Chapter Text
The sun had set, the sky was turning dark fast, and the woods were getting thicker as he drove further. He could have sworn this was the right way. The map he was using was already worn on the edges, ink stained the paper heavily as he made notes of where he could be, and the exact location of his destination. A splotch of red denoting the stray ketchup stain from the burger he had from lunch as he reviewed his work.
He slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. Which, at this point of his journey, was mostly dirt, some patches of grass. It was so deep in the woods that the density of the treeline could easily block sunlight, so what little light the ground got, patches would pop up. He checked the map again, reviewing his notes, recalling the papers he had printed from the library, addresses and newspaper articles. Surely he was on the right trail. He had to be. He was too deep in the woods to go back. That, and the desire to sleep in his car was nonexistent. Doing that only a couple of times so far this trip had put a stiffness in his neck that he’d need a few days to recover from. Just something that happens with such an old car.
He shook his head, swore, folded up the map, and pulled back onto the road. He had enough gas to go a bit further, his external gas tank he kept in the trunk was full enough to help him get back to the station he passed an hour ago in case he hit empty. The car continued down the road, small bumps here and there as he continued down the dirt road, hitting little dents in the road. He lucked out that it hadn’t rained recently, else the mud would no doubt make it a hassle to make down the road, let alone back out of it.
The journey had been long, he had driven a few thousand miles, on an open road. He dealt with long days punctuated by rest, food, drink, and stretching his legs. His wallet was only so full, and any odd job he had taken to save up for this drive was well worth the time and effort, but if he failed, it would be all for nothing. He’d go home, unsuccessful, and probably in a worse state than before. Failure was an option, but it was something he had ensured not to take. Long hours at the library, going through phone books, making calls for information and prodding possible leads for further information not easily accessible. Nothing illegal, thankfully, but definitely draining to say the least. It took several months to get the information he needed, just enough to be almost certain he was going in the right direction.
He drove on in silence, the radio stations didn’t make it out this far, and if they did, it was static with maybe a few blips of words and music. The CDs he brought were all packed away, he needed to focus. His eyes trained ahead of him, trying to peer past the end of the headlights, to see something, anything that might denote that he had found the laboratory of Otto Mentalis.
Absolute darkness greeted him soon, any weak beams of sunlight that hit the valley had disappeared behind the mountain ridge. The only light for the moment was from his headlights. Just then, a small light seemed to twinkle from the treeline. He slowed down and turned off the headlights. The light remained, stronger now that the car’s headlights weren’t shining. He parked the car, got his keys, and picked up his lantern and bag out of the back. The lantern floated below eye level, and lit itself. There was something casting that light, and if he had any luck this time, he’d found his destination after all.
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When it came to living in the gulch with his friends, Bob felt like an old stuffed animal in a sense. Not in the ‘that’s disgusting, get it away from me, we’ll get you a new one’ way, but in a ‘this thing has been so loved, imperfections show, and yet, held close and tender by someone special. Seen for what it is, and held even tighter still’. Yes, he was worn down into something different, the stones he had laid to make a wall, cast aside, worn and cracked by his own hands. Prisoner of his own cell no longer. This was home now, it had been for some time, due to hard work on his part, but also thanks to his fellow researchers. And maybe a bit of extra credit to his boyfriend of several months, Helmut Fullbear.
Life was bleak before, a simple, weak guitar with lyrics in the background as Bob did his tasks, tending to the family greenhouse, minding himself, keeping social interaction to a minimum, numbing himself to the pain of a lonesome existence in a small town. Entirely unsure of how the people would react if a psychic were living among them. It was simple, weak, but persistent. However, the tune broke, a voice crack, and an audible silence that deafened the crowd. Bob’s mistake had begun a small clamor of instruments in the background as Ford offered him refuge, to be better, to study, and grow, and learn.
Time passed, but Bob settled in, and the instruments grew to be a crescendo. The night he met his now boyfriend was electrifying for Bob. Sure, nothing major happened, he fumbled over his words, and asked him out to a simple nature hike. He was almost certain that he had a desire to just be friends, but he was lying to himself. The symphony started to play, and like early spring, something bloomed in his snow covered heart. Thankfully cold night breezes gave way to warm hugs and close embraces, talks of past mistakes, families and upbringings, regrets of days gone by. Mouth movements over words of pain to mouths moving over each other, fingers intertwining and bodies flush to one another. Instruments in full crescendo, a rock operetta, between the two, a duet.
The kitchen swirled with several different smells. The pies Cassie and Helmut had made, thanks to Bob’s fruits from his garden with the sauce, the garlic bread, and the rest of the dinner Compton and Bob created together. Life had gone on like this for a while, especially since the chore chart was mostly solidified. It was silently agreed upon that some people didn’t do specific chores, especially after Otto confirmed his statement that the only thing he could properly cook was water after burning the dishes he offered to make.
