boxfullofzeroes | I heard you like suffering (for dustless)

boogerman posting in

The ordeal had started suddenly one night (as if it wasn't always 'night' for Pitch), while he was somewhere in Europe, amusing himself pacing around in an older home to make the floor creak while their children try to get to sleep. Funny how simple things like that--which should be dead boring by now--still make him feel good.

But the little game ends when he senses something odd about his network of shadows, his means of travel all over the world. Something cold and icky and bright that doesn't belong. He enters them, curious and wary, and--

He ends up being pulled, yanked along a path he didn't mean to take, full of panic.

From then on, it's a blur of madness, screaming, light and terror. He loses all sense of time. He starts to lose his Fearlings too, those old friends he didn't even know were there, poor lovely things. He's not alone, people are there, studying him. Scientists. Experiments. The scientific study of magic. He tries to hold on to the memories, but he's in too much pain most of the time. He's also blind as a bat while trapped in the light, with magical wards up that he doesn't have the strength to fight past without killing even more of his Fearlings... until there are only a few dozen left and he knows it's now or never.

He bursts out, more pieces of himself exhausting themselves and dying for their master, and flees to the nearest place that he knows is safe. His underground home is across the ocean, too far away. Frisk and Toriel's home is closer. They'll let him recover, won't they? That big plush couch in their living room has room for a Boogeyman.

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From:

dustless

Frisk breaks the silence with their stomach, unexpectedly enough they and Toriel both flinch.

"...ah."

Toriel musters up a small smile. "I apologize, my child. I forgot get your breakfast."

Gently, she mimics Frisk and Pitch himself, sliding her furry fingers through his hair just once.

"I will return in just a few minutes. Frisk, call for me if anything changes." Pitch likely cannot do it, his body and voice so weak.

From:

boogerman

So nice. He'd been wrong not to trust them all this time, hadn't he? He's worried... but not panicking. It seems fear is losing its grip on him, finally.

"Breakfast. And then school?" Could he scratch up the energy to flee yet? ...No, he decides. Still a nope.

From:

dustless

"...we can afford to miss one day. Or a few, if we must."

Toriel will work quickly, something simple, like toast and jam.

In that time, Frisk makes a decision.

There's lots of room on that couch. They must be incredibly careful clambering around, to avoid making him move, but they're fairly sure they succeed.

In the end, they're curled up by his side. He can get their hair better without having to reach up, and...and maybe they'll even fall asleep again.

From:

boogerman

Surely they won't fall asleep before Toriel makes it back with something. He wishes he could sleep at all, let alone as easily as a child... it can't hurt to try, right now. Eyes closed, he finds their soft clean hair again, and strokes.

No sleep seems to be coming, not that he's sure he'd know the feeling anyway...

From:

dustless

Toriel will be another few minutes. She must call in to school for herself as well as for Frisk. A family emergency, she says.

Frisk hopes the stroking helps him. It isn't helping them. They are afraid for him, and they are angry. At the humans who did this and at themselves. They can't think of anything more to do that would help, and they don't even have a SAVE to go back to, not far back enough, just two days. He must have been trapped for longer than that.

From:

boogerman

It was never about comforting Frisk, the urge to feed is too strong... They'll understand. The kid's always been ridiculously understanding.

Is the hunger stronger than it was last night? ... Maybe. Hard to tell. It's incredibly large and yet somehow more distant than it should be, as if it belongs to someone else. He'd rather keep his hand on Frisk's head than pay attention to fear, stilling the motion but enjoying the feeling.

From:

dustless

Toriel returns with the toast on a plate, holding it out for them both. Frisk half sits up to take it, and balances it on their stomach.

"You should both have some," she says. "If you can." It may be hard with the...blood.

From:

boogerman

"Mmh." he says, prying his eyes open again. "Monster?" Frisk's hair has moved, how sad. He reaches out for a bit of toast obediently, shakier than he was a few minutes ago.

From:

dustless

"Yes. It is monster food."

Toriel pulls her armchair closer to the couch. "If you need anything, I will be right here."

Frisk helps him, holding the toast closer, grabbing his wrist and leading his hand to his face. Not particularly dignified, but they're certainly not sparing a thought for that.

From:

boogerman

There is absolutely no way to preserve his dignity anymore. Not lying shivering on his side like an animal, getting filthy shadowblood all over their nice couch. He bites down on the toast, swallowing--he's been trying to do that with the tarry crud anyway. It's tasteless, whatever it is.

