Chapter Text
Waking up from his Friday noon nap was usually one of Grace’s favourite times of the week. Prism would either already be on his bed watching him or get into their suit after he woke so they could cuddle for a bit as his brain booted up. Then they’d set everything ready for Rocky’s and Adrian’s weekly fixed visit to play board games, watch movies and otherwise just spend some family time together.
Sometimes he briefly thought he was still dreaming until his sleep addled brain reminded him that no, this was real, he really was a parent and had a wonderful kid.
Today, he thought he had briefly strayed into a nightmare until it clicked that no, this was real.
He’d lazily opened his eyes, blinked at the wall a few times before rolling over with a groan and a stretch. First he only registered the distinct shape and colour of his child on their side of the living room, his bleary eyes and slow mind needing a few seconds to form a coherent picture in his mind.
Then he saw the knife. He saw the little chips of bismuth on the floor. He heard their low whimpers and repeated ow, ow, ow.
For two full seconds, he really did think he was still asleep and his dreams had just taken a horrifying turn, but then more sensory input trickled in and the reality of the situation hit him like a freight train.
Grace pushed himself up so fast his vision darkened for a moment, choking down a scream of sheer terror. Prism startled, pulling the knife away from their body.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Prism asked, a slight tremor in their voice, but otherwise sounding scarily calm and confused. As if they didn’t think there was a reason for him to worry.
“Oh God,” he gasped, stumbling over to the barrier, “what are you- please, Prism, put the knife away, oh my- please-”
Prism slowly placed the knife on the ground. For a moment he wondered where the heck they had even gotten a knife before he recognised it. It was their little carving knife for art class. Grace had to resist every instinct not to reach out to snatch it away from them if he didn’t want to crush his hand against the xenonite.
“I was just trimming down my carapace,” they whispered, still sounding confused. “Apology if I did something wrong.”
Grace forced himself to take a few deep breaths before answering.
His students’ words rang in his mind. Never break or cut off a cracked pieces of carapace or you can really hurt yourself, they’d said. Always wait for them to fall off on their own. If a piece starts to hurt because it gets stuck, then you go to the doctor and they can remove it for you.
After his little anxiety episode triggered by not being informed about moulting, those words were now seared into his brain. He’d even asked Rocky, Adrian and Moth for some more details just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood anything. So he was one hundred percent sure that a carapace shouldn’t be “trimmed down” by anyone who wasn’t either a licensed doctor or tattoo carver.
“Prism,” Grace managed to say without too high of a voice, “Please go put the knife in the airlock. For me, p-please.”
“Okay,” they said, walking over to the door with a slight limp.
Oh God, oh God, he was going to be sick.
As soon as they shut the door, Grace reached over to press the manual switch on his side to start cycling the air. A faint hissing reached his ears, and he let out a shuddered breath.
“Did I do something wrong?” Prism asked again. Grace’s brain was screaming at him that yes, you did, but I don’t blame you, I don’t know why why why you did this, oh my God my child is bleeding, my child cut into themself and is bleeding, don’t vomit, don’t vomit, don’t vomit.
“Why did you do this?” was all he could force out, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before the tears were going to start falling.
“It was time anyways and I just wanted to look nice for the visit,” they said, small and shy and still confused.
All his thoughts of why why why circled back to one person. They always circled back to the same person.
“Did Vantablack tell you to do that?” he asked, tears not yet dropping because for a moment, red hot rage flared up inside him.
Please say no. Please say you just had a really really really stupid idea. Please say you’ve never done this before.
“Mom Vanta always trimmed me three times per moulting cycle,” Prism said, now sounding confused and frustrated. “So I look decent.”
Bile burned in the back of his throat, and his eyes stung.
“Give me a second,” he breathed, pushing himself up despite already having turned lightheaded. He made his way over to the radio messenger in the entrance hall in record time, leaning heavily against the wall to wait for his vision to stop spinning as his fingers selected Rocky’s contact on autopilot.
“I need you to come over now,” he pleaded into the recorder. “And Adrian. And- oh God, just come.”
He pretty much ran back into the living room, heart not ceasing its hammering even when he saw Prism stand in the exact same spot he’d left them a few seconds ago.
“Mom, you’re scaring me,” Prism whimpered when he returned to their side, and fuck, he was so not handling this like he should.
