Work Text:
The puppet awoke to an unfamiliar sight. He noticed that he wasn’t in the domain that his creator, his mother, abandoned him in. No. This room contained none of the Inazuman motifs that he had grown familiar with. Rather than wooden structures, he was surrounded by different kinds of metal.
Where was he? Had he been moved here during his drowse?
How deep had even been his slumber? Surely, not that long. The sliver of panic that pooled inside of his hollow chest intensified once he finally noticed the strangers that stared at him expectantly. There were two people in the same room as him, and from what he could hear, there were others within the same dwelling.
There, before him, stood a boy. He had light purple hair, red eyes, and curved horns that matched his wings and tail. He looked human, but those features… The puppet didn’t know which species that boy exactly was. However, he was certain that he was definitely not purely human.
Could he be kindred fledgling? The puppet ignored that thought immediately. That couldn’t possibly be.
Beside the horned boy was someone blonde-haired and blue-eyed. His gloved hands were just a short distance away from the puppet’s chest. That made him twist his mouth in discomfort.
Why was he so close? Get away from him.
He parted his lips, finally ready to speak, when the horned boy suddenly cut him off. He was wrapped in a tight embrace that was quick to stun him.
“Hat Guy!” The boy cheered, “You’re finally awake!”
“Calm down, Durin. You don’t want to overwhelm him, do you?” The blonde spoke. Durin. That was the name of the definitely inhuman boy with sharp horns, sleek wings, and barbed tail. The puppet wondered what the blonde’s name could be.
Durin let go of him as he rubbed the back of his head. A sheepish laugh escaped him, “Oops. I’m sorry, Hat Guy. I just couldn’t help myself.”
Hat Guy.
The puppet assumed that Durin was referring to him with that moniker. It made him raise a brow. Hat Guy? It was a strange name that he certainly didn’t choose, and he was never given a name of his own. Never mind that he didn’t even know who Durin was, as well as this companion of his. So how come they were calling him such a ridiculous name and were acting so familiar with him? It didn’t make any sense.
“Who are you?” The puppet lowered his legs from the meditative stance he didn’t even realize he was in. He watched as the light in the strangers’ eyes dimmed.
Their hope and relief turned into horror.
“W- What?” Durin stammered, clearly distraught at his question. His voice trembled as he shifted his gaze away from the puppet and onto the blonde, who was just as distressed beneath his supposedly calm facade.
“Oh dear… This wasn’t…” The blonde ran his fingers through his now messy hair, “I knew that this was a possibility, but still—”
“Did you manage to wake him, Albedo?”
Another stranger entered the room. He had long golden locks secured in a neat braid and a flying companion who stood at his side. The puppet noted their presence with suspicion as they too seemed to regard him with unusual familiarity.
Albedo. That was the blonde’s name. Durin and Albedo; the first two encounters he had after being forced to slumber indefinitely by his creator. Such foreign names they had, belonging to strangers in this land.
“Something’s wrong!” Durin sounded as though he was close to crying.
The puppet wanted to tell him to hold back his tears. To weep was to be weak, and to be weak was to be thrown away. He may not know him despite the rapport in which he initially treated him, but he would never wish such a fate on anyone. He knew firsthand just how devastating it was to be thrown away by the only person he considered dear to him.
A part of him wanted his mother back. He shook his head and buried that sentiment away. He raised his hand, only just realizing that even his current clothes were different from what he was dressed in by his creator, and held Durin’s cheek.
His thumb brushed beneath his glassy eye.
“Hat Guy…?” Durin whispered, voice cracking around the moniker as if it actually hurt him to say it out loud.
Everyone was looking at him. They were all gawking in disbelief. It made him feel nervous when he eventually withdrew his hand from Durin’s face. The warmth that lingered against his fingertips felt oddly familiar to him, which he found to be strange. This was the first time he had ever touched anyone, and yet, his body acted as if he had done this multiple times in the past.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” The puppet said carefully, “Who are you people?”
