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The sheets of the hammock felt alien and uncomfortable on top of Wex’s form. His stubby body was usually so good at finding a little nook to sink into, and so loved feeling surrounded by the mountains of fluff. Tonight was different. He idly scratched at his face and body, tufts of hair flitting across his fingers. Eventually, he couldn’t stand it anymore, not having a damn clue what was stopping him from getting some sleep. He opened his bright eyes, teal on one side and yellow on the other, and angrily sat up with a “rragh!”
Stepping out into his little room, which could have been so much larger if he hadn’t insisted to Prom that he loved his little cozy closet, he immediately tried to get onto his computer and fill his mind with something positive. As he started walking, his true drowsiness caught up with him, and he had to summon up that teal and yellow field around himself to not trip onto his face. It had become second nature to activate it when he tripped or lost his balance, after so many incidents. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and swearing under his breath as he floated himself the rest of the way over.
Something was eating at him, deep inside, and it was starting to piss him off that he didn’t know what it was. He had so much baggage, and it was just the worst when it started creeping up without even revealing which one it was. His mind started to drift off, in thought, as he closed his eyes and took on a determined expression. Was it… The fire? The embers and cinders still smouldering when he returned? The smell of comfort and place and belonging fading away into the night sky?
No, no, bad, he slapped himself on the head a few times, and found that he’d been idly digging his nails into his palms. By the time he got to his computer his hands were hurting from both, and he let out a self-directed whimper. Pulling himself into his comfy hydraulic chair, he turned on the screen and blinked a few times as it lit up his dark little room. He had it tinted just enough to not mess with him too badly, and after a few minutes he was idly searching for funny podcasts or chill music while he booted up a coding program. He wasn’t much of a code purist, but he enjoyed making real things move and behave, little robotic knick knacks and troll rube goldberg machines.
“ugh, come on come on discovery tab help me out…” Wex tapped his fingers loudly against his desk as he scrolled down every music site he had. Nothing on top of nothing, certainly nothing to calm his inner anxiety. He could feel it coming on. Creeping up like a blanket being pulled over his mind. Finally, he came upon a song he recognized and had enjoyed before, and decided to go with it.
It was a really bad fucking idea. The sound came blaring into his ears, a cacophony of beats and electronic distortions. Someone singing about wanting to kill and die, barely audible but somehow crystal clear. Wex immediately knew what was eating at him.
Wren.
He had to get out, to get away, he shut off his computer as the song was inexplicably several minutes into it’s runtime. Had he just been sitting there blankly listening to it for that long before it hit him? Had he been staring there, into the screen, and where did those marks on his arms come from? He had to get out, he knew that much, he had to fucking flee. He kicked on some slippers and opened his door as fast as he could. He floated above the ground ever so slightly and sometimes extended his legs downwards to propel him forward faster. It was silent, so it wouldn’t wake Prom, god he didn’t want to make him deal with this, not now, not when it was coming on so strong. Prom would hold him close, and shush him, and tell him it was okay, tell him it was just a few intrusive thoughts. He just didn’t understand, well, maybe he did, maybe he was doing the right thing, but Wex just needed to be somewhere else.
He glided right out the front door of the impressive castle-mansion. Right onto the dirt and grass, right onto the lightly misted rolling hills of the little island. He needed to kick, so he stopped floating and started sliding his foot around, occasionally reeling it back to send a chunk of gravel or a few pebbles soaring. He needed to hit so he started beating himself in the shoulders with clenched fists. He felt himself lose balance so many times as he flailed about, letting out all of that excess energy and fulfilling the needs of his messed up head. He was so messed up in the head.
“im so messed up in the head… head fuckin’ broken, Wexxy Worm-for-brains…” He muttered under his breath, kicking another rock off of the hill. Putting his hands in his pockets and finally slowing down, he came to a stop next to a great tree. The leaves were a vibrant pink, and the bark a smooth nighttime blue. Built upon it was a great, sturdy treehouse with a little makeshift ladder leading up to it, hammered into the bark. He and Prom built it a few months back, almost got caught inside by forgetting to cut out a door hole first. ‘thats cause of my no good Worm brain,’ Wex thought to himself, chuckling darkly and putting a hand up to his head, spinning his finger to signal he was insane. In truth it was a wonderful time making it, and it turned out really good. They sometimes went up there just to feel carefree and hide from everything for a bit, and there was a whole lemonade machine in there which was a big incentive during the hotter times.