Hopefully the colors aren’t too wild in here, Psi King? Bob asked while he and Compton plated everything to take the dining room. The two of them had forged a stronger psychic connection over the past few months. He knew that his boyfriend’s synesthesia could overwhelm him at some points, especially when they were walking through Bob’s mental garden. All the flowers had got to his head and had to exit just to decompress. Since then, they took it slow and visited a few other locations instead when doing check-ins, just to make sure they could spend as much time alone together without getting overstimulated.
I’m doing okay, Bobby. There’s no mushrooms in that sauce, right? The texture always makes my skin crawl. Helmut asked, looking at the sauce while Bob was helping Compton plate it. Helmut never did get used to mushrooms. One of the only foods the guy couldn’t eat, be it fried, raw, dried, baked, seared on a skillet. Name it, and the texture still got it Helmut no matter what.
No mushrooms in the sauce. Don’t worry, I made certain of it. Bob looked up and winked at him. At this point, Cassie and Compton, but also Ford, Lucy, and Otto had helped grab most everything and brought it to the table. Helmut placed both pies in the fridge to cool, and Bob had picked up the garlic bread to take to the table. He felt a hand on his shoulder as Bob started to make his way out of the room. Bob reached for the doorknob, bread in hand when he stopped.
“Hey, handsome.” Helmut said, his grip on Bob’s shoulder was firm, yet soft. “Still up for those guitar lessons after dinner?” The two of them had continued their lessons for the past few months, since Bob worked up the courage to ask. He hadn’t really forgotten much, just lacked the practice he had when he was younger. Bob picked it up quite fast and was able to keep up with Helmut when they had their jam sessions.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Bob turned, locking eyes with Helmut. “Sorry I had to postpone, though, the maples were giving me static, but the extra syrup I got out of it means pancakes are secured for the rest of the week.” He leaned in close, and the two got one quick kiss in before Lucy opened the door.
“Ah, Compton forgot the seasoned butter for the garlic bread. Do you mind getting it?” Lucy asked. “Since you two are closer to the fridge than me?” Lucy wasn’t any bit shy with flirtations and romance, always direct and blunt about it. She wasn't the kind to be flustered about it. Ford on the other hand? Shrugged nervously like a turtle even at the mention that maybe the two of them were making out on the beanbags in the heptadome when no one was looking. The matter was even funnier when Bob and Helmut were easily cuddling on those pillows during group meetings, sneaking pecks on the cheek, so as to not distract themselves and others from Otto’s long winded speeches on what the next steps were for the research group.
“Consider it in hand, Lucy.” Helmut said, closing the fridge, butter levitating with him.
She nodded and closed the door. The two chuckled, and kissed deeper for the second round. “We should get going. Food’ll get cold if we just stand around.” Bob said, pulling away after almost getting lost in the moment.
“We can pick this up after the lesson, yeah?” Helmut inquired.
“Provided we don’t stay up too late from practice, yeah.” Bob replied. Their physical chemistry was, without a doubt, very healthy, but they both had a good balance between the physicality and the emotional aspects of the relationship. It was also easily bolstered by the regular check-ins as agreed upon per the research guidelines. That, and Bob was working on a song for Helmut, but in secret, and just needed a bit more practice with getting the chords right.
They walked down the hall and the dining room had some conversation going, but was mostly quiet. Compton’s food had that effect on people, can’t talk if your mouth’s full with delicious food, now can it? Bob and Hemut joined in, sitting next to each other, as was the usual.
The two sat down, and the evening proceeded as normal, lively conversation, stories and jokes filled the silence as the dinner progressed, updates on research, news from investors. And of course, a casual game of footsie between Bob and Helmut beneath the table, punctuated by casual hand holding.
The evening was going fine, until someone cleared their throat. Bob looked up. Everyone exchanged glances. It didn’t sound like anyone in attendance. Then came a few knocks on the door. Everyone froze and turned around and watched as the door stood opened, an unknown person walked through it. They didn’t worry about locking the door, since the gulch residents were, for lack of a better term, isolated from the outside world. A figure stood in the doorway. Whoever it was, was wearing a baggy sweatshirt with the hood up, jeans, and was levitating a lantern in a teal colored telekinetic hand. They snapped their fingers and the lantern extinguished, and pulled the hood down. The light of the dining room was more than enough to get a good look at the interloper. The mystery guest was a teenager, he looked like he was almost finished with high school, as told by the mostly stubble facial hair they were able to grow. “Hi,” came a raspy voice. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “Hello, I...uh, is this the research group of Otto Mentalis and Ford Cruller?” The kid asked. He seemed sure of himself after getting the first couple of words out.