He needed to calm down. Prism was afraid because of him, he needed to calm down now.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a measured breath, and then another. He tried not to focus on the little trickle of mercury blood running down one of their arms. Rocky and Adrian would be here soon and take them to the med bay. Breathe, breathe. “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I- I’m-”
What could he even say? Yes, you did something wrong, but you didn’t know it was wrong because your parent made you think mutilation was normal-
Don’t vomit, don’t cry, keep it together, keep it together.
“You hurt yourself, Pris,” he said, unable to keep a few tears from slipping out. “You were- you were cutting into yourself. That really scared me.”
Prism shuffled in place, wincing when they put more pressure on their bleeding leg.
“It’s okay,” they said after a pause, “It always hurts, but it’s not so bad. You get used to it. I’m okay, Mom.”
Grace clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle whatever was going to come out and scare his kid even further – vomit, a wail, a list of curses he hadn’t used in a very long time, all of the above.
Grace wasn’t someone who threw around words like hate lightly when describing feelings about other people.
He hated Vantablack. He hated them.
They’d visited them a few weeks ago. Prism had been in the same room as them and talked about their achievements in school and told them that they missed them and Vantablack had politely listened and given curt answers to their stories and a brief statement of also missing them, when all the while they had never told anyone about what they had physically done to Prism because if they had, everyone would’ve been informed, and that visit wouldn’t have been allowed to happen until much much later – if they would’ve even been allowed in the same room as Prism ever again.
Not that the emotional abuse was any less dangerous, but physical harm carried such a weight. Especially when self-inflicted without knowing it was wrong.
Prism thinks this is normal. They think this is normal.
“It’s not okay,” he choked out from behind his hand. “It’s not- it-” Deep breath. “You made a mistake, but you didn’t know. I’m not upset with you, sweetheart, okay? I’m just very worried and- and not handling it well.”
“Apology,” Prism said, placing their hand on the divider, Grace instinctively touching the same place. “Was I not supposed to do it alone? It was the first time I tried it on my own. Apology.”
He had to properly explain it to them, but how? How could he explain without completely breaking down in front of his kid?
The front door slammed open.
Relief flooded his system so fast he got dizzy once more.
“Grace!” Rocky yelled from the other room before the door to the living room on the ammonia side flew open.
“Rocky, Adrian,” Grace said, feeling himself beginning to shake. “Prism is hurt. Adrian, could you please take them to the med bay? And- and explain in very much detail how to properly take care of one’s carapace?”
He could ask Adrian to do it instead of him. He didn’t have a carapace, it would be more believable coming from another eridian.
Coward, coward, coward.
If Adrian had any questions, they didn’t show it. They ducked a bit to fit through the door, letting out a sympathetic trill.
“Come on, little one,” they said gently. “Let’s have Doctor Moth take a look at you, and let Rocky take care of your Mom. I’m sure they’ll be down to join us as soon as they can.”
“We will,” Grace said with a wobbly smile. Rocky was already making his way over to the airlock, putting on the suit he had brought with him.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Prism said again, with a light and comforting tone that made his stomach lurch. “You don’t have to be worried.”
Grace just nodded, tapping the xenonite twice. With a little wave, Prism walked out into the entrance hall, Adrian following suit. As soon as he heard the front door shut and he could be certain that he was outside of Prism’s earshot, he scrambled towards the trash can in the corner and lost his lunch.
His body was wracked with heaves and sobs, clinging to the cupboard next to the can as to not face plant into it. He barely registered the airlock chiming and door opening, as Rocky’s encased hand suddenly appeared on his back.
“I’m here,” Rocky trilled, moving his hand up and down, “It’s okay, Prism is safe.”
They’re not, they have never been, they- oh God-
Grace continued to retch despite not having anything in his stomach left to expel.
A few minutes of painful dry-heaving later, Grace dropped to tiredly sit against the cupboard, managing to close the lid of the trash can after three feeble tries. Rocky loafed down next to him, hand on his arm and waiting patiently for him to speak.
He opened his mouth. A sob came out. He took a shaky breath, then tried and failed to speak again.
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Rocky encouraged. “Just take your time.”
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
“Prism-”
He was cut off by another sob.
“Prism,” he tried again, hands beginning to knock against each other in a way he knew he couldn’t attempt to stop, “was cutting off pieces of their carapace to appear more…decent. They- they said Vantablack used to do it regularly. They- oh, God.”
Rocky went completely still. Grace moved his hands so they were knocking against his thighs, rocking back and forth now.
In, and out. In, and out.
