Work Text:
The sun’s rays glaze all they touch a gentle gold through the half-shuttered windows. Plants half tended to grow pallid, some fortunate enough to catch the light, others stuck starving in shade. To the untrained eye everything is clean, but if Nipulon were here he would tell you there’s already dust to sweep away.
But he’s not. He’s not here, hasn’t been here, and whether or not he even will be seems unlikely.
Seeing the office this quiet isn’t necessarily new, given Nipulon’s workload, but without any notice, it certainly doesn’t provide any comfort to Garmantuous, to say the least.
“No word from him at all?” he asks one of the establishment’s many employees,
“Not at all, sir,” the steward shakes their head. “Yesterday he seemed fine, too. Didn’t mention anything that would have left him unable to…”
Another quick glance around the room does not reveal some final piece to the puzzle, just more time to wonder. He’s got half the mind to move the shutters just to try and highlight something. There comes the paradox, the one person who he knows would give him just that… just isn’t here. And the second person on that list would be a whole new nightmare right now. A nightmare he bets awaits him in the form of a good couple, maybe 50 or so, attempts to reach him already. Not like he can judge at this point; how many times had he tried to reach Nipulon? Well, that’s different, he thinks to himself, Nipulon would be sick or captured at the least, and at worst…
Garmantuous shakes his head for a moment, as if he can erase his worries like an Etch-a-Sketch. With this, though, he turns to see the steward again, their own face showing the strain of a second thought.
“Did you think of something? Or is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Well,” the smaller alien says with a start, “when I think about it, maybe there could have… maybe something was up–”
“Something? That’s all you fuckin’ got for me?” Garmantuous says, towering over them.
“Uh, yeah– yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It just– I hadn’t thought of it before, I didn’t think anything of it at first, b-but”
“Tell me.”
“He seemed a little tired.”
“...You’re fucking with me.”
“But not – normal tired. I think. He mentioned his back or something hurting him a little. He seemed a little weary, s-said it a little… uh. Weirdly, I guess. Sir. Yes, sir. That’s what.”
Something, for sure. Old conversations stir in the back of the drug lord’s mind. No epiphany breaches the surface of all those years, though, not yet.
“It’s just not like him,” Garmantuous thinks aloud, “he’d never miss something without even telling me– or anyone.”
“But mostly you, right?” the steward says with the semblance of a laugh before a cold, sharp glare from Garmantuous aborts it midway.
From within Garm’s arm, a digital chirping begins. With what can only be considered a growl at this point, he “coughs” up what could be considered his work phone, though it looks much more like a child’s idea of an alien doomsday device. But those are one in the same, when you’re Garmantuous.
“WHAT DOES THAT FUCKING WORM WANT!?” he screams.
The worm wants nothing this time. Garmantuous’s face twists from rage to something else entirely.
“Shut up.”
“What? I didn’t say–”
“Shut the fuck up. Right now.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Nipulon. Voicemail. Now do what I tell you.”
He sets the phone down on Nipulon’s desk, and without further ado, presses the option to play it.
The somewhat canned audio on the other side paints a better picture than “a little tired, not normal tired”.
“Garm. I’m just seeing this, I’m sorry. I’ll try– no, I’m not coming in today, I’m… managing some important things on the, uhm, home front, so to speak.”
What the fuck.
“I won’t be around to answer, I want – I can’t answer, nothing after this.”
What the fuck???
“I’m sorry. Just… fuck, don’t call, okay? And don’t come over, just do what you can do without m–”
Garmantuous shuts the phone off. That’s all he needs, and he’s storming out already.
“Where are you going, sir?”
“Where do you think?”
“Didn’t he just say not to-”
“That means I’m gonna,” Garmantuous nods to no one, “wish me luck.”
He’d love to batter the steward brand new shades of black and blue for remaining silent, but with the way his… whatever counts as a heart picks up the pace, he can’t bring himself to turn back.
–
With the morning’s events hanging overhead, Nipulon’s opulent manor seems much more like a gilded dungeon as Garmantuous slithers through the doorways. They reach high like an old cathedral’s, binding spongy chambers together. Chatter from housekeepers reminds him, too, of some colony or miniature city. Nothing he’s not used to himself, but within these walls he wonders what exactly the holdup is.
