Work Text:
White Hat, as he’d always been called by, had been a close companion with humanity for as long as its history could remember. When he first set foot upon the earth, he was quick to grow fond of these beings as soon as he encountered them. They were quaint and charming, with many things to admire about their nature: their curiosity, their complex simplicity, and their creativity.
As he began to help humans flourish in their own little lives, he became well-known through the legends that aged with his amity to them. Throughout the countless eras in which he had existed among them, he found himself enjoying how much and how quickly their societies could change. It was a small, fleeting world that lived fervidly; with creatures no different from its own nature.
The very first thing he had noticed about them was their natural tenacity; this fiery will to live that he had never witnessed when he’d had little more than the debris of the stars to accompany him in space. These small patches of mortal light and warmth were rare and invaluable within the universe’s expanse.
And, their emotions were just as vibrant as their souls—he could feel what they experienced, as if it reverberated somewhere in his form. It seemed to be a product of living on a planet teeming with life. It was as if he could almost truly empathize with them, despite feeling separate from human nature. The light breaths they took as they spoke thrummed in some part of him, like thumbing at a string. The numbness that took them made him feel cold, but not quite empty.
The earth here consumed energy voraciously, and lived quickly; like those small hummingbirds he always loved to observe. Like flying jewels, so colorful and vibrant, hovering in the air and eating their own weight as their small hearts pounded so quickly and spent so much of their strength that they would only last for a short amount of time.
But, unlike hummingbirds, humans had more of a stronger… sense of self, as White Hat decided to call it. It was as if everything had to be important to them. Perhaps it was the “enlightened mortal condition”, which was another thing he had come up with during his first moments of interacting with them.
Ever since he had found this planet, he had used his voice more than he ever had when meandering the seams of this vast plane. They were all so loud; so full of life. He remembered he had almost scared himself upon hearing it for the first time in what may have been… a few million years?—in terms of how humans measure time, at least.
He made sure to have his voice sound pleasant to people. He didn’t want to scare them off for something as redundant as that. He was obliged to help, after all. Something smooth, reassuring, melodic for them. Humans seemed to generally prefer it when voices sounded like that. So, he worked to mold a new voice for them that was simplified to what they could grasp, hear, and, well, understand what he was saying.
Their methods of communication were awfully primitive; even humans could go only as far as verbally expressing themselves through sound. Not that he felt a sense of pitying superiority over this planet, he just found it so fascinating that humans could still make do with what little they had.
During his time with them, he had begun to develop this sense of duty he’d never had the chance to realize before coming to Earth. Something people would often refer to as a Vision; the kind that only their Greater Beings could fabricate from beyond what the sun had yet to see. He was what they insisted a god walking among men.
And, so, he helped guide civilizations out of condemnation and into prosperity. But, humans were far from perfect, and eventually their societies would crumble by their own human faults when White Hat did not help them. Some had eventually grown to scorn his name for what they believed was betrayal on his part, and began to loathe him and his vision that always seemed to lead back to catastrophe.
He was well aware of this, because even if he cared deeply for the life of this world, it was not so simple to lead them every step of the way. He didn’t think it fair to do so. Even if he was immortal, he still had no right to live another’s life for them.
But, humans were not perfect, not in the slightest; though many often wished to be. They were terrible decision-makers, greedy and desperate because of their mortality. Really, he did not mind helping them. He preferred watching them be relatively happy, because they seemed brighter that way. They could be so beautiful in their own way, at times; just as their planet.
This was why he felt the need to help them. They meant to strive for a safer life, and they could not do that easily. It was his ultimate responsibility; what they had given to him in order to fill this emptiness of being timeless that had always followed him.
Until now, he hadn’t really been so aware of all of these things about them. He remembered feeling impressed by them and what they could do and how much potential they could have, but now it was… somehow different.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had never really allowed himself to come too close with people. They were just so ephemeral. It felt almost forbidden to do such a thing, to know them intimately when their lives were so short and delicate.
Their souls were so bright and warm. He would try to ignore how they would fade over time, grow colder, wear away from their nature. And, he had managed to do so for a very long time. He wasn’t necessarily proud to say that he had maintained a safe distance from them. He just wanted to not feel… more empty.
