Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure what prompted him. 

Maybe it was the sheer boredom of the painstakingly mundane night. Maybe it was the inspiration from spending the entire night clicking through whichever stick figure animations he hadn’t seen. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the name on the screen: 

victim. 

Alan clicked confirm, tired eyes glued to the screen. What followed next was immediate. The stick figure moved, before he had even drawn the next frame. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t startle him, but he had already started this. Boredom and curiosity were one hell of a drug. Even as the small stick figure on the canvas pushed the edges of the selection box it was in, Alan reached for the selection. 

The thing fell down when the selection refused to give, so Alan started rotating the box. It spun slowly and clumsily, knocking the little stick figure around as if it was in the dryer. The little thing tumbled and tumbled until he released the box, and it started to stand up. 

Alan paid it no mind as he pulled the mouse above the box, and started quickly sketching an anvil. He didn’t get a single stroke in before the stick figure looked towards his cursor and started shaking its fist at him, small symbols which Alan could only assume were swear words floating around it. 

Strange. 

It was so bizarre in fact, he stopped drawing the anvil. He assumed that it was going to be a lot more powerful. Most of the animations he’d seen always had them doing crazy crap. And yet, all this one was doing was swearing at him and trying to roll the box to the side. It rammed into the side of it, successfully toppling the box over on its side and falling with it. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, watching as it stood back up and glared at him. It was almost as if it was actually— 

Alan froze. 

There was no way. 

And yet, it started pressing against the walls of the box. Not as forcefully as before, but in a gentler way. As if it was testing, maybe even thinking. Alan erased the start of the anvil. He had to test this, find out if he did manage to create actual life by complete accident.

First things first, he deselected and freed the little stick figure. It stumbled, as it was still testing the box, before righting itself and looking around. It jumped upon seeing the cursor, then pointed at it. More of those little symbols appeared by its face. “Are you angry at me?” Alan spoke, deciding to test his theory. 

There was no reaction, aside from it backing up from the cursor. It moved cautiously, expecting something.It couldn’t hear him. Maybe. He could just be wasting his time, but Alan didn’t want to give up yet. Setting down his tablet pen, he pressed “T” on his keyboard.

“Can you understand me?”

He typed, the words displaying themself on the canvas. The stick figure, who had somehow managed to step off the canvas and into the gray space, only noticed after a few seconds. It stood still for a few moments, looking at it. 

Then more symbols spewed out. Wingdings, Alan recognized. A finger pointing at a man, and then a question mark.

Alan’s brows furrowed as he stared at the screen. “What?” He typed, watching as the stick figure stopped to think. 

After a few seconds, a check mark appeared above its head. 

“Yes, you can understand me?” He typed. 

The figure— no, victim nodded. 

“Are you angry at me?”

The reaction was immediate. He crossed his arms and nodded. A few more annoyed symbols appeared before there was a check mark, followed by a frowning face.

Alan sat back in his seat and sighed, then looked to the ceiling. It was late at night, he accidentally created life when drawing, and he pissed off that life. Sitting back up in his chair, he decided to continue talking with Victim, who had started climbing the toolbar and poking the tools. 

“I’m sorry,” Alan typed out. 

Victim paused his inspection to turn to Alan’s cursor. There was another frowny face before he went back to messing with the toolbar. It only lasted a few seconds, before he got bored and decided to try his luck on the timeline. He reached for the bottom of the upper window, and gripped onto it with both hands and let his legs hang loose. Watching, Alan moved the cursor right below Victim, allowing him to use it as a stepping stool. 

Surprisingly, the stick figure did as he stepped one foot on the cursor and gave himself the push he needed to swing his body into the timeline window. He didn’t acknowledge the small act in any way, and continued exploring his surroundings. 

Alan’s mouth pulled into a frown. He wasn’t exactly sure what to make of this whole situation. He could go back to drawing, but watching victim play with the software didn’t put him in the mood. If anything it made him unnerved to even look at the pen. Sighing, he set his tablet off to the side and grabbed his mouse. He could just browse Newgrounds or YouTube and hope he found something new until sleep sounded like the better option. He brought the cursor to the minimize button, and the moment victim noticed he started freaking.  