The air tonight chilled him to the bone, his hot blood unable to deal with the climate out to sea in cold months like this. Prom was so lucky, living in a place that actually suited him, blood all cold and icy. He was so nice to cuddle when it was humid, though, so nice. A few tufts of Wex’s fluffy hair was swept up by the wind, gently fluttering it through his four smooth horns. He was only wearing slippers, underwear and a t-shirt.
Wex shivered and considered going back inside, before looking back up at the treehouse and deciding to go up instead. He floated himself to the little porch and opened the door, stepping inside with a “Weh,” and laying down on the glossy wood interior. The window holes were adorned with curtains and ropes to tie them taut, for nights like this, so it was definitely warmer than outside. He laid still for a few moments before feeling a welling in his throat, and a stinging behind his eyes. He limply raised his arms up and down, thudding them against the wood, while letting out guttural sounds over and over to occupy his mind. “Ppft pbb prr ba ba pbbbth” over and over again, as he eventually huddled his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.
He hated it. It was torture. He wished he didn’t know why he was getting like this, why this was how he felt. He wished he never found what Prom was hiding from him, even though it pissed him off so goddamn deep that he did. He didn’t have a right to hide his necklace, the only thing that connected him to his ancestor. He didn’t have the right to always pretend not to know when Wex wondered and asked idly when they were lounging around. He didn’t have the fucking right to hide how he died and all of those details about him. Yet, as Wex buried his head in his knees and tried to rock back and forth to keep his head from drifting, he knew Prom had his heart in the right place. Maybe he was even right to try. Because everything about him made sense in a way that made him feel so disgusting and hopeless.
Even now he wanted to just get up and hurt something. Punch it bad, throw it, hit himself with something. Images flashed through his mind that made him feel like he was going to pass out. Being stalked and obsessed over. Being confronted in the dark, alone. Having his love and affection fucked with, insulted, being put down for it. There wasn’t any violence then except within his own head. They were just gonna fuck with him a bit then leave. They were just gonna be a little coward and dip after getting in his face. That’s what Wex told himself every time he remembered it. He didn’t know if it was true, but it felt like it.
Because it was him that swung first. Because the other troll never had a chance to swing back. Because he kicked him over onto his back and kept swinging. Again, and again, and again. He was almost motionless and pleading. Wex didn’t feel a thing, he felt nothing, except for hate and disgust and awfulness, all directed at him. Again, and again, and again. Until his arms were too tired to lift the bat again. When Wex finally stumbled through the door into Prom’s frantic arms, he just collapsed and let the tears flow down his expressionless face, until he finally clutched the taller boy close and sobbed his eyes out.
He was just like Wren. He had so much of Wren in him. All those sweeps and sweeps of impulsive violence and spite, of losing himself in manic depressive episodes, of staring blankly as music overwhelmed him while bruising himself up emotionlessly. All of his protective and defensive instincts always showed up as ultra violent and aggressive, no matter the situation.
He never had a fucking chance. He was rotten and bad all the way, inside and out. He was gonna turn just as bad as Wren one day. He just had so many fucking worms in his violent, murderer brain. If Prom wasn’t there every day to make him feel normal and loved…
Somewhere deep down, Wex knew this was a panic attack, a full on traumatic episode. That when he woke up, and was in Prom’s arms again, having some water and delicious breakfast served to him, he’d be able to recover. But that didn’t matter right now, and his brain was convinced, no, it knew this moment would never end, that this was his world now.
All Wex could think of as he sobbed himself into exhausted sleep on the floor of the treehouse, was that one day he’d end up like Wren, and one day Prom would have to be Jez. His own loving partner would have to kill him. He just hoped Prom wouldn’t beat himself up over it too much. He was a lost cause from the start.
