Chapter Text
“Hey mate.”
The mirror can speak. Of all the scenarios Techno can think of, this is the least probable. It’s probably—it’s got to be some sort of elaborate hallucination. Surely there isn’t actually a—thing in his mirror.
It looks human. The thing in the mirror, it doesn’t look like a monster in the closet, doesn’t look like the creature under the bed, it looks human. Techno stares—gapes, just a little bit.
“Wow,” he laughs, low in his throat. He feels giddy, like nothing is real. “I knew I was crazy. I didn’t think—a man in a mirror.”
“Uhm,” the man says.
“Hallo. I take it that my subconscious has something to say to me.”
“No I’m—I’m actually not—” the man pauses, recollects himself. “I guess there really is no good explanation for this, is there?”
“No, dude. There really isn’t a good explanation for being stuck in a mirror, unless I get real comfortable about some things real quick.”
Maybe that’s why this hallucination is here, it wants him to start believing in magic. Well, screw his brain, because he hasn’t believed in magic since his fairy garden in the backyard was shredded by the lawnmower.
“I don’t believe in magic,” he says flatly.
“I see.” says the man in the mirror. “Well then, my name is Phil, can I be your mirror mirror on the wall for today?”
“Dude.” Techno says, “I just told you I don’t believe in magic.”
The man—Phil’s eyes crinkle a bit.
“You don’t believe in magic, but I’m inclined to.”
“Uh huh, and why is that?”
“Considering my current situation, it would be dumb of me to say otherwise.”
“Your current situation,” Techno says. Does that mean anything? Why does the hallucination have thoughts of its own. He’s pretty sure hallucinations aren’t supposed to argue with you, but what does he know?
“Yes. My current situation, I don’t know if you've noticed,” Phil says, before looking down at his hands and pressing them into the mirror. Palms facing out, he looks like a symbolic self-portrait, “but I’m currently stuck in a mirror. If I don’t start believing in magic real quickly, mate, I’m going to have a much bigger problem on my hands.”
He waves a hand around looking vaguely amused. Right, he is…stuck in a mirror. How does that even happen? How bad do you have to be to get stuck in a mirror?
“Okay,” Techno says. “Mirror mirror on the wall, why are you here?”
“Well,” Phil starts, and his face creases, mouth settling into a frown “I was fighting… a dude, and someone shot me. Apparently whatever weapon that dude had could make people into reflections. It led to some…odd experiences with people, seeing a random man in their mirror, and all. You, on the other hand, seem perfectly calm.”
Huh. Techno thinks that maybe that should alarm him. Phil doesn’t seem too concerned, but Techno has only known him for a total of about five minutes, and he’s still not entirely sure that Phil isn’t just some elaborate hallucination Techno’s brain cooked up.
And wow, that’s a thought, maybe Techno’s dreaming.
He pinches himself.
Ow.
Not a dream then.
“Hey, uh, mate,” the mirror says. “I don’t know your name.”
Techno narrows his eyes, glaring at Phil, “My name is none of your business.”
“Ooooookay then, I’ll just…not refer to you. Maybe”
Phil looks confused. Techno takes pity on him, “Call me Blade.”
“Blade,” Phil hums. “Right, sounds cool. Villainous. You’re not a supervillain are you? Tell me you’re not a supervillain.”
“I am not a supervillain,” Techno intones.
“That was so confident,” Phil laughs. Phil laughs a lot, Techno has noticed. It’s weird.
Techno picks at his sleeve. He hadn't meant to sound sarcastic. “Sorry—” he starts, but he doesn’t get anywhere.
“Nah mate, don’t worry about it. I was just poking fun at you.”
“Oh.”
“Well…” Phil says. “I have to—figure a way out of this. I’m going to slip off to another house. You’re a good kid.”
The figure disappears from the mirror and Techno’s reflection returns. Techno stares at himself. That just happened.
Well then.
***
Techno settles back into his routine easily after Phil’s surprise—should he call it a visit or a haunting? Can you call it a haunting if the thing isn’t dead? Techno’s not sure.
He can’t ask.
When he settles in to go to sleep, he glances at the mirror. It glares accusingly at him.
He gets up, the carpet is cold under his feet, toes curling into the fabric.
He only has one blanket, almost see-through by how worn it is. Is it worth it? he wonders. Is it worth it to cover the mirror? What if you were right, what if Phil actually was a hallucination?
