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ponds-of-ink · 10 months

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Sing The Ghosts A Christmas Carol — Chapter 4 (“The Second Spirit”)

This has got to be my longest chapter so far, now that I’ve put all my separate files together. Whoops.

Anyway, enjoy the chaos! And the potential angst near the end. It, uh, gets a bit real quick.

(Also, side note for people who’ve been following my FNAF things: This is in a different timeline from my usual stuff. So, uhh.. Don’t be concerned if you see events that probably shouldn’t be happening according to my usual stuff. It’s alll part of the plan.)

Time now felt like it was crawling. The monitor was still powered down. That ever-present ticking that plagued the office had stopped dead. Even worse, the stillness of the office was driving William to near madness with impatience. He resorted to pacing the floor, muttering names and tossing out theories left and right. The Nightmares had no sense of cheeriness fit for being the Spirit of Christmas, so those were swiftly scratched out of his mind. His own brand of animatronics could fit the role (in their own twisted way), but with Baby’s surprise appearance… No. There was no sense in doing a repeat. Not unless there was a loophole he was missing.

Several minutes passed in this manner. Only a few names and faces lingered by the time he finished his elimination process. “If I’ve got this right,” he thought as he finally stopped pacing, “my main options are either Mister Hippo or Orville. Both of them should be able to embody Christmas cheer.. More or less.” He glanced around his office. By some miracle, the clock ‘woke up’ and resumed its ticking. “Must be close to the hour,” he shrugged before returning to his chair. “Ah, well. I’m sure whoever this spirit is will be happy to see me— If not maliciously gleeful, if my guesswork’s extremely off.”

He waited at his desk. His eyes switched from focusing on one door to the other. His wide-eyed curiosity gradually settled into a discontented frown. The unseen clock did ring, but the next spirit refused to show its face. Or any trace of itself, for that matter.

William got up from his seat. “I might as well get myself some food to pass the time,” he thought as he trudged into one of the empty hallways. “As this ghost has changed its mind last minute, then I must fulfill the role of the banquet host… Though, of course. snacks from a vending machine typically don’t count as a banquet.”

After some careful navigation (and much double-checking the various clocks), he found the machine he was looking for. His eyes scanned the rows of dangling treats while his mind attempted to recollect all of the items held at the original Christmas Present’s Feast. There were no large twelfth cakes or bunches of fruits, but there were candy bars of several kinds. And, perhaps to replace all the meat-based options, a pack of those meatball bites would suffice.

Once he finished planning out his (arguably meager) meal, he dug through his pockets. Much to his disappointment, he only had two coins. “Then I must have a Plunder-Bar and that meatball packet,” he concluded swiftly, readying to slip his first coin into the slot of the vending machine. “That way, I can—“

A new smell floated in from some nearby room. William’s entire body froze. Not because it was a terrible smell, mind you. In fact, it was actually quite pleasant. Like the scents a person is greeted with at a bakery. Warm bread, freshly baked cakes of many flavors, and maybe even some other sweet treats yet to be noticed.

The only real problem was the sudden pang of hunger William felt as he processed this new phenomenon. “Steady, Will,” he quietly chided himself as he placed his coins back in his pocket. “No need to start drooling over proper food yet. It could very well be a trap.”

Cautiously, he slipped back out into the hallway. He followed the scents, glancing around multiple times. His brief journey led him to a closed door with a warm, orangish light shining from a sliver of an opening. He straightened his posture, corrected any “sloppier” areas in his outfit, then placed his hands on the door.

His eyes met a small party room all prepared for the occasion. Garlands of red and green lined the top and bottom of the muted walls. Candles with ghostly flames lit the room, sitting in the middle of a rectangular table. The food on said table matched the smells he sensed earlier, which only made his hunger gnaw at him even more. Fortunately, the bear-like figure at the table was already motioning for him to come join. “What are you waiting for!?” it chortled in a frenzied, yet raspy voice. “Come on! The cupcakes don’t bite here! Come in and know me better, my man!”

“It’s just ‘man’ at the end, but I respect your dedication to your role,” William responded simply, approaching his host with some hesitation. “Tell me, ‘Molt’, are you the Ghost of Christmas Present? Or are you just here to be the first to mess with me today?”

“Molt” burst into another fit of laughter, though it now sounded a bit more controlled. “Of course I’m your next Spirit!” he exclaimed, snatching a full plate from off the table. “Who else could show you all the fun stuff you’re missing out on!?”

“I can think of a few,” William answered casually, finally taking a seat. “But I will give you some credit: The other options would not help me ‘stay awake’ long enough to hear my lessons.” He chortled at his own joke, then went somberly quiet. “Now, before we discuss matters,” he resumed, eyeing the dishes before him. “Is it all right if I have something? I almost think it’d be a terrible shame if I ruin your display.”

“It’d be a shame if you didn’t!” Molt retorted, handing William the snatched plate. “Go on! Be my guest!”

Sensing no immediate danger, William took up his host’s offer. He grabbed a nearby fork and stabbed into a large slice of sponge cake. Every ghostly sense buzzed after he took his first bite. His apprehensions melted away into the more he dug into the cake, as did all formalities. By the time he finished his third slice, however, he remembered that he wasn’t alone. “I know I don’t need to apologize for acting ‘ridiculous’ to you,” he said as he wiped himself off with a paper napkin. “But I feel like all of my.. erm.. ‘pigging out’ has been a bit uncalled for.”

The bear leaned over the table. His newly-polished face somehow gave a disapproving glare. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said with a serious tone. “You, Mister ‘Can’t Resist A Good Promise’, are turning down my offer? My actual, real chance to enjoy yourself? Has life seriously been that much of a pain in the neck wires that you’d rather suffer even more than you actually need to?”

William calmly set the plate back down onto the table. “I assume that your last question is rhetorical,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulder. “And so, I answer ‘yes’… With the obvious caveat that it’s all my fault, of course. I shan’t forget that.”

Molt let out an exasperated strain. “Then you also ‘shan’t’ forget why I’m here!” he cried, flailing out an arm. “I am supposed to be the guy who gives to everybody— Even the lowliest, nastiest, and downright stubborn people on the planet.”

