Chapter Text
On the shoulder of his robot, Tobey felt like he was on top of the world.
Even with the rain pouring overhead, and the massive, soot-stained clouds swirling above, a wild, frenzied grin tore through his face. That entire day, his mood had mirrored the weather – the incoming storm rumbling in the sky in tune with his boiling anger – and he’d finally burst.
He’d woken up late for school, head bent crookedly over his messy work desk and blueprints smudged with tea, a faint amber lamp burning dimly as the beginnings of a rainy day simmered outside. He’d gotten used to his mother’s strict voice jolting him awake, but she was absent, having gone on a business trip the next city over, so he trudged out of bed and readied himself with her phantom reminders ringing through his ears. Normally he relished the silence, though that morning he moved hollowly around the house, insides as empty as the residence itself.
The droplets had just begun to fall as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, raincoat fastened and umbrella propped up. It was a light drizzle, certainly not enough to be bothersome, yet his eyes lingered on the icky mud sticking to his boots and the stuffy humidity pushing in on him from all sides. Arriving at school didn’t improve his temper – as if it ever had.
Still, he buried himself in his notes, scribbling robotic designs in the margins of his notebook and hoping to ignore interaction with his witless classmates if possible. Things went decently for the first hour or two, until Ms. Davis walked past his desk and got an eyeful of the detailed sketch unfolding beneath deft pencil strokes. She’d lifted one suspicious eyebrow and confiscated it, chucking it into her drawer along with his good architecture pencils, never to be seen again.
Tobey was used to her doing this, but that didn’t make it sting any less. He stewed, dreaming of rampaging through the city, but by the time lunch rolled around, his plots were centered around the leftover shepherd’s pie resting in his lunch tin. Pretending to pay attention was tedious and by the time the bell rang, he was among the first to rush towards the cafeteria, images of russet beef and grilled vegetables spilling through his mind.
Then he was struck frozen by a lilting, hypnotizing melody, its notes wrapping around his limbs like errant vines, every thorn an alluring tune digging into his mind. The sensation lasted only a moment, but when he finally regained his bearings, his lunch was gone and a pair of glossy blonde braids was sweeping around the bend.
Like the thunder building outside, Tobey’s insides thrashed with unspent fury. His heart was a pair of cymbals, crashing together, vexing energy accumulating with every clap. He had been ready to chase after her, his closed fist trembling at the thought of that annoying, bratty thief peeling away at the aluminum foil on his mother’s cooking. Images flashed through his mind in sync with the lightning illuminating the bare hallways – he would crush her stupidly modern house with the flick of a button. He would melt down every trophy and use the metal to create more robots. He would grab that recorder and snap it in half in front of her very eyes.
But he didn’t get the chance to enact his revenge, for Ms. Davis steered him into her classroom on the preface of discussing his troubling artwork. He’d sat in her chair for ten agonizing minutes, watching her clumsy hands hold up blueprints without a trace of tact; her fingers digging into the delicate paper. Her actions felt like arrows to the chest, but her words were worse – Tobey, as your teacher, I only want the best for you. Maybe you should take up new hobbies? Join a club or sport. Make some friends – real friends, not your robots.
Tobey had bobbed his head listlessly, body numb. Nod, nod, yes ma’am . I understand, Ms. Davis.
When he finally exited the classroom, his wrath had reached unprecedented levels. Real friends? Who was she to tell him who his real friends were? Who was she to stomp on his preferences? Perhaps his preferences had stomped on others, but that wasn’t the point. He liked robots and he didn’t have to replace them with new, normal hobbies. Just what right did she have, the loon, to suggest such a thing?
He was a bottle of fizzy pop, shaken down to his core until every emotion was bubbling against the cap of his patience, itching to explode. But his pencils and designs were gone, and his hands twitched with unspent energy. He had so much anger and nowhere to put it. His master remote was at home, on his desk, forgotten in that morning’s late rush. For now, he could only scheme.
The school day wore on, slipping by like black treacle. He worked diligently, his one dull pencil scratching marks through the paper, betraying his resentment. He tolerated the constant back-and-forth jabbering between Violet and Becky, even when their voices overlapped like a too-hot blanket he wanted to yank off. His eyes stayed fixated on the hands of the clock on the wall and how slowly they moved, but he stayed resilient, dreaming of karma, even as his bubbles of vexation quieted down.