Prism is with Adrian. They and Moth are going to inform them on proper carapace care. They are never ever going to do it again.
“The flakes, the knife in the airlock…?” Rocky asked, voice faraway. Grace nodded.
“Adrian is with them now,” Rocky said, echoing his own thoughts. Grace could feel his best friend trembling too, and trying very hard to hide it as he comforted Grace. “Prism is safe. They’re safe. You’re both okay.”
He nodded again, tried to say something, anything that could somehow reduce the severity of the situation, telling himself to breathe, but his lungs refused to get the memo.
“I- I- Rocky, I can’t- I can’t calm down, I can’t- I can’t-”
“Prism is safe,” Rocky repeated, one arm coming to wrap around his shoulder with steady pressure, the other held out in front of Grace as an offer. One hand still hitting his leg, he lifted the other to drag his thumb over the ridges in Rocky’s suit, hard enough that he might end up rubbing his skin raw.
Prism is safe, they’re safe, they’ll be fine, they’ll be okay.
Eyes squeezed shut with hot tears still leaking out, Grace focused on the arm around his back and the friction against his thumb and the impacts against his leg to help him slowly but surely draw air into his lungs again.
Eventually, he let out one long shaky breath, dropping both his hands into his lap and staring blankly at the wall ahead.
“I need to be with Prism,” he said monotonously. Rocky took a step away to reach over to his bed, grabbing his cane. Grace took it wordlessly.
As he hauled himself to his feet, he made the mistake of looking over to Prism’s side of the living room. Dozens of little rainbow coloured chips sparkled against the otherwise drab part of the room.
His grip on his cane tightened.
“If I wasn’t going to kill Vantablack before, I am now,” Rocky once again voiced his thoughts. Grace nodded, but the fury was mixed with that same bottomless pit of despair in his gut.
What if they’d cut too deep? What if they had damaged something important and had been bleeding out on the floor while Grace had been asleep?
Rocky nudged his leg, snapping Grace out of it. With another numb nod, they set out for the med bay.
His brain was buzzing with static the entire way there. He was probably dissociating because walking should not feel this automated and the beach should feel a little less like he was watching the Don’t Go Crazy room panel in his living room and he should generally be feeling more emotions. Before he knew it, he was mere paces away from his sitting nook.
And then his child calling out for him pulled him right back to reality.
“Mom!” came Prism’s frantic shout, and Grace was running. His protesting knees made him drop into the chair closest to the med bay’s divider, hands immediately on the xenonite so Prism could hear him better.
Physically they looked fine. Carapace a bit less pointy than before he’d gone to sleep, of course, and their small cut had been patched with a bit of sealant, not even requiring a bandage.
Otherwise though, their body language was screaming almost the same level of panic as when they’d first been fully confronted with the idea of their parent being abusive.
“I’m here, I’m here,” the words rushed out of him. “I’m so sorry for leaving you alone, I’m here now.”
“I understand why you- Adrian and Doctor Moth explained,” Prism cried, shrill and quivering, “Mom Vanta- apology, apology, I’ll never do it again, apology, ap-”
“Hey, it’s okay, I know,” Grace shushed, finding it easier to keep a level head now that he had already had his own breakdown, and his kid was no longer worryingly calm about this and was in need of comfort. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this. But you know now, and it’s over. You’re okay.”
Prism sat curled up against the xenonite, whining and shaking so hard Grace could feel the panels vibrating. Adrian hurried over from where they’d been standing by the medical nest, coming to stand over Prism protectively, as it was a hatchling’s instinct to go stand underneath their parent if they sensed danger. Grace wished he could offer his kid the same sense of safety, but Prism wasn’t fit to get into their suit right now. So instead, he lowered himself from his chair down to the ground and pressed himself against the barrier as flush as he could, humming their tune.
A few seconds later Rocky burst into the med bay, out of his suit now, and went to sit next to Adrian to join in on their little huddle around Prism, all of them singing the same melody.
The circumstances were eerily similar to the incident all those months ago, which was probably not helping Prism calm down at all. Still, nothing to be done except be there for them. That he could do.
It took Prism close to twenty minutes to come out of their panic attack, at which point they dragged themself towards the airlock before even managing to speak a single word. Rocky immediately followed.
“I’ve analysed the results from the sonogram I made of their carapace structure earlier,” Moth spoke up quietly. They sounded mournful. Grace took a steeling breath and nodded. “I’ll wait until everyone is present.”
