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Something shifts in the air, and Clyde is instantly awake. It’s a light sleeper-It needs to be, by nature, always alert and tightly wound as the animal it was. It almost obeys the instinct to spring up and check its surroundings for a threat, before it’s reminded of the body pressing up against it, blanket halfway kicked off resting atop the entwined mass of legs. It tries to look up as much as it can without disturbing them.
It’s far better adjusted to seeing in the darkness than they are- Alex had a habit of aggressively squinting when trying to see further than their own hand. They were doing it right now, despite not being awake- their eyebrows stitching together with a tenseness brought on by their own unconscious. Despite Alex’s attempts to account for their wings, wearing larger and baggier hoodies to obscure them, Clyde could still see them lightly twitch and squirm under the fabric.
They seemed to have nightmares a little more frequently now-they were hesitant on giving details, but Clyde was able to get the general gist from what they did tell it-faint memories of a mouth full of blood and gore dangling from their teeth, dug out with their claws. They had a tendency to either wipe nothing off their lips, rubbed raw by the habit, or thoroughly check their hands and get up to wash them, skin cracking under the running water. It was becoming a near-nightly thing.
It had its own opinions on them holding back as hard as they were, but for peace keepings sake, it kept them to itself. There was a pretty massive difference between consuming sections of fading consciousness, adding bits and pieces of contextless fragments to itself, and having a genuine understanding of the person these pieces resided in. There seemed to be a canyon of disparity from what Clyde knew about humans through absorption, and what it had learned from spending time around Alex.
Their first encounter was…so strange, given the reactions it had received from previous victims . A stark outlier in a collection of screams and panicked fleeing from previous encounters. It really wanted to rile them up, cultivate and siphon off as much terror as it could slowly before pouncing, but…they barely had any reaction to its window-tapping and general noisemaking. And when it did decide to finally show itself in a last ditch effort to earn their horror, they just…laughed? Not loudly, more of a giggle. It had initially hoped they were just so shocked from it’s appearance, but they calmly looked it up and down, trying to confirm what they definitely should’ve already known from first glance. They came right up to their freshly shattered window, right in front of it , left their sandwich on the windowsill atop a few shards of glass, and turned right back around to make another one for themselves before Clyde could even understand what was happening. They moved with maybe the same amount of urgency when crossing a sparsely populated street. When it came back, they did seem fearful, but on a buried level-like it was something reactive, primal rather than conscious. Sure, they jumped a few times when they made eye contact, but they never pointed a weapon at it or tried to get proof of its existence for any reason.
Their lack of self-preservation made its stomach turn now.
It feels Alex grip onto it a little tighter, hands curling around weather and time-worn fabric. It pulls them in from their back gently, hoping whatever’s happening is a little less strenuous tonight. It wouldn’t be-it knew that -but it could hope. It’s pretty sure it’s at least early morning at this point, so at least they kind of slept through the night. It hears their jagged breath in, then a quick exhale before they full-body flinch against it. Their eyes open, casting a faint green glow onto the sheets beneath them.
“Hey.” It says quietly, an attempt to be soothing. They just groan in response, bringing their hand to their face to rub the sleep out of their eyes.
“Urgh.” They say. “I feel like puking.” It lets go of them, sits up above them. They wave their hands when they see its expression. “Not actually. What time is it?”
It looks over at their clock. “5:47.”
“Late enough.” They sit up and stretch, a quiet pop echoing faintly before making a pained expression. “Oh my god, I have to record the holiday thing today.”
“The what?” Clyde asks.
They wave their hands. “Lankmann wants to make a PSA for carolers or whatever. Another late night activity and all that.”
It sits with itself for a second, hands in its lap. As far as the two were aware, there hasn’t been any publicly documented veldigun-related deaths as of recent, outside of those with drastic inflictions from the previous encounters. Clyde knew for a fact that it was far from the only veldigun in the area, territorial disputes weren’t common among its kind- although it depended on the individual. It had at least seen one or two others besides itself and Winfrey in passing, but it was strange that no others had taken the opportunity, especially on Halloween night. Or they had , and like everything else in this town, Lankmann was covering it up.
Scum.
Although, it stood to benefit from his horrid practices, maybe. That made Clyde feel gross to think about.
