Work Text:
System start-up failure. Retrying...
An unexpected error has occurred. Retrying...
An unexpected error has occurred. Boot in safe mode?
A twitch of the hand.
"Oh! Oh my, he's alive! One moment, hon."
Invalid command.
A hand twitches again. Something inside feels severed, or perhaps overloaded. Wrong.
Invalid command.
Eyes open, and the text that had laid across darkness overlays the backdrop of a sky now, from just the left eye. The messages are vaguely distressing, somehow, and inspire the urge to pluck the eye out if it would stop them. Eyes close again, a head tossing back and forth, as if to escape itself.
"Hope this works... Wake up, hon!"
A splash of cold water is soon electrified and the text disappears, halting and fading as pain runs through the body and more inside seems to disconnect, malfunction. The distress accompanies it all on its way out, a numbness taking its place.
"Oh no. Did the lightning stick around somehow? Maybe water wasn't the right idea..."
Eyes open again, now safe from the overlay. They register a being in analog, unable to categorize it, to analyze the information on display in its appearance. It is simply observed, thoughtlessly.
"Are you awake, hon? Can you see me?"
The being kneels, waving a hand to catch the attention of the eyes. They ignore the movement and instead land on the being's face.
"Well, you're looking at me. Can you speak? Stand? Anything?"
All valid questions. An attempt is made to move, and it is noted that the right arm is disproportionately heavy. A hunk of metal is dislodged, solving the issue for the moment.
"You look like you've been in a wreck or something. What's all this... stuff on you? Debris?"
The being's hand brushes something from atop the head. Bits and pieces, all of which register as familiar as they fall to the ground. The more is dislodged, the lighter the weight becomes.
"How about we get you inside? Here, I'll help you stand."
An arm is gingerly pulled around the being's shoulders. Weak legs attempt and fail to follow its movement, merely dragged along beside it.
"Too bad my place is upstairs. I'll just lay you down in a booth for now."
From the booth, light is partially blocked by a table. The visage of the sky is replaced with that of a ceiling. A ceiling... Booth, table, chair. Ceiling fan. Recognizable things with names.
The being here has a word for it, too. What was that word?
"I'll be honest, I'm not sure what to do with a lightning strike victim. Just let me know if you need anything, alright, hon? Like food or water. I'll come check on you in a bit."
Eyes bore into the being, distracted by a void in the mind where it should be able to be categorized. It turns around to leave, long brown hair atop a red dress, never to be seen again.
A hand lurches out and a mangled noise escapes, distress returning. Immediately, the being turns around in surprise.
"Did... you need something right now?" it asks, approaching again. "What's the matter?"
The warmth of a hand seeps through a charred glove, then joined by another. If there is an answer to its question, it doesn't register enough to be spoken. What is this? And what is this?
"Hm... Well, I can sit with you for a while, if that helps. The diner is closed for the day anyway."
After an adjustment, the being sits in the booth, hands still enveloping a glove. The longer the being lingers, the more the distress ebbs.
"My name is Spark, by the way. I own this little diner, and I've got an apartment upstairs. It's mostly a breakfast place, but some people come by for lunch, too. Not dinner, though. Never did want to be a dinner diner."
The being-- Spark, it laughs softly.
"What... are you?" a voice that doesn't belong to Spark asks.
"Huh? Hon, we just went over this. Or, are you asking if I'm both the owner and the cook? Because the answer to that is yes."
"What's... what are you?" the question is repeated.
"What a strange question. Well, I'm a person. A woman. Hmm... maybe a bit of an oddball, but still human. Don't you think?"
Human. This being is categorized as human. How could such a crucial detail be forgotten?
"You must really be out of it. I'm sure you could use some rest. Do you think you can try to stand, hon? I can't carry you upstairs by myself, but I can certainly help you up if you can do some of the legwork."
Spark pulls, encourages, manipulates the useless body with what strength it can muster. Legs find a bit more purchase this time around, strong enough to support a bit of weight. Consciousness fades away at the top of the stairs.
There is pain and weakness that seem stronger than before. An unknown amount of time has passed, and stairs are slowly descended into chatter.
"Huh? Hey, is that the kid she mentioned?"
"He doesn't look like he got struck by lightning. But he kinda looks like he would. You know?"