At this point, the whole table was on guard. The research group wasn't very combative, but usually investors were older, for starters, and contacted via phone or mail, never in person. Bob realized he left his seeds back in his greenhouse. He’d have to make do with whatever mild hydrokinesis he could muster. It was too dangerous to use pyrokinetic attacks in close quarters like this, especially in a building made mostly of wood. Besides, even if the kid meant business, murder was not on the list of to-do’s for anyone in attendance, especially for a kid.
“Who wants to know?” Ford piped up, his tone eerie yet kind. Bob remembered the same siren tone when he first met Ford. Bob had packed up, ready to ditch town, when Ford stood in the doorway of that old house. It may have been almost over a year since that happened, but Bob still felt a bit of a shudder. Sure Ford can be playful with the teleportation pranks, but the guy could really get under one’s skin and intimidate with the kindest of words when he wanted to. Bob shifted in his seat, trying to make sure his skin didn’t crawl too much.
“My name is Truman.” The kid responded, setting his bag and lantern aside. “Truman Zanotto. I think my uncle is here. His name should be Robert Zanotto?” His eyes were darting around the room, no doubt realizing he had come into contact with some rather powerful psychics. “If not, I can leave. No need for any trouble. I can keep a secret of where this place is. Promise.” The kid kept a solid composure, but it was clear after a few seconds of looking at him, he was still uneasy, unsure of himself. It reminded Bob of himself in a sense at that age. Beginnings of self-doubt.
Bob then looked around himself, and could feel everyone slowly turn towards him. The energy of the room turned from defense to confusion to surprise, and Bob was not entirely sure what was going on. He stood up. “I prefer the name Bob, frankly. I…” Bob pushed the chair in behind him, and walked over. He never thought he’d be around blood family again. He assumed his sister was out of his life, and was almost certain she would have the similar philosophy to end the pain this bloodline had birthed, but it would seem only Bob held this belief between his sister and himself. Guess they were a lot more different than he thought. “It’s good to meet you.” Bob stood, unsure of what was going to happen, and offered a hand. Relief showed in Truman’s eyes. he was probably still off put thanks to Ford’s warm welcome.
Truman shook his uncle’s hand, making solid eye contact. “It’s good to meet you, too, Uncle Bob.”
Oh geez, this’ll be something to get used to. “Please, call me, Bob.” Bob replied, realizing he wasn’t that old now, was he? Sure it had been a while since he was a teenager himself, but surely it wasn’t that long. Could it have been? No matter. Time waits for no man. “Let me grab you a chair and a plate.” He smiled and turned. “Everyone, we’re having a guest tonight.” He said over his shoulder. Bob looked back to Truman and leaned in, making sure to keep eye contact with him. “Sorry about Ford, he’s like that with everyone. He’s a great guy, honest. Just takes time.” He walked Truman over to the table and pulled his own chair out. “Have mine.” Bob offered.
“Wait, are you...Helmut Fullbear?” Truman was almost ecstatic, and Bob couldn’t help but stop and look over his shoulder. “I’m guessing based on the hat, but I mean, I’ve seen some posters for the Psychodyssey tour when I was younger! I always wanted to see it.”
Bob couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll be right back.” Bob excused himself, nodding to Helmut, who smiled back at him, before chatting more with Truman about his artwork. Being intrigued by Helmut’s art work must be a Zanotto thing, apparently. Everyone was at the table, happily chatting as if the tension never happened just five minutes ago. He pushed the door and went down the hall. The sound of conversation dulled as Bob walked down the hallway. His steps slowed to a crawl. There was something in his chest, a weight that wasn’t there when dinner first started.
No, it wasn’t his age. That line of thought ended quickly in his mind. Bob knew he’d die some day, he had accepted that long before he met Ford and the rest of them. His self-doubts and inadequacies were in check, and he didn’t feel the urge to drink, so why did he have this emptiness? He shook his head and opened the door to the kitchen, and gently closed it behind him. He moved to turn on the lights but someone was already at the fridge, the light illuminating the dark room.
“Hello?” Bob asked, turning the light on, but easily recognized the person he shared a room with immediately. Lucy was tending to the fridge, already grabbing the pies that he and Helmut stored away. “You were just in the room when I left.” He shook his head and chuckled, “you’re really taking a note from Ford, huh? I mean that in the nicest of ways, of course. You’ve yet to really scare me by doing that.” Ford definitely got a kick out of scaring the members of the gulch with his patented teleportation ability. Lucy had gotten a handle of it as of late, but the rest of the researchers either got dizzy, nauseous, or misfired the teleportation and ended up either stuck in trees, or mere inches from where they started.
“I have no idea what you mean, darling.” She responded absentmindedly. “But our visitor is…” Lucy pulled the pie out along with the ice cream. It was store bought, not everything could be made by scratch here. “Welcome here, obviously, but you feel something has changed.”