William’s eyes widened. “I see your point,” he said in a surprisingly meek tone. “But, if it weren’t for my faulty memory on your Christmas Specter, I would argue that you’re misrepresenting him at a little— If not, a lot.” He paused for a moment, as if trying to think back on the story as a whole. “I suppose if we’re going for a general take like most adapters do, we should be fine,” he answered timidly. “Just take me to our first stop before one of us says something that will be instantly regretted. We do have a limited amount of time, after all.”

Molt only muttered a quick “oh yeah” before slithering around to the other side of table. “Just hold onto my arm and keep walking,” he instructed, holding out a sleeve-covered arm. “The world’ll change around us in a blink of an eye, but I think you’re used to that already.”

“Yes, I am,” William answered, readily latching his arm around his guide’s. “Lead on, Spirit.”

The pair wandered back into the main hallway. Unlike the whirlwind rush that was The Spirit of The Past’s method of transportation, the Spirit of the Present was shockingly slower. They strolled down the hallway, neither really seeming to notice the scenery melting into a snow-covered Main Street. All was dark, save the occasional store with the neon sign declaring that it was still open. William shivered at the cold, but the stillness of the night truly concerned him. “I now understand why most Spirits of Christmas Present don’t rely on ‘real time’ when showing visions of the current day,” he noted, looking at a clock at a somehow-occupied cafe. “It’s the dead of night.”

Molt peered over William’s shoulder, then harrumphed. “So much for that market I was going to take you to,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “It was going to be so much fun! …For you, anyway. Lots of little shops with homemade stuff, food like the ones back at my table— We could’ve even seen some kid get scared by a guy in a weird Sandy Claus costume! That would’ve made my trip to this place a lot better!”

William chuckled in spite of himself. “As much as I love gatherings, I think I can sit this one out,” he smiled. “However, it would be nice if we could see one Christmas party in action. Just for the fun of it.” He pondered on that last remark as they trudged down the sidewalk. Soon, his eyes lit up. “Say,” he piped up, snapping his fingers, “you don’t think we can go to that old barn I used to visit?”

Molt’s ears raised a little. “We can try,” he said, picking up his speed a little. “Just think about the barn, and I’ll see if we can get us there!“

William shut his eyes. He blocked out the horrible memories the previous ghost revived. His mind focused on those sights he used to know. The barn out in the snow, candles lighting the inside like a jack o’lantern. The buggies and older model cars eagerly traveling down long stretches of snowy roads, including the vehicle he rode in. The banquet tables… The people dancing and singing along to the band…

He opened his eyes. To his surprise, they were on the same stretch of road that he and Baby visited. Except, by some even greater miracle, it was actually clear of ice and snow. His eyes bounced from the cleared pavement to the scene before him. His ghostly heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “Spirit, look!” he cried, quickly grabbing Molt by the sleeve. “The barn’s still there! Refurbished beyond belief, yes, but there it stands!”

Molt only cackled with glee. “Come on, then, Christmas Boy!” he exclaimed, slithering past the equally thrilled man. “We’ve got a party to crash!”

William’s joyful expression faltered for a moment. Hang on. They couldn’t really crash this party. They had no abilities to interact with the human world… Didn’t they? Or did that only count for the past and the future, as those are merely recreations of events? If the latter was the case, then did that mean he had the power to intervene if needed? Or was Molten Freddy potentially the only one with this “gift”, due to his current status of a Ghostly Guide?

All of these questions William swiftly cast aside as they neared the barn. What mattered now was the fact that the barn was still lit inside. Which meant, much to his delight, the new owners were keeping the Christmas Barn Dance alive.

Or they had just wandered into a Christmassy bridal shower by complete accident. Honestly, either was possible at this point.

But, feeling a renewed sense of confidence, William gladly followed behind his hurrying guide. Both of them phased through the door, remaining completely undetected by the clustered groups before them. Candles still shone in the windows, though the “wax” was plastic and the colors less vintage. The refreshments table remained vigilant beside the doors, but the treats were much less grand. Even the live band was replaced with a stereo, some speakers, and a very diligent music-mixer watching the equipment.

Yet William and Molt still looked at each other with mutual wonder.

A mutual wonder which, of course, fueled into their separate plans. Molten Freddy bounded towards the closest group of chatterboxes while William wandered along the walls. The latter specter took in the changed atmosphere. “We’ve arrived near the end of the Barn Dance,” he thought to himself as he observed his fellow guests. “The party animals are worn out. The music has gone mellow. I think I even see a couple of yawners here and there.“ He sighed to himself. “A shame,” he resumed quietly, putting his back up against the wall. “I was looking forward to one last dance underneath these new lighting fixtures. Or at least some sort of ‘grand finale’, however newfangled it could be.”

As he further pondered the what-could-have-beens, his eyes lazily surveyed the area. All things matched what he said, save for the occasional gasp of surprise from the group Molten Freddy ‘chatted’ with. They definitely had some more energy to spare, minimal though it was.

One by one, the more weary guests walked up to a young couple and said farewell. William waved to each of them, though he was well aware no one could see him at this point. In a matter of minutes, most of the room had been officially cleared out. The couple was now in talks with the stereo man, some other guests wrapped up their conversations and slipped out, and…

William rubbed his eyes. There stood a young boy, no more than ten, right in the middle of the room. And this stranger was absolutely mortified as he looked around the ballroom. Though the music made it hard to hear, William was absolutely certain that the poor thing was looking for his mother.

Carefully, William neared the middle of the room. His entire body trembled. He focused his attention on the adjacent walls, keeping track of the remaining adults. A few friends sharing equally concerned expressions with each other on the North Side. The unfortunately unknowing couple and their hired DJ on The East Side. As for the South Side—

William stopped to a halt. An extremely tired woman had just exited the barn, holding out her gloved hand as if she was walking alongside her child. He looked back at the child, who was now nervously eyeing the party’s hosts.

Out of some buried instinct, William rushed past the boy and hurried after the woman. Without any extra planning, he snatched her glove and sped inside back towards the barn. He dropped the glove on the doorstep, turned his head to make sure his ear-splitting whistle was “heard”, then rushed to hide behind a very puzzled Molten Freddy.

