Dungeons & Drabbles 2023
Day 7 - Disappear
(Warning in advance that this one gets kinda angsty~)
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FCG Centric Angst + FCG & Ashton
What… What had happened?
One moment, Fresh Cut Grass had been beside their friends, fighting Ludinus and kicking his sorry ass! The next, there had been a flash, a pain that felt beyond the realms of all comprehension, and then… then silence. Darkness.
And now this.
There was a blurry sight before him. His friends? Yeah! His friends! And they were seemingly rejoicing? Had they won? Was this all finally over?
Fresh Cut Grass couldn't help but give a hollar of joy, wheeling over to join the rest of the Hells. They were battered, bleeding and bruised, but the smiles they held were unmistakable. There was a joy there that couldn't be touched, a laughter that rang joyously through the smoldering battlefield.
“We did it! I can't believe we actually fuckin’ DID IT!” Ashton damn near shouted, pumping a fist into the air as Fearne threw her arms around him as she dissolved into relieved, almost euphoric laughter.
“And we all made it through!”
“Not a heartbeat lost!” Imogen added, playfully ribbing Laudna in the side, who simply beamed down at her girlfriend, pulling her in for a breathtaking kiss.
“We were impeccably lucky, my dear~ Imagine if that blast had hit anyone else but them?”
Fresh Cut Grass paused in their excited rocking at that comment, a dash of hurt smacking them over the head, in what had otherwise been a sea of celebration.
“That blast still hurt real bad!” They interjected, huffing just a tad. And yet… there was no response. Heck, no one even so much as looked his way! Why… why were they ignoring him? Had he done something wrong?
“That would have been a grim tragedy,” Orym said, with a deeply heavy sigh. “I don't know if I could have taken another loved one dying…”
“Buck up, soldier boy!” Chetney barked out with a grin, his words punctuated by a playful smack upside Orym’s head. “We only lost the pile of scrap metal. Nothing important. That was some bitchin’ luck we had going for us! Figured all our asses would be ash by now!”
What… What were they saying?
This had to be some kind of cruel joke, right? Yeah! That’s right! This was a joke! It wasn't a funny one by any stretch of the imagination, and Fresh Cut Grass hadn't felt so- so hurt like this since… Dancer. B-But hey! Maybe it was the stress of the fight messing with their judgment and humor? Wasn't dark humor a typical coping strategy for heart beat folk?
“Al- Alright, you guys have had your fun! This joke ain’t funny though. That blast really did hurt and so did your words!”
“Fuuuck…” Ashton muttered, a look of realization flashing before their eyes. At that, Fresh Cut Grass felt their core calm down, only realizing now just what an awful buzzing mess it had been. This whole things must have really been stressin’ them out!
“I just realized… I’ll never have to hear them harpin’ on about that fuckin’ Changebringer and her bitch ass brigade of gods ever again! Thank FUCK!"
Ice.
Everything suddenly felt as cold as ice.
They… They hadn't even known they could feel cold until right this very second.
“Ughhhh! That was always so annoying!” Fearne whined, her eyes rolling dramatically as she dropped a hand upon her popped hip. “I was always real tempted to melt his yappy little head, along with that stupid coin of his!”
“I really should have finished the job when they first snapped and tried to murder us all…”
“I should have let ya, Laud. Sorry I stopped you…”
“It’s alright, Imogen~ What’s done is done, hm~? And he’s rather dead now, so what does it matter?”
“At least that pompous fuck was good for something!”
“Despite all the deaths and suffering he caused… I have to agree,” Orym responded, sheathing his blood slicked sword. “Of all the lives he snuffed out… I’m glad that Fresh Cut Grass was one of them. He died with at least one good deed to his soul.”
Was it possible for aeormatons to feel sick?
It absolutely shouldn't have been, and yet… yet sick was what they felt. A deep, twisting nausea they’d only ever heard about swirled through them, leaving their hands quivering and something… thick and slick trailing down his face plate.
Tears?
No, they couldn't be tears. He couldn't cry.
… Right?
There was nothing to be made sense of right now though.
Not as their friends laughed, so bright and free in their cruelty, in their relief at his…
His death.
Was he really dead?