It was raining hard when the bell signaled school’s end. Tobey didn’t ride the bus, but his mother wasn’t available to pick him up. He considered riding the ridiculous yellow vehicle, but one look at the chaos pouring from the windows and, oh , the stench, and he decided he’d rather try his luck with the mud-caked sidewalks instead.
Each step was a struggle. The drops that had fallen with somber grace that morning now sprayed down in thick sheets, pelting the edge of his umbrella like a barrage of bullets. He gripped the wooden handle the way a soldier might have yielded a gun, the thin ribs of his umbrella’s structure broken under the canopy’s buckling weight. He could hardly see a foot in front of him, trying to take careful steps. The sidewalks were slick with mud, and he slipped twice, his bottom hitting the concrete and sending awful pulses of pain up his spine. Every so often an automobile would pass by, the faint hits of an upbeat song playing from its radio and warmth rolling off in waves. The tires would send murky waves soaring over him, completely drenching his coat, and a ribbon of laughter would escape the car’s windows as they sped on past, effortlessly carefree.
The world beyond his misty lenses was a flurry of wet and wild.
He loathed it.
After what felt like eons, his eyes shakily found the petunias growing out front in his mother’s garden, and he quickly stumbled home. Heat melted through his bones, settling in thick and heavy. The smell of fairy cakes greeted him, warm and buttery. His mother loomed over him, holding a coffee mug with two strong fingers, her lips twisted into a frown.
Tobey’s heart flew for a moment – despite the faults of their relationship, a part of him awaited her return. While he hated how his fear of her often made him second-guess his decisions, the smallest iota of his mind was grateful. The fright was an anchor, keeping him from doing anything too reckless. He’d hoped they could chat for a bit over tea, exchange entertaining morsels about her trip, or go out and fix the flower garden once the storm was over. Typical mother-son things that they didn’t get to do as much.
But it didn’t seem like things would be going that route. She gestured for him to come to the kitchen, where he spotted a stack of muffins cooling on the counter, their sugary scent enveloping the room. It wasn’t a good sign. She’d taken to stress-baking ever since his father had left, and now used it as a coping mechanism for all stress. A few weeks ago, it had been brownies, then double-chocolate fudge, and now honey-glazed muffins. Every time he smelt sweetness in the air, it was a bad omen.
Sit , she’d beckoned, and he had. Her fingers drummed ominously against the table, and she anxiously sipped her coffee. Ms. Davis says you’ve been drawing those robots in class again.
His heart fell instantly. Of course. Of course, of course – what had he expected? His teacher would have told. She would have called to let his mother know, even if they were doodles birthed from boredom. They were too dubious to leave alone. No, Ms. Davis couldn’t have just shoved them into her desk to join the other countless objects of his she had yet to give back. She’d talked to him, hadn’t she? Taken away his time to lecture him in the hopes that he wouldn’t destroy something that day.
As if she could stop him. As if any of them could, but that didn’t matter, because she’d speculated anyways, and called his mother, and, and...
Mrs. McCallister sighed, and it was as fragmented and wistful as the storm pouring outside. A flash of lightning highlighted her weary face and sagging lips.
She looked so tired.
His mother barely said anything, just warned him to go to his room before disappearing into hers. Tobey sat at the kitchen table and watched her go. He stayed there for a second, alone except for the cold plate of muffins, the earth-shattering thunder, and the ticking of their grandfather clock signaling the beginning – or end – of something.
And then he pushed himself away from the table, feet slapping against the hardwood floors. The narrow hallway leading up to his bedroom was dark, shrouded with surly shadows that scampered towards the corners when flashes of lightning painted the walls in fire. His muscles were stiff and stone-like as he moved, and a sliver of air sustained his lungs. One hand wrapped around the cold brass knob, pulled, then flinched as thunder echoed throughout the empty corridor.
Another bright fracture of lightning cracked through the gray mural swirling in the sky. Tobey leant against the door, catching his breath.
And with his breath, he also caught the last fraying threads of outrage.
Trembling, he rushed towards his work desk, the events of that day piling up, squashing him underneath the weight. Earlier, his legs had wobbled like gelatin, threatening to collapse. The trek home had been exhausting, but he sustained on pure rage. Chucking off his raincoat, he searched his room for the remote – and there it was, tucked underneath messy plans he’d put together only nights before. His hands shook with fervor. At long last.
He didn’t bother retrieving his coat from where he’d tossed it away so carelessly. Let the rain pelt him, he thought robustly. The shuddering steps of his robot walked in time with the thunder, hardly discernible. A metal fist rapped on his window, and he strode over, sliding into the palm of his robot’s hand. The wind howled, banshee-like in its sorrow, as the hand rose to gently place Tobey on the metal shoulders of his man-made beast.