“Which one of you rat bastards do I need to talk to just to get somewhere around here?”
The menagerie crowds like children. Between Merkaloids, Flubonians, Glashborgians and the like, a small Moplet squeezes through.
“Good afternoon, sir,” it says, pushing back its peachy fur with a paw. “I… assume you’re here for–”
“Nipulon. Yeah. Your boss. My right hand man.”
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard–”
“Oh, I’ve fucking heard alright. I don’t care what he told you. I need to see him.”
“He doesn’t want visitors, sir”
“You’ll take me to him and that’s final. At my word you can–”
“Alright, okay, I’ll do it– but know he won’t be happy. Just around this way, sir.”
With that, he follows the Moplet down the hall and into an elevator, sort of squishing the two together for an agonizing 20-something seconds. This time around, the worm does call, but Garmantuous is quick to tell Giblets he’s still busy figuring out what’s going on around here. More importantly, he tells them he’s just about to get to the bottom of this. Once the doors open, it’s another short stride that could last an hour if Garmantuous put his mind to it. Foreign plants of varied colors and shapes line the hall in ornate planters. Far from the first floor, though, this one is eerily quiet. It’s only him and this moplet – and, at a second glance, a lone merkaloid not-so vigilantly standing guard at the large door awaiting him on the other side. Between the idea of killing the footsoldier dead and wondering why Nipulon would even bother with such measly measures necessary with the security system he’s got in place, Garmantuous finds the time to think of asking Nipulon where the hell he gets all these plants from, anyways, or why everyone’s steering clear…
No matter in wondering. He’ll get his answers soon enough.
As he approaches the door the merk starts, alarmed, with a sad excuse of an explanation.
“GARMANTUOUS! Sir! Nipulon said he didn’t really want to see anyone–”
“Tough shit,” Garmantuous replies, “you’re going to let me through.”
“I tried,” the moplet mouths to the merk, gesturing lightly towards Garmantuous.
“And it’s not like you’re doing much anyways.”
“Well, you know, he uh. Told me to keep an eye,” the merk goes on. “I think he- uh – Hey, Nipulo-”
Garmantuous slams the merk to the ground, knocking them out cold, and opens the doors without another thought.
The room is spacious, though in Garmantuous’s eyes, the sizing is closer to average. It’s the swirling damask pattern on cushiony walls, instead, that catches his eye. It’s purple on purple, spiraling up to a skylight, now shuttered closed. All the windows are, he realizes. A little too late, he also wonders if he’s trailing anything on the spongy, flocked floor. The desk is tidy, the wardrobe open by just a crack. A strong scent, something like patchouli, wafts through the room. On the weblike bed is the source.
Nipulon clutches a thin pipe between his fingers. He lays there curled up, his form enveloped in a soft robe, propped up on cushions. Eyes weary and glassy, the look on his face as they meet with Garmantuous’s is not one of surprise in the slightest.
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he says. “Jerome, from here on out you leave us be, alright?”
The moplet nods and scurries off, dragging the merk with it. For a moment it’s quiet.
“Look,” Garmantuous begins, “when you didn’t come in-”
“I know, bad decorum. It won’t happen again.”
“You didn’t even say any-”
“It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Let me finish, goddamnit,” Garmantuous slams an arm down on the ground– but when Nipulon winces he can only think to lightly tap after, to make up for it, somehow. “This isn’t like you. Are you sick?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Nipulon can barely raise his shoulders to a shrug, face twisted in discomfort. He takes another hit from the pipe, covers the bowl with his thumb for a moment, then sets it on a round nightstand of sorts, extending from the floor and retreating back within it as he turns away.
“… is it contagious or…?”
“Not that sort of sick, it’s… y’know.”
“D’you have that seasonal shit now, too?”
“No you idi- no, sir, it’s… I’ve told you about that old thing, haven’t I?”
A quick nudge back to the wardrobe. At a second glance in the dimmer lighting Garmantuous can make out the gleaming metal.
Right. A tight fit, Nipulon had told him. Worth it for the convenience, of course, he’d say, despite the cramps.