The newly arrived golden-haired stranger exchanged a glance with Albedo. They appeared to have shared a silent understanding between them. The newcomer then took a step forward, with his palms open in what was meant to be reassurance.
“My name is Aether,” He introduced himself gently. The floating girl who accompanied him bobbed nervously in the air.
“And I’m Paimon,” She added quickly.
Durin and Albedo too then introduced themselves to him respectively. He repeated their names in his mind, trying to seek out information about them, only for nothing to come up no matter how hard he tried. These people were truly just strangers to him. Yet, the way they looked at him, spoke to him, and handled him told him a different story. They acted not like strangers meeting him for the first time, but like people trying desperately to hold onto someone they feared they had already lost.
The atmosphere in the room grew tense.
Paimon was the first to crack.
“Okay, this is seriously bad,” She whispered to Aether, though not quietly enough, “He really doesn’t remember anything!”
“Paimon,” Aether warned gently, but even he couldn’t disguise his own panic.
Durin’s wings drooped heavily behind him. He spoke in an almost pleading manner, “Maybe he’s just confused. Hat Guy, do you remember Simulanka? Or, Sumeru? Or—”
“I don’t know what those places are,” The puppet interrupted.
His words struck them like a physical blow. Durin froze in place. It was silent for a moment before a soft cry finally left Durin’s lips. Contrary to what the puppet expected, nobody chastised Durin for weeping. Instead, they were all focused on him, which caused his stomach to churn.
Did he do something wrong? He had just woken up. Had he already made another mistake while he was deep in slumber?
He didn’t understand any of this.
He just wanted to be with his mother again.
Durin’s tearful gaze was fixed on him. Meanwhile, Aether and Paimon shared a worried glance with each other, as Albedo watched him with quiet attentiveness. It was way too much for the puppet. For a moment, he yearned to be held by his creator’s cool embrace.
Mother.
The puppet stared at his hands. Slender fingers. Delicate joints. There was evidence of damage and careful repair alike. Similar to Durin, something wet trickled down his cheeks, but unlike the inhuman boy who had no qualms against crying, he was quick to rub his eyes. This couldn’t be happening.
Albedo hesitantly neared him, “Are you hurt?”
There was pity in his gaze.
The puppet hated it. He didn’t want them to look at him like that. He furiously willed himself to stop crying as the strangers tried their best to comfort him. Even Durin, with his incessant sniffling, tried to console him by whispering sweet nothings into his ear. It only made him want to yell at them all the more. Don’t patronize him.
He wasn’t weak. He really wasn’t. So stop treating him in such a way.
And yet, his creator still abandoned him. She left him all alone in this foreign land, surrounded by people he didn’t even know he could trust. All of whom had the gall to act as though they were his friends, to the extent that they called him by a name that he never even used.
Hat Guy. What a ridiculous moniker.
He couldn’t take this anymore. He had just woken up and he was already overwhelmed. It was a stupid decision, but the ache within his hollow chest became far more unbearable the longer he stayed in that unfamiliar room with those strangers who looked at him with sadness in their eyes alike. His feet wobbled at first. Why? Had he somehow gotten injured? He nearly stumbled when he took his first step, but he was quick to adjust.
“Wait—”
Durin reached out for him immediately, panic lacing his tone. It seemed that he knew what the puppet was about to do, but he was unfortunately too slow. Before Durin could even touch him, he already ran as fast as he could.
Where was he even going? He didn’t know. All that he wanted was to get as far away from this place as possible.
“Hat Guy!” Durin’s wail echoed behind him.
The puppet ignored it.
He stumbled through another unfamiliar room lined with metal walls and scattered equipment, nearly crashing into tables in his haste. His body still felt weak—too weak.
Every hurried step sent sharp aches through his limbs, but he forced himself forward anyway. There were other strangers too in that room. He simply paid them no mind, far too hurried to get a good look at them.
Away. He needed to get away.
The air outside was cold the moment he shoved the door open. Those strangers called for him loudly as they then chased after him. That only incentivized him to run away faster. He didn’t leave a single trail behind aside from the splotches of his tears that fell to the ground.