"If I... if I got struck by lightning too, d'you think Miss Spark would let me up into her place?"
"Oh, brother. I hope you do get zapped if it'll shut you up."
The diner is filled with humans. Few of them observe, most of them simply eat and talk. Spark is found in the kitchen.
"Oh, good morning, hon! I was wondering when you'd wake up. Why don't you go find a seat and I'll fix you up some breakfast? Anything you'd like in particular?"
There is no answer to that question.
"Oh, you're probably still out of it, so maybe you can't think of anything. How about you choose from the menu, then? For breakfast, we've got bacon, sausages, waffles, pancakes, eggs... Of course, then there's lots of options just for eggs. Hey, kids like omelets with ketchup on them, right?"
The room seems to shake, but perhaps it's only the body that's wracked with inexplicable tremors.
"Yeah, that seems like a good idea. One omelet, coming up! Go ahead and find a place to sit, hon."
A chair is pulled from an empty table and time passes. More observation from surrounding humans, but no direct questions. Not until Spark emerges from the kitchen.
"Hey, Miss Spark! Are you a mom now?"
"Oh, hardly. All I did was pick him up off the street. I'm sure he's got a home and a family to run off to once he's feeling better."
A plate is set down. Red forms the shape of a face. Wielding a fork and cutting into the omelet is a strangely practiced motion. The taste, once registered, seems to halt the world.
"Is he... crying? Hey kid, are you alright?"
It's unclear, it would seem, where this question was directed, as it receives no answer from any human in the room.
"Oh no... Hon, do you not have a home to return to after all? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject. I'm not going to kick you out or anything, so don't worry."
Spark apologizes at a close enough distance to be easily observed. Is this body the subject?
"Say, what's the kid's name, anyway?"
"Oh, that's right, I never asked. What's your name?"
Name? If Spark is Spark because Spark is called Spark, then this body is...
"Han..?"
What else could it be? It's the only name the body has been referred to with, in recent memory. That is, in all memory.
"Your name is Han?" Spark acknowledges. The information isn't new to this one.
"That's a rad name, little man."
"Nah, it's more of an orange name... 'cause of his hair!"
"... I didn't say red."
"... I know."
The chatter returns to its original subjects, attention waning. The omelet is finished slowly, the pain and weakness abetting in turn. When a free moment arises, Spark sits across from... Han. Chatter is directed at Han from Spark, to little response.
Things continue in this manner. It takes several days of rest and recovery before Han begins to adjust.
But he does adjust. Steadily overwhelmed by unknown feelings as he is, he buries most of it while he's unable to provide himself with any answers, and simply exists in this new life. Every day, Spark feeds him and talks with him, and he begins to feel less confused, begins to open up a bit more. He has reached the point of fully acknowledging himself as a human, regardless of the half-broken machinery embedded within him.
To repay Spark for her kindness, Han is allowed to complete small tasks on her behalf, which are mainly comprised of cleaning. He wipes down tables, sweeps the floors, cleans the dishes, and occasionally fetches ingredients from around the kitchen while Spark cooks. Though Han isn't sure what the use is in paying him, as she allows him to eat and sleep without requiring payment, he doesn't reject what she gives him.
Although speaking has gotten easier, there's still an almost unnoticeable malfunction in his voice, a slight sparking noise that nobody ever points out, as if his voice is about to give out at any moment. It still holds strong, even as he speaks more and more frequently. The customers remember him, and sometimes they strike up conversation with him.
As well as Han is adjusting, he's unmistakably different from other humans. Regardless of his hidden cybernetic side, he feels as if he can't act anywhere near as lively and... human as the rest of them. A large group will joke together, erupting into bouts of laughter, and Han will feel nothing; not even when he similarly jokes, earning just as many smiles and laughs.
He often practices smiling in the mirror, because Spark told him it would be nice to see him smile. Each time he tries, she looks a bit pained, claiming that a "real" smile would be better. The fake smile that means nothing is enough to appease customers, but not Spark.
"It's not about looking right," she tries to explain. "I want to see you really happy, not just smiling. If it's just a facial expression, it's... not the same. Am I being too picky?"