He started scrambling, slipping a few times and running to nowhere in particular. He was really just running back and forth a few times, and Alan didn’t understand what set him off. Baffled, he decided to minimize the window anyway. In the frames it was shrinking, victim had tried jumping for the tools, resulting in a pretty nasty trip-and-fall onto the taskbar. He landed face first, and even if he was a stick figure, Alan couldn’t help but wince in sympathy. 

“Crap, sorry—“

He brought the cursor closer to victim, who was in the process of sitting back up, and upon seeing the cursor he violently flinched back and started shrinking away from it. Alan pulled the cursor away from him, guilt now mixing with bafflement, and the stick figure started frantically looking around like it was looking for an escape. 

Alan finally remembered that victim couldn’t hear him, and opened the start menu to pull up the notepad. His cursor only made it to the “Accessories” branch before he noticed victim had somehow scaled the start menu and was midway through slipping into his “ My Videos ” shortcut folder. Alan ditched the notepad idea and grabbed the folder, but paused before opening it. 

This wasn’t the right approach. 

Sighing, he let go of the folder and let it be, even if the idea of a rogue stick figure running around his videos and having the capability to do anything to his work made him nervous. 

He couldn’t believe he was doing this, he couldn’t believe this was happening, he thought as he started back at his original plan. 

He opened the notepad app. He wasn’t sure the exact logic of the stick figure, but he assumed it could come in and out of the folder as it pleases. Going off of this entirely estimated logic, he brought the notepad next to the folder and started typing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not going to hurt you either.” 

victim didn’t come out of the folder, unsurprisingly, so Alan left the notepad there and reopened Flash. He stared at the blank canvas, a little unsure of what to do with it. Would deleting it delete victim? A part of him was tempted to let curiosity take hold— just delete it and if it deleted victim, he could move on with his life. It was just code anyway, it couldn’t be that real.

He saved the project, anyway. 

Something about the stick figure felt alive, and even if it was behind a screen Alan didn’t want to snuff that out. So he took a few extra measures:

First he created a new folder on the desktop. Initially it was just to give victim a space so he didn’t run and mess with his files, declaring it “ victim’s room. ” Then he moved the animation file to the folder just to be extra sure the file was never accidentally deleted in the future. 

Afterwards he wasn’t sure what to do. It was late at night. Maybe he should just finally get to bed. As he stood up from his desk and started heading towards his office, a part of him hoped when he woke up in the morning this would be a dream.  

Chapter Text

The notepad app was still open. It lingered in its spot right next to the shortcut folder, untouched. If it were possible, Alan was certain it’d have a good layer of dust on it. And with how this week was going, the animator wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.

He hadn’t seen victim in a week. Not since he hid away in that folder. Granted, he may have been avoiding his computer and hasn’t tried looking into “My Videos” nor “victim’s room,” but he expected to catch the stick figure exploring at least once when checking in.

He wondered if victim was even still around. Was it possible for the stick to leave? Did he just run into the internet somehow? Or did he disappear or even get erased when Alan turned off the computer? As he sat down, Alan tried to ignore the twisting knot forming in his chest. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Even if he hadn’t done much with his computer lately, it’s done nothing to keep victim from occupying his mind. He created life, and now he’s stuck with it. And it’s in his computer, allowed to mess with whatever files in its reach, no matter how personal they may be. Maybe he could delete it— it was still virtual after all— but everytime the thought crossed his mind, he felt like he was suddenly thrust back into watching the stick figure desperately scrambling away from the cursor. Like the way a sheep would from a wolf. 

It felt things, and that was enough for Alan to trash that idea. But now he wasn’t even sure if it was still here, and combing through folders to try and find him would only result in him running deeper. 

So as Alan logged on, he brushed aside the thoughts of victim. He’d just be drawing today. Not stick figures this time, but… something. He didn’t want to give up this computer. The first thing he did was go to Flash and open a new project, and then promptly stare at the empty canvas for about 10 minutes. 

Stick figures were out of the question. Maybe a practice animation of a dog wagging its tail? No, no. What if the dog came alive? At least he could communicate with something barely human, and if the dog came alive Alan wasn’t sure what would happen. Animals were out too. What else could he draw then? Another bouncing ball? He’s animated that probably a hundred times by now! Maybe a rock being thrown, but nah— that’s just another variation of the ball. 

