is enough to make any lingering bad feelings and thoughts vanish, replaced by a sort of love you haven’t felt in a long while.

“Thankful. Thank you.”, you say softly, voice thick with emotions, catching each of their gazes. Just like you, they all seem elated at having succeeded in making you happy.

“You happy! Yay!”, comes from Mr. Chopped.

“Happy! Happy!”, exclaims Mr. Crawling.

Mr. Silvair, who has been quiet so far, finally speaks as well. “You sad, we help. Make you happy.”

It sounds almost like a promise, to be by your side and cheer you up when things get tough. The thought makes you want to cry, but you hold back, not wanting to make them worry again. Who knew these creatures would come to care for you that much? And get you to care for them in return?

Before you can thank them again, a knocking noise catches your attention. You look at the wall behind you, finding the hole in the wall that Mr. Silvair once taped close open again, and Mr. Gap’s face right inside it.

“Mr. Gap!”

While Mr. Silvair gets up with a huff, intent to retrieve the tape once more, you make your way over to the hole.

“Hello”, he says, unnerving smile on his face, his eyes trained on you. “Want heart. You give heart?”

You huff out a laugh. Typical Mr. Gap.

“No give”, you answer simply.

His face turns into disappointment, as it does every time you deny him. “Boring.”

Another moment passes, and he smiles again. His hand reaches out and drops something on the ground before you. Looking down, you find a slightly ripped up bag.

“Me give fabric. You thankful. Give heart other time.” He makes a sort of amused noise. “Goodbye.”

With that, he disappears into the dark, leaving you confused, and Mr. Silvair taping up the hole, unimpressed.

You pick up the bag Mr. Gap left you, finding it still usable with a bit of patching up. Why would he just give it to you like that? He never does anything without getting something in return, be that a part of your body or something else. That’s how your relationship with him was, right?

…

Did he… see you crying amongst the rubble earlier?

…

Did he also want to cheer you up, just like your other friends did?

…

Again, a smile graces your face as your fingers run along the slightly scratchy texture of the bag. You have a feeling he won’t actually make you give your heart in return for the bag next time.

#this is so cute omfg

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