Chapter Text
Grant was working on the floor, hunched over his computer. He wasn’t sure why he didn't seat at his desk, but he had vague recollection of trying to find one, and someoene or something always making it impossible for him, so he just chose the ground.
He was working on an import edit. But no matter how hard he tried to focus or how many times he reread the lines of code, he couldn’t understand anything. Numbers and letters seemed jambled into nonsense, and he KNEW it was not it. That it was his problem he couldn’t read them… He just didn’t understand why. He MADE this code, he should be able to read it! He wasn’t that crazy, right? He could still make sense of words on the screen, come on!
And there was this nagging urgency at the back of his head, making him sweat, his fingers dancing frantically over the keyboard. He was already late for something, and he had sooo many other things to do, that he couldn’t touch yet, not before finishing THIS. But it seemed like the harder he tried, the more behind he fell.
And this was so important and he had so little time and…
His screen suddenly turned blood red. He instinctevly recoiled, but there was no error message, just crimson light.
"No no no no…” He murmrued, feeling panic grow in his stomach as he grabbed the monitor. "Don’t do that to me, don’t lock me out!” He groaned.
He knew, he knew that the consequences for not doing what he was doing would be terrible!
Then the monitor turned off, leaving him in almost complete darkness. Grant flinched, looking around. He couldn’t make anything out without the light but the checkered floor underneath him.
"Hello? I need to fix this! What happened?!” He shouted into the black. Only his own voice answering him. But it sounded wrong – not like an actuall echo but as if it was a replayed recording.
He looked back at the computer and in it’s place was a hole in the ground, with rushing, dark water underneath.
Was it water? Was water suppose to be deep red?
He took few steps away from the hole. He needed to find a computer, he needed to fix this…
Something moved in the corner of his eye, a shadow, shifting, running just beyond his gaze. Grant whipped his head to it, but there was nothing, just the same suffocating darkness as everywhere.
Something run behind him, he could hear and feel it, but when he quickly turned around again – nothing.
He slowly backed away, with his back hunched a little, franticly looking around. He could feel he was beeing hunted.
A growl.
A scuffle.
Feet, or paws against the floor.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see a damn thing…
Untill he tripped and fell on his back, with a pained groan. Once he looked back up, there was a pair glowing eyes in the darknes.
Predatory gaze lasor focused on him.
One red and one blue.
He couldn’t move a muscle, completly frozen in place, as the eyes got closer, now seated in the middle of a giant, gaping jaw with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth. The monster growled and suddenly pounced. Grant closed his eyes as heat of the maw eveloped him with a loud CHOMP!
Grant braced himself for pain, for beeing ripped to shreds or swallowed whole and disintegrated via burning acid or maybe suffocating...
He blinked his eyes open. He was in the pillowfort, spawned on the floor in the same position the beast got him. He lifted himself up, and feeled his model all over for injuries or missing polygons. He was okay.
He heard muffled voices from outside and decided to peak into circus through a gap between the pillows.
"There you are!” He was welcomed by a smiling avatar of Queenie.
"Oh, hi honey, I had the most peculiar dream…” He huffed, letting his wife help him up and out of the fort.
"What was it about?” She asked and Kinger was just about to tell her when he realised he had no clue.
"I don’t know.”
"Oh then it’s not worth worrying about, come, join us for dinner!” She beckoned him towards a long table.
Everyone was already seated there, Scratch, Warmo, Bizco, Rattie and Spike.
"Took you long enough!” Scratch teased with an eyeroll. "Didn’t you hear we’re on a time crunch?!”
Kinger looked down, embarassed.
"I’m sorry.”
"Whatever.” Scratch waved his hand in a dismissive gesture that looked… wrong on his avatar. That’s a move fitting someone else, not him… was he parodying someone? Kinger wasn’t sure. "You were suppose to follow simple instructions and now you messed it all up for everyone…”
"Cut him some slack, he lost his computer.” Queenie defended him, walking around the table and sitting on Scratch’s right.
Kinger was the only one on the other side of the table, and the only one still standing. He had a fleating thought that he must look like a contestant on a talent show, and the rest were like judges.
He looked around but there seemed to be no empty chairs.
"Oh, I guess I’ll just stand.” He conclueded and everyone else nodded. It was better this way. It made sense. Then he rememmbered something and took an uneasy look around.
"Huh… oh… Hey, have you seen my AI?” He asked, fumbling with his fingers.
He knew he was missing something, that might’ve been it! It would explain why this situation felt a bit off.
Warmo shot him a condesending look.
"You lost it again?”
"Have you seen him?” Kinger felt a growing worry inside him. What if he never finds his AI? This project was very important and very time sensitive, and he promised others to help, to fix the situation before something bad will happen, before those adventures turn into…
His friends exchanged slightly annoyed looks and a coupe of smirks.