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The clanging of metal. The whirring of gears. The unmistakable smell of sulphur and oil. The cluttered machine shop was roaring with energy all around, save for one shiny exception. The tall, chrome machine was coated in slick liquids and patched with rust, and the small hatch to its inner guts lay open. A figure crouched near said hatch, reaching his hands inside of it and grasping at the wiring, the mechanisms that caused it to function, and the rubber insulation. He found the problem quickly, a small bug-thing had made its home inside of the innards of the machine and gnawed out one of the wires to its battery. With a swift flick of the wrist and a sickening crunch, the issue was no more. He removed his hands from the machine, knowing replacing a wire would call for special tools he’d have to retrieve.
Wrenin Wikizi glanced into his own reflection accidentally, in the process of looking around the bright, metal filled room. He saw his ponytail sagging and fraying, so he righted it quickly, before wringing his hands around each other roughly. His eyes were blank, neither focused nor dreamlike. His clothing was sparse, save for a dark teal jacket that he’d taken from a tealblood many sweeps ago and a small chain necklace adorned with a golden W.
He walked from his machine room into the main room of his home, which was adorned with hundreds of small objects at every corner. Metal, wooden, gemstone, red, blue, black, soft, hard, angular, smooth. He barely considered them, moving around his hive like a ghost. For a moment, when he took out his phone to use its flashlight, he caught a glimpse of a message. It wasn’t a message he was comfortable with, and he found himself instinctually grabbing a purple object made from a collection of gear-like shapes, cranking it in his hands. Cranking it like he was trying to twist its head off, or massage it, or open it up and experience its deepest existence all at once. The gears didn’t care why, or what he projected onto them, and simply spun with a loud clicking sound until he was done with them.
Putting the object down, Wren continued on his path, shining his phone’s light outward in front of him and raising it to the side of his head. He opened a small drawer next to his bed, the light illuminating its dark, musty corners. Rooting around with his hand, he felt a sharp sting. Instead of recoiling his hand, he processed the pain by immediately dropping his phone and pawing around frantically, latching finally onto a pillow on his bed and digging his fingers into it. He slung it to the other end of the room with force, before finally moving his hand out of the drawer. He’d found the spare insulation and created a small gash on his hand when he came upon the pliers.
For a few moments, after pocketing the items, he looked at his hand. He twisted it around, arched his fingers, looked deep into the yellow stain that was ever so gently dripping itself onto the floor below him. Nothing was going on inside of his head, save the recollection of memories, of seeing blood like this a few times before, when he found himself in the hives of his fellow yellowbloods. He wasn’t considering the nature of pain, or feeling remorse, or even reminiscing fondly. Neurological processes were connecting two disparate events based on a common factor, bleeding. Nothing more. Wren, for a moment, even tried to muster up some kind of internal voice to ruminate on what was going on in front of him. As always, there was only silence. He felt nothing towards this non-revelation.
Why was he even standing there at all? He’d idly scratched and scarred himself up hundreds of times, and thought nothing of it. His mind flickered, somewhere behind his blank eyes. He was tantalizingly close to something. Anything. He thought back to a few moments before, with his phone, and the purple object.
No, not just purple. Violet.
Jez was going to ask.
Just as quickly as the thought came, it was silenced, and Wren blinked. The moment had passed, it was over. He walked over to the mirror next to his shower, in the next room over. Opening it up, he retrieved some bandages and began wrapping his hand. He looked over towards the front door, eyes passing over the spot where he just stood, where the drawer had been pulled out aggressively and had its contents scattered onto the floor.
When he was finished wrapping, he made his way to the front door and looked outside through the small window. He lived in a nondescript hive in the middle of a nondescript area, sparsely populated by anyone else. The middle of nowhere. Every so often, a troll or a pair of them would pass through. Most of the time Wren would just watch them until they disappeared into the horizon. Other times, when they stopped to chat, or kiss, or play, or have any kind of merriment right in front of his little hole in the world, he would intervene. One time, a delinquent rustblood got into his face, asking him why he was walking over to them. Wren didn’t speak back, and barely processed the words, causing the other troll to push him. Their friend chastised them, apologized, and offered to move somewhere else.