That, more than anything, was what he most wished to avoid.
He had been lost in thought lately, thinking about all of these things. Of how amazing these small creatures could be. How tragic it was to watch the world that burned in their hearts slowly fade away with time.
But, now, he had given in.
The man’s name was Slug. At least, that was what he had always insisted that he go by.
When White Hat had first seen Slug, what he had noticed first were not the chemical burns scarring his face, nor the burn marks webbed across his arms. When this man had first approached him, White Hat saw the empty eyes of a broken human; a glimpse of a soul rotting away from guilt. Initially, of course, he could not have known what rendered this man into nearly a shell of a human being, but he felt that for the time being then that it was best to leave the matter alone. This was not the first time he’d had to stifle his responsibility.
The man came to him in search of a job position he’d had open for some time; his organization had just started, and he was in need of someone who could engineer products for heroes. But, this odd Slug was a mysterious man: often, White Hat wondered for what other reasons he had initially come to him.
His personality was largely sarcastic, sharp wit as calloused as the old scars littering his olive skin. White Hat could tell then that he was self-conscious of the marks to some extent. Eventually, the man created a mask of his own to wear and hide his face, as well as a specially designed pair of goggles to express himself.
Since then, White Hat had rarely seen his face, which wouldn’t have meant much to him. Supposedly. Seeing the human stirred something inside him. It was a feeling he could not recall, like when he had heard his voice for the first time in thousands of years. It frightened him a little: the bittersweet pang that softly hit against his chest, where a human’s heart would be, and ebbed its way to his throat.
A small part of him wished he had cherished that face before Slug had taken it away from him.
He would never say it aloud, but he missed it often—even if he could still sneak the occasional unfair glimpse of it. The mask and goggles were adequate; they did their job in communicating. But, he found they were equally deficient in it, as well, which was likely what the good doctor had intended. The mask was a safe place for him to hide not only his scars, but also what those artificial eyes could not portray. Like the small smiles that sometimes graced his features, the occasional grimaces and sneers, and, White Hat’s most favorite, the rare red tint that would faintly creep its way onto his scarred cheeks.
Ever since this particular human presented himself to White Hat, he had begun to realize how much they could mean to him. It was a dangerous thing to recognize for someone like himself.
If White Hat could call it his own life, had he been finite, he would say that Slug had completely turned it around for him. In a lot of wonderfully human ways; neither good nor bad changes.
When he found the time away from the company, he would try to remember to think back from the very beginning, when this man had unwittingly taught him how to better understand the mortal condition. When he had been cold and distant, embittered and sorrowful. Neither of them would have known it then, but Slug would change greatly as well. White Hat can still remember how hopeless his new doctor had once felt, guilt weighing heavy upon his soul, smelling like rain on dry soil. How lonely the man felt. Lost.
White Hat had been tempted to figure out this mysterious human for what felt like the longest time. The pain of watching his soul dying was unbearable when he hesitated to help such a guarded man. He wanted to see just this one man flourish and triumph over this terrible human misery.
Those years seemed, for once, to have been the slowest time had felt for him. But, eventually—as these humans loved to say—life will always come full circle…
• II •
It had been close to month since the doctor decided to move into the manor, and if White Hat had to be honest with himself, he was still trying to adjust to him. He neglected to realize how noisy humans could be as a companion sharing a living space, and how messy they naturally were.
Not that Slug was particularly a slovenly character; not at all, actually. He was especially meticulous for a human. White Hat had simply been accustomed to living in an empty space, as he required no earthly necessities for sustenance.
But, this small addition to his home made it much more lively than before, and he was beginning to think he preferred it this way. On the first morning of Slug living in his manor, he startled at the faint sound of something sizzling from somewhere in the house, and realized the distinct scent of cooking from the kitchen. He had been so used to the still silence of the manor for so long, he failed to notice how it had fallen quiet some time after the sun had set hours before, which was when humans typically slept.
He remembered that on that morning, curiosity got the better of him and he was tempted to see what his new scientist was doing. The kitchen rarely saw any use, aside from the occasional guest seeking refuge in a place where they knew they would be safe.
White Hat remembered believing at the time that Slug was likely there for the same reason.