Alex took their hoodie off, stretching their wings out. They’ve basically grown out most of their fledgling feathers, larger ones poking through the little clumps of them that remain. The bigger ones were nearly pitch black with a green tar-like sheen, whereas the newer ones that still clung on retained their dark green hue. Most of their lazy shirts had holes cut in the backs now for comfort, especially after a long day of shoving them underneath layers and lab coats. Clyde liked staring at them when they couldn’t see it, their back turned to it whenever they were making food or brushing their teeth or anything other task that needed their full attention, giving it the space to just look . They were pretty, especially given what they initially looked like, scraggly and breakable. Prepossessing, even in a flickering bathroom light.
“Okay, I’m changing, get out.” They shoo Clyde in the general direction of the door. Their horns had also seemingly finished growing, stretching straight upwards with sharp points and faint stripes, although those would probably get more vibrant over the next few days or weeks. It was enlightening, seeing how much they had changed from the initial jittery, apathetic person Clyde had come to know from their first encounter. They seemed more…solid now, self assured and at least a little more confident. Clyde gets a glimpse of the supernatural glow bleeding from their irises before it gets physically manhandled away from them.
“Get out .” They repeat. They smile at it to let it know they’re not actually mad, just hurrying it a little. Their sharp teeth reflected its own luminescent orange eyes.
They’re so strange.
____________________
Alex had to develop a few new rituals in response to the new changes-mainly sitting outside their car and gaslighting themselves into normalcy for a few minutes(or several on an off day) before having a solid enough self image in mind to go inside. They had already parked this morning, leaned against their car door while they felt their lungs expand and contract with the frozen air, focused on their own tactile senses. The moon sat high above them.
It was pretty dark out, as early winter mornings out in the sticks were. The only real light sources were the street lamps scattered throughout the lot and attached to the facility itself. It still left dark gaps across the concrete, little pockets of darkness the employees would skitter through to make it to the next light.
It made it easier to block everything else out though, focus on constructing something they could lock onto, reference throughout the day. The time it took to make that was getting shorter though, an increasingly simple habit they were proud of. It had become a habit at this point, like a constant whirring in the back of their mind. It had gotten less intrusive over time, not like a need to turn the wheel constantly and more like the background noise of a box fan.
There was a dull thud a few feet away, and a few accompanying shrieks. They jump, their focus broken, and turn towards the muffled commotion. A few of their coworkers had started to crowd around a facility window, eyes on ground in front of it. They take a second-reset to normalcy- and go to investigate. They try to shuffle around the sparse crowd, see what everyone is murmuring about.
There’s a bird laying on the ground, unmoving. Its wings are folded inwards, body compacted into a small mass. There’s no visible wounds on it, just open eyes forever locked in place, a beak left open in a permanent, anguished cry.
“Why would it do that?” One of their coworkers remarked, hands over her mouth.
“Probably didn’t realize it was glass. It’s pretty dark out.” Another responded. So that’s what had happened. They glance back down at the body. Poor thing was probably just looking for somewhere warm in the drastically dropping temperature. At least its wings wrapped around itself would protect it’s corpse from the cold, for a little bit. Although-what did it matter? Cold didn’t exist for it anymore, an abandoned house of a thing left to rot on the concrete.
They lift their goggles from their neck, put them over their eyes, and head inside.
____________________
It’s straight to the recording studio today-it’s so ridiculous they have one in the facility alongside the patient rooms and whatever is happening in room 66, but money talks louder than common sense, they guess. It is convenient though. No need to drive back and forth between two hellscapes in the creepy early mornings.
They open the door to find their audio manager for today to be Mortimer again, who is currently asleep in front of the soundboard…again. They hadn’t actually seen him since the last time they had recorded-he was pretty much always said to be drawing or doing something animation-production wise, always locked behind a studio somewhere in the building. He only existed in whispers aside from when he was right in front of them. Tortured artists and all that. They thought about how much he was probably asked to do, given their last encounter-did he have to actually put together the video itself too? Put all the audio together, overlay it over a video he constructed with the stupid caricatures he had to make? Fuck, they were riling themselves up. Their hand curled into a fist, and they used their other to gently tap his shoulder.
“Hey, I’m here.” They say, a little quietly so as not to scare him. They watch his eyelashes flutter open, then eyes widen dramatically. He smiles and rubs his eyes.
“Hey, you again-” He turns his face towards them but keeps his head down on the desk. “Been a while.”