"If it’s gone, then it’s gone, what’s the issue?” Bizco shrugged and played with his utencils, even tho his plate was still empty, like everyonelses.
"Yeah, it’s only fair.” Scratch agreed, pointing at Kinger with his fork.
That made Kinger worry even more. Didn’t they understand that it was important? Urgent?!
"No, I need to find him. Get to him I… please did you see my AI?”
"Grant, honey calm down please.” His wife’s gentle tone eased him slightly. Her eyes warm and inviting. "Come and eat with us. I’m sure you’ll find your AI in notime, and if not? The world won’t end. You’re always so focused on your work. Just take a plate and don't worry your cherished checkerhead about it.”
Kinger relaxed slightly and sighed deeply, taking one last glance around as if hoping that his computer would randomly respawn somewhere so he could get back to his now not-so-important-anymore work.
But once he returned his attention to the table, he immediatelly flinched and took a big step back.
The plates were no longer empty. On the top was a giant, spaghetti-like tangled mess of wires, slopply put in front of everyone, tangled and gross, staining everything around – the plates, the previously prestine white tablecloth, even models of his fellow humans – with blue and red, sticky liquids.
The others seemed happy with the "meal”, grabbing it with forks or other utencils and pulling towards their own plates.
"Come and join Kinger, or you’ll miss dinner!” Rattie giggled, biting into the cables like if it was pasta. The urgency at the back of chesspieces mind was back but it was not about the meal. What was it about? Something he lost, something he was missing, something… something important.
He turned his head away from the table, the wires making him nausious, reminding of hair removed from the showerdrain and sounds of squishie munching only fueled his unnerve.
"Honey!” Quennie called to him. "Please, eat with us!”
He was unable to ignore his beloved wife… oh God he missed her so much and was so happy she was with him here. Even tho, logically, she was always here. She joined with him. He didn’t know why he felt melancholy when thinking about her. Everything was fine.
Kinger half-reluctantly opened his eyes.
And immediatelly regretted it.
The circus looked gray, distorted. It always looked like this since he... he lost something… broke something... yeah. But it was okay. He had his fellow humans so it was okay. Nothing to worry about… But the table, the table was to worry about. Yes. The table he still stood in front of. He was late with something right? His gaze focused on the wires again.
But they shifted. No, wait, there was never any wires, of course. That’s why he felt so uneasy. Who eats wires? Silly, noone. This was not their dinner.
"Kinger? Come on, join us before it’s all gone.” Queenie beckoned him.
But he couldn’t, he was frozen in place staring blankly at what was spawned in front of him.
The AI.
His missing AI!
His…
Caine lied on the table, his model distorted, elongated in ways Kinger was sure shouldn’t be the norm. Distorted, like Salvador Dali's painting. His head was turned to Kinger, eyes curiously focused. His chest was cut wide pen, and he was reaching into himself, pulling out cables and haphazardly throwing them onto player’s plates, grunting in pain between laboured breaths. The humans were launching themselves like hungry wolfes for each wave of robotnic intestants, ripping them with their bare hands and teeth, gulping down as if their lifes depended on it.
Kinger felt nausious, but he could not move, could not look away, couldn’t do anything. It was set in stone, someonelses decission. He knew that, he knew he was stupid for just standing there like a tool. But he had no idea what he should do...
"What are you staring at?” Scratch asked, his mouth full, red and blue – why it didn’t mix into purple? That doesn’t… not that’s not paint, that’s only what paint does… not paint no… - dripping down his chin like blood.
It was blood, so fitting…
Kinger didn’t know how to answer. He wanted to look away and never have to think about it ever again. Some weird, warm sensation made him glance down at his white gloves that were now covered in the same sticky substancje as everything else. His robe tho, didn’t stain for some reason. A glitch?
His hands felt heavy, weighthed down by the mess. He looked back up and Caine was moving his maw, as if he was trying to say something, but no sound was leaving him. Kinger wanted to help, he was there to help, to fix, to do something importand, so he leaned in.
"What was that?” He asked the AI, that still, continuously emptied his chest onto the table. Was it normal? It didn’t seem normal, but everyone else acted like it was so maybe Kinger was the odd one out? His mind was always hazy in the light afterall…
"Why do you people torment me?” Caine asked in a pathetic, barelly hearable whimper.
Scratch laughed at that.
Quennie also chuckled.
"It’s only fair.” She said. Kinger looked up at her and immediatelly recoiled, taking a step back. Half of her beautifull face was covered in black, shifting mass, with multiple eyes stirling with neon colors.