When he drifted down the stairs, he peered down into the kitchen, through the gentle morning light softening the room’s sterile whiteness—before the manor had been repainted—and the dust floating in the air, and saw him there at the stove cooking something. It eventually became a comfortable habit within just these two weeks; once every several hours, White Hat would come down, drawn to the familiar savory smell meandering into his office, and then watch the good doctor cooking contentedly. Slug was quick to catch onto this pattern, and once asked him jokingly if he was hungry.
He could still feel that at that moment something in his chest swelled up a little, delighted to partake in casual conversation with him. He noticed humans typically acted more lighthearted when they were comfortable with their surroundings.
And, that was also the first time in a long while since he had last tasted human food. Slug was kind enough to make another serving of scrambled eggs, pop one slice of bread in the toaster, and offer the meal to him. He stared blankly at it for a moment, the ceramic plate held gently in his talons. Slug shrugged and offhandedly remarked little stiffly, “It’s a sandwich, of sorts. Without the second slice of bread. I dunno,” and went to eating his own identical breakfast. Scrambled eggs on top of one slice of buttered, toasted whole-wheat bread.
Since then, White Hat noticed he often made that same meal for breakfast almost everyday. It was one of the few predictable things about that man so far. He was able to make many other things as well, which was how White Hat had learned that he really enjoyed seafood the most out of any other human recipes.
But, really, he visited Slug during these times because he wasn’t busy with his work. He wasn’t sure why, but he was drawn to him for some reason.
A few days ago, White Hat walked in on Slug cutting some hot peppers while a large saucepan bubbled behind him. He remembered then he was about to tell his scientist about their newer client (at the time), “Cosmica”, scheduling a consultation while also wishing to request a custom order from Slug; and flushed at suddenly realizing he was already on his break. He paused and stared dumbly at the man, not certain why he couldn’t bring himself to move, until he noticed him standing there.
Slug’s eyes flicked up to him for a second while raising a brow before continuing his task: “…May I help you?”
“I—um. I-I had forgotten about… um,” the Elder Being’s eyes flitted across the room in an attempt avoid eye contact.
The doctor picked up the cutting board to carefully drop the peppers into the pot, mindful to keep any of the oil from spilling out. He couldn’t resist the small smile at his boss’ stuttering. “Tudo bem[1],” he shrugged, facing White Hat, “I’m guessing this is about Ms. Delano.”
White Hat nodded absently, “I didn’t mean to… interrupt your break.”
Slug waved a hand, which the Elder Being assumed was a gesture of dismissed pardon. The scientist understood White Hat’s nature well enough by now to know he had minimal grasp on the human concept of time, particularly when it was organized. There was a lot he had learned about him within nearly three weeks of living with him; arguably, he would admit that while reading up about Elder Beings did help him to some extent, it almost paled in comparison to—of course—actually knowing and living with one.
And, while he initially judged this creature to truly be as reputable as the heroic community commended his figure, he had to admit he was a little caught off-guard by how… humble? he really made himself to be.
White Hat was certainly not as in-tune with humans as Slug had assumed, that was for certain. The public associated his face with morality; people typically praised him, for he was the Hero of All Heroes. But, it really wasn’t as black-and-white as the world had made him to be. He was a little too stiff when communicating with others and had difficulty in grasping common language, and he didn’t necessarily come off as a hypercritical do-gooder at all. What he seemed to really focus on was offering choices for humans seeking help; not heavily quantifying the morality of an action, for he seemed to know far more than anything that there was nothing on earth that was truly “good”.
To some extent, Slug found it comforting. It made White Hat seem much more human than god-like and untouchable.
Slug waited a few minutes for the calamari and peppers to rise up to the surface in the pan, then fished the contents out with a basket sitting by it, and dropped them onto a plate with a paper towel sitting atop of it. He noticed White Hat was still watching him quietly, and felt a little self-conscious of the silence between them.
“You, uh, want some?”
“Um—no! Of course not! I don’t want to be rude—”
Slug shook his head and chuckled, and White Hat fell silent, “Nah, really, it’s fine. I made too much for myself by accident, anyway.”
