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Skeptic stares at his piles of notes stacked precariously on his desk. He’d been trying to find some cohesive pattern to what the flock could and could not eat, as it was a hassle to ask Hunted every time they found something new. Any type of theory he came up with would quickly be torn apart by exceptions.
At first he thought maybe leaves were generally poisonous – tomato leaves, for instance, or poison oak – but there were too many kinds to leaves to tuck them all in one box labeled ‘edible’ or ‘not edible’.
Small berries seem to be usually dangerous, like holly berries – but raspberries are not only edible, but popular in the flock.
Some flowers are edible, others not, and most mushrooms – according to Hunted – range from poisonous to very poisonous, but others are healthy. The same can be said for many fruits, which can ‘ferment’ and-or ‘rot’, depending on the circumstances – which Skeptic still doesn’t understand.
And don’t even get him started on foods they didn’t find in nature – like the occasional foodstuffs that can be found in some cabins.
Skeptic sighs, rubbing his temples. He feels a headache coming on, making his notes seem slightly blurry. He squints at the writing, but that just makes his headache worse.
Paranoid had talked to him about the symptoms of dehydration, hadn’t he? Skeptic tries swallowing, groaning in annoyance at a dryness he hadn’t noticed before.
He stares back down at his notes. Maybe he can get a little more work done before he leaves. Surely he’s about to hit some kind of breakthrough—
His train of thought is broken at the sound of a loud, all-encompassing BOOM, the noise alone enough to shake the house.
Skeptic hears shouting throughout the house, the rest of flock seemingly as startled as him. He stands up and turns to the window before freezing.
The sky outside is dark – too dark for mid-afternoon – and the clouds seem to twist and roil, flashes of white occasionally interrupting the deep greys.
Where has he seen this before—
There’s another loud BOOM, and Skeptic flinches, knocking back into his desk.
What is this? What is happening?
The shouting of some of the flock is a little louder, increasingly panicked.
Skeptic moves to look outside again, trying to figure out where he’s seen this before. It feels so familiar—
The Cabin.
The rain.
The flood.
So cold—he’s suffocating—he just has to think—
Skeptic doesn’t realize he’s moving until he’s in a hallway in front of Hero. The taller Voice seems just as confused as him, and they both flinch again at the sound of another BOOM—
Skeptic takes a desperate gasp of air, a small part of him shocked at the lack of water filling his lungs—
“The—the house— Hero—”
“Hey—Hey, Skeptic? Are you—”
“It—It’ll flood— We need to get everyone out—”
Skeptic freezes when he feels Hero cup his cheeks. His hands are warm. How long do they have before the chilling water changes that?
“Skeptic, can you look at me?”
He swallows, glancing up at Hero. He flinches when another explosion seems to echo throughout the house, but he tries to focus on Hero.
“What… what do you mean, ‘it’ll flood’?”
“The house— It’s—it’s raining. Like back then, like the Cabin that flooded—”
Any second now a wave of freezing water will consume the house and everyone inside they need to get out they’ll drown—
“Hey, hey, just breathe for me, yeah? It’s alright for now. Everybody’s in the living room, so how about we go join them? We can figure out what to do. We’ll be alright.”
Skeptic focuses on Hero as best as he can, about to explain that they need to get out now, but hesitates, staring into Hero’s eyes.
Shakily, Skeptic nods, allowing Hero to lead him to the living room.
Hero was right, the entire flock is there. Broken is standing in front of them all, saying something that Skeptic can’t quite make out beneath the pouring rain and occasional explosive sound in the distance and the suffocating static in his ears.
Most of them are hidden under either blankets or one another, not a single Voice sitting alone.
Broken glances at Hero and Skeptic when they come in, sighing, before, “Is that everyone?”
Hero nods, moving to sit down with Skeptic in the middle of the flock pile. The others move to allow them in, and Broken continues what he was saying earlier.
Skeptic can’t bring himself to focus on Broken’s words or the flock’s responses and questions. He’s vaguely aware that they’re all talking, but the sounds feel muffled and distant. All he can hear is the pouring rain and the far-off explosions, and soon enough, even those sound as if he’s hearing them from underwater.
Underwater. How long do they have until the house floods? Where are they going to go? Is that what they’re talking about?
Skeptic tries to refocus on the conversation of the flock, but his thoughts feel clouded. How? He’s usually so… sharp.