The bewildered woman picked up the glove, then spotted the boy. The boy, practically overwhelmed with relief, hurried to his mother’s arms. The mother, now realizing her error, hugged him tightly. They apologized to each other, then to any person who went up to ask what in the world happened.

As they reconciled further, Molt looked back at William. “Why’d you do that?” the bear asked, his head tilted to one side. “You had every opportunity to lure him over to me! Or to you! Why’d you not take that chance?”

William’s warm grin dropped as soon as the question sunk in. “I just didn’t see the need to,” he muttered darkly, crossing his arms. “What? You think I still have enough care in me to worry about other people’s problems?”

“No,” Molt retorted, his own face contorting into its own version of a sneer. “But I’m sure somebody’s going to after that whole stunt. I think those two are going to start calling you a ‘Guardian Angel’, since you broke through that radio thing.”

William turned his attention to the trio close by. The DJ, from what he could catch, still had no idea what caused the “weird whistle glitch”. As for the couple, they jokingly tossed around the idea of the barn being haunted. Even going so far as to suggest it was ‘Mavis Afton making up for her son’s mess-ups’, which William hardly believed that he heard it correctly. Not wanting to dwell on the implications, he glanced back at his now-sniggering guide. “Let’s go home,” he said tiredly, placing his hand on Molt’s shoulder. “I… don't feel like creating another mythological creature for people to chase after. Not tonight, at least.”

“Don’t want to bring your mother into this, huh?” Molt chuckled, wrapping his arm around William’s.

William’s glare turned ice cold.

Molt winced. “Okay, okay,” he added, slowly pulling the frazzled man towards the door. “We’ll head straight back home. We’ll even go to your office, if that’s what you want.”

William stayed silent. He did peer over his shoulder to check on the mother and her son, but the world was already changing back to the prison he knew.

As promised, both were now in his office once again. The unseen clock ticked on. The adjacent rooms remained empty. All in all, a very quiet night.

However, this only made William even more discontented. “Well, now where’s the Christmas Party?” he asked, motioning an arm towards the hallways. “Isn’t it a staple of this story that Scrooge goes and visits the house of his nephew Fred by now?”

“Yeah, but we’re too early,” Molt responded, casually stretching his arm as if he needed to exercise at the moment. “I can only do the ‘real time’ stuff, remember?”

William put a hand to his face. “You cannot tell me that no one’s currently taking ample opportunity to talk behind my back,” he muttered darkly. “Especially Ballora.”

Molt grinned shakily. “Of course!” he exclaimed, his hyper laugh now sounding even more unsteady than before. “Everybody’s saving all of that for the big day tomorrow! Why would we ever take the opportunity to talk behind your back now when we have plenty of time to do it tomorrow?”

“Because everyone’s robotic little heads will be spinning because of this little endeavor,” William answered, his voice more smug than annoyed.“My twisted soul? Vanishing from this place entirely? What a terrible thing for the outside world, but a beautiful opportunity for my ever-present taunters back home.”

“Fine,” he drew out, rolling his eyes defeatedly. “We’ve been practicing a few games for tomorrow. Whack the Purple Piñata, The Annual Christmas Sing-Off, Chase The Cupcake— Oh, yeah! Before I left, I had a pretty big lead in our guessing game.”

“Do you think we can pop in and check on that? You know, just to pass the time?”

Molt turned away from William. “All right,” the bear answered darkly. “But you better keep quiet. I dunno how everyone’s going to feel about an uninvited guest showing up to the Pre-Party.”

“I’ll be as silent as the grave,” William vowed, putting a hand to his heart. “Head on heart, hope to fly.”

Molt muttered something as he slipped into the right hallway. William soon followed behind him. They crept down the winding path, making sure their movements made very little noise. As they neared their destination, laughter and a multitude of whirring servos echoed off the walls. Molt picked up in speed while William’s gait slowed to a crawl. Once they finally arrived, Molt charged into the room with arms frantically waving. And, to William’s surprise, a few of the other animatronics actually greeted the wiry thing like an old friend. “You’re just in time for the big showdown!” Happy Frog called out, her cheery voice loud and clear. “Pigpatch caught up to you while you were taking care of Afton. You’re both tied for first!”

“Where is that big lug, anyway?” Pigpatch asked, lowering his banjo to better see his newfound rival. “You better not’ve left him at the other A’s house.”

“Relax!” Molt cried out, settling himself into an empty restaurant chair. “He’s back in the office thinking that I’m dunno what I’m doing. Heh. Won’t he be in for a surprise…”

William raised an eyebrow at these words, but kept quiet. He watched as the other robots joined the conversation, their voices overlapping so that it was impossible to tell what exactly was being said. His eyes shifted towards the large, uncovered stage. Funtime Foxy, dressed from head to toe in a festive suit, tapped his microphone. A loud feedback whine emitted from the speakers, prompting everyone to cover their ears (or the closest things to them). “If I may have your attention please,” he blared out in his showman’s voice. “We’re all tied up on the Guessing Game, and I don’t want to slow down this portion of our Game Night any further!”

Reluctantly, the animatronic audience turned their attention back to the stage. Even Pigpatch set down his partly retuned banjo, though he did it very begrudgingly.

“Thank you,” Fun-Fox resumed in a more relaxed manner. “Now, while you were talking among yourselves, Ballora came up with a real stumper!” He then gestured to Ballora, who was currently ascending the stage’s staircase. “For this round, she’ll be the one giving clues,” he explained further. “Remember, everyone: no more than three guesses per person! There’s no use in trying to whittle down the answer in front of anyone who hasn’t had a turn.” He then handed the microphone over to Ballora, who gracefully settled into her best stance. “Your first clue is that it’s alive,” she informed, gently speaking into the microphone.

“I got it! I got it!” Happy Frog yelled out, flailing an arm. “A dog!”

“Sorry, but no,” Ballora answered calmly. “And, to help the rest of you out, I’ll give you one more clue: It’s not an animal.”

The other robots fell into a contemplative state. A small group tossed suggestions to each other. Several others leaned back and shut their eyes. Pigpatch picked his banjo back up, his mouth moving as he resumed his tuning. Molten Freddy himself had his elbows propped up against his would-be legs— Which surprised the still-cowering William.