“I have to get it cleaned up anyway, i-it’s getting kind of gross. ”
Garmantuous makes his way over to the wardrobe. There’s not much else within it, just some other garments, spare pieces, and tools for upkeep of the power suit. He’s never really gotten such a close look at this thing, come to think of it. Looks kind of cramped, not a lot of room for flexibility. No wonder… Still, it looks pretty clean, only a few chips and scuffs in the purple metal from skirmishes with their warring factions and targets. Probably meant the inside… there’s splotches of who knows…wait…
“Is that blood?”
Nipulon doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t want to and doesn’t need to. Some of it looks fresher– others, god only knows, could have been there for months. All in the same spot around the waist, some even starting to pool at the bottom.
“How does this even…” Garmantuous trails off as the answer starts to come together in his mind. He turns back towards Nipulon.
It’s a herculean task to even try to look at Garmantuous, let alone open his mouth. He just sits there, staring, like a child who knows he’s in trouble.
“Is this… from the suit?”
A nod.
“How the hell did this even happen?”
“I meant it when I told you it’s on the tighter side, to say the least,” Nipulon manages to stammer out. At this second glance, Garmantuous sees the porphyrin stains around his eyes. Just how much of an understatement is this?
“No,” Garmantuous says, as if that’s going to wish this all away. “No more of this. Explain, now.”
“I am.”
“Actually tell me. Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me what the hell you’ve done to yourself.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’re going to fucking show me and that’s final. That’s an order.”
Reluctantly, Nipulon slips the robe off his shoulders. It takes another moment to take it all the way off. With that, the curtain over top of his perfect image is cast aside – shattered, even.
At first, Garmantuous isn’t sure that he can believe his eyes. The bruises span Nipulon’s lower half. It almost looks like he’s been crushed underneath the full force of a boot like any measly spider. His lower limbs twist and skew odd angles, concerningly limp. His abdomen all bent out of shape, exoskeleton denting and forming crackly sores where, Garmantuous assumes, he’s been bound the tightest by the suit, which he now realizes is the lotus shoe of his right hand man’s design. Garmantuous is used to gruesome sights, but this one cuts deep. Here is the one who helped him so, wilting away without him even knowing.
“...why? Why even do it?”
“No one would have listened, otherwise.”
“Listen to what? Can you even walk–”
“People d-don’t like people like m– us,” Nipluon tries to explain, “not unless we play by their rules or become an exception.”
“Like us?”
“These galaxies aren’t made for anyone who doesn’t walk and talk like they all do.”
“They??”
“You know what I mean, Garm, don’t act dumb.”
“Goddamnit, Nips,” he brings his hands to his head, beside himself, “what has gotten into you!?”
“Maybe I could talk the talk, but I couldn’t walk that same walk. Not until…”
“You broke yourself in two trying to fit in with fuckin’ troglodytes?”
“I adapted,” he snaps back, his voice starting to waver. “That’s how the world works. The ones who make it are the fittest to their environment. If this is it, so be it.”
The mantra, however, can rouse him no longer. If anything, the exertion of simply arguing causes him to sink deeper into his bed, weakly pawing at his robe with his lower arms to bring it back over top. Even that is too much. Nipulon doesn’t even want to try. His hearts threaten to collapse into a black hole and take everything away with them. He cannot say he’d even protest. He stares down at the cushioning, twisting away from Garmantuous. He just can’t bring himself to look at his dumbfounded face.
“You’re not some animal, Nipulon,” Garmantuous says, “You’re better than that.”
“No,” he replies, “I’m not, I’m fucking not. I’m tired of acting like it.” He clutches his own shoulders, hardly able to bear the sting of clenched muscle. “You don’t e-even know half of it, Garm. I… hate every inch of myself. I can hardly look at myself, I look so weak and gross... I... oh, I just wish I had another body... ”
He trails off as he loses himself to tears. The porphyrin returns to the corners of his eyes, the rustiness slowly creeping down his face.
“I don't know how you do it,” he sighs between the hiccups and soft sobs, “How you could even stand vermin like me.”
Garmantuous is both besides himself and a thousand miles away. Somehow, here of all places, he is powerless, unable to fix something simply by wishing for it to be done. He starts with some attempt at a lighthearted comfort,
“I mean… heh, everyone else here’s got you beat, you know. I wouldn’t wor-”
Nipulon loses it, wailing.