Is he drowning? Suffocating? Is his mind losing oxygen and shutting down? It feels like it. Why hasn’t anyone noticed? Are they also drowning?
It’s so cold.
Everything is so dark.
All he can see are the Princess’s distant, uncaring eyes, hovering above the surface of the water as she patiently waits for Them to drown.
Their lungs fill with water the same way hers filled with blood.
Her corpse tugs on Them, dragging Them deeper and deeper and deeper, clutching Them with cold, dead hands that have long since bloated from the freezing water.
The same way Their corpse will look when They finally run out of air.
How many times will They do this?
How many times will the Princess kill Them before she’s satisfied?
How many times will Skeptic prove to be worthless, his mind – the only thing he has, the only thing he is – rendered useless in the face of raw terror?
How can he possibly find the answer to this puzzle when all he can focus on is the cold, dark, suffocating water, and the screaming of his starved lungs, and the feeling of his brain slowly shutting down?
He’s going to die.
And he’s going to die again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and—
“SKEPTIC!”
Something between a yell and a choked sob is torn out of him, surprised at the interruption to his spiraling thoughts. He looks up at whoever spoke to him, or tries to, but his vision is blurry with tears. His lungs ache, like knives stabbing into him with every ragged inhale, making it even harder to focus.
His thoughts are scattered again when a loud BOOM rocks the house.
Right— Skeptic is in the house, isn’t he?
He’s… he’s not in the Cabin, is he?
He feels someone cup his cheeks, warm, calloused hands holding him gently, as if scared that he might shatter at the slightest movement.
Skeptic hesitantly looks back up at the one in front of him, staring into dark rose eyes filled with worry. Smitten.
The others are here, too, some talking quietly on the other side of the room, a handful nearby, holding him.
Skeptic makes the mistake of glancing outside, freezing at the sight of rain falling so quickly and harshly that the trees shake from the force of it.
It never rained this hard in the Construct.
How much worse will this be—
“Hey, hey, no. Don’t focus on that, Skeptic, dear, please. Can you look at me?”
Skeptic turns back to Smitten, his heart beating in his throat.
“It’s alright. We’re safe in here, I promise. Can you breathe for me?”
Skeptic hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath, and his next inhale was ragged and desperate. His mind and lungs felt starved of air, and any second now the windows would break and water would rush in and they would all drown and he just needed more time he needed more air—
“Skeptic—Skeptic, dear, I meant slowly. Can you copy my breathing?”
With effort, he refocused on the Voice in front of him. He watched Smitten breathe in, hold his breath for a moment, then breathe out. He gestured for Skeptic to copy him, and he tried. Each inhale was a painful gasp, each exhale halfway to sobbing.
Still, gradually, his breathing began to slow.
He vaguely notices Paranoid leaning in to whisper something to Smitten, but he can’t make out the words. After a moment, Smitten turns back to him.
“Can you focus on your senses, Skeptic? What you feel, what you smell?”
He feels cold.
But— no, that’s not right, is it? Smitten is holding him, and he’s hot as a furnace half the time. Now doesn’t seem to be an exception, Smitten’s hands just short of scalding.
Skeptic wouldn’t be able to smell anything if he were underwater, but he isn’t. He isn’t drowning. He breathes in, slowly. Smitten smells like ashes and dirt and mostly dead flowers. There are some others there, others holding him, but he can’t focus enough to tell who.
Despite the almost-uncomfortable warmth, Skeptic leans into Smitten’s touch. The latter hums, shifting to hug Skeptic fully, and Skeptic near melts into the heat.
Skeptic flinches when he feels something poke his cheek, opening an eye to see what it is. Hunted stares at him, mostly still save for how he keeps glancing down.
Skeptic follows his gaze, confused. At about the same moment, a stinging pain in his arms makes itself known, and he winces slightly. He looks down at his arms, pausing when he sees his own talons buried deep within them. His sleaves are torn, the area around the rips bloodstained.
Carefully, Skeptic starts to pull his talons out of the wounds—
Another loud BOOM rocks the house, making Skeptic flinch again. His talons rebury themselves in his arms, but the stinging feels more distant.
Why is he acting like this? Why does it feel like he can’t breathe? He’s not underwater, he’s not in the Cabin, he’s fine, so why is he acting otherwise?
He’s not cold. He’s not suffocating. His eyes are shut, but the room isn’t dark. He should be fine.
So why does it feel like he’s about to die again?
“Skeptic?”