They nod. “Yeah, I’m supposed to record the caroling PSA today.”
His eyes widen again, fearfully this time-”Oh god, I-” He sits up and covers his mouth with his hands. “I’m really sorry, I don’t have the script for that done yet, I did know about it ahead of time but I just was preoccupied with other stuff-”
Oh, he writes the scripts too? Jesus. They inhale sharply, freaking him out even more, arms held up at his sides and shaking. They catch it, try to play it off. “No, I’m not mad at you, just-it’s not a big deal, we can ad-lib it. Basically the same information anyway.” He nods and puts his fingernail to his teeth.
“Okay-okay, okay.” Mortimer says, and Alex can practically hear his hammering pulse through his breath. Poor thing. Maybe they should’ve let him sleep longer. He looks up at them, wraps his arms around each other. “Can I ask you something first, though?”
They tilt their head. “Hmm? What is it?” He looks right up at their face-they can tell he’s nervous, or just general sleep-deprivation jitters bleeding into his mannerisms.
“What…” He lifts his hand, points his shaking finger. “...are those for?”
He’s pointing right at their horns. Like directly, right at their apex, no doubt about it.
Shit. They can’t hide a gasp as their hand reaches to their forehead-but they’re sure they’ve got the illusion going? They can feel an active effort being made, deep in the recesses of their mind, so how-
His gaze switches, looking down at their clawed hands. They didn’t bother to put gloves on, they had been keeping this up long enough that they didn’t feel a need to if they weren’t cleaning or something. Fuck, he’s staring.
They weigh their options. Threatening him is the first one that comes to mind, telling him if he talks they’ll make him a patient in this godforsaken place, but god they did not want to do that. They’re not even sure they could say the words if push came to shove. Run away? That was even worse, proving his point-
He’s smiling at them. He stands up and gives a dry, quiet laugh as he takes Alex’s hand from their side and holds it with both of his.
“This is-you-” He’s laughing. It feels unsteady and thin, like he’s about to collapse(but then again, when isn’t he), but it’s not cruel. Mortimer pauses again, almost hitching his breath.
“Alex.” He says, breathily. He’s still looking down at their hands, eyes wandering between all of their fingers. “Take your goggles off.”
They stand, quickly trying to put some distance between the two of them, but he follows, closing in, putting his face right to theirs, the shine of his eyes far too gauzy for Alex to ignore. They’re breathing heavier now, body flooding with adrenaline, mind racing.
“Why?” They ask. He smiles again, a little wider this time.
“Please.” He says nothing else, just stares at them expectantly.
They do have a few choices-they circle back to threatening, then to running away, keys in hand, speeding off as fast as they can back home-
His hands rise up towards their face-he’s quite a bit shorter than them, needing to reach up pretty high to gingerly pull the goggles from their eyes, shut on reflex-
“Please look at me.” He asks. It’s soft, and fragile, and devoid of all previous creepiness. They do, opening their eyes slowly and blearily.
He looks…mainly the same. Actually-oh god, his skin is white. Like actual, paper-ghost white as opposed to just his usual sun-malnourished complexion. He’s smiling still-holy shit his mouth is wide. They can see his gums right underneath his normally-shaped teeth, his lips nearly stretching to his ears.
“You…” Alex starts, but the words die on their tongue. Something’s definitely happened to him-veldigun sickness? There’s no way, this is nothing like any recorded symptom. His skin didn’t seem to be tightening, he could just be really pale and malnourished, and it’s winter, maybe he’s just been inside too long-
Hang on.
He’s still holding their hand, now picking it up and interlacing their fingers. “Feel my hand.” He says, and they study it. His nails are normal, short and stubby. His fingers are a little shorter than theirs, but they-
Where are his joints?
“If you squeeze-” He applies pressure to their hand, and they feel nothing. No bones, no knuckles, nothing solid to grab back onto. It’s like holding a glove with water in it. They can’t feel any body heat either, just a cold mass of appendages.
They finally put some distance between the two of them, still holding his hand. “What-” What’s wrong with you, they don’t ask. He smiles, blissfully unaware of their thoughts, and tightens his grip , somehow.
“You know what’s right by here, right?” He says ominously. “I’m usually here or in my office-it’s right over there-like out and to the left.” He motions to the door with his free hand. “And do you know what’s right by me, where I usually work?” He closes in again. “You have to.”