Wren’s blood had boiled deep down, even if the feeling of anger never reached him. How they so easily switched from aggression to apologetic. How they were so quick to suggest going through more trouble to please a complete stranger. It was disgustingly polite. They were going to just walk away from him and go about their day, talk, explore, watch the stars, think thoughts in their heads and smile at each other. Sometimes, on the edge of sleep, when consciousness slips away from him, he wished it felt good to remove their skulls from their shoulders with a blunt object and find a roaming lusus to sic on their bodies. As always though, he felt nothing but the slight motive. Envy, or perhaps jealousy, or perhaps disgust, or perhaps the simple fact of his nature. A killer.
He slid himself from the front door back to his machine shop, getting into the organs of his most recent repair and fiddling with the wiring. He plucked out the fraying ends, reinsulated what he could, inserted fresh wiring, and patched it all up as best he could. The process took around 20 minutes, and when he was finished, he removed his head from the machine, closing it tight. He was about to switch it on and see how it ran.
A knocking, a knocking, a knocking.
Wren began breathing heavier. Moving over to the doorway that separated the machine shop and the rest of the hive, he clenched his hands around the doorframe, squeezing hard and knocking at the grey material while lowering his head to the floor. He couldn’t see who was knocking, but it was coming from the door. He didn’t want to, he didn’t.
A thought crept in, again, just for a second.
Jez is worr-
The door swung open with force, letting a rush of air inside as Wren pulled it. Standing on the steps, just on the other side of the doorway, was a tall violet troll. Fins hung from the sides of his face, gills were visible gently separating his neck. He was wearing a black wool coat with bright golden buttons and a purple sash. A necklace hung from his neck, with a squiggly symbol that was hard to make out, but Wren knew it well. Jezdiz Fawkis, the troll who had texted him that he was coming over, with his horns curled like a halo around his head fit for a self-proclaimed guardian angel.
“Hello Wren, how have you been?” He said pointedly, looking him up and down. He knew not to expect a verbal response. He took one step forward, causing Wren to take one step back, recoiling deep down at the thought of being too close to another. Alarms started going off instinctively, causing him to trade in his disinterested stare for an aggressive one, completed by a slight baring of his teeth. In response, Jezdiz simply nodded, and gently smiled at him. “I’m sorry, I know, your personal space. I didn’t mean to surprise you, okay?” He said, calmly, warmly, looking right into Wren’s soul and steadying it.
No, that was stupid, he couldn’t see into his soul, he didn’t know what Wren was thinking. But then why did he calm down, steady his gaze and shrug, sit down like he wasn’t in danger? Why was Wren’s attention now focused on him?
Jez sat down on the couch opposite Wren’s bed, while Wren sat on its sheets and crossed his arms. He swiftly snatched up a few of his objects, though, and cradled them close. One red, one yellow, one pink. Jez tilted his head at this, and asked “What do those mean?” He was skipping past pleasantries, knowing Wren wouldn’t respond, trying to coax him into communicating.
It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other, longer than they’d gone apart in quite some time. Jez told him it was highblood business, and that he’d get back as soon as he could. Wren didn’t respond in that moment, and blankly turned around as always, but he figured even Jez knew that he felt a strong urge to grab him by the arm and keep him from leaving. Pushing his memories out, he shrugged, beginning to press his fingers against the red one, squeezing it softly. It was plush, and looked like a little cute animal, perhaps a cat. He squeezed it and then watched as it gently returned to its original shape several times. Finally, he took a deep breath, and set it down in favor of the others.
Jez nodded at him, and remarked “I’m glad even you know the importance of a little stress ball time now and again. If you’re calm, and you don’t want me to leave… May I tell you what I’ve been getting up to?
Wren didn’t respond, tapping his fingers against the pink one now. It was porcelain, angular, a shape with so many sides that most people wouldn’t know what to call it. After a few moments of silence, Jez scratched behind his head, looking at Wren with concern and beginning to stand up. He noticed the bandages, the drawer on the floor, the slight indents on the doorframe to the machine shop. “Look… If I barged in on something, or you’re busy, I can come back later. You know you’re welcome to contact me any time.” He walked over to Wren, careful not to come too close or reach his hands out, and stood in front of him.