He looks up at Smitten.
“We’re going to go to Stubborn’s room – it doesn’t have windows, you see, so it’ll be quieter – can you stand?”
Skeptic is about to open his mouth to respond when someone behind him answers.
“He won’t need to.”
He feels Smitten pull away, and in the same moment someone else picks him up. He yelps a little, surprised, as Stubborn adjusts his hold on him.
Skeptic glances up at the taller Voice, pausing when he shifts to nuzzle his face. Skeptic finds himself relaxing a little at the contact, only to flinch again when another explosion sounds outside.
When he opens his eyes again, he sees Hunted quickly crawl up Stubborn’s side, perching on his shoulder to watch Skeptic intently. After a moment, Hunted leans in to nuzzle Skeptic’s face, mimicking Stubborn’s movements just moments before, only pulling away when Stubborn starts walking to his own room.
Skeptic presses his face against Stubborn’s chest, trying to organize his thoughts.
He should be fine. He’s scratched himself, but that’s all. He’s felt worse. So why is he panicking so much? Why is his heart racing like this?
This—This fear, these reactions, are fueled by the rain and his own experiences in the Cabin, right? But this is different. He’s safe.
… Right?
Surely—Surely the house isn’t about to flood, right? The rain will pass, and the waters will recede, and it’ll be different than last time, right?
But what if—What if it isn’t? What if the waters are about to overtake them and going deeper into the house will just make it harder to escape and they’ll all drown—
“Hey. Get outta that head of yours. Focus on me, yeah?”
The words feel fuzzy, distant, but Skeptic manages to look up at Stubborn. The latter frowns at him, his eyes looking like they’re searching for something in Skeptic’s expressions. After a second, Stubborn looks away. Skeptic follows his gaze towards Paranoid, who is talking to Opportunist.
Eventually, Paranoid glances over at Stubborn and Skeptic, turning away from Opportunist and walking to them.
“Can I see?” Paranoid quietly asks, gesturing at Skeptic’s arms with what looks like a medical kit.
Hesitantly, Skeptic pries his talons from his arms, the blood coating them feeling sticky and warm. So different from the freezing waters that, oddly, it seems to ground him a bit.
Paranoid hums as he inspects the damage, before, “How attached are you to this shirt?”
Skeptic glances down at the ruined sleeves. He shrugs, vaguely confused at Paranoid’s question.
“Great. I’m going to tear off the sleeves to bandage your wounds. Don’t panic.”
Skeptic doesn’t ‘panic’ when Paranoid quickly tears off the sleeves, but he does jump a little at the sound, his hearing finally snapping back into focus at the noise.
He jumps again when he feels something poking his abdomen, looking down and staring at Hunted’s wide, watchful eyes. The smaller Voice rests his head on Skeptic’s stomach, never breaking eye contact.
Skeptic is about reach down and hold Hunted closer when he feels something stinging his arm, wincing at the slight burning. He looks over at Paranoid, who is pressing a damp cloth to the scratches.
Paranoid glances at Skeptic for a moment, “I need to disinfect the wounds. It’ll only last a second, then I’ll wrap them.”
True to his word, Paranoid works quickly, wrapping one arm, then disinfecting and wrapping the other. He looks over his work for a minute, then nods to himself before getting up and moving to someone else.
The moment that Paranoid walks away, Hunted leans the rest of his body weight on Skeptic, laying on him fully. Skeptic holds him close, smiling a little when Hunted nuzzles into his chest.
He hears Stubborn chuckle above them, and Skeptic realizes that he’s laying in the taller Voice’s lap. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Stubborn scoops them up before laying down on the floor, placing them on top of him.
Skeptic is startled when he feels a pair of blankets get thrown on them at that moment, but relaxes again while Stubborn adjusts them to better cover the three of them.
Skeptic glances around the room with a half-focused eye, watching the others slowly calm down and, eventually, fall asleep.
“You’re tired,” Hunted whispers to him once most of them are sleeping. Even Stubborn snores beneath them.
“I’m… Yeah. I’m tired.”
Hunted presses his face against Skeptic’s neck, nuzzling into it before, “Sleep. We are safe here. Warm.”
Skeptic opens his mouth to respond, but a yawn comes out instead. “… What if… What if something happens?”
“I will wake everyone up. We will be alright. Do you trust me?”
Skeptic hesitates before sighing softly, closing his eyes.
“Yeah. I’ll trust you.”