Kinger panickly looked at the others, and everone was in various stages of abstracting, the black, distorted mesh connecting them to the table and eachother, tho still not fully consuming. They were all smilling at him.
"Wh… what? No. Nono nono, not like this thats not how…” Kinger mumbled backing away, almost tripping. His chest tighthening with absolute terror.
"I’m sorry…” Caine spoke, his hands finally stopping that eager self-mutilation. His torso now hollowed completly, only white, wast void inside. He reached a trembling, bloodied hand towards Kinger, but it soon dropped limply as he only had enought strenght left in him to stare at his creator with pleading eyes. "Make it stop... it hurts, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... make it stop... Just make it stooop, please...! I didn't meant it... I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, pelase!" He whimpered, his voice small, breaking into small, painfilled sobs.
"Why… no, wait…” kinger grabbed his head, which was begginning to pulse with pain.
The half-abstracted humans looked at Kinger with sad smiles, pity even.
"Why don’t you join us, Grant?” His wife’s warm, sweet voice cut into him like a knife. This was wrong this was so wrong wrong WRONG…
"I’m sorry... It’s only fair.” Caine repeated, tears falling from his eyes, mixing with the bloody mess surrounding him.
Suddenly hands. Many firm, determined hands grabbed Kinger, from every side. He slammed against the ground, hard.
Pomni, Ragatha, Zooble, Gangle… he knew they were the ones holding him, pulling away from the table. He tried to wiggle free, to crawl back towards Caine, towards Queenie, but they kept dragging him away into darkness.
"No! Wait! Wait, no I’m not… what is…?!”
"We can’t fix every problem, we do what we can…” Pomni’s voice echoed through his skull. Familliar words. His own....
"I KNOW! BUT I CAN, JUST…! WAIT!” Kinger begged, clawing at the floor, that gave zero support, the table slowly dissappearing in the distance.
"Oh, Kinger… try not to think too hard about it…”
Why were her words so soft?! So calm?! So comforting?! He didn’t feel comforted, he felt nausious, he felt scared, he…
"Nonononooono…!” Kinger felt himself beeing swallowed into an empty future. Pomni's soft whisper enveloping him like the most opressive blanket in the world.
"He never asked to be created.”
"AAAAAAGGHHH!!!!”
.
.
.
.
.
.
"AAAAAAGGHHH!!!!”
Kinger woke up with a scream, his heart pounding in his chest. He was sweating, panicking, frantically ghasping for air.
After he realised where he was, that it was in fact, just a dream, and when his pulse slowed down into a "no-longer-at-risk-for-a-heart-attack” level, he turned onto his stomach and yelled into his pillow with a mix of frustration, exhaustion and anger.
This was getting problematic to a completly different degree.
His head hurt, his eyes stung and his entire body felt stiff and disgustingly heavy.
He can’t do this for much longer… Every night: another nightmare, each more disturbing than the other.
For a week…
Kinger was not avoiding Caine.
He was just busy, helping others rebuild and redecorate the circus.
Kinger was not avoiding Caine.
He was giving him space, Caine seemed jumpy and weary around him – well he seemed to be walking, or rather floating, on eggshells around everyone since he came back anyways but, that's beside the point! – so chesspiece made sure to not make him even more uncomfortable.
Kinger was not avoiding Caine.
He was just very very tired, and had a lot of very very complicated feelings in his own head that needed sorting before he could approach it in a conversation. He didn’t wan’t to say something he’d regret, or worse, provoke the other side to do the same…
Kinger was not avoiding Caine.
He was just existing next to him and ignoring his pressence, but in a polite not cruel way, like when there were only the two of them in the circus. He responded and spoke up whenever it was needed. Just never reached out which was... nothing... new... oh God...
Kinger was NOT avoiding Caine.
He was just always choosing to spend time somewhere he knew the Ringmaster was unlikely to be.
He was… footing himself. He WAS avoiding Caine, and that just added to his guilt because… because what? Because Caine was needy and selfish and obnoxious and couldn’t let Kinger rest even in his own damn head?! No, wait… that… that was not his fault. That was… that’s just exhaustion speaking. Emotional AND physical. God, he wanted to sleep, but… but he also was deathly opposed to try, the last nightmare fresh before his eyes, hands still feeling a bit sticky...
Suddenly he was jolted away from his thoughts by a CLANK, cloud of black smoke and some coughing. He blinked few times and looked around the kitchen.
Right, he was suppose to help the girls and Caine make dinner the "classic human way”. Why he agreed, again? Oh, right, Ragatha asked so sweetly and he DID promise to do that, before they invited the AI too…
Caine reached out into the oven and took out something that was suppose to be roasted chicken, but looked more like remnants of a very unfortunate meteor, still sizzling in some spots.
