Work Text:
"I'm sorry I was Home so late. The party carried on longer than I thought it would."
A series of creaks and bangs, shutters and doors slamming off wooden frames and making Wally flinch.
"I know I'm supposed to be Home before dark. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
A longer, drawn out creak, like the opening of some ancient maw. Wally clutched at his cardigan.
"No, no. It's not their fault. It's mine. I should have excused myself sooner. I'm sorry, Home. Please."
More banging and the snapping of wood. Wally had no idea how Home had yet to rip itself to pieces during tantrums like this.
"They're my friends. But you're my very best friend."
A quieter creak, and Wally dared to draw a breath.
"...yes, even more best than Barnaby."
A single shutter clap. Wally had never stopped smiling, but he forced it to grow a bit more as he stared down one of Home's massive window eyes.
"I promise."
The temperature within Home rose, and Wally allowed himself a few more steadying breaths. The oppressive atmosphere was relinquished and his shoulders sagged.
"Thank you, Home. You're the most. Let's go to bed."
Wally, like always, did his best to ignore how the eye followed his every move on the way there.
~@~@~
Wally's sleep was always fitful. He would lay in bed with the mask on, repeating over and over again that he was sleeping, willing the act into existence. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. Sometimes he was plagued by such nightmarish visions he wished it hadn't. And some nights he laid awake in his bed, too terrified to sleep, having slighted Home in some fashion and knowing well what would await him were he to close his eyes.
He thought, after the tantrum, he would get little to no sleep. Contrarily, he slept rather well; better than he had in some time. Wally woke feeling refreshed, if a bit sluggish. He wasn't concerned. Sometimes he woke to mornings where it took his brain a little longer to connect with all his limbs. He let himself lay there amidst the sheets, soaking up the warmth and listening to birdsong. Yes, today was going to be a very good day. He had made so many plans with his friends! It was a good thing he'd risen so punctually- right with the sun. He'd need all the time he could get if he wanted to be Home again before nightfall. No reason to upset Home two days in a row.
Eventually, he sat up. It was funny, because he hadn't even thought to do it. It just happened. Clearly, his body was as excited to pursue the day as he was.
"Good morning, Home." The house creaked and snapped a few cupboard doors in response, while Wally yawned and stretched. Home didn't sound upset. That was good. Comfortable and feeling reassured, Wally pushed off the covers and made to turn his body in bed, so he could get up.
Instead, his legs pulled up beneath him, and he hopped straight off the foot of the bed like a cat. The action made him blink. That certainly wasn't what he'd been planning to do. Naturally, he stood, but instead of moving to make his bed like always he proceeded to the vanity across the room. Wally was puzzled. He was telling his legs to go one way, but they were completely disobeying his every thought. They went straight to the vanity, and as he sat down Wally felt himself grow cold.
There was his reflection in the mirror, like always. Except his pupils were too large and his smile almost looked fake. Like it had been stitched onto his face. Strings, so thin they were nearly invisible, trailed off from his neck and limbs into the shadows of the rafters. Wally's breathing quickened, but then slowed so abruptly he audibly choked. Something was controlling it.
As he reached for his hairbrush, he realized something was controlling him.
"Home? Home, what's going on?" Fear edged his voice, but it was incredibly faint. For all the emotions he felt, none of them wanted to convey themselves. Not in his face, his voice or his actions. He began to brush the tangles from his hair as if absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary. Except he wasn't trying to brush his hair. His body simply did it. Something was making his body do it. "Home?"
There was a long, drawn-out creak, capped off with the squeak of a floorboard.
Wally tried to move his body- even just a pinky finger. Nothing would respond. He couldn't even blink. His breathing remained steady and his heartbeat calm, even though he could feel the panic inside of his head. He saw his reflection; felt the bristles run thru his hair; smelled the old wood of Home's interior. He was fully present in all aspects except control. As if someone had strapped him into the passenger seat of a car and taken the wheel wearing his face. Wally wanted to scream, but when he spoke, his voice remained its steady monotone.
"...Home, please. If this is about last night, I said I was sorry. Please, let me go. I don't like this."
A louder bang from somewhere downstairs. Wally set the brush down and began the arduous process of doing up his exorbitant hairstyle.
"Home! Please. I told you, you're my best friend. You're the most. Really, I mean it. You don't have to do this."
Wally's reflection's smile grew to the point the stitches in the face popped loose. The pupils were so large practically no whites remained and Wally felt the strings around his body tighten to the point of nearly being painful. A hand, pure white, crawled from his reflection's ripped mouth to slowly waggle a disapproving finger at him from the mirror. He was so terrified he wanted to sob. Home wouldn't let him. No, Home wouldn't let him do anything today.
Except, it would. Wally was going to get to do all of the things he'd planned today. He just wouldn't be the one doing them.
I am going to show you that I am your only real friend. I will show you that no one else knows you. I will prove to you that I am all you have, and all that you will ever need, my Darling.