After a moment of mutual silence, Pigpatch halted his work. “I dunno,” he spoke up, raising his free shoulder a little. “How ‘bout a person?”

Ballora’s faceplates twitched. “No,” she answered again, nearing the edge of the stage. “But you’re getting warmer.”

“A ghost!” Happy called out enthusiastically.

“Definitely not,” Ballora replied with a chuckle. “But, once again, you’re getting warmer.”

A sudden thought entered William’s mind. He looked around the room, eyeing the large crowd of robots. Miscellaneous animatronics sat in front, processing all of this new information. The Mediocre Melodies (aside from Pigpatch) sat in the middle section, chattering amongst themselves. As for the back row, the more broken-down of the bunch lingered on or outright fell asleep. Even the ever-silent Scraptrap had a hard time staying awake.

William clung to the walls as he finally snuck into the room. He waited until another litany of guesses was being thrown, then made a break for the back row’s table. He crept right behind them, counting in his head as he went. One death wish to avoid, two death wishes to avoid…

At about the seventh chair, he tapped on Scraptrap’s shoulder. “I know we haven’t been on the best of terms recently,” the man prefaced as quietly as he could, “but would you mind if I help you stay awake?”

Scraptrap wearily glanced at William. He only mumbled some sign of approval and readjusted his seat.

William lightly gripped Scraptrap’s bad arm, sending purple sparks across his entire body. Scraptrap jolted upright, alerting Ballora. “Do you have a guess, Scraptrap?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Scraptrap nervously raised his hand. “Is it a robot of some sort?” he asked slowly, as if he was trying to remember how to talk properly again.

“Yes,” Ballora responded, a proper smile showing through her tone. “It is a robot. Good guess, Scraptrap.”

The rest of the audience marveled at the rabbit’s guess. Scraptrap himself put a hand to his throat as William reappeared from behind the table. “You’re welcome,” William murmured, winking to the puzzled rabbit before retreating back to the doorway.

Now completely reinvigorated, the participants threw out guesses left and right. Some threw out names of their fellow animatronics, which Ballora shot down with casual precision. Others attempted to guess on a technicality, shouting out robots advertised as “being alive”. These too were swiftly eliminated, making the options very slim.

Then, Happy Frog finally gave a good guess: Was it a mean robot? And, to her delight, she was absolutely correct.

So then the method changed. Several of the remaining guessers chattered among themselves (though Fun-Fox had to remind them not to spoil their guesses). Pigpatch and Molten Freddy kept to themselves, as they now only had one guess left. As for William, he decided to leave Scraptrap and Springtrap alone for the rest of the game. Besides, he was as stumped as the majority of them.

Pigpatch finally finished tuning his banjo. He looked at the large stage with a tired scowl. “This might be outta left field,” he said wearily, “but I’m starting to think it’s one o’ those newfangled robots. Not a Glam-rocking model, but something close.”

Ballora’s posture straightened. “Yes, it is technically a newer robot,” she replied uneasily. “I would ask which one you’re thinking of, but you’re out of guesses.”

Pigpatch chuckled with a snort. “It’s no skin off my back,” he answered, leaning back in his seat. “I didn’t even have a real guess, anyway. Lemme know who wins when I wake up.” He then fell asleep before anyone could wish him goodnight.

One last silence of contemplation followed. William was chanting for Springtrap this entire time, but now even he was stumped. “I didn’t know Fazbear Entertainment survived,” he thought as he processed the clues. “Who could possibly fit the description the clues gave other than my Springtrap variants?”

Suddenly, Molten Freddy jumped from his seat. “I got it!!” he yelled out, his frenzied laugh reaching new levels.

“Are you sure?” Ballora asked, leaning closer to the edge of the stage. “You have one more guess.”

“Yes! Yes! I’m sure!”

“All right, then. Let’s hear it.”

Molten Freddy jumped back onto his seat, ensuring everyone could see him. “We’ve got a living robot who’s really mean and tricky,” he recapped in a enthusiastic tone. “It’s technically new because nobody ever heard of it until a year or two ago, but it’s been around lot longer. It misleads both kids and adults alike with its expert acting skills— Who else could be but The Mimic!?”

All eyes were on Ballora. Ballora backed up until she was at the center of the stage. She twirled the microphone in her hand as she ‘inhaled’ deeply. “You’re right,” she answered softly, lowering her head a little. “I was thinking of The Mimic.”

The middle and front rows erupted into cheers. The back row split off, either congratulating Molten Freddy on his victory or telling a now-wide-awake Pigpatch who won. Fun-Fox tried to still the crowd once again, but everyone was too thrilled to care.

William, meanwhile, just gawked in disbelief. He waited in his little corner, anxiously eyeing Molten Freddy until he finally gave his farewells. “Wasn’t that fun!?” the bear laughed, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“It was,” William responded uneasily, adjusting his collar. “But, Molt… Who in the world is the Mimic??”

Molt’s happiness dampened. “Oh yeah,” he muttered darkly. “He’s a guy that Goldie’s been eyeing for a while now. We thought he was just a random endo-skeleton, but no. He’s a bunch of trouble on his own.”

“‘A bunch of trouble’ sounds a bit mild, given what I’ve heard,” William answered grimly. “He’s been recruiting people to do heinous things? People who may not even be doing these things willingly?”

Molt slumped his shoulders. “Guess now might be a good time to take you to our next stop,” he responded, slithering away from the concerned man. “Come on, you’ll learn more about him there.”

With a strange sense of morbid curiosity, William trailed behind Molt. The lengthy hallways once again melted away, but didn’t reveal a barely-lit Main Street. Instead, they were now walking in some suburban neighborhood. Decorations of all sorts manned the rows of houses. Some spoke of peace and goodwill towards men, others threatened to blind the ghostly pair with the abundance of flashing lights, and a few mystified William— if only for a moment.

In the midst of all these wonders, Molt stopped at a simpler house. Strands of red and white lights twinkled in the darkness, outlining the front of the house. A candy cane lane paved the way for the front door, which William promptly took. He glanced at the yard, taking in the rest of the sights. A snowman family stood vigilant, ever-smiling despite their circumstances. The bushes that surrounded the house also shined, but their glow was much dimmer than the rest. The front porch only contained an ice-smeared rug and a simple wreath hanging on the door.