Slug didn’t have to look at him to know that the Elder Being was scrambling to insist otherwise, like he always did. He figured White Hat would come down, anyway, so he had made sure to make a small extra batch just in case. He remembered an ancient text mentioning something about the Elder Ones’ diet consisting primarily of marine life. And, with that in mind… “Y’know, something tells me you might really like this,” he grinned beneath the mask, taking a fork to scoot some of the calamari and fried peppers onto an extra plate and push it towards White Hat, “Be careful, it’s still hot. If that… matters, considering.”
White Hat gently took the fork in one hand, trying to work with his talons. When he managed to pick up a ring, he looked at it blankly, then glanced at Slug expectantly.
“...What? Are you gonna eat it, or not?”
With one more gaze at the fried squid stuck to his fork, he popped it in his mouth, contemplating the odd, chewy texture. When the salty, yet tangy taste hit his tastebuds, he couldn’t resist the bright beam towards the human, which caused him to laugh.
Although his good doctor hadn’t been here for very long, White Hat decided he really liked hearing it; the sweet sound of his laughter. It was the first time he had heard it.
Slug turned to start cleaning up the remaining mess he had left while cooking. He let White Hat assist him, although there was not much for him to do to help; but, it was still appreciated. When he pulled out a small bowl of some red sauce White Hat couldn’t identify, he cocked his head to the side as the man dipped a ring into it and nibbled at it to test the heat.
“Oh, this is marinara sauce if you were wondering. It’s got tomatoes, oregano, garlic, that kinda stuff in it. You should try it,” he encouraged.
White Hat picked up another ring with his fork, and tentatively hovered it over the bowl.
“Go on, it’s fine. It tastes good, I promise. Just, no double-dipping, please.”
He dipped it in, nearly dropping the squid into the sauce, and chewed at it for a few moments to consider the flavor. He looked at Slug, nodding approvingly, “It’s good.”
The man chuckled, and went to finishing his lunch quickly.
They discussed and resolved Cosmica’s commission briefly. White Hat couldn’t forget how relaxed he had seemed about him interrupting his break. If he hadn’t known better, he would have considered that the human just happened to be in good spirits.
But, it wasn’t entirely that. It was as if this man... understood him, even if to a limited extent.
During these first three weeks, these moments were the only times White Hat had seen his doctor not so… distant. He was a little warmer: more so than usual. The Elder Being understood no two humans were the same, which he didn’t mind, so he accepted it would take some time for Slug to open up a little more.
He could sense this misery; he could see it in his eyes when he first looked into them, and he could not get his mind off of it. If only he could help; if only this human would learn to trust him, he wouldn’t hesitate to do anything to help him. But, he had to remind himself that this was just the beginning; three weeks was not a long time at all, even for a human. For now, all he could do was wait.
He would tell himself this when he encountered his doctor at any other time of the day, which happened much more frequently than seeing him relaxed. The man was a hard worker, which slightly surprised White Hat, but it was understandable when one realized a man like him needed to be productive to keep his mind off of other things haunting him.
But, it was so tempting to seek for what phantoms lingered within his complex, mysterious mind. The Elder Being could just barely see it, even without looking into his mortal soul.
He would try to ignore it when the scientist met up with him once every few days for a progress report on a new product, or an update on how many orders he had completed that were waiting to be shipped, or anything regarding their connections to P.A.X. or U.S.H.E.R.D. Heroic politics were too complicated for White Hat’s taste; if there was one complaint he really had to make against humans, it was they had a habit of making many things more difficult than they should be. Ever since Slug had moved into the manor, he had heavily insisted on getting more involved with the Heroic society.
…Come to think of it, his doctor had made a very compelling point on doing so, after having worked under him for no more than a few months, if not less:
“Umm, White Hat?” Slug barged into his office holding a large pile of letters in his arms, nearly startling him.
White Hat’s gaze flew from his work to the man, looking hopeful, “Yes, Doctor? Is something wrong?”
“So, I—shit!” he scrambled to hold the loose letters on his person, dropping more on the wooden flooring in the process. He stared at them for a moment before continuing, “…So, I had ordered my shipment of the eutectic alloys and LIB’s from the warehouse some days ago right?”
“Um, yes?”
“Yuh-huh. And, they came in today. ‘Cuz I ordered them.”
“Yes…?”