Shit.
“IN UGLINESS! YOU’RE FINE! I MEANT-”
Way to fucking go, he thinks to himself. It’s only his right hand man turning back to him and holding on for dear life that reassures him that this blunder is the least of either of their worries. He can hardly make out Nipulon’s words, an inconsolable mess of apologies and pleas. All he can do is return the gesture and hold him, too.
With time the sound drowns itself out and Garmantuous is just left with sharp nails digging into him. With the thickness of his flesh, it’s not even close to painful, but to feel the man he owes his life to shaking in his grasp, so frail and tender, is almost too surreal to believe.
What the hell even happened? Yesterday he was fine. Yesterday this scene was not even an inkling in his mind. Had he missed the signs? Had Nipulon tried to hide this pain or had it all just become too much over the course of one night?
… Had he really been hurting like this, all this time?
–
At long last, the crying subsides. Nipulon lays quietly, half coiled between the bed’s cushioning and Garmantuous’s arms. Quiet, shaky sighs escape from him. The eerie silence is not broken by much, save for the shifting of his position as he finally creeps away from Garmantuous. Likewise, he takes the hint to pull away himself, though he does not know why he lets himself do this. It’s nearly silent, and now it feels as if they’re two islands in the dark, light seeped out long ago.
And from the dark, a plea:
“I don’t care how you look, I don’t care how many legs you walk on. When I think about you I’m not thinking about that. The Nipulon I know is strong, smart, charismatic – don’t you see what you do for me? I’d be nothing if you weren’t here guiding the way. You’re a goddamn lifesaver yourself, and you don’t even know it”
“It just feels like a lie. It takes so much just to hold down the fort, I–”
“Because they’re all a bunch of dumbasses. I should smoke out every single one of them if this is what it’s doing to you. Hell, I will.”
“You won’t, you can’t”.
“Watch me.”
For a moment Nipulon’s strength returns with an incredulous glare at his superior.
“...But if you don’t want it, if that’s not it, then fine.”
“You know it’s not about them. I-it’s all on me,” he almost chuckles, but it almost sounds deathly serious when he asks, “Are you gonna have to kill me then, to fix the problem here?”
“Don’t even joke about that. If you could see the difference you’ve made to me you wouldn’t even think about saying that. I don’t get it. You aren’t a pest or vermin to me. You’re the one person I know I can trust. You’re better than everyone else walking out there, going about their day doing jack shit for anyone. I wish you could see that.”
“Me too, believe me.”
“You shouldn’t hurt yourself like this.”
“You say that like I want to,” He’s almost angry, but exhaustion takes hold of him first. “It’s too late to stop and let people see me for– I don’t even want to think about all that.”
“I don’t want you getting back in that thing.”
“Garm, when I said it’s bad, I-i meant it. This is the better option for me, e-even if I was stupid to let it get like this-”
“Don’t call yourself that.”
“Doesn’t matter what word– what matters is that I can’t undo it.”
And he really can’t. The reminder stings, but what is worse is that he thinks to himself he might not even try to change it anyway.
“I just… I don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” he sighs, shifting in place. Soon, he finds the strength to continue, “If it’s anything, I feel a bit better with you here. A-and that I got to say everything on my mind. I’m glad you didn’t just… laugh at me for it all, or think I’m… weak for it.”
“... did you think I would?”
“I guess I know you wouldn’t, but in the back of my mind it’s… I guess I’m just scared, I haven’t… I’ve never told anyone else this.”
Just a nod. That’s all Garmantuous can muster, at first. He’s got half a mind to shake the other, ask why– what the hell he did wrong. How the hell Nipulon could hate himself so much, for what, after everything he’s done. What the hell is even going through his head. What the hell is he himself supposed to do knowing that his best friend, the man who saved his life, even, is destroying himself.
“Yeah,” he starts with the other half. “I guess you wouldn’t have.”
…Nice going, nice going. The fuck’s that even mean? He’d rather the day just start over again, so he could be here hours before, so no one would crumble and no lesson would have to be learned.