Unwilling to disturb the strangers at this hour, William sat down on the porch. “Spirit,” he spoke up softly, grabbing the bear’s attention, “is this just another case of horrible timing? Or is there something else at play?”

Molt hobbled towards William. “I think it’s just a case of bad timing myself,” he answered tiredly.

“Then why is there so little cheer here?“ William asked further, motioning to the yard. “The lack of decorations I can almost understand. I’m sure those poor souls are doing all they can to stay under the radar after the Mimic’s absolute destruction of their minds.” He shuddered as certain clues from the guessing game flashed through his imagination. “But surely they can still celebrate despite that,” he resumed, trying to keep a steady tone. “Where’s the Christmas tree shining in the window? Or the electric fireplace? Or even a late night of watching a beloved Christmas movie to help fall back asleep! Something—Anything—that would dissuade the dread they must feel!”

Molt frowned skeptically, but stretched out his arm. “Come with me,” he instructed. “All your questions will be answered in a second.”

William took Molt’s arm and rose to his feet. They walked to the side of the house, then stopped at a shut window. “This is Gregory’s bedroom,” Molt explained, putting a wiry hand on the awning. “Now, I dunno what’s inside, but The Puppet’s ghost told me that there’s a bunch of scary drawings in there. Drawings that I think somebody like you could figure out.”

William looked at the shut window. He breathed slowly, then phased into the room. His eyes adjusted to the near-darkness before him. A small bed with cartoonish covers barricaded a part of his left side. On the right was a drawing table littered with papers and artist tools. Unwilling to accidentally wake the boy in the bed, William cautiously crept to the desk. The more ghostly side of his vision made the drawings shine as if they were painted in black-light. He filtered through all of them as they were messily laid out, mentally casting aside the ones that looked like mere daydreams. Picture by picture, a story started to form. A story about The Mimic’s bizarrely induced hypnosis, the many grievous events that followed between Gregory and someone called Vanessa (who somehow felt familiar, though he couldn’t really say why), and a young girl named Cassie who suffered a horrific accident shortly after they were set free. An accident Gregory blamed on himself, if the most recent drawing was anything to go by.

Though many details were most likely left out, William felt a pang in his soul. He backed away from the desk, fighting the urge to not fall into a fit of pity. His misty eyes failing him (as well as the fear of being caught by Vanessa) prompted him to retreat back outside. “Spirit,” he choked out, grabbing Molt by the shoulders. “please tell me that this Cassie is still alive.”

“That’s not for me to answer,” Molt answered surprisingly fast. “But why are you so worried about her?“

William grimaced for a moment. “I’m not worried for my own sake,” he corrected hoarsely. “I’m worried because of Gregory. It seems like he’s very upset about this whole elevator shaft incident when it’s not even his fault. Or, if it is, then I don’t think it was without a cause. I have no doubt this Mimic is involved somehow, given the slew of those hastily drawn scribbles.”

Molt’s frown strengthened. “Let me ask again,” he said firmly, “Why do you care so much about somebody you just met?”

William made no response.

Molt scoffed darkly. “Besides, why do you think they should have any good things happen to them?” he questioned mockingly, a spiteful grin forming. “Goodwill should be reserved for those who deserve it, after all! The best they rightfully deserve is either the chance to go to jail for what they’ve done or live a life of absolute misery!” He then burst into a hysterical laugh, which only froze William’s entire guilt-ridden body.

Thankfully, the sound of a clock chiming from some other decoration interrupted this horrible scene. “It’s five to three here,” William piped up, habitually adjusting his collar. “Is there anywhere else we need to go?”

Molt’s wild eyes relaxed. “Well, I was going to take you to one more stop,” he admitted as he crossed his arms. “But since you’ve been such a party pooper, I’ve decided not to. Looks like you’ll have to sit out the last Christmas party— Not that you were ever invited to that one too.��

“I suppose you can just drop me off back ‘home’, then,” William concluded glumly, lowering his head a little. “Before we part, however, can you at least give me an estimate for how long Gregory and Vanessa’s Christmas cheer will last? Or anything like the warning your forebear gave to Scrooge about Tiny Tim?”

Molt’s shoulders slumped. “If everything goes the way it’s headed,” he began quietly, “I think Greg and Vanny are going to be having a worse time next Christmas. Maybe even before then, if The Mimic or somebody else manages to catch ‘em.” Then, his expression turned malicious yet again. “But, like I said, why should you care? Do you really think you have it in you to worry about other people’s problems?” He let out another harsh laugh as his wires wriggled all around him. Everything then faded to nothingness as the bitter cackle drifted into silence.

William stood motionless. The office materialized around him, as still and silent as him. Many thoughts swirled around in his mind. Was Molten Freddy right twice in a row? Did none of them deserve any of the goodness that came into their lives? Even those who were coerced into repeating the same horrible patterns that he himself created? Did he doom them to a life of absolute misery without once meeting them before tonight?

His heart pounded. He gripped the edge of his desk, as if that would stop the spiraling he was undergoing. “No!” he cried in his mind, gnashing his teeth. “Surely the future won’t be as grim as that! Surely the worst that could happen is Cassie escaping and plotting some short-lived revenge! Surely, they won’t suffer the same fate I’ve suffered some distant day! I won’t have this! I—“

The unseen clock chimed again. Three o’clock had come in the human world. And so had the last visitor, now standing on the opposite end of the desk.

#william afton #molten freddy #sing the ghosts a christmas carol #fnaf fanfic #nanowrimo #long chapter #very long chapter #other characters mentioned

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 6 months

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The math just adds up!

#dungeon meshi #falin touden #marcille donato #farcille #I always loved how chapter 27 ends with them both so bloody and 28 starts with them in the bath.#not just because of how iconic the bathtub moment is but because you know they had to scrap off so much gore first.#I think everyone in the party took a very long and methodical bath but Falin was basically *all* blood*.#Being covered in blood is one of those 'just girly things' that women deserve to stop being shamed about.#I just don't think Chilchuck is progressive enough. He probably made them take a bath first B*/#Okay jestering aside I want to just highlight -#The magnitude of Marcille's joy at seeing her dearest friend again! Of holding her and sharing her presence in the same room!#Something about this reunion feels like a beautiful dream you are afraid of waking up from...

