#man got home took out his dreads and promptly fuckin immediately fell asleep face down on the floor and hasnt had a moment to retwist em

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

sometimes u just get so filled w thoughts about a pair of characters u gotta just go bonkers ya know

[thesarcasticside]

Anything-$00000DE0—STEVE_THE_STOVE

NAME ETHAN ID 39 38 39 22 ALIENRACE human OCCUPATION Digital Entertainer

Chapter Warnings guns, swearing, 'blacking out', cybernetics, (minor spoilers ahead) injury to ear (mainly external, mentioned once), blood, short flashback of car crash, exhaustion, over-exertion (And feeling like wanting to die/for it to end because of it) Chapter Characters Steve the Stove, Joan

AO3 Chapter 1 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Steve woke up to freezing metal pressing into his eye socket like a cold-pack trying to give him a black eye. It took a second to figure out it was a gun.

Click click click. Cranking up the temperature like it was a dial, his arms pushed the sharpshooter away from him, flames trailing the smoke and the bullet flying past his ear.

He stumbled back, his head exploding and his ears ringing.

Steve was in the middle of something, looking around, but he had no idea what that something was.

Heart pounding, Steve twisted his body around, running away from his attacker. Shadows filled the space as flames drifted up his arms like the crimson curtains hanging from a nearby window. He saw a glance of moonlight, stars flickering beyond the glass. Steve swerved his body, and with all the force his legs could push, he broke through the glass headfirst.

The pain of the shards digging into the nonmetallic parts of his body distracted him from the pounding in his head. He rolled through pebbles, dirt, and glass on the ground before bouncing on his heels and booking it.

Steve had blacked out again. What the fuck.

That mantra was all he could think of as he was chased into the night.

The footsteps behind him were accompanied by the shots of guns and lasers. Guns and lasers. His legs and chest were burning, inside and out. Steve could feel the supports in his calves and thighs burn and strain. His muscles hissed at him as even his enhanced lungs were screaming and choking him.

Steve focused on the pavement. At least he had shoes on this time. He stomped on more broken glass. He heard a shrill or a whirl, and he glanced backwards. He saw other figures colliding with the ones that were chasing him. His shoulders slumped, a rush of cool water bathing his mind. A second longer he stared, his feet swinging back and forth, propelling him in space. The cool water fell into his stomach, trailing over his spine, and curdled.

Steve turned away, again; all he could do was run.

It’s just a nice jog. A nice, nighttime jog. Great. I’m getting exercise. My doctors would be SO proud.

What a load of bull, but at least he still had his optimism.

Steve’s mind wandered, running away from his body; he thought back to his moms, them all sitting together on the couch, “Almost There” playing on the low-resolution holographic screen hunched in the corner of their living room, sweat sticking him to the leather couch as he huddled between his parents. Not quite getting but understanding; that moment he decided who his favorite Disney princess was; and now not only was his lungs stabbing the shit out of him, but his heart was hurting as well. Grief filled his throat.

Steve heard a voice telling him to stop. Reaching up to his ear, he felt for the bug that was whispering him deals from the devil and tore it off. He had pierced his ears once when he was a kid and promptly got them stuck on something, the piercing tugging and jabbing his skin. This was like that, but worse, obviously, like cranked up to a 10.

Steve briefly looked at the bug in his bloodied hands as he ran. Eventually, the sun started to rise and the voices shouting at him to stop faded. He watched the old decrepit buildings converge into roads and wild grasses.

Steve coughed for air. His entire body begged him to slow, to settle down, to lay on the road and wait for something to run him over. And he almost did, slowing to a walk, when the sudden dread of “why haven’t they caught me yet?” settled in and he picked up the pace once more.

He got the feeling that if he stopped moving, after a while, they would be able to track him down easy, and then take him back to the Restaurant. And as if Steve blacked out once more, a car whizzed past him; he felt as if his entire torso was crumpled into a ball because that was close and why didn’t I see that fucking car?