“So, I went to get them on the front gate, y’know? Where the mail gets dropped off.”
White Hat blinked owlishly, “…The mail?”
Slug nodded slowly, goggles deadpanned, “Yeah. The mail.”
The Elder Being stared at him silently, expectant.
Slug stared at him back. “Are you… Have you seriously not known that you’ve been getting mail this entire time—?!”
“Now, now, Doctor—”
“Ah, no! Don’t you ‘Now, now, Doctor,’ me! This is your concern, mister! Not mine!” he pointedly gave him a look just before spreading the mail out on the surface of the desk, accidentally toppling the tower of paperwork onto the ground, “Are you seeing this? You got—” he snatched up a few envelopes that looked identical in one hand, “—fucking water, gas, electric bills, mortgage payments all piled up and behind, and—and this?!” he threw the bills over his shoulder and pawed at some other envelopes before flinging them towards White Hat, “the I.R.S. spamming your white ass because you’re neglecting to pay your goddamn taxes on time, and—oh? What’s this here?” he scooped up half of the remaining letters, “Leaving the United fucking States Heroic Enemy Reformation Division on read?! Not even that!” Slug groaned, hiding his masked face in his hands, “Look, White Hat, you can’t just ghost certain people, let alone important national organizations, like that. I mean, thank Jesus Cristo you’re White Hat, if this is the worst that’s happened to you, I guess. Like, what’s the government gonna do to you? Force an underfunded organization to file tax fraud on an ancient, eldritch cryptid that’s only ever done good to humanity?”
The doctor started muttering to himself for a moment, and the Elder being had only been able to catch: “A local hat-wearing do-gooder enigma with a Social Security number... Man, what in the ever-loving fuck am I smoking?”
White Hat could only watch Slug stand there, trying to massage his temples over the synthetic paper-like material. He was beginning to faintly feel another odd sensation again in his chest, like what the humans would likely label as shame, “Um…”
Slug sighed loudly, cutting him off, “Sir—God—, I don’t even know where to start with all of this.”
The Eldritch glanced at the lone pile of letters on his desk that Slug hadn’t addressed yet. For a moment, the room was tense and silent. He was thinking of a way to sort through all of this mess; surely, he could get through all of this just fine and figure everything out. It was disheartening to see his doctor like this, after all.
“Don’t—Don’t worry about these other letters. They’re just—” he leaned forward to shuffle and skim through the return addresses and print on the envelopes, “Yeah. They’re just spam and fan-mail. You can throw them out, or... something. Whatever floats your boat.”
White Hat drew in a deep breath, mustering all of the confidence and courage he could towards the menial obligations of advanced human civilizations, “I can do this. Don’t worry, Doctor. I—I should be able to figure all of this out…” he said sheepishly, going to pick up the scattered envelopes across the office.
“No, sir, let me help you out with this. No buts about it. If you can’t pay off your bills and taxes on time, then that means I’ll lose my job. Forget the paychecks for now. God knows what you owe Uncle Sam at this point…”
His boss looked at him with a blank look in his eyes, “Um, Uncle Sam, Doctor…?”
Slug threw his arms in the air, “My point exactly, sir.”
Needless to say, the good doctor was more than willing to be helpful to White Hat—for which he was endlessly grateful—, and by being ‘helpful’, he would sheepishly admit that he really meant that Slug had done most of the work for him.
At some point, they had started discussing the Heroic society, which likely had been intentional on Slug’s part.
“Wait, so… you really don’t keep that much in touch with even P.A.X.? You’re supposed to be the one and only Hero at every Hero’s beck and call, right?”
The Elder Being tapped at his chin in deep thought, “Hm, not really, no. I’ve never seen a need to do so.”
“You’ve never seen a need to do so?” he parroted incredulously, “White Hat. P.A.X. is the literal international foundation of Xanthist philosophy, and—not to mention—it regulates the political peace, functions, and ethics of the Heroic society. Its members are the most iconic and influential Heroes in every other country. You do know this, don’t you?”
“W-Well, yes, I am aware of its position in the Heroic society,” he choked out, sounding guilty, “I’ve just… I’ve never…”
Slug sighed knowingly, but there was a small smirk on his features left unseen by the Elder Being, “Yeah, well, in any case, now’s about damn time you get yourself more involved with the Heroic society. Your reputation precedes you—at this point, it looks like the world gives you more credit than you deserve.”