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bluegiragi · 27 days

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brief.

early access + nsfw on patreon monster!AU masterpost

#this section is called brief for ironic reasons because it is in fact very long <3 #it only took us over 50 chapters to get here but here's your introduction to your main 'villains'#ale isn't usually this frowny but valeria brings out the worst in him #also ale and rudy are an established couple in this au #they have heavy married-for-decades domestic bliss vibes #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #rodolfo rudy parra #alejandro vargas #phillip graves #valeria garza #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #monster 141 au #giragi art

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egophiliac · 2 months

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crossing my fingers and wishing upon every star that chapter 10 finally brings us the tweel cards 🤞🤞

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #just because of the context and what i'm about to wildly go on about #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 part 9 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 part 9 spoilers #god i wish this turns out to be a spoiler #anyway #i think it's safe to assume at this point that the next story card will be one (or both??? 👀) of the twins #do i DARE hope #i mean chances are just as good it's gonna be jade wearing a big mushroom costume or something #but you know what i'll take that too #and as long as i'm sitting here at the corkboard for crack theories #i have noticed that vil and jamil's dreams both got their use out of their travel event backgrounds #like tapis rouge HAD to have been specifically timed to come out before vil's chapter so we would have some context for that #and look. we know who's coming up next.#so...is it possible that maybe...coral sea event is finally coming?!#are there fishboys on the horizon?!#i don't want to get my hopes up. but also i very much do #august schedule is gonna come out with two training camps and a master chef rerun and i'm gonna dissolve on the spot

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bluegoblinzz · 1 year

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A king's request

To teach Finn magic, Fer brought him to a library, filled with young dwarven scholars and older wizards. The rhythmic booming of the pulse was muffled in this room, and unlike every other place in the city, there were no songs in this place. Though there was a low murmur as scholars compared notes, and some wizards grumbled under their breaths in frustration.

Finn hadn't held his twisted wand since he bought it, and Fer needed to remind him how to hold it once again: not in the palm of his dominant hand, but in between his index and middle finger of his non-dominant hand, with the handle resting on his thumb.

“And you'll never use your wrist,” Fer explained, “Tracin's will be done with your thumb, and the spell's aim should be controlled with your arm, or with your thumb additionally.”

“I know,” Finn nodded, “that's something Omaen's mother told me already.”

“Great,” She said, smiling, “So you're done with the first step. Next, there's six different motions ya must know that you will use in your spells.”

“And when I wave my wand in that way I'll cast a spell?”

“No,” Fer shook her head, “That's only a part of it, but it is a necessary technique to harness this power.” Fer took time to teach Finn how to move his wand. There was an upwards arching motion, a downwards arching motion, a vertical line traced upwards, a vertical line traced downward, a clockwise spiral, and a counterclockwise spiral. Finn mimicked these motions with his wand, but even then Fer corrected him, saying that he was flicking his wand too fast.

“Wave it gracefully,” she insisted “you will constrict the spell if you violently wave the wand.” Still, even as Fer taught him the technique required to hold a wand and what somatic skills he would need to perform spells, what she had said about magic still swirled around in his head: the essence of magic is truth. The way she had described magic merely brought up more questions than answers.

“Now,” Fer continued, “There's three limitations you can encounter. Your own understandin' of a spell, your understandin' of the essence, and how one is able to use the essence. A novice wizard may be able to summon a storm, and that would be all. Or a novice wizard may dabble in thousands upon thousands of spells, but be very inconsistent at performing them due to a lack of understanding.”

“What is this 'essence' though?” Finn asked, “you said earlier that the essence of magic is truth. You don't mean truth here, do you?” Fer shrugged.

“More or less,” she shrugged, “It may seem that the essence might not have to do with truth, and rather be more related to change but wrapped in all its mystery and complexity is truth in a physical form.”

“But how does that work?” Finn asked, rubbing his brow, “how can something be truth? How can I use truth? it doesn't make sense.”

“The essence is hard to control,” Fer said, “but in order to harness the essence, there is a sort of induction we use.” Finn nodded, listening and waiting for her to tell him what it was.

“Close your eyes, and think about nothin'.” This surprised Finn. Nothing? how was that even possible? Finn tried it and shut his eyes, but he found thoughts buzzed past him and questions swirled in his mind. It sounded like chattering that he couldn't quite parse together unless he focused on one thought. he then tried to think about the concept of nothing. A big empty void. He stretched it in his mind, attempting to make it infinite, dark, and devoid of anything, but other thoughts distracted him, as well as the fact that other images crossed his mind. He let out an exasperated sigh, and opened his eyes to find Fer giving him a pitiful look.

“It's rough, isn't it?” She asked, and then smiled, “it's alright, no one ever gets it their first try. And I can probably give you exercises to start with. Here, do ya have a spell tome we can begin with?” Finn nodded, going into his sack, and pulling out the book he bought from Omaen's mother. Fer shook her head.

“That's a secondary source,” She said, “I should have known. Tomes aren't often just sold by any old merchant. Here, let me get one.” She got up from her chair, and wandered off behind one of the large bookshelves. Finn looked up and around at the scholars and at the other wizards. One wizard, who had his face buried in a book, looked up to glare at Finn, and then looked back at his book. He didn't know why that dwarf was angry but he had to assume he was too loud with his conversation.

Finn noticed something that wasn't apparent before, but now that he was sitting and waiting he couldn't ignore it: many of the dwarves wore fake bull's horns. The ones chiseling at the wall wore helmets with them, the children wore crocheted hats with little white horn nubs on them, some wore headbands with shiny white polished stones, even Fer's pointed wizard hat was sewn in such a way where two points were in the side. He wondered why this was, and what their fascination with horns was.

While he waited for Fer to come back he thought about magic, or what he heard about it so far. It wasn't what he expected... and this notion of truth... it was disturbing. He didn't want the truth, or to face the truth or to give other people the truth. He wanted to hide who he was and hide his past, and run from it. Connecting to the truth was not what he wanted. But then what did he want? The thought was too much for him to fathom, and he found himself getting up and leaving the library. He didn't know where he was going, but he felt he needed to go. I need air.