Mother. He wanted for his creator to take him away from this place. It only made him sob when he recalled that his creator had long since thought of him as a failure, and in her eyes, failures served only to be discarded.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
It was only when the puppet was certain that he was entirely alone that he allowed himself to collapse. He nearly tumbled into a bush. His bare legs were pricked by a few thorns that he knew would have hurt him had he been human with sensitive flesh. Why were such a huge portion of his legs even exposed to the world?
His vision was blurred. Whether it was due to his tears or his own weariness, he couldn’t tell.
Why was he even tired? Wasn’t he a puppet?
He was supposed to be inexhaustible.
The puppet curled into himself beside the thorny bush that dug into his skin. His fingers trembled as they clutched at the long fabric that pooled around his body.
His breathing came unevenly in spite of the fact that he had no need to breathe in order to survive. Since when did breathing become second nature to him? What had those people done to him? How much had they changed him? Ever since he woke up, his vessel had malfunctioned in so many ways that he couldn’t count them all.
His body felt so heavy as he sat there. A sharp ache suddenly pulsed through him. It made him hiss quietly.
This wasn’t normal. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Mother.
Only she could fix him. But, why would she? She already deemed him to be faulty when he first opened his eyes, back when he initially gained consciousness.
That thought alone sent another wave of grief crashing over him. He remembered so little about her, yet the pain of her abandonment continued to haunt him. As did the loneliness he endured as he slept, and his subsequent confusion when he awoke, only to realize he had been discarded once more. And now, there he was, wherever here even was. Had his creator exiled him from Inazuma for being so worthless? Surely not.
Fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. His denial ran deep into his mind. He missed her so much.
How weak of him.
He truly was pathetic. He dug his nails into his palms. No wonder his creator had left him behind without a second thought. He further lowered his head. It was a desperate attempt to make himself smaller. Hidden. Perhaps, if he stayed quiet enough, then nobody would ever find him.
Pitter. Patter. The echo of footsteps pricked his ears. That made him panic as his fingers clutched the golden feather that hung over his chest. He may have been dressed differently, but the only gift he received from his creator remained with him. Wasn’t that a relief? He could almost ignore the anemo vision attached to the feather. It glowed erratically as he pressed himself closer against the bush, willing his presence to disappear.
Just go away. Leave him alone.
The puppet never asked for this. He never asked to be born and forsaken. He never asked to be passed around like a doll without a will of his own.
He didn’t want to see anyone right now. Not any of those strangers. Not the people who looked at him like he was something pathetic. Not the people who acted as though they knew him. Most certainly not the people who made his chest ache every time they spoke.
The footsteps stopped.
“Now, what do we have here?” It was another voice that he had never heard of before. Another stranger who would gawk at him and call him absurd names, and pity him whenever he wept.
The puppet was quick to shrink into himself, “Go away.”
It was silent for a moment. Then—
“No.”
The puppet blinked.
What? He slowly lifted his head, hesitant to look at the stranger who stood behind him, but left with nothing else to do as he couldn’t escape with his body nearly buried into the bush. The stranger was a man with long blue hair, clothes that hugged his form tightly, and a strange mask that covered his eyes.
Blood dripped down from his lips. He looked worse for wear, beaten from head to toe as though he had gotten out of a fight that he certainly lost. There was something about him that made the puppet wary.
Why? They had never met before.
Why did goosebumps form on his skin?
“W- Who…?” The puppet whispered. That seemed to be the only question he kept asking since he woke up. The stranger tilted his head. For a brief moment, something flickered across his face. He hummed in surprise before understanding overtook his features.
“How interesting.” The stranger’s tone was light, almost amused, but it sounded strained. Like every word cost him effort, “It’s you, and yet…”
The stranger’s words sent a chill down his spine.