"It does seem like you're trying to pick me apart," he jokes, a habit formed from trying to prevent awkwardness with customers through the use of dry humor. He isn't capable of being anything but dry, though at least he's beginning to recognize what counts as humor.
"Oh, shush, hon. I don't mean to hassle you, it's just... Don't force yourself, okay? I'm sure I'll get to see you happy someday."
If happiness simply means to want for nothing, Han has already reached it. It's possible that whatever part of him was capable of actually feeling true happiness was destroyed when he was struck by lightning, or... perhaps before that.
"Are they still not coming?" Spark asks herself while she stares into the refrigerator, lamenting her dwindling stock of eggs and milk. "The shipment is a week late already. I wonder if something happened on the road?"
"Would it be possible for us to go and retrieve the shipment ourselves?"
Spark thinks on it.
"Well, a week's delay is a long time. Even in a refrigerated truck, if it broke down and sat on the road for that long, animals would probably get into it. Or, maybe it would stop being so cold inside. Both?"
Cold inside. An apt description, though unfortunately, Han's machinery breaking down wasn't enough to warm him.
"Hm... Well, what if we took a trip directly to the farm? It might be fun! Plus, it's not like I can run a diner for long without eggs. Closing up shop for a few days won't be so bad, especially since we'd have to do it anyway," Spark figures. "We'll have to travel a little ways, and then we can take the train there. When's the last time I took a train?"
She giggles, finding the prospect fun.
"Should I stay behind to guard the diner?" Han asks, as it seems natural for him somehow.
"Guard? Guard it from what? I'll just put a sign on the door saying we're closed while we restock. Everyone already knows about the shipment delay, so they're anticipating us closing for a bit soon anyway."
"Then, we'll go together?"
"Of course we'll go together, hon. Why would I leave you here by yourself?"
This diner has been Han's entire world for as long as he can remember, as short as that is. Stepping out into the world, and farther than just the immediate surroundings of the diner, reveals a feeling of being impossibly small. It takes what feels like ages to cross any significant ground, to the point where Han could just about swear there's a faster way. He isn't aware of what it is nor how to accomplish it, but a small piece of incomplete information sits in his head.
When they finally arrive at the train station just past a factory, it seems the train might have been what Han was thinking of. Staring out the window and watching the outside world blur, it seems to travel quickly indeed. When it slows to a halt and they're let off onto the platform, a strange sense of unease makes itself known to Han.
"Oh, what a cute village..." Spark comments as they near what appears to be the center of town. "Not sure where the farm is, exactly, but there's no harm in exploring such a lovely place."
For some reason, Han glances to his left.
"That way, you think?" Spark asks, heading in that direction immediately.
Han follows, though he can't help but notice the curious eyes of the villagers. They stare, whisper to each other in hushed tones... It feels different from when he'd been new to the diner.
One old man in particular goes slack-jawed when they pass him by on the way to the farm. Only, the farm isn't where he'd guessed it to be. There's a gate to an open pasture, but there are no animals in sight.
"Hm. Oh well. Worst case scenario, we can ask around," Spark shrugs, turning back towards the village.
Han holds the gaze of the bewildered old man as they pass him a second time, and it's now that he thinks to approach them.
"I'm sorry, but... you two so strongly resemble a mother and son I once knew. Would you mind... telling me your names?" he asks.
"I guess I'm really asking for the mother comparisons these days, aren't I? We really do look like a mother and son on a family trip! My name is Spark."
She looks to Han to introduce himself.
"And you? Your name is?" the old man prompts.
"I'm called Han," he answers as evenly as he ever does, but there's something implacably strange about saying it here in this village.
"Your name is... Han?" The old man seems to consider the information for a moment. "I see. Nevermind me, then. Sorry for disturbing you."
"Oh, it's no trouble," Spark easily assures him, and then they're on their way again.
More stares and whispers as they pass more people, and now they have an inkling as to why. Something within Han lurches when he glances south, something so strong and unidentifiable that it makes him feel sick. It makes him feel distressed.
"Come look, Han! They have a beach!"
Spark rushes ahead a bit in her excitement, and Han only further slows, sweating furiously for reasons he can't comprehend. Each step west takes untold amounts of energy. Does he need it replenished?
"Woah! Claus, is that you?!"