When he turned the corner exiting the library, he ran straight into a tall figure. He stumbled backwards, tilting his head upward to meet the gaze of a large minotaur. The minotaur's expression wasn't angered, but more confused and curious, staring down at Finn with big eyes. Finn was at a loss for words, partially embarrassed, partially unsure. Can he even understand me??

“Oi, don't mind Buck, he's friendlier than the rest.” Finn drew his eyes away from the minotaur to find a dwarf carrying some kind of walking stick. He was clad in a black tunic with gold trimmings. He had bright gold eyes, stark black hair, and a beard neatly woven, and dark skin of a desert dwarf. He had a steady smile, a round face, and a plump nose. He seemed farther in his adulthood than Finn was, but not quite old enough to be considered wisened, or even experienced. At most, he was seven years older than Finn. Most notably, unlike the rest of the dwarves, he had a pair of horns, real horns, emerging from each of his temples.

Finn was about to simply greet the dwarf and then go on his way, but he found himself dumbly blurt out “You have horns.” Buck the minotaur let out a snort, and the dwarf's steady smile became a smirk.

“Yes,” he said, “and I heard earlier you had cat ears and whiskers.” Finn blinked.

“How... did you know?” Finn knew he stood out before, but he assumed magic users wouldn't be rare enough to be gossiped about. This dwarf was just proof of that.

“It's my job to know what mages come in and out of this humble city.”

“Who are you?” Finn asked.

“I was gonna ask ya the same question,” The dwarf replied narrowing his eyes, “who are you?”

“There ya are, Finn!” Fer sighed, stepping into the hallway, “I found a tome that's real g-” Buck flinched and huffed at her. She stopped when she saw the dwarf standing in the hall, and gaped at him, just letting out a small, uncertain “o-oh...”. The horned dwarf let out a deep sigh, rubbing his brow.

“Please,” He whispered, “Act like I'm any normal guy, I don't want any attention.”

“Yes Your Hi- I mean... yes sir,” Fer replied. It was then Finn remembered those statues in the stairs that Fer took him down, and those horned figures, and he too realized who this was, and it took him a lot of willpower not to gape as well.

“I was just askin' your friend 'Finn' here what he was doin',” The king said, “it is my business to know what powerful mages come in and out of my polis.”

“Sir,” Finn began, but the king aised a hand giving Finn a displeased and annoyed stare.

“Please,” he said, “there's no need for your silly honorifics. Just call me Bolum.”

“Yes, Bolum,” Finn said, taking a deep breath, “... you see, my friend, Omaen, brought me here. We needed a place to stay, and I'm... looking to learn magic.”

Bolum's face turned red, and he widened his eyes, letting out an “oh..” not unlike the one Fer did before.

“So,” Bolum continued, “You aren't the powerful mage i thought you were,” he said, “and that metamorphic spell was from...”

“A potion,” Finn confirmed. He began to wonder how old this king really was. His age was apparent by his face, but his demeanor still showed he was young and unsure, even if he acted wisened.

“I apologize for the misunderstandin',” Fer said, coming out of her stupor of disbelief, “It must have disrupted your work and-” Bolum lifted a hand, and shook his head.

“No, no, quite the opposite,” He said, “ I have had a lot of work of course, but none of it has been... interestin'. There's never any threat and when there is my guards do a good job to de-escalate it. So: when I heard that a mage got through, and no one stopped 'em, I wanted to check myself if there's any threat.”

Oh, Finn thought, He's the king of this place. Of course he wouldn't be the high king of all dwarves...He felt silly for thinking otherwise.

“You were hoping I was a threat?” Finn asked deadpanned.

“I thought it would be interestin' if ya were,” Bolum said, “But I never wish danger upon my people. So no. I'm just... embarrassed I thought you were a wizard.”

“Don't be!” Finn raised his hands, “I'm trying to be one, so I understand.” King Bolum nodded, shifting on the stick Finn saw before. He realized now that it was not a walking stick, but rather a staff, as there was a quartz orb on the top where there would be a handle.

“Though, while I have your attention,” Bolum said. He raised his staff, and with his free hand, he waved his hand around the orb. Finn briefly took note of the fact that the motions the King made were the same ones Fer had taught him minutes earlier. But he barely had time to register that, as the orb began to glow, and the image of the labyrinth around them rippled and changed. Buck let out a startled snort and trotted behind the king.Soon, they were standing in an illusory field below a mountain. The trees rustled above them and a large scaley figure swooped overhead and toward the mountain.

“In a polis about a day and a half of travel from here, there's another king, and there's a dragon.”

“Ya want him to slay a dragon?!” Fer gasped, “but he's only-” Once again Bolum waved a dismissive hand.

“No, no, I want him to catch the dragon.”

“Respectfully,” Finn began, “I feel like that may be more difficult than slaying a dragon. Why get me to do it, anyway? Aren't there more competent adventurers?”

“Because you got no reason to gossip,” He said.

“About what?” Finn asked. Bolum's eyes widened, and he glanced around.

“I can trust you not to say anythin', right?” He asked, Finn raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“Good, then don't say anythin'.” The king waved his hand in the air, as if wafting away thick smoke, and then the illusion disappeared.

“If ya want, we can discuss this quest more with your friends over dinner.”

“Dinner?” Finn asked flatly, “a king is inviting me to dinner?” Bolum shrugged.

“Why not? It will be a nice fun conversation rather than a political squabble. I'm gettin' tired of losin' my appetite due to those conversations.” Fer looked back and forth between the king and Finn in disbelief. Finn gave Fer a confused and perhaps concerned look.”

“Well, I should be on my way,” the king said. “I shall see you tonight. And sorry for wasting your time.” He bowed, and then waved a hand over his orb again, it glowed brightly, and he exploded into flame, which spiraled into a large plume. all at once it disappeared. Finn, Fer, and the minotaur the king had left behind all stood and stared at the empty spot where he stood.

“Well!” Fer shouted, breaking the silence, “That just happened!”