They do, but god they don’t want him knowing what they know. They don’t know where his allegiances lie, or what he already knows, or who else could be listening. So, they keep their mouth shut as tight as they can, turn their gaze upwards and sideways and everywhere away from him.
That discordant music rings in their ears again, faint and muffled. It drills into their brain.
“That must be how you became like this, right?” Mortimer continues, and brings their hands to examine their claws a little closer. “If you’re around it more often, of course your transformation would be easier. All I did was become…” He gestures to himself meekly. “...this. Just barely not human.” They really wish he would be whispering instead of saying all this where anyone could hear.
Their wish is granted in his next sentence. “What are you doing with it?” He asks quietly.
“...huh?” They ask. Oh shit, oh shit.
“Are you testing it for something? Or do you just like…write stuff down for them, or…?” Jesus , this was the worst case scenario. Either play along with the insane researcher he thought they were or admit they were harboring the town freak and caught its monstrosity disease.
“I, um…I can’t say.” Shut the fuck up, that’s a great strategy, actually.
“Really?” He asks. Maybe he was a legitimate threat. “It’s just us in here. And Lankmann already knows about me.”
Their heart freezes on impact, and drops to their feet. “Really?” They ask, somehow a little somberly, and he nods. They feel their pulse skyrocket. “How?” They ask frantically.
“The illusions don’t work on him.” He says. “Did he not…talk to you about this? He's mentioned you a few times to me.” Everything goes silent.
Fuck, fuck fuck. Maybe he was lying about all of this. Maybe he and/or Lankmann literally already knew everything and was just trying to get them to say something. Maybe this was all just some insanely elaborate act- The tension was entirely too much, too dense for this compact place, so separated from the world. They can feel their heart racing, taking in a quick deep breath and then-
“Oh-yikes, I’m really sorry-” He drops their hand and backs up a few feet, dragging Alex back to reality. “God, I’m really sorry, I just-I got really excited and I-” He puts his hands over his mouth and chokes back a few sobs. “I’m so so sorry, you don’t have to tell me anything-please don't tell Lankmann I told you but I-” He hiccups a few more times. “It’s just-I didn’t think-”
“I know.” They breathe, finally. “I know, it’s okay-it’s…” They put their hands over their chest. “It’s a lot. I think I’d be ready to talk about it-eventually."
They watch his fingers as his arms cross, fluid collecting where it shouldn’t and reverberating the skin surrounding it. They wondered if he would be capable of clotting his own blood if something were to puncture. “Okay. Yeah, yeah I get that.” His eyes widen-“Oh shit, we have to record-god I’m sorry, you probably have a lot to do.”
No way it’s any more than you have on your plate , they don’t say. They just nod instead.
“It’s okay. Day is just getting started.”
____________________
They passed by Lankmann in a hallway, windows casting a vibrant orange sunset across the tile like an omen. They had just gotten done placating a patient in tears, with all the gentility of a deer in headlights, poised and guileless and just so unthreatening. Soft in all the right places and assured in their own and her safety. She eventually calmed herself down, self soothing and sniffling and holding her own body together, as though her bones would all come undone if she removed the tension. They felt the inhuman rot decay them further through saccharine words, ensuring if she worked hard enough on her own recovery, she could be home for the holidays. Screaming into a void while they pushed her hair back and smiled.
“Alex.”
Their heart grinds against a whetstone.
“Yes?” They asked with that same faux naivety. It sat heavy on their tongue.
“How are you?” He asks, and they curl their hands into fists on reflex.
“Fine. Not busy. Did you need something?”
“No, I was just curious.”
They clench their teeth. Was all this effort for nothing? Were they just a spectacle prancing around, a disheveled freak wandering on loop around this place? A match strikes in their viscera, against blood and gore. It doesn’t light, dampened and heavy against the mass.
They grab it and drag it against their ribs.
“What do you think of me?” They asked bluntly. They wished they could open their wings right now for dramatic effect. They hold his gaze as strongly as they can, solid and unchanging.
“What are you talking about?” He asks, and they want to scream.
“This.” They point to their horns. They hold out their other hand, brandishing their claws. They hold that pose for a few seconds before pulling down their goggles, thudding down onto their chest. “I know you know.”