Wren took a few seconds, but finally looked up, his expression unchanging. Jez continued “You’ve been doing well lately, and I didn’t hear about any troubles. I’m not here to interrogate you and if you don’t want me here, then the last thing I want is to push you back to somewhere bad inside of you.” He paused, closing his eyes, before fishing around in his coat pocket for something. He took it out and tossed it on Wren’s bed, causing Wren to immediately snatch it up for entering his personal space.
It was a small, yellow trinket, shaped like a butterfly. Instead of soft, round wings, its wings were sharp and geometric.Upon closer inspection, Wren saw that the figure was actually a troll, sporting large yellow wings that obscured its expertly painted and colored details. The wings were about 5 times as large as the body, and the whole thing fit in Wren’s hand comfortably, so it was easy to miss. The troll and its horns were nondescript, more about the implication than anything.
“It reminded me of you. And I noticed you don’t have any yellow objects around here. I figured… Having something you can hold that represents you might help you with your sense of self.” Jez said, looking over how Wren was taking it in his hands and fiddling with it, as though his mind was trying to determine the most natural and right feeling way of interacting with it.
Finally, Wren’s fingers settled upon its head. The head of the figure that Jez had gotten just for him, perhaps even to try and help him. The head of the figure, the part that held thoughts, and dreams, and wants, and everything. Wren plucked it in his fingers, twisted, and pulled, wrenching it off with a snap. Jez looked a bit shaken, before Wren tossed the head towards him. Jez caught it and, seeing Wren gently gesture towards his waist, pocketed it. “Um, right, well nevertheless I hope you find some use for it. It was good seeing you, Wren, really.” Jez turned to walk away. He knew Wren wouldn’t-
“Stay.”
Jez froze, the sound of Wren’s soft, heavily breathed, unworn voice resounding out through his hive. He turned around, seeing Wren looking away from him and down at the figure, rubbing his thumb over the spot where its head used to be. He sat down across from him, pulling a chair from the kitchen and getting as close as he could without straying into his comfort zone, before he replied with a smile and a light blush.
“As long as you want.”
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When Wex awoke, he felt a soft warmth caressing his face. Swatting at it limply, he realized it was a gust of air, not an object. He opened his eyes a tad, and noticed that he was still inside of the treehouse. Now, however, it featured a standing space heater, and the door had been closed where he had left it wide open. Gently rolling onto his side, he noticed one other thing. His head was raised, laying atop what felt like a pillow. Craning his neck up and flicking his eyes to the top of his peripheral vision, he discovered why.
“GooD morninG trolL sleepinG beautY. I havE nO ideA hoW yoU manageD tO finD youR waY uP herE lookinG hoW yoU diD buT I founD yoU nonethelesS.” A tall troll, face affixed with gills, sporting silky long hair which cascaded down his back, softly smiled back at him. Promet Fawkis, the love of his life, the one who burned down his house that one time, and the most perfect troll in existence.
“Wah… hi…” Wex groaned, rubbing his eyes and sniffling, finding his nose clear and his eyes clean. He felt the memories of all that happened before he fell asleep like a bad dream, but one he knew happened with where he was laying. He felt the need to say something, blush creeping up in embarrassment. God, if he’d only gone to Prom in the first place, of course he would find him eventually and he probably freaked the fuck out. “i uh…”
“YoU haD A terriblE nighT. I’M wonderinG whY-” Prom began to say, in his usual authoritative tone. It was mixed with concern and love, but nonetheless Prom had become well versed in talking to Wex like that since even before they were romantic partners. It was just how their personalities clashed. Usually Wex let the jargon and reprimanding wash over him, but tonight he cut it off with a single, soft word.
“Wren.” Wex clutched at Prom’s knee and waist, burying his head in the lap he was laying on. He didn’t feel any more tears or attacks coming on, just a profound need to cling and to hide.
Prom stopped in his tracks and nodded. The memories associated with their relationships to their ancestors, and with how Promet had handled the store of information he had about them, were incredibly fresh. He held Wex close, stroking his fluffy hair gently and scratching his back. “I’M herE. YoU knoW thaT I woulD neveR hurT yoU. I promisE.” He cooed out into Wex’s ear, lifting him up a bit until the smaller yellowblood was sitting in his lap.
