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Thoughts came through magma, hot and tense and unformed, unmalleable.
Loathing. Fear and anger and guilt and loathing again, for himself and for the gems and for everything. Piled and piled and piled until they grew past his gem, past his ribcage and past his spine until it sprouted from atop his back.
Out, out, until he heard splinters and cracks and screams and rolled, growing and growing as something shattered.
Something else shattered.
He only knew that things were cracking beneath him as the world grew smaller and the confusion and doubt clouded over existence.
There was noise, and he didn’t know where the noise was coming from. There was motion. He didn’t like the motion. He didn’t like anything, nothing was safe, he wasn’t safe, he needed- he needed- insects crawled up his skin as something slid over them like armor. Armor kept him safe, armor kept everything loud and moving and threatening and vulnerable away. He could feel the spikes grow further from the armor, and knew they would help.
Everything was right and everything was wrong, and he could only scream.
Movement again. Colorful dots that made his head hurt, and made his head hurt, and he needed it to stop hurting so he smashed it against the rock so he’d never have to hurt again.
He knew, faintly, that what surrounded him was his. His space, his territory, and he didn’t want the dots there, and he curled around it like a snake around its prey and tried to scare them off. How didn’t they see that he was a threat, that he could hurt them? Claws dug into the rock and the dirt and the further dots started to run and ice dripped inside of him, chilling his bones.
He didn’t want the dots to go, but if they got too close, if they got too close- it was too much, and he screamed again, reaching out for the running dots until something blinded him.
It hung from him, weighing his head down and pressing on his neck and chest and he wanted it gone. If it dug in, it could hurt him. He slammed his fist into the rock and then slammed the rest of him into the same rock, and it let go.
Something else hit his horns and it vibrated through him, shaking him from the inside out, and he needed to-
He couldn’t move, he was trapped, he was trapped, being trapped was inky-thick and even more of his thoughts were lost in the ravenous fearguiltanger of being held down.
He thrashed, tail slamming against the wetness but it refused to yield, slowing everything.
Head ached. Head ached and neck felt pinched and he didn’t like this at all, and it was done.
One of the shapes blew something towards him and he blew it right back, still-aching head hissing that it was a lie.
One approached, even as he was a threat, even as he bared everything sharp he had, and it tried to melt his being and he was tangled up so deeply in fearguiltanger that it stumbled back and he was sick of being prodded at and he wanted them gone.
There was a noise from the water, and then long fingers wrapped around him and he kicked and smacked with his tail and pried at it but it wouldn’t let go. It was- it was-
It was the dots’ fault, it had to be, they were just watching while it tried to dig into him and would reveal claws, everything had claws and this thing was big enough to hurt him. He didn’t want to be hurt. He wouldn’t let himself be hurt again.
The fingers loosened for just a moment and he threw them away and charged, everything coalescing into the tiny figures that if he could just reach, he could knock away and be safe.
Water splashed over him, and one of the dots, and it was darker than the water and he knew that he knew it but right now it was just loathing and irritation and it had stopped him from seeing, again, and- and his face still ached, he was still new, and one of them was his size now and wrapped around him but left his arms free. He almost slashed through it, but it wasn’t digging claws in between his spikes, it had- softness, softness against his scales and a soft voice that oozed warmth through the plates of the armor and he didn’t want to have more confusing tangles in his mind and he writhed and shook but it wasn’t letting go.
More dots, and then more large things, things that were his size but weren’t hurting him, and it was too much and not enough and whimpers spilled from his throat.
Their voices were varied but every one chiseled through, pried up the armor to reveal the soft flesh inside but he- he hurt in a good way now. He couldn’t puzzle out all of the words, but each one loosened up the screws keeping him together, and the tones were desperate but none of them were about to bite. Even the softly pulsing fingers that had held him back brushed against his again. They didn’t rip, held his bare palm and passed comfort.
The last one landed on his nose, such a tiny thing, the size of a flower petal or ladybug or a bit of colorful glass on the sand worn down by the sea, and her voice was the sweetest of all, and when her lips pressed between his eyes, he flooded. He was blind again but this time he was the one doing it, and everyone was surrounding him but they weren’t taking bites or revenge or pieces or anything, they were just… there.
And he was Steven.