The airlock opened a while later, Prism running up to him not nearly as fast as they normally would, still walking with a slight limp. Grace opened his arms to scoop them up, holding his trembling and awfully quiet child close.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, “You’re okay now. You’re okay.” Prism didn’t manage more than a brief whine.
When Rocky reentered the med bay, Moth pulled up a texturiser screen to show different layers of Prism’s carapace. They hesitated almost a full ten seconds before speaking.
“There is evidence of scarring going down to the lowest carapace layer across Prism’s entire body,” they explained, pointing at the texturiser. “This was not caused by the individual deep wounds they’ve suffered and gotten properly treated for over the years, this is the effect of continuous exposure of middle-carapace growth cells to air without proper care or covering. This has caused the middle layers to harden and thus restrict the inner layer’s ability to move as flexibly as it should, resulting in said scarring. I can’t be sure of the exact effects this has had on Prism’s carapace health without conducting further and long term tests, but it has definitely impacted the degree of brittleness as well as the growth rate and shape of their outer layers, and likely also their hearing.”
A deafening silence fell over the room. Grace was forcibly pushing the nausea out of his mind and body. He knew Rocky was internally cursing like a sailor but pulling himself together for Prism’s sake, who tried to push themself further down between Grace’s crossed legs, their carapace pretty much pressed down to the ground.
“It’s okay,” Grace whispered shakily, leaning down to wrap his arms and legs around his kid. “It’s okay. This-” He swallowed, looking over at Moth. “They’re still young. When you say scarring, is this permanent or could this still heal?”
“Completely?” they sighed. “Very unlikely. Several smaller patches of their inner tissue are as good as dead. But there are many that might still recover, especially if we start the right treatment as soon as possible. I’d have to look into it further, but I think they should be able to reach their adult size with an at least partially if not mostly functional carapace, perhaps needing a brace to cover certain exposed patches.”
Grace logged the information, making a mental note to discuss treatment options later. Not right now, now they only needed to know the absolute basics, and then he would sign Prism and himself out of school for a few days to deal with the aftermath of today.
“And their hearing?” he followed up, “Are they hard of hearing because- because of this?”
“No,” Moth said, “their natural carapace structure dampens their ability to echolocate, but…also yes. Audio receptors are located in the outer carapace layer with nerves connecting them to the inner layer. The continued removal of this layer has very likely lead to temporary increases of the lowest volume they are able to perceive after each…trimming, and a long term increase over the years as more and more receptors died.”
Grace bit his lip hard enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if he started to taste blood.
“Prism,” he asked solemnly, “did your hearing get worse when you got older?”
Two of their arms came to wrap around his lower left leg. Grace ran his hand over their suit, making shushing noises as he waited.
“Yes,” they said eventually, sounding so small and vulnerable that Grace wanted nothing more than to carry them home, hide them underneath his quilt with him and never let them go. “It was always worse after Mom V- afterwards. It’s worse now. I can’t- I can’t really see what’s on the screen.”
In, and out. In, and out.
“Thank you for telling us,” Grace said. “You’re being very brave, sweetie. So brav-”
“Can we go home now, please?” Prism cut in, a bit desperate now that they found their voice again.
“Moth?”
“You are cleared to leave,” they said. “We’ll reconvene at a later date. And I can only confirm what your mom said: you were very brave today.”
Prism produced a sound that might’ve been a thank, a push to go home faster or just a whimper. They were anxious to leave, but also not looking like they were going to let go of his leg and his cardigan anytime soon.
“Little help?” Grace called, and Adrian went to don their suit.
Rocky was still sitting in the exact same spot as before, barely having moved.
“Buddy, you good?” Grace asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
“No,” he said, venom dripping from his voice. He didn’t elaborate. Grace was thankful, because whatever was going to explode from his best friend, Prism shouldn’t be around to hear it. Definitely not in their current state.
They waited in silence until Adrian came up to them in their suit, taking Grace and Prism into their arms with ease. His kid was holding onto him like a lifeline, and Grace would be damned if he let go.
Adrian carried the two of them all the way into the house and onto Grace’s bed, gingerly setting them down.
“I need to go check on Rocky,” they said. “I’ll be back soon.”
He thanked them, then reached for his quilt he had kicked aside when having woken up into this nightmare just under two hours ago. Soon the door was shut, the quilt was wrapped around him and his kid, and they were alone.