He looks at the ground and sighs, like he’s dealing with a child. He taps his finger against his side a few times. “Oh no, Alex, I’ve known . This isn't new information.” Their blood runs cold, thinking back to when they tore their glove off in front of him . God, of course he’d have done something to himself. Some insane self defense measure. This was an immensely stupid idea, but they had already ripped off the band-aid.
“How?” They feel more annoyed than anything else now. Knowing they have the immunity of…whatever grace Lankmann has chosen to give them so far emboldens them a little. He laughs, smarmy bitch. He lifts his hand up, brushes his sparse hair backwards, and indicates something with his index finger-a few faint stitches on the side of his head, just barely darker than the rest of the skin around the area. It’s an old scar, faded and flat against the tissue.
“Do you know how the brain works, Alex?” He asks, and they straight up can’t hide their eye roll and accompanying groan.
“ No. But I know the illusion doesn’t work on you.”
“Well, there’s several aspects involved in vision and perception-the brain isn’t just all of it’s lobes, there are many smaller-”
“So you did some weird brain shit to yourself.” They fill in the gaps. “And so the illusions don’t work on you. You watched me change.”
“Well, it’s more complex than working or not working-I could still tell when you were trying to-”
“Jesus christ , shut up.” They put their head in their palm. “So what now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you going to do about it?” They didn’t mean to say it like that, but decide to lean into it. “Put me away? Take me apart, see how I work?”
“No, no. I wouldn’t do that.” His voice is so annoyingly placating, he’s trying so hard it’s sickening. He wants to be harmless so badly. “I just want to know how. And I want you to tell me.”
Fuck.
“I know you aren’t visiting room 66. I know everything that happens in this facility, and you’ve been nowhere near there after you crashed in.” He steps closer. “There’s actually another case similar to yours-”
“Yeah, I know Mortimer’s situation.”
“I figured. I take it he was excited?” He tilts his head curiously. Oh fuck, they hope they didn’t get him in trouble. “How much did he tell you?”
“Like…” Well, cat’s already out of the bag. “All of it.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. God, they hope he'll be okay.
“Mortimer is unfortunate, but you-” He steps closer, admiringly. Awestruck. It makes their stomach turn. “Yours is far from a simple dissolution of your humanity. You were meant to be this.” He looks them up and down, scanning for everything abnormal that wasn't obscured. They’re hit with a nauseatingly strong desire to hide themselves away, folding their arms in over their chest.
“How much less human are you now?” Lankmann asks quietly, and they almost vomit right there. “I’m curious. How much have you changed?” They consider telling him everything about their transformation for a moment-either to scare him or just the temptation of finally not having to deal with the tension of hiding anymore.
“Also, tell me-“ He backs away finally. “How did this happen?”
Oh. That’s it. They suddenly become so aware of the softness of their skin, the body heat rising and the sweat on their forehead. He knows they’re harmless. He knows they’ve been restraining themself so intensely he doesn’t even need to worry about his own well-being. There’s a good chance he’s not even armed with anything and not even concerned with that fact.
The match lights.
They spin on their heel, close in, and punch that crotchety motherfucker right in the face.
They used way more force than they needed to though-they were already over a foot taller and a good deal stronger, although that second detail wasn’t a high bar to clear. His head twists the opposite direction much easier than they expected it to, and they both go down, Lankmann on his back and Alex on their forearms. They just barely stop their fall enough to prevent serious damage, although their chin still collides with the ground. The goggles around their neck shatter on impact, red glass scattering across the tile and some shards pushing up into their neck. They don’t notice through the adrenaline-they push themself back up as fast as they can, just barely catching a glimpse of Lankmann’s eyes through his palm holding his face. They don’t have any time to interpret what he’s trying to convey before they spin the opposite direction, start to wrangle their glasses out of their pockets, and run.
____________________
They throw open the door as fast as they can, making as much noise as possible. “Clyde!” They shout, whirling around. It’s not anywhere in sight, at least not yet. They hope it’s just in the recesses of the house somewhere-oh god, what if they already got it first, what if they’re walking directly where he wants them to be-
“What’s wrong?” They hear from up the stairs, and they run right up to it, still rubbing it’s eyes from a nap. They grab its sides, trying to shake it into awareness.
“We need to leave right now .” Its eyes widen at the state of them. They’re shaking hard, breathing fast.
“Wh-what’s going on-are you bleeding?”
