Chapter Text
Giant’s Deep is nice – well, nicer than usual, at least – this time of year. Which is good, Gabbro muses idly, because this is the only time of year they’re going to experience here for the rest of eternity. It’s lucky that the sun didn’t decide to explode in the middle of a Giant’s Deep winter. Even they avoid the planet then.
Being flung into space by giant tornadoes in the middle of an endless storm is one thing. Being flung into space by giant tornadoes in the middle of an endless storm while also ceaselessly being pelted by hail the size of pine cones at very high velocity is another thing altogether, thank you very much. There’s not enough time loops in the universe to figure out how to survive a whole day in conditions like that. Probably.
They let their fingers continue their slow, familiar rhythm across the body of their flute, barely paying attention to the well-practiced motions as they contemplate this. Is it really lucky, though? If it had been winter on Giant’s Deep when the supernova happened, they wouldn’t have been here at all. They would have been back home on Timber Hearth, or maybe on some other planet altogether.
They would have never come across that statue out there on that beach, at just the right moment for it to open its eyes and lock them in this endless dance, the same day repeating again and again and again and only ever ending in the death of everything they’d ever known.
Would they have preferred that? Gabbro’s fingers still, the question just as heavy as it had been the first time they had mulled it over. They could have been like the others, enjoying a last blissful day of ignorance back home, or perhaps recognising the inevitability of it all like Chert does every loop, and wasting their last precious hours on painful, wanton regret.
Would Zircon still have stumbled their way into the loop in that scenario, they wonder? Probably yes – Gabbro had delivered that particular statue to Timber Hearth several weeks before the time loop ever started (it had apparently taken Hornfels quite some time to get it ready for the exhibit, especially since they had to cover up the damage Gabbro had accidentally done to the poor thing), and seasons on Giant’s Deep come and go pretty quickly.
‘Lucky’ it is, then. Gabbro tilts their head and resumes their playing as they come to the same conclusion they have reached the many other times they have pondered this question. They wouldn’t want their poor Time Buddy to go through this all on their own.
Speaking of – Zircon should be on the planet somewhere right now. They’re pretty sure they briefly glimpsed their ship earlier this loop, weaving in and out of the tornadoes with perfect control, like they were looking for something. The distant silhouette of their ship had disappeared past the horizon soon enough, and Gabbro hasn’t seen them since, but they haven’t seen them leave either. So chances are, they’re still around.
As far as possible options for a Time Buddy could have gone, Gabbro thinks it’s pretty lucky that it’s Zircon who ended up in this time loop with them. While it does seem like a cruel cosmic joke that this would all happen on the day of their inaugural flight, there’s probably no better Hearthian for the job. Despite their youth, Zircon is the calm and collected type, always cool under pressure and almost painfully brilliant when they put their mind to something. There’s a reason why they and Gabbro got along so well back in the day when they lived in the kids’ cabin together – they’re on a similar wavelength in that way.
For a brief window of time, they had even trained under Gossan together. Zircon had only joined up after Chert had already left, but Gabbro hadn’t quite been ready for graduation yet at that point, so for a few months, it had been the three of them – Gabbro, Riebeck and Zircon – and though it has been a few years since then, that easy camaraderie has never faded.
The roar of a tornado pulls them from their thoughts, and Gabbro braces themself against their hammock, the instinctive action so routine by now that they barely pay it any mind. There’s a violent lurch, and a howling torrent of wind and water that neatly puts out their little campfire, and then all weight falls away as the island crests the green clouds and, for a few seconds of perfect silence, hangs suspended in the atmosphere.
Floating peacefully, Gabbro’s eyes trace the vast, starry sky unfolding all around them. They don’t get to see it much these days (this day), so they enjoy these brief snapshots when they can get them. In the distance, a supernova flares, brilliant blue and white, and Gabbro keeps their gaze trained on the fading star as gravity reclaims them and sends them hurtling back towards the planet below. Already, the night sky is looking a little darker without that brave little light – they send a gentle thought its way as they fall. Good job, little sun, they tell it. You did good. You can rest now.
Even with their hammock to catch them, the fall winds them every time; gravity is heavy enough here that the velocity hurts, even if they manage to not crack their head open on the rocks. They take a few minutes to catch their breath before they resume their playing, and busy themself with relighting their fire in the meantime.
Frankly, they’re a little worried about Zircon. Their buddy has always been a focused and patient person, so Gabbro easily noticed the subtle change in them the last few times they had spoken. There had been a certain harried air to them, their words and movements stilted and almost frantic, and not for the first time, Gabbro had wondered why they were putting so much pressure on themself. They seemed to be under the impression that they could fix all of this somehow, but Gabbro isn’t sure that there’s anything at all that can be done about an exploding sun. They have long since accepted their fate – made peace with the inevitability of death a long time ago, really – but Zircon is adamant to carry the weight of the whole solar system on their back, apparently.
Gabbro both pities and admires that amount of foolish hope.