A wild sort of glee expanded within like a balloon. His mother’s exhausted face passed his mind, a prick of guilt poking through the rapidly swelling mania threatening to squeeze his skipping heart into pulp. He commanded the robot away from the city and instead kept his eye on the fuzzy forest outline on the outskirts of town. He didn’t care for nature much. As an outlet for anger, he didn’t feel the same satisfaction wrought from stomping on ugly business tycoon buildings and watching witless pedestrians run for their pathetic lives as he did from creating lackluster footprints in ecosystems, but he would endure the dull environment switch. For his mother.
With his free palm, he pushed back his wet, matted hair and spectated the destruction his robot caused. Really, the forest was already a mess without his help. The rain had loosened the ground, and lan slides made trees topple like dominoes well before his machines yanked them out of the soil. Metallic, geometric fingers grasped at the moss-brushed plants and crushed them into soggy wood chips. Dirt clung to roots gnarled and charred. Lightning played along in a chorus of car crashes, in a symphony of anguish.
This – this utter chaos, this cacophony of hysteria, Tobey adored. It was fine as long as he was the source, the conductor waving his baton to command whatever musical crime he was committing at the moment. His animosity bled out, a tar seeping into Earth. Every time he thought he would stop, the events of that day would play out in his head again, tormenting him. Mocking him.
When one was angry enough, it felt like everything was taunting them.
So he would yank out another tree and burn it into sawdust, or use his robot’s massive arms to shape balls out of mud and throw at the mountain that dared to stand tall during the storm when he could not. Over and over, with the rain soaking his shirt, dotting against his glasses like cold tears. He barely acknowledged the chill nipping on his skin or the gust pulling on every fiber of his being. The weather meant nothing in the face of pulsing, electric hatred.
“Tobey!”
His finger lingered over a button. For a moment, he considered the voice to be a mischievous wind screaming something from the depths of his imagination, but the blur of red said otherwise. He’d recognize that perpetually indignant voice anywhere.
He clicked the button, vaulting a handful of sludge at a nearby cliff and watching as it slid downwards, trailing grime on the pristine stone mountainside. Wordgirl yelled something – he couldn’t hear it over the rain, nor did he particularly care. Even though he oftentimes vied for her attention, he was much too angry to consider wooing her right then.
“Tobey!” she screamed again, her bright costume materializing in front of him like a glitch. “What are you doing ?”
He chucked another ball into the air, and she swiftly dodged. “Out of my way, Wordgirl. I’m not in the mood.”
“It’s a hurricane out here,” she protested, her brown locks flapping against the relentless gale.
“What a keen observation,” he growled. His robot’s hands menacingly swung a tree trunk against the ground. “Since the storm will already leave everything in ruins, what I’m doing won’t make the slightest difference. Now, move .”
“I can’t let you do that, Tobey.” She told him, her cape thrashing violently. He didn’t understand how she could be so unbearably calm when everything around her wasn’t. Her resilience only irked him. “You can’t just rip up the forest.”
“People do it every day,” he snarled, his robot kicking over a tree with one click, “ legally .” Thunder rumbled and the ground quivered, echoing his impatience. “Don’t you have other places to be, Wordgirl?”
The heroine made a puzzled expression. "Tobey, are you okay? You usually look forward to our battles.”
“There is no battle. It’s just Mother Nature and I. You aren’t part of this.”
Wordgirl flew closer, tentative. He swung a robot arm clockwise and she dove away, eyebrows knit in concentration. “Yeah, but you seem angrier than usual. What happened?”
“Why do you care?” he spat. “Do us both a favor and leave.”
“It’s dangerous to be out here! The weather will only get worse.”
“What happens to me isn’t any of your business.”
“But-” she paused, an unfamiliar expression flickering over her eyes. The words collected on her tongue crumbled and her arms sagged, like she’d been tensing her shoulders to stay uptight and professional. He’d seen her look feeble before, not that it was something he typically associated with her. But now, with a gavel of rain pounding on her back and fog obscuring her vision, Wordgirl appeared tired.
Her face reminded him of his mother’s, when she’d wearily gazed at him from across the kitchen, cold coffee in hand, wondering when this – whatever this was – would end.
“Just go home, Tobey.” Her words were a whisper through the trilling wind. “It’s safer.”