“Cover blown. Lankmann knows.” They grab it’s hand and turn back towards the door, not even catching it’s wide eyes. “I already have my wallet and keys, we can-” They throw open the door and are met with the sight of several police cars in their lawn, lights screaming against the blackened sky. Shit. They slam the door loud enough to catch their attention several hundred feet away.
“Oh my god, shit-” They breathe hard for a few seconds before the flight reflex kicks in. “Shit-the camcorder-” They turn, snatch it off the table, dart up the stairs, and slam their bedroom door behind them, Clyde narrowly following. They try to catch their breath in the darkness.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit-” They whisper. “Oh my god, what do we do?”
“Bullets aren’t going to hurt-probably.” Clyde says. “I mean, they don’t hurt me, but since you started out as a human, I mean-most of your important organs have all melded at this point-I think you’ll be fine.”
“You think ?” They whisper harshly.
“Okay, we’ll avoid them.” It throws its hands up. A few slams on their front door shake the floor beneath them, before eventually they hear the door splinter and pry open, wood shards clattering to the floor loudly. They make frantic eye contact with each other.
“Window?” It mouths. They turn around, approach it slowly, and ever so slightly open the curtains. There’s 3 cop cars there in total, lights still active but no noise from any sirens. The flashing lights drill behind their eyes and directly into their brain, like a carving knife to the frontal lobe. They shut the curtains and put their hands over their eyes. God, they were about to die and they were getting overstimulated . Jesus. They feel tears well up before immediately pressing them away and taking a breath in.
“Yes-hang on.” They pull open the curtains again, squint their eyes nearly shut, and open the window as quietly as possible. The cold air seeps into the room, Clyde’s teeth chattering. Their car sits just behind one of the cop cars-thank god they didn’t think to block them in. They slowly climb their way out before Clyde grabs their arm backwards.
“Your wings?” It asks.
“Oh wait-” They bring themselves back in. “Yeah, you’re right.” They take off their jacket, shivering, and expand their wings out before wrapping them around themselves. They go to climb back out again, clench their teeth, and open their wings as best they can-albeit not really flapping them successfully. The surface area did provide some wind resistance, and they hit the ground softer than they would’ve without them. Clyde scurries down the side of the house close behind. They turn to make sure they didn’t land in front of a window-before running towards the car when they see they didn’t.
The car is a few hundred feet away from the house itself-parking close was a gamble with how soft the ground could get. Their feet sink into it slightly as they run, wishing they had just a little more control of their wings if only for this. Clyde feels it too, although it’s more used to chases in inclement weather. It grabs their wrist and yanks them forward when it gains a little more ground, them stumbling along. They fumble with their keys, sifting for the one to the door. Clyde waits on the passenger’s side, hand on the door handle-
“Shit-Alex!” It yells, and they whirl around. There’s a singular officer-of course there is, why wouldn’t they assume they would try to escape? He’s got his gun trained on them, and they feel their pulse quicken. His eyes widen at Clyde, and he says something incomprehensible into his walkie talkie.
They turn back to the car door, and pray. They clench their teeth, and then a shot. They feel the impact, then their leg gives out a bit, just barely crumpling against the door. They hiss through their teeth, hear Clyde scream “You’re okay!” and-yeah, they are, actually. There’s definitely pain, but it’s a lot more muted than they expected-like they just bumped their calf on something. They stand back up, get the door open, push the button to unlock all the doors-
Clyde pops it’s head up over the car-thank god the officer wasn’t cleared to use lethal force. Although he’s probably wondering how the shot didn’t take them down. His eyes meet Clyde’s, and it snarls at him as best it can. It wants nothing more than to climb over this car and pounce and tear and maim, but it’s got other priorities-
It watches him pull out a taser.
Oh shit. Alex’s pain tolerance level was one thing-but they still had human parts to them. It reaches into the recesses of its collective bank of memories, searching for Kruger’s. How does a taser hurt? Why? They had a consciousness of their own and lungs and-
They had a heart.
It rushes to the other side of the car, throws it’s body in front of them. It had to hope whatever separated it from them was enough space to keep them from-
It hears a crackle.