They sat there for what seemed like hours, with Prom gently hushing and holding Wex closer whenever his sniffling and discomforted sounds started getting louder. Eventually, Wex broke the silence with his nasally, creaky voice, that usually spoke nothing but jokes and hyperactivity and sweetness. “it just feels so bad Prom.” He looked up, his bright teal and yellow eyes full of emotion and pain, his mouth slightly agape. “it hurts so bad that i cant do anything about it. i Wanna forgive you and forget it but it Wont ever go away…” He stopped for a moment, before hanging his head limply and staring into the floor. “my brains just full of Worms…”
Prom was silent for a moment, before tilting Wex’s head back up towards him by his chin. “ListeN darlinG. I thinK wE shoulD geT yoU insidE and comfortablE. WE caN crawL intO youR blankeT forT anD talK abouT thiS morE okaY. YouR heaD isn’T jusT wormS.” He said, softly stroking Wex’s cheeks, which made the smaller boy’s ears flutter reflexively. He nodded, making a sound of affirmation and closing his eyes, letting the heat and warmth and love wash over him as he tried to calm down.
Then Prom tapped him on the elbow with what felt like a metal cylinder. “WhaT yoU neeD tO bE fillinG thaT braiN witH iS vitaminS. HerE. FresH.” Wex opened his eyes, staring at a cup directly in front of him. Taking hold of it with his psionics and bringing the straw in it to his lips, he got a peek inside. For the first time since waking up, he got a kick of energy that made him feel a little normal again.
“holy shit breakfast shake youre literally fucking magical im gonna Wipe this from existence in ten seconds flat.” The sounds of obnoxiously loud slurping filled the treehouse, Prom chuckling underneath and helping Wex stand up. When they both finally were on two feet, Prom having had to hold Wex under the arms which caused him to giggle and spray a bit of his drink over the two of them, Prom smiled down at Wex. Their two foot height difference was now fully apparent.
“ComE oN. Let’S geT bacK tO thE hivE anD intO somE lazY daY attirE.” Prom gestured to both of them, Wex still wearing what he was the night before and Prom decked out in a frilly, most probably very expensive two piece pajama outfit.
“nah im good noW bro this smoothie shake thing literally reactivated my soul i could give a fuck about trauma.”
“WeX-”
“i know i know you concern Whore.” Wex sighed, lightly punching Prom in the arm. “i... kinda do Wanna vent about it all a bit.” Prom replied by stepping out of the way of the door and gesturing to it, but Wex shook his head. Tilting his head up, he asked in his most sickeningly childish voice “after i float doWn can you carry me?”
Prom tilted his head and put his hands on his hips. Then, he realized that Wex wasn’t going down first and if he went down first, Wex was going to literally catapult himself into his arms and there was nothing he could do about it. “DO I havE A choicE.”
“if you think you can outrun me cause i knoW you knoW What im gonna do.” Wex said in his normal voice, looking very rebellious and smiling up at Prom with determined eyes.
It was Prom’s turn to sigh, long and deep. When he got to the bottom of the treehouse’s ladder, he put his arms in front of him and braced himself, wincing at the thought of what was about to happen. “HiT mE.”
Wex, instead of stepping off of the treehouse porch, took a running start and threw himself off of it, diving right for Prom with as much speed as possible as he bellowed out “Watch me binch!” Prom immediately took on a look of fear and trepidation, closing his eyes and he leaned back and prepared for impact. After a few seconds passed with no hitting and sprawling, he opened his eyes again.
Wex floated in front of him, shirt waving in the wind, grinning from ear to ear and looking him right in the eyes. He closed them and made a “ehee~” sound before leaning in and kissing Prom on the lips quickly.
Prom crossed his arms and pouted, causing Wex to slowly drift onto his back instead, while the violetblood kept standing there and turning his head to watch. He wrapped his arms around Prom’s neck and clasped them near his chest.
“ArE yoU finisheD vacillatinG mY blooD pressurE WexxiT.”
“hey i dont knoW What that means take me home idiot.”
With no other options, and unable to say no to that smile, Prom started walking. No panic or ancestor induced frenzy lasted forever, and even though they were about to get into some pretty heavy stuff in a few minutes, it was comforting for both of them to know that Wexxit was feeling like Wexxit again.