In the end, the tornadoes take them up into space two more times before they see their buddy again. It’s only by sheer coincidence – they happen to be leaning over the side of their hammock to shake some water out of their flute – that they even spot the ship surfacing from below the waves some distance away. It’s difficult to make out through the murky water, but it seems to be rising steadily, and is probably going to breach the surface in the next few seconds. Which is why the tornado that is rapidly approaching the ship from behind has Gabbro a little concerned. Zircon probably doesn’t know that it’s even there – it’s in their ship’s blind spot right now, and Gabbro knows from experience that these things are surprisingly difficult to make out from below the surface.
They make a grab for their signal scope to give them a warning, only for their hand to close on empty air. They glance over and spot it some ways away on the ground, the battered white casing cracked and the receiver bent and broken. Dang. It must have floated off at some point, and had a not-so-gentle fall.
Gabbro has just enough time to be relieved that the device will be whole and unharmed again next loop before there’s the sound of something big breaching the water’s surface and the roar of a tornado far too close, and they whip their head around, a useless warning on the tip of their tongue-
The next few events happen in very quick succession, but to Gabbro, time might as well have slowed to a crawl.
They watch helplessly as the ship lifts out of the water, the thrusters steady and controlled, only for them to suddenly jerk and wobble as Zircon evidently realises their situation, a panicked stutter going through the engine as the tornado pulls them in and swallows them whole.
It doesn’t launch them up into the sky, as it usually would.
Well, it launches them, alright. But maybe it’s the proximity to the water, or the odd angle at which they were caught, but the ship only gets flung around the column of wind and water a few times before it shoots away from it again, and with all its horrible momentum, crashes into the boulders right above Gabbro’s campsite.
There’s a sickening crunch of metal, wood and glass, and Gabbro is already halfway out of their hammock, flute abandoned and forgotten behind them, when the storm catches them too, and flings the whole landmass up into the sky.
The seconds of weightlessness feel like eternity this time, and Gabbro has no eyes for the beautiful display of supernova-fireworks above them. All they can hear is the blood rushing in their ears, and the jarring beep-beep-beep of a reactor core’s alarm – a warning that has been drilled into every pilot on the Hearth, and one that makes their head feel light with dread. This is no drill.
They can’t hear Zircon at all.
The island crashes back down into the waves, and Gabbro barely manages to land back in the safety of their hammock – there’s another horrid crashing noise from up above, and the beeping grows ever more insistent – but even though their head is spinning, they don’t allow themself any time to recover as they scramble back up.
“Zircon? Buddy!” they yell as they sprint up the narrow path, cursing the heavy gravity weighting down their steps. There’s no response, and they beg their legs to go faster.
Finally, they round the bend, and-
Gabbro’s breath catches in their throat, all air leaving their lungs in one low, rasping exhale.
The crash site is horrible.
The fire is the first thing they register, wild and hissing and hungry enough that even their brief stint above the clouds hasn't put it out. Its crackling is almost drowned out by the shrill beeping from the reactor, and the noise of it drills itself into Gabbro’s skull, makes their eyes water and their teeth grind.
The ship is in pieces.
Frantically, their eyes scan the debris for the cockpit, and it takes them a few seconds of staring at the hunk of warped metal and broken glass to recognise it for what it is with a horrified jolt. They run towards it, nearly stumbling, and call out again.
There’s a response this time, and Gabbro freezes, almost wishing there hadn’t been one at all. Because not once in their life have they ever heard their friend – or anyone, really – make a noise like that.
From within the ruined cockpit, there’s a wordless wheezing, the sound high and gurgling. It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it’s all Gabbro can seem to focus on, until even the reactor’s alarm fades into the background.
“Hey buddy. Hey. I’m here,” they say, their voice shaking. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ll get you out of there, okay?”
Zircon’s only reply is a wet cough, and then a sharp, pained inhale. More coughing. Gasping.
Gabbro feels their stomach turn.
In their hurry, they forgot to grab any of their tools, but they don’t need them; the cockpit has evidently gotten disconnected from the ship’s main body in the collision, perhaps in a last-ditch effort to eject. Either way, Gabbro shoves their entire weight against the hull and slowly, ever so slowly, manages to shift it off the ground; there’s the groaning of metal and the creaking of wood (and a gurgling scream that Gabbro tries very hard to ignore as they mutter a constant stream of apologies under their breath), and finally, a dull thunk as the cockpit settles on its side, opening exposed.
It takes all of Gabbro’s considerable skill to control their breathing as they finally glimpse what’s inside.
The pilot seat is sideways and facing away from them, and Zircon, evidently still strapped into it, is buried underneath. It has shoved them into the control panel, and even from here, Gabbro can see that it can’t have been a smooth collision. Because part of the console – dimly, they recognise it as the scout display’s arm – is sticking into and through them.
Hearth, there’s so much blood.
They feel sick, but then Zircon makes another noise that sounds far more like a wounded animal than any Hearthian, and Gabbro is at their side before they even fully process the sound. Their hands hover awkwardly – their friend is so firmly lodged in the wreckage, they know they can’t move them without causing them indescribable pain.