His eyes are wide as a child approaches him, and then another.
"It's really Claus! I can't believe it!"
"But wait, where's your dad? Don't tell me... you weren't even in the mountains this whole time? Man... this is your worst prank yet," the boy admonishes him, yet still he smiles.
"That's so him, though, isn't it? Claus just does whatever's unexpected. His dad's gonna be so excited when he comes home and sees Claus is here! I bet he'll be so confused!" the girl excitedly theorizes.
"I think Lucas is still out of town, but he'll probably be back soon. Especially if he hears you're here, Claus."
"Who... is Lucas?" Han asks, through the searing pain in his head.
This seems to confuse the children.
"Uh... you didn't forget your own brother, did you?"
Did he? It's true that he doesn't recall anything prior to being struck by lightning. In addition, it's not as if Han is a name he remembered or resonated with. It was simply what he was already being called when he first regained consciousness.
"Is my name Claus..?" he asks quietly. The children look concerned, and the boy touches Han's back.
"Hey, are you okay? If you forgot your family and even your own name, maybe that's why you didn't come home..."
"Aw, now you look like a jerk for scolding him, Fuel! Sorry for assuming you were playing a prank, Claus. Unless, um... this is also a prank. It's not, right?"
"Angie, come on..."
All these names only worsen his distress. Did he know these people? He has a brother? A father?
"Hon?"
Spark has returned to check on him, concerned when he didn't follow.
"Oh, did you make some friends?" she asks.
For some reason, Han... or Claus, perhaps, grabs onto Fuel's shirt unreasonably tightly.
"Who's this lady, Claus?" Angie asks him.
Spark goes silent as she watches him struggle, lowering to his knees on the ground as his strength fails him.
"We should probably get him home," Fuel determines. "Are you a friend of his?"
"A friend? Well, people... often take me for his mother, but..."
She trails off, and then sighs.
"I never did ask about your past. When I jumped to the conclusion that you didn't have a family to miss you, well... I found myself wanting to be that family for you. But if this is where you belong, I won't keep you from your real family."
He doesn't ever want to see the retreating back of his mother for the last time again. He doesn't know why the thought occurs to him, but it's a strong one-- debilitatingly so.
"Please don't go," he weakly pleads.
"Hon... Here, let's help you up."
With Angie leading the way, Spark and Fuel help this boy walk south. The farther they go, the more he notices the aching void within him. Something is missing, something crucial. If continuing south provides him with any answers, will he even like them?
There's a cruel nostalgia that settles in that yawning void, skirting along its edges. His surroundings grow to be painfully familiar, even moreso than the rest of town. He feels like he could close his fingers around something, an object he urgently needs, but can only reach blindly for.
He thrashes out of his helpers' grasps when they reach the front door to the house on the hill. He heaves on his hands and knees, a strange sickness coming over him and leaving his face soaked with tears. What is this feeling? This tremendous dread? Should coming home feel like this?
Why is this feeling so strong that it's the only real emotion he's ever acknowledged?
"You're alright, hon," Spark coos, gingerly rubbing his back.
"Is he gonna be okay?" Angie asks, hesitating to approach.
"This is his house, right? It may be rude for a stranger like me to come in uninvited, but at least he belongs here. I'll help him inside and stay with him to make sure he's alright."
"We'll ask around to see if we can find his dad, then," Fuel says. "Maybe if Lucas comes back, he can go up into the mountains and get him."
"I hope this isn't one of the nights he decides to camp out there..." Angie worries as the two of them head back to town.
He's trembling when Spark helps him to his feet. The moment the door opens, he knows he recognizes the scent inside. It's home.
She guides him to what must have been his bed once and sits him down, still rubbing his back. The horrid feeling becomes more manageable, but doesn't quite abate.
"Our trip to buy eggs sure had an unexpected twist to it, huh?" she quietly comments. "It would be unfair of me to ask you to stay with me at my little diner. I'm just some woman you happened to know for a few months..."
"You're not..." he says, clammy fingers clenching the blanket of... his bed.
"Oh, but in the grand scheme of things, I am," she... giggles, for some reason. He looks at her, confused. Her smile is decidedly forced. He should know.
"I..."