Bob crossed his arms. “I guess I need to bluff better, huh.” He let out a breath to laugh weakly, going to the cabinet and pulling out silverware for his nephew. Bob could have sworn he was getting better at that, but he also knew he had no need to have his guard up. He didn’t feel threatened or out of place in gulch after a few months of living here. Sure he was thrown off balance he had made by Helmut’s arrival, but that was for another reason, rectified with time and conversation. And a fair amount of kissing.
“No, it’s good. You’re fine, Bob, but…” Lucy trailed off again, grabbing the ice cream scooper from the drawer. “I just know that when Crully and I talked about having children, we both agreed to put the question off for a while. Not only because of the work, but also because of who we are as people. We might not make the best parents, which is okay.” She placed the scoop on the carton of ice cream and put a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “I know seeing the future generation of your family may make you feel uneasy, especially based on what you shared with us. Just promise me that you’ll take that weight, whatever it is, and walk with it. No need to run into assumptions on Truman’s life just yet, or put any major expectations on yourself. Besides, it sounds like he’s probably too excited to be speaking with fellow psychics for the first time in his life.”
“Well, besides my sister, you mean.” Bob corrected her. A thought crossed his mind. Was his sister alive? Was Truman an orphan? Did his sister train Truman at all? Bob swallowed hard at his thoughts, but remembered what Lucy had just told him. One step at a time. Surely he could talk to Truman after dinner and understand where he was coming from, and make sure he was safe. Bob recalled how he was at Truman’s age. Taking care of an almost dead alcoholic mom, tending to the greenhouse, cleaning the house, cooking meals, taking produce and flowers to market if mom was sick, which was often. He shuddered and prayed that his sister was at least more sensible than their mom. That she had also taken steps to break that vicious cycle. She had to, else she wouldn’t have left as early as she did.
“Maybe. Step at a time, Bob.” She patted his shoulder again and lifted everything but the scoop telekinetically. “Come back to the table soon. You know how starved teenage boys can be. You were one once, yes?’ She gave him a wink as she disappeared back into the hallway.
Bob stood there in silence for a moment, but realized Lucy had a point. Truman was probably starving, and the food was only getting colder by the second. He followed after Lucy quickly, plate and silverware in hand. Light shut off, down the hall, and back to the kitchen.
“The police gave me an ultimatum, I either rat my boss out, or I get put in the slammer. The interrogation was harsh, and I felt like I was going to pass out initially.” Cassie was regaling her story of how she printed Mindswarm for Truman to hear. She was an excellent writer when it came to her research and findings for self-help and psychic abilities. But, she was an even better raconteur. No doubt Helmut gave his initial story of how he’s taking a break from touring while Bob was chatting with Lucy.
Bob slinked in, trying not to disrupt the story. He gave the plate and utensils to Truman, grabbed a stray chair and sat down next to him. His nephew was between him and Helmut, but Bob didn’t mind. It was probably wise to make Truman a priority anyways. Lucy had opened the ice cream container, but thankfully Truman had gotten proper dinner food before skipping straight to dessert. At least the kid had some discipline.
Cassie regaled the story further, and time seemed to fly by. Food was eaten, slowly put away by one person or another, ensuring most everyone was still seated while the story continued. As Cassie reached the part where she arrived at the gulch, she had to take a break to yawn. “Perhaps it’s best to call it a night, I think.” She finished her water and stood up and walked over, shaking Truman’s hand. “It was wonderful to meet you, Truman. I don’t know what your plans are, but if you want, I can give you a copy of Mindswarm, if you’d like. I think you might get a kick out of some of the methods. That is, if you don’t have a copy.”
“Oh, I…” Truman was finishing the last of his pie. “I don’t, actually. I think I could use it for sure. I do need the training.” The rest of the group were finishing up cleaning at this point, Lucy more than likely helping Ford and Otto with the dishes.
“Oh, if you need training, perhaps you can stay a while, Truman. No pressure, of course.” Compton chimed in, shaking Truman’s hand as well. “It was a pleasure to meet you. However, if you do stay, there’ll be more meals like that. Just a thought. Regardless, sleep well!”
Then there were three. You should get some alone time with your nephew, Bobby. Helmut stood up. “I’ll be at my place if you need me. I’ll be up for a while, not nearly tired and need to revise some lyrics. Have fun, okay?” Helmut gave one last glance, a quick figment of a few flowers and hearts above his head. He shot Bob a quick thumbs up before closing the door behind him.
“So, how much of the grounds have you seen, Truman?” Bob asked, standing up. “I mean, I assume you at least saw some of it, driving in and walking to the building. I’ll give you a tour, besides, I think we have some catching up to do. Don’t you agree?”