As he ran, he could feel the acceleration press into his chest, and he felt again that feeling of ‘your stomach tickling your throat;’ the unstoppable helplessness that held him tightly like the leather of the front seat of a car, sending him through the air and slamming him into the steering wheel. He had had to clench his hands into fists and stab his fingernails into his palms to remind himself that he was not in a fucking car.

Coughing, his mind started to fizzle, like ants on tv, and his legs began to dance, stumbling a clumsy tango. His mind blanked like he was fast asleep. He kept moving, no longer running, until in the distance he saw a figure just waiting for him to catch up.

He was like a swarm of bees in a coat, his body uncoordinated, hovering in the air, swerving forward as he traced a sinusoid on his path. Each time his foot pounded into the ground, his body was heavier and lighter, wind catching on his cheeks. He lifted his fist, and like a ship entering the atmosphere, he launched his arm directly at the figure, who was just standing there, waiting for him.

They caught it.

They held his fist in their palm. They grit their teeth, the heat of the burn forming on their hand alarming. A couple sparks escaped from their arm, but otherwise, their arm was completely intact, holding Steve’s hand almost effortlessly.

“fuckin shit man, is this how you greet your friends?”

Steve pushed on, willing his fist to push through the force holding it back. He took in a deep breath, staring into the human’s—human’s? were they human?—dark eyes casually looking back at him. Steve blinked, his mind floating around, attempting to connect dots. He glanced at the orange beanie covering their head and the hoodie—now partially burnt—covering their form. Steve stepped back, expecting to have to yank his hand free, but stumbled backwards as the human let him go.

Steve’s chest caved in, and his throat filled with pebbles. This human just… took that punch like it was nothing. His ribs squeezed his sides and the muscles in his limbs began to shake. He could barely breathe, let alone fight them.

He waited. He watched the human’s face, waiting for their blank expression to change, their mouth to form words, for them to reach into their belt and tranquilize him or cuff him. He waited. Instead, they tilted their head and smiled softly.

Steve could barely breathe, but he yelled at them anyway.

“Well, aren’t you here to take me back to the Restaurant? Come on, get on with it!” As he said that, he felt hate burn up his lungs and turn the pebbles in his throat into coals. His eyelids twitched. He briefly wondered how long he had been running, how far, how many days, and hated that after all that he would just give up right here, but he was so tired.

“I’m not with the Restaurant, and I am not here to take you away if you don’t want to. I work for someone else. I am here to help you out of this mess.”

“A little late, I would say,” Steve twirled a flame around his fist. His slumped posture almost looked relaxed, when really, he just could not be bothered. Steve looked at this human again, looking for anything unusual, or out of the ordinary, but all they looked like was just… that. Were they even human?

“Hey, uh, are you… human?” he asked, which was normally a rude question to ask someone.

“Yeah, I am,” they flexed their palm, and Steve could slightly hear in the middle-of-nowhere silence a slight whirling, or buzzing, or creaking, that made Steve immediately think they’re either lying or a disillusioned cyborg. “Are you?”

“No, not anymore.” Steve took a step back once again. “Who are—”

“I’m Joan. I am one of the directors of ACCRAM. Our mission is to improve the lives of artificial beings and fight on their behalf when they are taken advantage of. I came down here personally because I figured… your case was going to be a bit hot to handle. It seems you got the ‘get out of that hell hole’ part covered. Now we just need to get you out of… the middle of nowhere”

Steve hadn’t heard of ACCRAM before. He could not help but squint, cross his arms, and open his mouth to decline whatever offer this “Joan” person was going to give.

And then he felt rumbling from behind him and a voice squeaking out of his new “friend’s” head—was there an earpiece under their beanie or was their beanie the earpiece? Steve heard something about “They’re coming, get out now!”

And really anything else would be better than a ‘minimum wage job in food service.’ (What a lie that was).

Joan only smiled wider, tilting their head and lifting an eyebrow, saying, “Well? Would you like a ride off this planet?”

There was something bright and burning under Steve’s sternum, but it was good.

He nodded his head, he watched a ship hover down and its doors open up, and soon he would be home—or, at least, somewhere else.