"I have no idea what happened.” Ringmaster stated flatly, staring at the ruined meal with both curiocity and grief.
Pomni was trying her absolute best to not laugh out loud.
"O-oh my God h-how... pfff... how did you even do it? The recipy was right there!” She asked, coughing to hide her giggles and pointing at the sticker notes plastered onto the counter. "Like, I can barelly boil the rice and even that didn’t end so badly!” She held a hand to her mouth.
Caine looked a bit distraught now, and if Kinger wasn"t feeling like a piece of chewed-up gum sticked under the school desk, he would find the entire scene endearingly funny in a very mundane-way.
"I don’t know! I’m used to just snapping finished products, but this…?” He shook the roasting pan wildly, gesturing with it while he spoke, forcing the girls to duck away.
"Oh my, it’s not… that bad… okay it is bad, sorry Caine, this… this is trully baffling. Impressive in a way even.” Ragatha smiled, trying to wave smoke away from the poor oven with a piece of cloth.
"No-ho-ho, I mean, how? We were all here, and you were just suppose to follow simple instructions it's not possib…” Pomni didn’t get to finish because Caine froze in place, the dish slipping out of his hands, landing with a loud crash on the floor.
Kinger also stiffenned, observing with his eyes wide.
He knew those words…
The girls exchanged unsure glances as Caine hovered there, looking into distance, his face absolutelly terryfied.
"Um… Caine? Did you burn yourself or…?” Ragatha tried to approach but the little Ringmaster flinched, jolting a good two steps away from her, leaving the ragdoll buffled and worried. He took in his surroundings and his face shifted into straight up panic.
"Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Nonono, it’s okay, I’ll… I’ll clean it up, I swear! I’m sorry, so sorry I…” He snapped his fingers and the burned chicken, the pan and dent in the floor that it left upon contact dissappeared one by one. "I… I’m sorry, I know… I swear I’ll do better next time! I… I’ll follow, I’ll be good, I’m sorry, pelase forgive me… I….” Caine was now hyperventilating. Kinger subconciously backed away into the corner of the room, still intently staring at the scene.
Ragatha started reassuring Caine that nothing happenned, that they were just joking and teasing, Pomni quickly joining her.
And Kinger stood like an idiot. Well, nothing new here…
It took few minutes for Caine to shake the incident off and stop apologising or looking as if he was about to implode. They soon (maybe a bit more carefully and reluctantly but still) got back to preparring a subsitute dinner in form of chicken nuggets.
And once the AI learned about various shapes the food came in, he seemed to be back to normal.
But Kinger kept his eye on him, barelly paying attention to his own kitchen tasks.
Caine reacted to that, there was no denying.
Caine got aggitated, scared, apologetic.
Kinger noted all of that in his head. As if he was preparing to make a case study.
Perhaps that would be the key to…
.
.
.
To what?
His first thought was about finally getting himself rid of those pesky nightterrors, but he immediatelly realised how disgustingly selfish that was.
Those dreams ment something and… and he was awfully aware WHAT, at least partially…
And what did he do about it?
He was avoiding Caine.
.
.
.
God, he was a monster. A fucking monster!
He learned that the AI, HIS AI, was very much su… more than okay with beeing deleted, learned that he had a VERY unhealthy mindset about it all, that he thought he DESERVED it and actually seemed DISSAPPOINTED that it didn’t stick and… and Kinger hid. He didn’t share those awfully concerning findings with anyone, he didn’t even try to talk to Caine again, he didn’t do ANYTHING about it and he had the fucking AUDACITY to whine about his own, very justified and deserved bad dreams?. OH BOO HOO HOO!!!! What was he, five?! No, five-year-olds had some basic empathy and more common sense than...!
Everyoneelse jolted with a scream when he slammed his head against the kitchen table.
"Kinger! Oh my gosh, are you…?” Ragatha spoke and tried to walk towards him but he lifted his hand with a thumb-up, not moving from the position of having his forhend pressed to the cold, marble surface.
"Just dropped something...” He murmured, hoping they will shrugg the looney excuse off.
Yeah, you dropped something, mister. The ball, like… twenty years ago… and you just keep on dropping and dropping and dropping it…
He sighed deeply and after a moment straighthened himself up.
Before getting back to chomping potatoes for fries, he looked at Caine again, who was intently focused on conjuring bee-shaped-frozen-nuggets with a smile of a toddler who just learned that playing with food was not only permitted but expected.
Chesspiece felt an icy knife pierce his heart. Mix of guilt, grief and shame making him almost vomit…
He swallowed hard, hands trembling. Time for a second approach.
Fuck nightmares, fuck guilt, fuck his stupid analitical game of dream-journalism!
This was not about him.