“Hey buddy,” they say again, their voice sounding odd to their own ears. “Hey. Just look at me, alright? It’s gonna be okay.”
But Zircon isn’t looking at them at all. Through the cracked glass of their visor (and shit, now that they’re this close, Gabbro can hear the hiss of escaping oxygen too), their eyes are wild and unfocused, and a shiver runs down Gabbro’s spine as they once again feel themself reminded of a wounded animal.
They don’t think Zircon is seeing them, not really.
Still, they try again.
Mindful of any injuries, they put their hand on their shoulder, ever so gently – and it’s only the cramped space that prevents them from jerking back when their buddy’s hand shoots up in turn, clamping onto their wrist with enough force to bruise, even through their suit.
Their eyes are still wild as they lock onto them, and they squint all four of them. Their pupils are all the wrong sizes. Must’ve hit their head pretty hard.
“Zircon,” Gabbro tries, as gently as they can. “Can you hear me? Blink twice if you’re lucid enough to understand me.”
Their buddy does no such thing, eyelids drooping as their breathing grows ragged.
Gabbro curses.
They can’t move them. Can’t even cut them free from the wreckage without any tools. Nor do they have any medical supplies to help them, or-
The reality of their situation slams back into Gabbro with all the delay of Porphy’s most potent sap wine. They’re in a time loop. Right.
Technically, this doesn’t matter. As horrific as it is, Zircon will be right as rain again in just a few hours. This isn’t even the worst way in which they will have died – some of the stories they have told them have been truly horrendous, about rising sands and quantum cacti and slow asphyxiation while adrift in space, made even worse by the fact that they had talked about it so nonchalantly, like they don't care at all.
But Gabbro wonders if, in the moment, all those deaths had been much like this. If that calm, collected mindset had given way to sheer animal terror, to the body’s panicked instinct to just stay alive no matter what.
And for what? Gabbro’s head feels light with their own panic, but a horrible, violent guilt slams into them, blindsides them completely. They had been aware that their Time Buddy hadn’t been having an easy time, but has this been their reality for all these loops? Agonising death after agonising death, all in the pursuit of… what, that foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, they can find a way to save everyone, even in the face of an imploding sun?
That hope is worth that much to them?
And Gabbro had just smiled and seen them off with a wave, every time. Had spent loop after loop just sitting here, wasting time and lounging in the comfort of their hammock, while their friend had flung themself into danger again and again.
How many times, they wonder dimly, had they died like this, alone and scared? A desperate attempt to carry the universe’s weight on their own shoulders, because they refused to give up without a fight, and because no one else had offered to help? Because Gabbro hadn’t offered to help?
Another pained gasp pulls them from their thoughts, and they look at their buddy – really look at them for the first time in a long time – feeling lost like a little hatchling.
It’s easy to forget, with how capable they are, but Zircon is still so young. Only barely an adult. Now that pain and oxygen deprivation are leaving their face unguarded, it’s impossible to overlook. Their eyes seem so big in their face, and their features are soft in a way that still retains the last dregs of childhood. And though they’re taller than Gabbro these days, their limbs are still gangly in a way that suggests that they haven’t quite grown into their new height just yet.
Gabbro only has a few years on them, but the unfairness of Zircon’s situation hits them once again, with more force than they were expecting. They should be out there enjoying their first voyage right now, free and happy under the stars. Not dying here, in the murky haze of Giant’s Deep, trying to carry the fate of the whole solar system on their own.
Crestfallen, Gabbro rubs their buddy’s shoulder, careful to avoid their wounds. “Hey. I’m still here. Just breathe with me, okay? Just like I showed you. In, and out. In, and out. You’re doing great.”
But they aren’t. Their breathing grows shallow, and their grip on Gabbro’s wrist slackens, then falls away completely.
Undeterred, Gabbro keeps murmuring encouragements, keeps holding their shoulder. They don’t realise how far they’ve leaned forward until their helmet knocks against Zircon’s, startling them both; four tired, unfocused eyes flicker up to meet theirs, and for a second, they seem almost lucid – and then they go glassy, and it takes Gabbro a moment to realise that their breathing has stopped.
“Hey,” they say, gently shaking their friend’s shoulder. No reaction. “Hey!”, louder this time. They shake them again, and Zircon’s head lolls forward, like a puppet on cut strings.
A horrible numbness washes over Gabbro.
They’ve never seen anyone die before, they realise.
Despite all of this – despite all these loops, all this destruction – this is the first time they have watched someone die. And somehow, seeing it is different from just knowing it, and they sit there, frozen, feeling like they’ve been drenched in ice water.
They sit there as the shrill beeping outside rises in intensity.
They sit there as the reactor core explodes, blanketing the whole crash site in another layer of debris.
They sit there as tornadoes fling the island up into the sky and gravity flings them back down, and they sit there as sunlight replaces the night, harsh and red and wrong in a way they barely even notice anymore.
They sit there as an echoing boom shakes the whole planet, and a searing blue light fills the sky.
They sit there until they burn away, and they don’t let go for even a second.