Oh god , it hurts. Getting shot was like having an ice cube shoved into its muscles, but this was-god it felt like each individual fiber agonizingly burning away and melding into one singed mass of nerves. It feels itself screaming-shit, it’s calling attention to them. It can just barely make out Alex’s expression beneath it, hands over their mouth and eyes wide. It clenches its teeth as best it can, praying it can keep them as unharmed as possible.
The direct pain ceases, but everything within it still buzzes with an unnatural, hostile heat, invasively needling across its body. It slumps down, Alex catching it, prickles every time something touched its skin. Their arms around it hurt by the contact, but it tries its best to reciprocate with its limp limbs. It takes a shuddering breath in, gets out what it needs to.
“Go. Please.” It wheezes, before losing consciousness.
Alex feels the rest of it’s immense weight topple onto their arms as it goes completely still in them. They still manage to hold their stance, shifting it’s head to their shoulder. They watch as the taser nodes retract, glaring at the officer. There’s more coming behind him, darting out of the house and making their way towards them.
The driver’s side door was open, and they still had the keys in their hand. For one terrible, awful moment, they consider listening to Clyde and getting out of here as fast as they could, speeding off and leaving it to god knows what. Maybe it and Winfrey would get to be together again, in a twisted way. They feel bile rise in their throat at the thought of it in that hell, dazed and lifeless, and choke it down hard.
They had to act. They weren’t the scariest thing in this town, far from it. But they needed the people in front of them to believe that they were, if only for a short while for them to escape with all they needed. They needed them to believe they were something so intensely terrifying, so capable of destruction, an incomprehensible horror they couldn’t turn their eyes away from.
They hold Clyde’s head close to theirs, and grit their teeth. They open their wings forcefully, making sure the whoosh of the air is audible. They watch the officer’s eyes twitch, and they smile as wide as they can. Their teeth are long and nearly indistinguishable from one another, just a mass of razors. If they bit down hard enough, they could make their gums bleed-that’d be a sight. They try to focus on their expression-they need to look bloodthirsty, unexpectedly hostile for someone who’s probably been predicted to make a run for it as opposed to fight.
They need them to think they’re hungry.
They open their mouth and scream as loud as they can, noise piercing the air around them. The officers stop, two drawing their guns. They put on as much false bravado as they can, smirking wide. They barely feel the tear rolling down their cheek.
Please. Please work. Please. They imagine the world warping around them, pulling and ripping from a plethora of nightmares they’ve had to endure, and smearing the remains on the scene in front of them. They think about the sky opening up and dripping down the viscera of the universe, dark blood pouring onto the dead grass. Every tactile sensation of gore and the need to inflict hurt and that drive they just can’t seem to shake-they drag it from the heavens and let it permeate into the stale winter air.
They hold that image, change the angle on it, keep it alive as best they can as they shuffle to the other side of the car, open the door, and shove Clyde into the passenger’s seat. They keep trying to get it situated, poking their head above the top of the car to make sure the officers are preoccupied with whatever horrors they were currently experiencing. God, its tail was so long-they eventually get it piled up onto the floor and move to the other side of the car, throwing themself into the driver’s seat. They let go of the illusion, hear several gasps. They insert their key, slam their foot down as hard as they can, turn the wheel, and gasp at the swerve.
____________________
It’s about an hour before Clyde comes to again, blinking and rubbing it’s eyes. It’s…moving. It’s alive and safe. It turns to the side, see’s Alex’s face, tear-stained and red-splotched.
“You-” It starts. They turn to it quickly before putting their eyes back on the road.
“Hey. We’re pretty far out now. Should be fine.” They’re stiff, stilted.
“Are you-okay? I mean were you hurt at all or-” It’s mind goes somewhere dark-there’s no way they would-but maybe?
“Did you kill them?” It asks in a whisper. They jolt and shake their head panickingly.
“No-I-I-” They take a shuddering breath in, then sob. “I just ran away.” Their voice cracks, and they sniffle.
“Why did you take me?” Clyde asks. “You could’ve gotten away faster, probably.”
They wipe a tear away and inhale. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You definitely could, though. You know your limits to your powers well enough that-” Alex slams their hand on the steering wheel, bringing Clyde’s suggestion to a halt.
“I don’t want to do this alone, then.” They break down, taking in full breaths and choking them back out. Clyde winces. “Fuck, I can’t see.” They slow down and pull over, wiping their face all the while. Once they get the car in park and shut it off, they put their face in their hands and sob. It turns its body to them, puts its hand on their head. They don’t react to the touch.