Alan leaned back in his chair, sighed, and put his face in his hands. How the hell was he supposed to do anything? Everything he did, every thought in his mind, it was all poisoned by virtual fear. He didn’t want to be responsible for life. He just wanted to fucking draw. 

Maybe he should, despite the fear. 

Alan decided to give it another go, spite fueling him in place of boredom. He bought this computer, he bought this program, and he liked drawing and he wasn’t gonna let it all go to waste because of a one-off incident that probably got erased when he shut off his computer the first night. That’s what he told himself, over and over again, even as he refused to full screen Flash. It was tucked on the right side of the screen, taking up only half, so the apps and folders were all in his view. 

Alan seized his tablet pen, and started drawing the world's okayest tree. The trunk was a little wobbly and somehow both too thin and too thick, but he didn’t care. He was gonna draw something, and he was gonna make it move. And if it came to life, it would be a damn plant which he could cull like a weed. No guilt plaguing him and no existential thoughts coming along with it. He scribbled on leaves and a single apple hanging from a bare branch. He copied the frame, moved along to the next one, and proceeded to spend the next half minute tediously trying to drag the pasted frame into place without it jittering a few pixels to the side. 

Then began the process of erasing the leaves and apple and redrawing them all slightly waving to the side. He wasn’t going to go crazy with this animation, he just wanted a wind animation. So once the frame looked good enough, he went to the next frame and repeated the same thing. Again, and again, and again, with many replays on the timelines, and too many adjustments to frames he already thought were good. It was a tedious one, but thankfully it was distracting enough to keep his full attention. 

It was so distracting in fact, he almost missed the movement of the “victim’s room” folder. In the corner of his eye, he could see victim stepping out of the folder and looking around. Alan froze upon seeing him, his cursor jolting to a stop. victim froze too, and even if he didn’t have a face Alan knew he was seconds from bolting. 

Slowly, he moved the cursor and continued to sketch the next frame as if he didn’t notice victim. He tried not to pay attention, but he often found himself having to undo and erase more than often due to his eyes constantly drifting back to the stick figure. Step by step, the figure cautiously moved down the apps and shortcuts— almost like stairs— and eventually reached the taskbar by the time Alan finished the frame. 

As he moved onto the next, he silently hoped that victim read his note. The idea of being responsible for life was terrifying to him, but… he couldn’t help but smile as he watched victim land on the taskbar and supposedly look towards the program. The company was surprisingly pleasant. 

If a cursor could crawl, he sure as Hell would as he dragged it to the maximize window. He made sure to keep it as far away as possible from the “X” and abundantly clear he was only maximizing it. As it inched closer, Alan’s eyes were trained on victim, who was tense, but didn’t look ready to bolt. Good. Maybe they could make this work? 

Alan clicked and successfully brought Flash to full screen, only costing a small flinch from victim. But nothing else. He wasn’t sure if the stick figure could see beyond the screen— in fact he doubted it— but the animator was beaming with pride. In fact, victim started walking for the toolbar again, still slow and tense, but he held a slightly quicker pace now. Alan decided to go with his original plan and went back to sketching the trunk. 

His eyes still flicked to victim occasionally, who started climbing the tool icons like he was on a ladder, but Alan could focus more on his drawing now. He wanted to trust the stick figure, as insane as that sounded. So while they did whatever in his peripheral vision, Alan sketched the trunk, then the branches, and finally the leaves. He was finishing up the apple when victim leaped from the toolbar, landed on the canvas, and sprinted off to the bottom right corner with nothing drawn on it.

Alan paused, baffled by the action, but he found himself unable to recover when victim started drawing in the corner. It wasn’t a great drawing by any means, Alan couldn’t even tell if it was a cat or some other animal, but he couldn’t help but wonder how. A glance to the toolbar answered him with negative space where the brush should’ve been. 

He didn’t even realize that was possible, and his mind was racing with questions that needed to be answered. Instead of utilizing the text tool, Alan found himself wordlessly continuing drawing alongside the doodling figure. He wasn’t sure why, but looking at the figure made him proud, almost. Like when a pet finally learns and remembers a trick. 

So he continued drawing, not wanting to scare off victim again, and he found himself confident this was going to work. They could work themselves up to talking, and Alan made a mental note to memorize Wingdings for that inevitable day.