“Y’know what,” Nipulon props himself up, rubbing his eyes, “I-i’m sorry. I’m sorry if I never told you this, or if I shouldn’t be, but everything you’ve said? I could say the same. You mean so much to me. I can’t imagine a world without you. You’re amazing. I just wish I could live up to it all.”
“You do.”
“Even after all of this?”
“Of course.”
“...thank you, Garm.”
The surge of relief almost hurts, and Nipulon chokes back the returning lump in his throat. Not to save face, just because there’s no more energy to extend to the act of crying. At least the tension within him has left. He almost misses the sight of Garmantuous lifting one arm up to his stalked eye, the skin around it dewy.
“Just… please, if you’re going back to that thing, let yourself rest up first.”
“Well, that was the plan…”
“I mean it. Take off for as long as you need, I–”
“Three days,” Nipulon under-guesstimates, unable to look Garmantuous in the eyes as he says, “that should be just about enough, I think.”
In response, he gets a hesitant reply of, “Alright. And you let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I will. Thank you, again, I-”
“And for the love of whatever’s holy, let me know what you’re doing,” Garmantuous says, only just remembering the other’s pain as he goes to playfully shake him around.
“O-of course! I was going to but I– … I’ve been, yknow–”
“Getting stoned and wallowing?”
“And napping n’ watching shitty daytime TV,” he almost smiles, “If I didn’t hear my pager it’s… probably because DLC was on full blast.”
The flicker of playfulness is welcome. Garmantuous can’t help but notice some life returning to Nipulon’s face. Even with this, though, everything seems too quiet. No one knows what to do with themselves. This seems to say it’s best to part, but as Garmantuous goes to retreat to his own lair, Nipulon musters up the courage to ask something.
“Do you – could– would you be alright with staying?”
“Huh?”
“I don’t really want to be alone right now,” he admits, “all things considered. It’s late anyway, you can just stay here as long as everything’s taken care of.”
A glance at the clock proves the egregiousness of a return mission. A glance at Nipulon is all that’s left for Garmantuous to make his choice. Still, his right hand man goes on.
“You don’t have to hold me or anything. Hell, you can have the bed, I’ll just sleep on the– ”
“Who said anything about holding anyone?”
Nipulon shrinks back within himself. “I mean, I didn’t know if you thought I would ask for, uh, something stupid like that,” he shakes his head with a bit of a laugh.
“Do you want me to?”
“... I don’t know. Maybe. Fine, fuck, I do. Is that weird?”
“Nipulon,” Garmantuous lays an arm around his shoulder, “we’ve been halfway ‘round the universe together. You’ve saved my life a thousand times and I know damn well you’d say the same. And we’ve seen so much shit, you think this is weird to me? You think ‘weird’ even bothers me?”
He realizes he’s leaned into the embrace already. Admitting defeat, he nods, “You’re right. I just don’t want to force you either. I’d feel better but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or– uh, think that I want something else from you.”
“Oh, please, you’ve earned whatever the hell you want for the rest of the night. C’mere.”
So he does. It’s a tricky little dance, their forms don’t fit together quite right. Still, they make do. Nipulon swings a leg or two or closer to four, really, overtop Garm, legs sliding between folds of lumpy flesh.
“You uh, can’t really lay down, can you?”
“Just let me- oof-”
The thump of Garmantuous flopping down is a little louder than intended– at least it receives a light chuckle in response rather than a wince. And likewise, as oddly sticky, grossly moist as everything feels, the snug warmth eases the dull aches throughout Nipulon’s body. He can’t bring himself to turn away, either to activate the sound machine like properties of his room or ease the awkward positioning. He can’t even bring himself to stifle the soft, clicky “purr” rising from his larynx as he pushes himself further into the embrace. This is all he wants right now. Even now his hearts beat fast, but for once the exoskeleton around him feels less like a prison and more like his own flesh.
He closes his eyes with a shot in the dark,
“I love you. I-i think I really love you.”
No response, just the steady breathing.
Fuck. Goddamnit.
He cracks one eye open. Garmantuous is already asleep.
Oh well. Thank god, even. It’s better left unheard - or unsaid. The feeling is enough. Better to enjoy the hope while it lasts.
Soon enough, he follows suit. He’s thankful for his partner in crime, and that he’s fallen asleep with his back to the wardrobe, its door never closed.