“Yes, yes it did,” Finn said in a small voice. That interaction made Finn forget why he wanted to leave in the first place. Fer motioned him back inside the library and he followed... And so did Buck, who earned a look askance from Finn. Fer noticed this and looked up at the beast and grinned.

“What are you doin' here, bud?” Fer asked in a high pitched voice. Buck's eyes widened, as if he didn't notice he was seen, looked around frantically, and pulled the first book he found off of the shelf, and opened it, holding it close to his snout. Fer chuckled at this and Finn felt a little more at ease, knowing Buck probably wasn't going to do anything wrong. When they sat back down, the minotaur inched across the library, scratching his hooves across the ground, causing loud scraping noises, snout still in the book. Every wizard and scholar looked up, some giving disapproving looks, some giving confused looks until Buck sat down a few seats away from Finn and Fer.

“O-kay,” Fer muttered, “It was hard for me to find a good spell tome that was written in the common tongue. A lot of the ones in here are just in High Dwarven.” She slid the book over to Finn and tapped the blank cover.

“There's some pretty basic spells in here, so let's go ahead and read through them.”

It took a moment for Finn to realize he had to open the book and read it. His mind was still with the king, the magic that he had performed, and with his request: to catch the dragon, and also to meet with him for dinner. It was all absurd. It didn't seem... true. He shook away the thoughts for a moment. flipped to the inside of the book. It was not filled with chapters, nor did it have an index, nor any theory on how magic worked or any advice. The entire book, from front to back, had a description of what a spell does, and how to perform it. He flipped to the front. The first spell listed was “summon fire” which did not sound basic to him in the slightest. There were four tracings he needed to do: the upward vertical line, upward angle, downward vertical line, downward angle. The rest of the instructions... didn't make much sense.

“It's... asking me to silence my mind, and then bend the void?” Finn stated, his voice rising with confusion, “And then... to connect with... what?”

“Just take it one step at a time,” Fer stated, “start with the motions, then try the induction.” Finn delicately took the wand into his left hand and tracing with it using his thumb. He slowly traced upward and downward and shut his eyes. It took Finn a moment to remember 'the induction' was to 'think about nothing.' Now, it was even harder to think about nothing. The king's request kept bouncing in his mind

“I can trust you not to say anythin', right?” He had said, “Good, then don't say anythin'.” Anything about what? About him being present? About what he was yet to see on his adventures? What was the king hiding to the point where he was sending an inexperienced wizard as opposed to an experienced mage or swordsman?

Focus, Finn told himself. He had let himself get distracted again, and thinking about the king wasn't thinking about nothing. He tried to imagine an expansive black void again, but it was too hard to visualize something so big. So, he instead tried imagining this void as a room. an empty room surrounded by walls of his mind. It was much easier to imagine, but he found it accomplished nothing. He sighed, shaking his head, and opening his eyes.

“It's not working,” He mumbled.

“It will take practice,” Fer assured him.

“I don't have time for practice,” Finn complained, “Iggy and Omaen are already so skilled, and what do i have.”

“Nothin',” Fer said.

“Exactly,” Finn huffed, “Nothing.”

“No,” Fer said, smiling, “You have nothin'. Isn't that what you needed?” FInn stared at her.

“Are you being serious right now?” He asked. She made it sound so simple. Sure, he needed to imagine nothing, but how can being unskilled make him a more skilled wizard?

“I understand you're strugglin',” Fer said, “and you have a... very important meeting soon, but I want ya to think about what nothin' is. It might be empty space, or the lack of an idea. Or is there more to what it means? All these questions may sound like a lot of mumbo-jumbo, but ya need to think in a similar way when castin' spells. Ya need to stop thinkin' about things bein' solid as stone.”

Finn thought about that for longer, and pulled the tome toward him more. He wanted to read more and wanted to practice more. Even thought he felt so far away from achieving magic, He felt like he could achieve something if he practiced for longer. But it was well into the evening, his stomach was growling, and the king was waiting.

#fantasy #writing #dwarf #wizard #WIP #Work in progress #Chapter 5 #VERY Long chapter #but I couldn't split it into 2 parts.#sorry #A Dwarf Guards the Sky

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thedemonscrawler · 3 months

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Read Chapter 12 Here!

The group is reunited, though tensions are a little high and trust has been worn thin. Everyone wants answers, but when the Daycare Attendant returns from Moon’s patrol, all they bring with them are more questions. Protocol. Programming. If the puzzle doesn’t make sense, are you sure you have the right pieces?

---

Ouugh, it's finally done! I sketched out this cover about a year ago, but their clasped hands gave me a ton of trouble and I shelved it-- until a couple of months ago, when I just banged out the hands and then kept rolling from there!

There's a decent bit of symbolism related to the chapter worked in here, as well as a lot of me learning how water works. Detail shots + textless versions below!

#fnaf security breach #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant #fanfic:permissionslip #tw noose #its loose but I figure it'd be polite to warn for that #hhhHHHHh this took! a very long time!#and im quite proud of it! 8D #still feel a LITTLE bad that Gregory didn't manage to get onto the cover of his own story dknjfgjkld #but lbr this chapter is very focused on these two #art

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition.

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place.

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip.

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck.

The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital.

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten.

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled.

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but.

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.)

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen.

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair.

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants."

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him.

Would Harrington pitch a fit?

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did?

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper.

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life?

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it.

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--"

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out."

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying.

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness.

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone."

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box.

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home.

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope.

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet.

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand.

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list.

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that."

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face.

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him.

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

"You'll check up on Robin too, right?" He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?"

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years.

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here.

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder.

Several somethings, in fact.

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck.

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick.

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie.

An unfair advantage, really.

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly.

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie.

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting.

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie."

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

"What do you mean Si--Wayne."

"Nice catch.” Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.”

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much.

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither.

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat."

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked.

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?"

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret.

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt."

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle.

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end."

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink.

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?"

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be.

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless.

"Anybody else?" He asked.

"Nobody human." Steve replied.

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that.

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?"

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency, I'd be happy to."

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through.

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation.

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus. "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER."

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it.

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair."

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound.

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble.

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…"

"You take any today son?"

Steve his head.

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack.

Course he hadn't.

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in.

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once.