#and then hanging out with ren and cleo and pearl at the fortress right before he went red....

[shadeswift99]

To Wait

Characters: Scott Smajor

Words: 1640

*slaps the roof of Scott Smajor* This man’s session 8 can fit so much pain and Boogeyman curse headcanons in it -

Basically my take on what giving in to the Boogeyman curse would look like, rolled together with my headcanons for the physical effects of the curse. Mostly canon compliant, with the minor timeline tweak of him not coming back after he splits off from Ren and Pearl to find Cleo.

Read it on Ao3

Scott had been dead for 8 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes.

Or at least, as good as dead. He was dead the moment the Boogeyman was chosen, really. Yes, Cleo and Pearl had given him potions, and yes, he’d made vague plans to steal a kill from some red name if he got the chance, but as soon as he’d seen the holographic red text pop up in front of him a part of him knew he was doomed. He hadn’t given up then, exactly: he’d accepted the potions and stayed on the lookout for a good chance to use them, but after all this time and all this death...he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t let the curse turn him into another tool for destruction.

And so, for 8 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes, he had lived as a dead man walking.

He’d stayed with the others as long as he could. It was dangerous to go out alone, and he wanted to make sure they stayed safe. After all, it wasn’t like he had much to lose from protecting them, right? Might as well not let his yellow life go to waste. Over the week or so he’d spent roaming with Cleo and Pearl and joking around with the other green and yellow names, it had been easy enough to push the curse to the back of his mind. The adrenaline and heightened senses urged him to be a hunter, but he ignored the itch. This wasn’t his first time around this particular block, and besides, he’d already made his decision. And in return, the rules of the Boogeyman had decided his own fate.

He had been with Ren and Pearl when he knew his time was up. They’d just seen Cleo die in the water below Ren’s fortress, and they were saving her things for when she came back. Ren had cracked some joke about trapping the chest, and Pearl had swatted at him and quipped back that he’d probably set it off himself in the process. Scott was about to join in on the banter, but then...he felt the change.

His heart rate had been higher than usual ever since being picked as the Boogeyman, but suddenly his pulse jumped with a cramp that made him nearly double over in pain. He’d bitten back a gasp and masked the flinch by bending to collect Cleo’s chestplate. Ren and Pearl kept gathering dripping gear out of the water. He didn’t think they’d noticed.

The server had finally given up hope of him actually doing his job, and now it was turning the curse inward against him. He hadn’t known exactly how the world would kill him at the end of this road...but he’d heard his heartbeat loud like a ticking clock in his ears and known that this was it.

End of the line.

He’d made his excuses, thanked Ren for his hospitality, and left. He didn’t know exactly how long he had left, but he knew he didn’t want the others to have to watch him die. He thought he saw Pearl looking at him oddly as he turned to go, but he didn’t look back. He’d been lucky to have that much time with her, honestly. If there was anything worlds like this had taught him, it was that companionship never lasts.

He had come back here, to the ruins of his and Pearl’s old home, because it wasn’t a place anyone else would go. Their house had been blown to smithereens, their bunker had been looted a dozen times over by any and every Red who fancied some new kit, and even his tower had been doused in lava. There was nothing left for anyone to take or trap. He would be left alone here.

Okay, maybe he was here for a little more than privacy. If he was honest with himself, he was really appreciating the comforts of a warm familiar place right now, no matter how ransacked it was.

If he was really honest with himself, he was terrified.

He curled his fingers into the blankets, gripping the edge of the bed where he sat. Where he’d been sitting for the last - he forgot how long. Maybe I should try to get up again. Get some water. He was terribly thirsty. But then again, he was also dizzy and unsteady, and he didn’t want to fall on the way back from his and Pearl’s little storage room. Even though none of this was good by a long shot, a bed was still a better place to die than a cold wooden floor.

But then he’d have to keep sitting here. Waiting.

“Fine,” he mumbled into the silence. “I’ll go and get some water.”

He heaved himself to his feet, leaning a shoulder against the stripped oak pillar at the corner before shuffling on through the storage room. Charred and gutted as it was, he could still see all the little homely things the red names hadn’t bothered to destroy: their bulletin board where he and Pearl had shared tasks, the wilting sporeblossom he’d suggested to add a bit more life to the underground space, the helpful “Do Not Break” note on the block above the skeleton farm. Pearl’s old bed stood bare in the corner - he had already taken her blankets into custody as his own. He cracked a grim smile. If she wanted to complain about it, she could take it up with him after he went red.

Scott glanced up at the crooked mirror above their water source as he knelt to refill his bottle. Smudgy, sunken eyes looked back at him from a flushed and fevered face. He’d told himself it didn’t matter. He’d told himself, time and time again, that there was no use. He had already been dead for 8 days, 23 hours, and 21 minutes: he’d had plenty of time to accept it, hadn’t he?

But dead men didn’t drink water. And dead men didn’t feel fear.

And dead men didn’t look around every corner as they stumbled back to bed, hoping against their own wishes that someone had followed them back to be with them in the end.

He sipped listlessly at the water. He didn’t think he wanted it anymore. Mostly, he just felt ill.

Think of a better time. Wasn’t that what Pearl said, when they were repairing the burned cottage for the umpteenth time all those weeks ago? Think of somewhere you liked to be, so by the time you realize that you’re not there anymore the job will already be done. He set the water on a chest and lowered himself down, groaning as the change in position sent blood rushing to his already-aching head. He closed his eyes and reached for a memory, something with singing and idle jokes tossed back and forth to pass the time.

That was why he was here, really, after all.

He was here because he just couldn’t end that.

Every time he could have, every time his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the turned back in front of him was that of a friend. He just couldn’t put that kind of pain on them. Yes, he would live, but they wouldn’t want to be allies anymore, and even if they did, he wasn’t sure he could stay with them after something like that. That was why he’d been so calm that week, when Pearl and Cleo spent their nights drawing him diagrams and brainstorming ideas for how he could still get a kill. He was calm because he knew that the death the curse demanded had already been caused.

And as tiring as those days had been, as much as he couldn’t deny his fear, he still knew he’d made the right call.

Scott opened his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to keep his thoughts on track. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the many distractions had long since yanked him back out of his happy place. His chest hurt. He huffed in frustration. Maybe I can try the water again.

He clumsily untangled himself from the mess of sweat-soaked sheets, but when he sat up, black spots swam in front of his eyes. The room weaved and dipped around him, and he fell back on his elbows. Suddenly it felt like he couldn’t get a breath - he could hear himself breathing, hyperventilating, but his lungs couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with his racing heart. The wooden walls blurred into a beige smear as he sank onto his back again.

No, wait, not yet, it’s too soon, I still have more time…! Right? I thought I still had time… The curse took 9 days to kill, didn’t it?! it had only been 8 days, 23 hours…23 hours and- and… He turned his pounding head to look at the clock, but it was nothing but a blurry dot of the same yellow he was about to lose.

It didn’t matter. It never mattered. He rolled back over to face the wall, barely having the strength left to curl in on himself as his chest sent shooting pains down his left arm and side. The backs of his eyes ached with pressure, and the rush of blood in his ears drowned out any other sound.

But at least there’s no blood on my hands. He’d known the choice he made. He knew what he was doing. And even now, alone in his agony, he knew he would do it again.

Was that a shadow, on the wall? Hazy and delirious with pain, he rolled and threw a shaking arm out beside him, blindly grasping for a hand he never found.

“Pearl…”

And with a whimper, his heart finally grew still.