God, this was a terrible time to have this conversation.
“Alex. I want to ask you something.” They look up at it, eyes still spilling. Oh it really did not want to push now but-it needed to know.
“Why…why don’t you want to eat anyone? You would feel a lot better if you did.” It asked with so much innocuous curiosity it almost sent Alex into another fit. It really didn’t get it.
“How would you feel if someone else ate me? A different veldigun?” They asked.
“What?” It asks. “Alex-I-what? Why?" It fires back.
“What if?” They push. It thinks for a second.
“I-” The silence is so heavy. “I don’t know.”
"What if I died for some other reason?" They ask. Its hand moves from their head and back into its own lap. "Do you think it’d hurt you?” They ask, and it turns away from them fully. It feels constricted. Choking.
“I-I think? I-” It tries to think of the words, sifting through a bank for the one that makes the most sense. “I’d miss you.”
“Hmm.” They say. “Yeah.” It realizes something, a perception shift so jarringly quiet considering what it means. "I don't want to be the reason someone feels that."
“You would still be the same person, you wouldn't lose control-”
“I know I would, it just-I-” They try to form the words. “I can still…pretend, a little bit. That I haven’t actually changed. But to eat someone, thats-that would be it then. There’s no going back then.” They turn their head to it, body locked in place. ”Do you regret who you’ve ate? Now that you’ve met me?” They ask quietly. Its stomach would turn, if it had one. They don’t give it any room to breathe.
“Actually-what if-Clyde, I want to ask something.” They say. They unbuckle their seatbelt and turn to it. “God, don’t freak out please.” They take a shuddering breath in. It takes them several seconds to form the words. “...would you…eat me?”
“No.” It’s instant. “No, definitely not.” They lean in closer, put their hands on the armrest.
“I’m asking you to.” They whisper. The silence here is so much different from the house-there’s no A/C running, no creakings or wind, just still trees, dead silence, and two creatures trying to manage the weight of what they just asked. Their gaze hadn’t shifted at all. Clyde feels…threatened, almost. Cornered.
“Why?” It asks.
“I don’t…want to be like this. I can’t sleep, I hate being around people, I don’t…” They inhale. “I don’t know how to live after this. After we do what we need to.”
“Alex.” It interrupts them with absolutely zero plan of what it’s going to say next. It wishes it could go back to when they first acknowledged their transformation, rocky as it was. It would be easier to make them look back over themself, realize how much hadn’t changed as opposed to all that did. But it can’t go back-it can only pull them back in to right now.
“I’ve never…” It moves its hands to their face, claws resting on their cheekbones. “I think I care about you. A lot. I've spent a lot of my time alive running, or hunting, looking for something but you-” It moves its gaze downward. “You're really interesting, you reacted so weirdly but then you were…nice to me-which is-" It inhales. "I got to feel…safe, I think-” It watches their eyes move, mouth curling in a way that makes it think they doubt it. It’ll make sure they don’t.
“I know you think I’m probably just guessing from what I’ve gotten from people, but-my vision slows down-I don’t feel hungry often. I don’t need to survive . You let me see so much I don’t think I could’ve. I feel…I feel less like scraps and more…” It returns it’s gaze to them. “...whole.”
Their eyes widen ever so slightly. They put their hand over Clyde’s, putting the other on the armrest. They shift closer to it, take theirs and Clyde’s hand and place it over their chest. They splay their fingers out, Clyde copying the motion. Their heart is so much closer to their skin now, with most of their viscera melding together into a thin sheet or whatever other ooze a veldigun is made of, something Clyde has only barely wondered about. It feels it pulse, 2 quick and then a pause. They come closer, their foreheads touching.
“I’m scared of living like this.” They say, voice shaking. “I don’t know what to do after we do this.” It feels something rising in it, and it smiles at them.
“Whatever you want to do-” It says. “-we can do it together. And I like what I become with you. I like what I am now.”
They inhale deeply, eyes glazing over. Trying to consider everything that’s happened to them. Everything that seems to be slowing in it’s finality. That realization leaves a pang in their chest.
But they did start off human. Of course they wouldn’t go as far, wouldn’t completely change form. They stayed human-shaped at least, still having arms and legs and-
“Do you?” It asks. “Like what you are now?”
They breathe in, and answer immediately.
“Yes.”