White Hat gasped, uncertain at this point in knowing him whether or not to take offense, “That’s not true! You are not recognizing the things I have done for your kind! It’s always as if you humans consistently neglect what I have been able to provide to you over the years—”
“‘White. ‘White, ‘White, ‘White…” he clucked, shaking his head while sorting out the completed bills and forms beside the company laptop, “Boss. Your version of ‘over the years’ for us is ‘over the millennia’. That’s a long time for us. I know that no one, not even I, can count the thousands of times you’ve saved the day for us, but…” he paused, turning to face and really look at the Eldritch Being, “We’re a selfish bunch. You know this. We can only be grateful for so long, and we’ll eventually go back to our old habits and scorn you for not being there for us when we make ourselves fall. Forgive and forsake, y’know?”
The Elder Being was silent for a moment. There was no answer he could come up with to that. At this point, Slug had rarely ever given his input on helping him understand humans a little more than he’d had to on his own for so long. It was nice: a human actually offering him personal experiences as… well, a human.
It was rare for him to hear these things. He supposed it was because people had always assumed he could easily empathize with them after the many centuries he had spent accompanying them. And, it was as if Slug, among all of the humans he’d ever met, could see that.
“Look, I get that thinking about all of these corruptible, human-run organizations that are centered around morality and ethics make you antsy and all, but thing is, that’s kind of exactly why the Heroic society’s gonna need ya, ‘Boss. The whole world’s always looked up to you for a reason.”
The comment made him feel warm for a second, and he didn’t know how to respond. It was clear Slug mistook the silence for something else as he continued.
“I mean, no pressure. Really. Our hope often boils down to you when we inevitably fuck ourselves over, but...”
There was a pause as Slug drew in a sigh. White Hat got lost in looking through the bag, gazing at that pensive expression on the human’s face through the bag.
“Honestly? It’s the fear of indifference that really gets to us.”
“I’m sorry?”
“People are scared of indifference. I’d say that, collectively, it’s among our worst fears. Because, imagine the moment you realize just how truly small, helpless, and powerless you are to help yourself. When you want more than anything for someone or something to just magically swoop in and make everything alright again, easy peasy.
“But, what else is there, when your god doesn’t answer your prayers? What happens when you figure out that there is no one who will care to help you? What comes next? Because, God forbid you do it yourself. Of course, we could always...” Slug shrugged, “adapt. We’re people, after all. We often mean to try our best with what we have,” he sighed, shuffling about in White Hat’s office chair, “Sorry. I oughta stop rambling one of these days.”
“No!—No. I don’t—I don’t mind,” he was kicking himself for sounding so… enthusiastic. These kinds of conversations didn’t happen very often between them.
Slug raised a brow in response.
“I mean, that was... nice. I guess I’ve never—” he gestured for a moment, “well. I’ve come to learn these things, but to hear it from a human makes it sound... different.”
He felt something flutter in his chest as he heard the doctor chuckle, tone bordering on playful, “Have you never talked with a human before, White Hat?”
“No—I mean, yes! I have! I’ve existed with your kind for a long time, after all,” he said somewhat indignantly.
“Well, no duh, Captain Obvious. I mean, have you really never gotten—y’know—close with another person before? Like, really just talked about things, hung around with one all because you actually enjoy their company, that kinda stuff.”
“...Aside from you?”
Slug noticeably stiffened at the question, and White Hat could sense the slight change in the heat on the human’s face, “U-Uh, yeah. Sure. Aside from... Aside from me.”
White Hat didn’t heed the way Slug spat out that last word as he hummed while searching his memory, “…No. I can’t say that I’ve ever have.”
“Really?” his voice sounded incredulous, “What gives? Are we that annoying to you, or something? Yeesh.”
“W-No, it’s not that. It’s more... You don’t exist for very long at all. You all can die so easily. I’ve always been impressed by your kind, it’s just...”
Slug nodded in understanding, “You don’t wanna get attached? Okay, well, now you’re just sounding more like our human doctors,” he teased. There was a small smile hidden beneath his mask. His voice suddenly got quiet, “...Does it ever get lonely?”