"I'm happy I could bring you home, at least. I'm sure your family misses you dearly. You're a sweet boy, hon. I wouldn't deprive them of you just to soothe my own loneliness," she quietly admits.
He grabs onto her and embraces her. This boy who doesn't know his own name hugs her tightly.
"Please don't go," he begs. "I don't know what to do."
"I'm sure everything will come flooding back to you once you see them again. It'll all work out just fine," she assures him, stroking his hair. "Oh, but you must be starving. No wonder you're not feeling well. I'll be sure to replace anything I use, so I'll cook you something real quick."
The house feels so familiar already. As Spark cooks and the scent of omelets fills the house, he swears he can feel small memories slotting into place. Sitting at the table beside someone his same size, with his same face. A gentle hand on his shoulder as the other combs his hair in the morning. Holding a pillow over his own head because the dog is barking too late at night. Walking around in boots far too large for him, only to be playfully threatened for his theft.
It's home. It's undeniably, devastatingly home.
And he recognizes that dreadful feeling now as guilt. As the acknowledgement that he'd done something terrible. He doesn't remember what, perhaps not yet, but he feels sorry for something.
And so, when his father later bursts through the front door, completely breathless, Claus apologizes to him immediately.
"I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry, dad."
He doesn't know what he did, only that it was wrong.
"You don't have to apologize, Claus. Please don't be sorry," he assures with what little breath he has as he holds his son close. "I'm just happy you're home. I'm so happy..."
"I'm... glad our shipment got delayed," Spark says. "We may never have come here otherwise. Also, er, I apologize, sir, but I cooked some of your eggs..."
"You brought my son back to me. Take the whole house, if you want it."
"Oh! No, I could never..."
She really does look just a bit familiar. As Spark converses with his father, Claus could almost believe she is his mother.
"You're welcome to stay here for as long as you like," his father offers her. "If you've been taking care of Claus, it's the least I could do to thank you. If there's anything else, don't hesitate to tell me."
"I didn't... come here to ask anything of you, really. I just come from a little diner in a little town. Your poor son here happened to get struck by lightning near my diner, so I took him in for a while. I'm happy just to have brought him home, really."
They go back and forth like that for a while, long enough that it seems like it'll last forever, but eventually, Spark says goodbye to Claus.
"I'll come visit you every so often," she promises. "And you and your family will always have a free breakfast pass at my diner if you ever feel like stopping by. I'm sure Claus remembers the way there."
"We'll be sure to come by. We'll bring Lucas, too. He's Claus's twin brother."
"Twins! How cute! I can't wait to meet him. I'll have something to look forward to now!"
Maybe it doesn't have to be a painful goodbye, nor an eternal one. But as Spark walks out, the view of her back exactly like that of his mother's, he suddenly remembers why he felt the desperate need to hold onto her. He remembers why he'd gone missing to begin with.
It wasn't just a drago. Those intruders who'd set the forest aflame all that time ago had tinkered with it, turned it into a mechanical monster. They're still doing it to every other animal on the island.
Claus realizes they've even done it to him. He doesn't remember much of anything between being thrown off the mountaintop and waking up to the sound of Spark's voice, but he knows the same people who took his mother from him and threw the world into chaos are responsible for his cybernetic augmentations as well.
As much as it pains him to leave home again so soon, he still thinks the people responsible need to pay. He still thinks he has to be the one to force them to do so, especially now.
His father refuses to let him leave on a quest for revenge again, terrified to lose him for good. He begs Claus to wait for Lucas to come home, and Claus allows him this one concession. He hasn't seen his brother in ages, and truly does wish to see him again.
"You can't seriously be alright with the way things are," he tells his father. "You can't seriously be alright with letting those people continue to do whatever they want. You don't even know what they did to me."
"What they... did to you?"
Most of his augmentations are on the inside-- he can feel them. His monitor has been disconnected, so to speak, but he is very much still a living, breathing machine. He can't show his father the extent of what they've done, but Claus can take his hand and press it to his chest. He can make him feel the quiet inside.
"My son... What have they done to you?"
From that moment on, he no longer needed to be convinced. Rather than wait at home for Lucas to return, Claus and his father both set out to find him.
They'll take down the Pigmask army as a family, and they have a diner to visit after they've succeeded.