A flick of a hand, so unsure and unsteady, sliding right through Ashton’s rumbling chest, was all the confirmation they needed.
Dead.
They were dead.
They were dead and everyone was glad.
And here he was, left to watch his friends gleefully express their joy, to state just how <b>happy</b> they were that they’d never once have to see him again.
And all FCG could do was watch.
Was… Was this what true despair tasted like?
The bitterness sunk deep into their soul, seeping into the cracks as it ever so slowly shattered.
Deeper and deeper, into the darkness they sank, wishing for nothing more than for themself to vanish, to disappear permanently.
Then, a hand, firm and heavy.
Shaking.
A shout, desperate and concerned,
Light.
Ashton's deeply worried face crept into focus, their hand gripped tight upon his shoulder from where he’d been shaking them.
“Thank fuck…” he whispered, a heavy breath falling from their lips as Ashton pulled Fresh Cut Grass in for a rare and wonderfully crushing hug. “You started whimpering and wincing in your sleep, then there was oil leakin’ from your lenses and you started crying out and… and you wouldn't wake up, Letters. Scared the shit outta me.”
“A-Ashton?” Fresh Cut Grass croaked on out, their whole chassis quivering every bit as much as it had been… before. What had just happened? Wasn't he dead? Why could he touch Ashton now and why did they seem so worried about them?
“I’m here, Grass. I’m here…”
“I- I don't… I don't un- understand…”
“Pretty sure you were havin’ a nightmare, buddy. A real shit one, from how you were reacting. I don't know what you saw in there, but whatever it was, it was bullshit, okay?”
Was it though? It… It had all felt so real.
“You don't… don't…” Fresh Cut Grass tried to get out, failing over and over as sobs wracked through them, staining Ashton’s chest with their dark, oily tears. “You don't hate me, r-right? Don't wa- want me dead, d-do ya?”
Ashton’s arms tightened around them, so firm and heavy that Fresh Cut Grass couldn't help but sink into the embrace.
It felt so… safe. Welcoming.
Like he was home.
“Never. You could stab me in the fuckin’ head and I still wouldn't hate you. You could cut my whole damn arm off and you’d still be stuck with me! Not that you ever would on purpose,” Ashton quickly assured them, not wanting to send their very best friend spiraling. Especially right now. They seemed so frightened, so genuinely hurt and distraught.
It was fucking heartbreaking.
“You’re crew, Letters. You know what that means? It means that I’ll fuckin’ OBLITERATE this shitty ass world before I’ll ever let it harm ya, you hear me? The only reason I’d ever want ya dead is if this world gets too fucked up to live on, and that's only cause it’d be crueler to let anyone live then. You… You’re important, Fresh Cut Grass. You're important to me.”
Metallic arms threw themselves around Ashton, clinging to him for dear life as Fresh Cut Grass’ sobs grew louder, shaking violently in safety of the earth Genasi’s embrace,
“... Fuck it. I hope you’re listening, cause I’m only saying this shit once, okay?” Ashton muttered against the cerulean blue wires that mimicked hair on their robotic friend. “... I love you. A fuck ton. I dunno what dream me said, but whatever that fucker spat out, I’m sorry as hell for it. I’d punch that assfuck if I could, you know I would! I… I just hope you can believe the shit I’m sayin’ now.”
For a good few minutes, that confession hung in the air, only sobs and cries filling the cool night air of their inn room. Yet as the time passed, so too did that nightmare, it’s ghoulish whisperings melting away into the candlelit room, leaving only the sounds of their core whirling and Ashton’s steady breaths above him.
“... I- I love you too, Ashton…” Fresh Cut Grass hoarsely whispered, as the final oily tear fell from their face plate, dripping to the now stained floor below. “I- Thank ya… Thank ya so dang much…”
“Don't mention it, Grass. Shit’s what you do for your crew.”
A flash of a grin, warm and wide and so familiarly rough.
It warmed him, right down to their soul.
And as Ashton ushered them over to the side of his bed, making sure they were right by their side as he laid down to sleep once more, their hands gripped tightly together, even as they slipped back into slumber's sweet embrace…
Fresh Cut Grass thought that, perhaps, love really was something they truly understood.
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