“Safe,” he repeated. “No, I don’t think I can go home. I can’t.” He shook his head fervently, his mother’s face and hopeless eyes poisoning the hysterical glee from earlier. “I won’t.”
He thought she might have said something, but the shrill gales piqued in volume and he couldn’t hear her. Did he want to hear her at all? Would he like what she had to say?
Ms. Davis says you’ve been drawing those robots in class again.
His head throbbed with the memory, with curdling anger.
Make some friends – real friends, not your robots.
The star on Wordgirl’s chest inched closer. She was speaking, her lips were moving, and from her mouth came the sounds of a thunderstorm in full bloom. Her hands were outstretched, palms open and inviting, like she was offering to listen. But his grip on the master remote tightened.
I only want the best for you.
No , he thought. How can you want the best for me, when you don’t even know me?
Wordgirl said something, but the wind pushed her back, pushed the syllables away like meaningless dandelion fluff. He could hardly see her now, her bright carmine costume smudged by swirling whorls of raincloud tar. She was fading like a sun dying out, her influence smothered by rain and humidity. He still felt angry, but the feverish joy had evaporated, leaving a hard, icy pebble of condensed ire. Part of him wanted to scream and rip the earth at its crust, yet a small, worthless crumb held back stupid, empty tears.
His motives swirled in a cesspool of emotional sewage. Ms. Davis, Victoria, his mother, Wordgirl. He wasn’t sure who he was most mad at. Maybe he was mad at all of them. He commanded his robot to yank out another tree. There was a sick sense of satisfaction gained from seeing something so strong and sturdy lose its foundation in one tug.
“Tobey!” came Wordgirl’s cry. Was she worried? Unhappy about the tree? Her expression changed with the blurry scenery. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t care.
Something spilled from him. With the storm’s booming crescendo reaching its heights, and lightning cracking against the sky, he leant back on the shoulders of his robot, cackling or crying or doing both at once. If he were to cry, how would he know which droplets were rain and which were tears? If he were to laugh, how could he tell the difference between his furor and the bolts harshly gracing the sky? He looked upwards and saw nothing but disaster, closed his eyes, and smiled.
Then the wind sought to push him, and Tobey fell.
It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen, but the terror was still present. Fear spiked through him as the air scratched and pried at his skin, gnawing on his chilled bones. A strike of red sped through the darkness and he thought, gratefully, Wordgirl .
The world around him fell too fast, and she seemed to fly too slow. Slow? Wordgirl? No – no, she wasn’t slow.
But he could see her fighting against the churning clouds like a sailor struggling with a current. Caramel eyes glistened anxiously, a lighthouse flickering over cruel waves. Her gloved hands flailed with tendrils of murky clouds and with whips bronze of levin that stole her sight. She was mumbling, nervous verbatim frothing at the mouth as she worked her way through him. But the red light enveloping her body was dwindling down; a flame perishing on its wick.
Tobey saw the broad shoulders of his robot grow smaller and smaller, the air’s screams growing high pitched and unbearable, his heart squeezing him, choking him with panic. Wordgirl’s copper hair and wide pupils met his. There was a message in them – I’m coming , they said, but the caramel color had dulled with dismay. Wordgirl, the most powerful person he knew, afraid in a way he’d never seen before.
All hope withered.
He saw her speeding closer, but the world was spinning like a top, round and round and never ceasing. He glimpsed the tips of the trees and terror seized him. Then his glasses flew off, and he couldn’t see anything. Was it cruelty or mercy, him not being able to see when exactly his demise would happen? Thoughts sped through his head at lightspeed, gripping his mind with hysteria. He could die here. He could die here, in the woods among filth and rubbish and Wordgirl.
Something blurry entered his vision, ruby-red and outstretching. A hand, reaching forwards, beckoning. His own arm, limp with dread, tried to reach hers, but he was falling too fast, and she couldn’t see him through the thick sheets of rain.
Tobey , she cried out. Tobey!
There was a breath of space between them, and as the final dregs of air left his body and unconsciousness took over, he took in his last glimpse of Wordgirl – his enemy, his rival, his weakness– hovering above him, hand desperately grasping for his but never quite reaching it. He recalled all the times he’d asked for her hand and how she’d reverently denied him. It was a trivial thought, but thinking about how she might hold his hand now made him a little happier, and he’d rather die happy than angry.
Darkness filled his eyes like a liquid abyss. The only star in his comatose galaxy was above, sobbing, her golden light waning and a new kind of red staining his cheeks.