"Not sure. What I need." One bite of toast is all he seems to want.

Edited (dropped a g) Date: 2016-06-26 06:08 pm (UTC)

From:

dustless

Frisk doesn't let go of his wrist. He should really have more...

"I will heal you again in a short while. You will be alright." Pitch needs to stay determined.

From:

boogerman

Determination. That's different than hope... and more suited to Pitch's style, too. Less denial of reality.

And reality is bad right now, isn't it? But pretending it isn't is no solution.

He sighs, eyes half closed, and bites off a little more. Happy? "No more."

From:

dustless

"But you won't get as better if you don't eat it." Frisk's voice is tight.

Toriel returns to their sides, gently pulling their hand away from his.

"My child, forcing it will not help. He can try again later."

Frisk slides down and curls up at Pitch's side again.

From:

boogerman

"Tried." he says, sounding woozy, a bit like that one night he was drunk. "Fear's better."

That is, if he has a sustainable amount of little helperlings to use the fear, heal themselves and their master... oh, to not have a clue. To have always been in the dark.

From:

dustless

Meanwhile, Toriel and Frisk aren't putting off as much fear in the first place--at least not Toriel. She is afraid for Pitch, and for Frisk's mental state, but a part of her is settling into numbness for the long day that doubtlessly lies ahead.

Frisk presses their forehead against Pitch's side and tries to go to sleep.

From:

boogerman

He'll thank them later, with all his rotten heart and soul. Maybe with amusing old editions of the Flying Circus.

"Sleep?" he asks Toriel, with a look towards Frisk, trusting her to work it out without him having to speak so much.

From:

dustless

"...my child. Are you certain you want to try that again?"

Frisk answers by snaking their arms around Pitch's waist.

From:

boogerman

Hissing breath in, can't speak without breathing, but his insides ache like hell. "Think that's a yes." He reaches for their hair again, of course.

From:

dustless

It is. And Toriel does not like it, not at all, not after seeing what happened to them after last night.

But she knows stopping them would cause even more harm. Frisk wants to help, always. If anything happens...she knows they will blame themselves for not trying enough.

And Frisk is strong. They've proven that time and again.

"...very well. I will be waking you if you thrash. We do not want to cause more injury..." In spite of her words, she does not expect it. They are good at being still, uncomfortably so.

Frisk shuts their eyes.

They're worried enough it will take a while for them to really sink into sleep.

From:

boogerman

"Don't have to do it." he manages. It seems more painful for him to speak than it was earlier. Frisk doesn't have to because it did nothing.

When will he vanish and reappear at home? Or is that... not going to happen? Is this his final life? The end of the Nightmare King?? A flash of worry on his face, there and gone like the wind.

From:

dustless

"Gotta try," Frisk says as firmly as they can. Obviously. He is hurt and this is all they can do.

From:

boogerman

"Fine." Fine with him, fine with their mother. A brushing of his fingers through their hair, some sort of thank you. He'll imitate sleep now for a while himself, longing for the real thing.

From:

dustless

Toriel settles in her chair with a book, though she will not make much progress in reading.

Frisk sinks into sleep, into nightmares. It's slow going for both, and the nightmares are...less intense than the ones from the night before.

They dream of a path lit by Echo Flowers, glowing a serene blue in the darkness. They whisper "run." They whisper "sleep." They whisper "goodbye." They whisper "the end."

They dream of a king kneeling over slain children, their blood on his claws and horns and trident. He looks up at them. He weeps. He drags them forward into the prongs, and they cannot struggle. They don't want to.

They dream they're locked in a cage--a ribcage. It's only them and biting cold outside of it. Still, a heartbeat pulses somewhere, slow and faltering but loud as thunder.

They dream of flowers in their mouth, buttercup petals burning their lips and gums, roots worming down their throat and through their body, leaving not a single organ unpierced.

They dream that

this--

is the end.

* This is the end.
* This is the end.
* This is the end.

From:

boogerman

What a good friend, suffering through another nightmare for his sake. He lies there, eyes closed, mouth open, blackness escaping onto the towels, somewhere in between awareness and oblivion.

He daydreams of dancing, strong and taller than everyone, the life of a party. Surrounded by people enjoying his presence.

Soon enough Frisk's dream will stop being a nightmare, as his power wanes.