He went to speak, but the words caught in his throat when he saw the pieces of Prism’s carapace still lying on the floor beyond the xenonite divider. His eyes automatically flitted to the knife glinting in the airlock. Grace tightened his hold on Prism, who was still trembling and clutching onto him and being way way too quiet.
They’re okay now. Prism is right here and alive and breathing. Distressed, but not dying. Not bleeding out.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing his eyes away from the far side of the room. For good measure, he pulled the quilt up higher so the two were hidden in a small dark cave of patchwork.
“If there’s anything you need or want to do, you let me know, okay?” he managed to softly say.
“I don’t know,” they mumbled. “I don’t feel good.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Not really,” they said. “I’m used to this but now…I feel wrong. I feel sick. I want it to stop, Mom.”
“I know,” he breathed, tears welling up again. Tears of contempt towards Vantablack, of feeling powerless to take away his child’s suffering, of nausea at the thought that this could have kept happening if Prism had chosen to do it in the privacy of their room, or if Grace had known just a little less about carapace care. “I know, sweetie, it will stop, but it’s going to take a while. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now, and I’m really sorry I can’t take it away, but I can tell you this: nothing about this was your fault. Nothing.”
“I know,” they said, and he knew that tone by now. They meant it. Grace let out a shuddered sigh of relief.
“Remember what I said to you during the field trip?” he continued. “About your carapace?”
“That my light-frequencies are very very very beautiful,” they answered right away.
“That’s right,” Grace said, trying to smile without it turning into a grimace. “But not just that. The shape of your carapace is very very very beautiful too. There is no need to- to make yourself look more decent, because you already are. There is absolutely nothing wrong with how you look like. And if you still feel like there is, then you come talk about it to me, and we can figure out what the problem is. Okay?”
“Okay,” Prism echoed. They still hadn’t eased up on their grip on him, but at least they seemed a little less on the fragile and more on the clingy side now.
“Did-” they began, voice back to having that panicked edge, “how bad did I hurt my carapace?”
“Not much,” Grace assured. “The only reason it’s a bigger problem is because Vantablack was doing it to you for years. You didn’t make anything much worse today, don’t worry.”
A bit of the tension seemed to drain out of them. Only a bit, because, “Is my carapace broken now?”
Am I broken now?, was the underlying question that shattered Grace’s heart.
“It’s not,” he said, drawing up his knees to form more of a human cocoon around them. “It’s not. It won’t be like it would’ve been. Like Doctor Moth said, you’ll need to start treatment soon, and later you might need a brace. Maybe you’ll feel more pain than you should’ve, maybe moving and hearing will be harder, but your carapace isn’t broken. It won’t work like it was supposed to, but that’s okay.” He suddenly had an idea. “My legs can’t always keep me up without my cane, and I’m not broken, right?”
“No!” Prism exclaimed, sounding offended, and the first real smile stretched across his face.
“You’re not broken either for the same reason,” Grace continued. “You can’t hear as well as others, and I can’t walk as well as others. Your carapace has some scarring, and my skin does too!” He rolled up both his sleeves, then carefully pried two of Prism’s hands away from their grasp on his clothes and laid them onto his almost fully burned left arm and onto Rocky’s handprint burn on his right arm respectively. Prism of course already knew about his scars, but he really wanted to drive the point home. “These aren’t good or bad things. However they happened, they’re just things. We live with them, we deal with them, just like you would deal with anything else in your life. We’re not broken, just disabled. You understand?”
“I understand,” Prism said softly, running their fingers over the leathery skin. Grace stretched his back with a stifled groan, taking back his right arm so he could move the quilt and let some more light into their little cave. He began to trace the ridges of Prism’s suit as they continued to explore the burn on his left arm.
Minutes ticked by, at this point Grace feeling a little worried about just how long it was taking Adrian to get check in on Rocky, until Prism spoke up.
“We match,” they said, the tiniest hint of pride in their voice. “We both have carapace scars.”
The soft smile that had remained on Grace’s face widened. “Yeah, we do. It means we both survived.”
Prism chirped in approval, then let go of his leg, switching to hugging his left arm instead with a mumbled “I feel better.” Grace curled his arm more around their body.
“I’m glad,” he said. “But this is a big thing, so you don’t have to force yourself to be okay with it either. It’s okay to feel sad and weird and wrong, and it’s okay to also feel good about it at the same time. Feelings can be complicated, just don’t push them down, alright?”