“Hm?”
“Do you ever feel lonely? I mean, I can’t begin to fathom how long you’ve been around, even before coming here,” he hesitated, “Have you always lived like that? Just... all alone?”
“Well...” he let the thought sink in for a second, “There aren’t many beings that are immortal.”
“Oh.”
The room was silent, almost melancholy.
White Hat continued when the pause began to settle a little too long for his liking, “I’m not sure if lonely would be a good way to describe it. You humans thrive on social interaction; that isn’t exactly the case for what I am. But, it is nice.”
“What is?”
“Walking among life like yours. The majority of the universe has little of what this planet has.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” he tilted his head to either side, prodding at the idea while absently pinching at an envelope, “Then, have you ever wanted to have some kind of relationship with another being? Even if they were mortal?”
“A relationship?”
“Yeah, like something more than just being acquaintances with someone.”
White Hat pondered for awhile.
“It’s okay to say yes, ‘White. No harm done for admitting to it, right?” he asked as lightheartedly as he could.
For some reason, he couldn’t think of the right words. He spoke slowly, “I’m not really... certain of how I can explain it. I’ve never really had much of a desire to befriend an individual, before.”
He hesitated for a moment. It was getting difficult to speak again.
“That isn’t—That isn’t to say I never wanted to meet you. You’re…” he gestured for a moment while strategically avoiding eye contact with the doctor, “It’s… I-I do enjoy your company.”
When he didn’t get a response from Slug, he looked over to see the doctor’s face turned away from him.
“Did that answer your question, Doctor?”
He heard the human swallow nervously. He suddenly appeared slightly nervous. Why was he nervous? What did he say that made him feel this way?
There was another minute of tense silence before he spoke, “I-Um, yes. Yeah. That, uh…” he scratched the back of his neck, and inhaled deeply, “Yeah. A-And, thanks.”
White Hat tilted his head in confusion.
He couldn’t see the human’s face at this angle, but he could faintly feel that small change in heat in his body.
But there was something else, deep down. Something cold despite that wonderful warmth upon his masked visage. Something... deeply doleful.
Those were among the many times his doctor was not as… soft. And yet, these were the rare glimpses of his personality that he likely never intended for others to see. But, White Hat always found joy in witnessing them by chance. It made it seem like there was something genuine and true and vibrant underneath that cold, guarded exterior. Something wonderful that, for some reason, the doctor insisted on hiding from others.
Maybe this plane was really getting the better of his personal philosophy, but he wanted more than anything to embrace the idea that there was something real between himself and his doctor. A connection. This small human, right in his own earthly home, who had known and likely had seen so much—perhaps even far too much—in such a short amount of time for a single life that was compressed into something mortal, finite, and miniscule.
White Hat had the ability to understand things these creatures could not hope to perceive, but the one thing he couldn’t understand was how quickly this one human heart burned and depleted itself of as much of its energy it could; as if it wanted this—craved to exhaust itself as quickly as possible.
He had never really thought of things like this before: even when having lived among mortal, earthly life for so long. Something as simple as a being trapped in a linear timeline was almost too rudimentary for him to truly empathize with. His own kind was able to live slowly, yet all at once; traversing and existing through and among several converging planes, all while doing so consciously.
Even so, that was when he had begun to really, truly realize how a human life spent itself: how uncomplicated, yet intricate, it was and how the body to which it belonged was no different.
Slug breathed life into his home, gave it a part of his soul and made it warm and living. It was at this moment when White Hat could coherently think of this. And, beyond anything, he found this change beautiful and comforting. This convoluted simplicity and volatile warmth of mortality could only be found in very small, specific pockets of the lonely universe.
For now, this very human would only last so long in his perspective. He knew he shouldn’t become attuned to being so fixated on a mortal soul. He knew.
It was also at this moment that he truly realized that being among one of the few eyes of the universe was a lonely role to attain. An eye that had seen so much, and observed everything slowly and simultaneously. It could take as little as one blink, while also being several, and his Slug would disappear right before him.
And, that thought alone made him feel emptier than he had ever remembered feeling. It was odd how the hollow space within him could ache so painfully.