His paranoia wins out, in the end; the blanket covers the mirror nicely, only the bottom edge poking out, so if Phil was real, and if he comes back, he’ll have a hard time seeing anything except for Techno’s socks. And the mess on his floor—Techno should really clean his room.
He glanced at the bed, at the lumpy mattress and the flat pillow. He doesn’t want to sleep there tonight—he doesn't want to sleep tonight, if he’s being honest, head spinning from the events of the day.
He brings a hand to his cheek, pressing a bit. Ouch. Definitely not a dream, probably not a hallucination either.
Phil is real.
He doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to think about how a man gets a powerful enough enemy to shoot him with a gun that turns him into a reflection. Magic doesn’t exist. It can’t.
If magic existed, Techno wouldn’t be here.
If magic existed, maybe Techno would be sane.
If magic existed, Techno would be able to sleep.
Magic doesn’t exist, and Techno is here, in his room, feeling slightly hysterical and very awake.
He has school tomorrow. How is he going to explain anything to his teachers? He’s suddenly glad he got more makeup at the corner store—there’s too much bruising to cover up with just what he has left, and he certainly can’t go to school with a giant bruise on his cheek. Plus, it’s summer, and summer means sweltering hot sun and unforgiving humidity. He can’t wear a hoodie without attracting attention to himself; attention is the absolute worst thing that could happen to him.
The bruises on his arms speak for themselves.
He checks his watch. 11:30PM. It’s time for him to turn his lights off, get into bed, and stay very very still.
Hopefully Pa won’t check on him tonight, it’s always hard for Techno to stay silent when he can feel the eyes crawling over him, checking for any sign of teenage rebellion.
The blanket over the mirror should be fine, shouldn’t draw attention.
He gets in bed.
His watch—he’s lucky to own a nice one, with quiet ticks for every second, only loud enough that he can hear them, and counts up to 100 using the tempo the watch sets for him. He counts down to zero, and then up again.
The door creaks open. Techno hears Pa’s heavy breathing in his ear, even if Techno is half a room away from the man. Pa grunts. Techno breathes.
The watch ticks.
Techno breathes.
His breath has to be steady. He’s sleeping. He’s sleeping he’s—
He’s not sleeping.
Tick. Inhale. One—
Pa moves into the center of the room, eyes never leaving Techno’s still body.
Two. Tick. Three—eyes on his back—four.
Hold. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Out. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Hold. Tick. Tick. Tick—
Pa grunts. His footsteps lead out of the room. The door squeaks shut.
Techno lies still. He counts to a hundred before he gets up, walking silently around his room to gather the things he needs for the night. Pajamas, toothpaste, toothbrush, the old stuffed animals Pa got him before—before.
He throws everything but the toothbrush and toothpaste into a corner.
***
The desk stands silent in the corner, promising safety to anyone who crawls under; Techno used to sleep here every night, before Pa caught him sneaking out and started to check on him. The edges of the desk are covered by old pieces of cardboard, blocking anyone looking into the room from seeing what’s under the desk.
When Techno was shorter, he could stretch out under the desk, get comfortable. Now, he just curls up in a tight ball on the floor and rests his head on a stuffed animal.
He’s safe now. As safe as he can be.
Pa won’t come to check on him again, Techno knows that, and the only other thing that could cause him grief is the window (Techno always checks the lock before he goes to sleep, but he’s not oblivious to the fact that it’s easily breakable.) and the mirror. The mirror is covered but—
Phil hadn’t been entirely honest, that much was obvious. The man was hiding something—something big. One doesn’t just make enemies that can turn them into reflections. Phil’s almost certainly into something shady.
Techno thrives on shady, but he’s never heard of a weapon like that; it begs the question of whether or not Phil’s bluffing about the weapon. If Phil could just step out of the mirror at any time—he had to get in there somehow—a single flimsy blanket isn’t going to stop him.
Techno has a decent defense, but only if Phil wasn’t lying, and Phil was very clearly lying.
But Phil seemed so innocent, laughing like that. Soft and happy, like nothing bad had ever happened to him.
Someone innocent like Phil—seriously, how does the man laugh so much—can’t get caught up in Techno’s mess, not with the absolute disaster it is. Techno’s surprised he hasn’t been arrested yet.
Tick, goes his watch. It’s midnight. Techno has to wake up at five to get to school on time, and he’s got multiple tests tomorrow.
He closes his eyes and wishes for sleep to come.
As his mind goes fuzzy, the world phasing in and out, Techno swears he can hear the soft echo of Phil’s laugh in his ear, and he slides into sleep easily for the first time in years.