“Yes yes,” Prism said, “I feel better, not good. You said it will take a while for this feeling to go away. I think so too.”
God, his kid was way too emotionally aware for their age. Which was pretty much the same age as his own – roughly, he didn’t actually know his exact age anymore after that much time in space. Yeah, he tried not to think too much about those kinds of aspects of his life. Point was, while it was relieving to have them be so much more in tune with themself now, they shouldn’t have to be yet.
“Yeah,” he said. “And I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Prism tightened their hold on him, and he returned the favour. “But that’s for later. Right now, we can do whatever we like. We’re taking today off, and tomorrow too, and maybe even longer. You deserve it.”
“Thank thank thank,” they chittered, “I don’t want to go outside. I want to stay here with you until after graduation.”
Grace laughed, something in his chest unfurling. “I’m not letting you skip your final exams, kid. You need to actually write them if you want to graduate.”
Prism snuggled closer against him with a grumble.
“Worth a try,” they muttered and Grace could practically hear the sly little grin in their voice.
It was such a small thing, but Prism sassing him like a normal preteen going on teenager after this awful awful revelation they just had, it filled him to the brim with hope. Because if they could bounce back from this, it made him believe they could bounce back from anything.
“Yep, didn’t work,” he said, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Anything you got in mind for now? Or do you just want to stay like this?”
Prism thought for a long moment, before they answered with a much more timid tone than before.
“Can we watch Air-Bender?” they asked. Grace was about to agree with a confused smile, because Prism had been on an Avatar: The Last Airbender hype the past weeks, so he didn’t understand why they would feel insecure about asking this, but then they continued. “The storm episode? Where- where we see Fire-Child’s backstory?”
Oh.
“I know it’s not exactly the same because Mom Vanta wasn’t trying to hurt me, they just wanted to- to help, but…I still want to see it again.”
Oh.
“Of course, buddy,” Grace breathed. “Of course we can.”
A few minutes later, the two were cuddled up on the couch, the opening of the show playing on Grace’s light and Prism’s texturiser screen right as the front door opened. Grace paused it, and Rocky and Adrian walked into the living room, both in their suits. Grace assumed Rocky had let out most of his wrath in the med bay, venting to both Adrian and Moth, but he could practically feel the residual effects still radiating off of him.
“Are you two doing alright?” Adrian asked.
“Yes, we watch Air-Bender,” Prism piped up. “Join join join!”
At the kid’s more cheerful tone, Rocky seemed to deflate a bit.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Grace said under his breath, and after a pause, Rocky moved his carapace up and down in his mimicry of a nod. He climbed onto the couch next to them, Adrian settling down on the floor.
“Which episode is this?” Rocky asked, and Grace greatly appreciated him still putting in the effort to keep the moment light for Prism’s sake.
“The one where we see how Fire-Child gets their scar,” Prism said, bashfulness partially replaced by excitement. “Mom and I both have carapace scars like them. I want to see it again.”
Rocky let out a low pitched whistle, pained and thrilled both.
“I want to see it too,” he said, voice wobbly, and Adrian added an agreeing chime. Prism raised two arms to do happy little jazz-hands, which Grace automatically joined in on.
“Watch watch watch,” Prism demanded, and Grace dutifully pressed play. He put down the remote to snake an arm around Rocky, pulling him closer. Rocky was still tense, but then Prism put their little hand on his suit and he completely melted against Grace.
Grace fully understood his best friend. The only reason he wasn’t pacing around his house kicking and screaming before grabbing his proverbial baseball bat and marching over to Vantablack’s house was because Prism needed him here, and needed him to anchor them. How Adrian had kept their cool this entire time was beyond him. He was going to have to profusely express his gratitude to them later.
Grace didn’t know all the intricacies of Erid’s penal system, but he was certain that after they reported this to Tony, Vantablack would at the very least get sent to an offenders’ psychiatric facility for the time being. He wasn’t sure how Prism now stood with them, whether or not they still wanted to have them in their life, but if they did, he sincerely hoped that Vantablack would get a full reality check about what they had done to their child. Because if they didn’t come back crawling and begging for forgiveness on their hands and knees, Grace wasn’t sure he’d let them near his kid ever again.
But at least Prism understood. They had been working so hard to unlearn all the toxic behaviours Vantablack had instilled in them and made them believe were to be expected from a parent, and it looked like they had grasped this one as well.
Grace couldn’t be prouder of his kid.