It’s you, and yet…
Yet what? What did he mean by that? The man crouched slightly, ignoring the blood that trickled down his chin in a thin stream. Though his eyes were hidden beneath that peculiar mask, the puppet felt as though the stranger was examining him. It was as if he was a puzzle being solved, like he was an experiment being observed.
His instincts screamed at him to run. Unfortunately, his body refused to cooperate. His muscles felt heavy as his limbs trembled from exhaustion. The stranger seemed to notice.
“You’re in terrible condition.”
The puppet immediately bristled, “So are you.”
It was a vicious remark. Anyone else would have recoiled at the venom in his voice. The stranger simply let out a quiet laugh. The sound of it caused something sharp to flare through the puppet’s chest. The stranger regarded him for a long moment as the wind stirred through the grass between them.
“Just answer me. Who are you?” The puppet demanded.
The man was silent.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It wasn’t a pleasant smile. There was no warmth in the way his lips parted to reveal his sharp teeth. Rather, he looked as though he was someone recalling a joke that only he understood.
“You once knew me as Dottore,” The stranger replied in a mirthful tone. Dottore. The name meant nothing to him at all. No memories of Dottore surfaced. He had no hidden recollections that clawed their way free from the depths of his mind. There was only emptiness. Yet, the way that Dottore spoke to him seeped with such familiarity, similar to how Durin regarded him after he opened his eyes.
What was happening? How come all these people whose faces he didn’t even know and whose names he couldn’t even remember acted as if they personally knew him?
A violent shudder ran through him.
His fingers tightened around the golden feather hanging from his chest. Could it be that his memories had been taken from him? He recalled Paimon’s words—how she panicked that he couldn’t remember anything at all. He had been so overwhelmed at the time that he completely missed the signs that pointed to the obvious. No wonder he had been greeted with such familiarity despite having no memories of any of these people. He must have truly lost his memories.
Those strangers… Could they have been his friends once upon a time? The puppet didn’t know. That was the most excruciating part. Not the pain in his chest. Not the ache in his tired limbs. Not the cold air biting at his bare skin.
What hurt was his lack of knowledge.
His gaze remained fixed on Dottore. Maybe if he stared too long, the truth might surface. He wondered what the color of Dottore’s eyes were. He wanted to know.
“Were we friends?” The puppet disregarded the nausea that caused his stomach to churn.
He didn’t know who Dottore was.
It wouldn’t be wise to jump to conclusions.
“Not quite.” Dottore went down on one knee, “We were much closer than mere friends.”
A hand cupped his cheek. The taste of iron tinged his tongue. His eyes widened at how Dottore held him. It all felt just right. They had done this before. He was certain of that fact. He melted into Dottore’s embrace, ignoring the nervous pit that formed inside him as he chose to instead chase after the rare affection that he was graced with.
They soon separated.
“Oh.”
“Do you remember me now?” Dottore breathed out. He wiped the blood that smudged all over the puppet’s lips.
The puppet shook his head, “No. But, I’d like to.”
Dottore chuckled at that.
It was then that he carried the puppet into his arms. He still had so much strength despite his clearly disheveled appearance.
The puppet supposed that it made sense. It was only natural for him to associate with those who possessed remarkable strength. After all, the first lesson, and only lesson, that his creator taught him was how the weak should be thrown away like worthless dross. As he was carried against Dottore’s chest, his body relaxed despite every instinct warning him not to. He listened to the uneven rhythm of Dottore’s breathing. He felt the slight tremor that ran through his strained muscles as the scent of blood lingered heavily around him.
He wrapped his arms around Dottore’s neck.
The setting around them eventually blurred together as Dottore walked. Eventually, the puppet became aware of distant voices. Multiple voices.
His shoulders stiffened. He knew who they came from.
Dottore noticed.
“Ah.” That lone syllable sounded amused, “It appears that we have been found.”
The puppet’s stomach dropped. Sure enough, moments later, four figures emerged through the trees. Of course it was them. Durin looked absolutely miserable when he flew toward the puppet with his wings stretched taut.
The moment Durin spotted him, his eyes widened.
“Hat Guy!”
The puppet flinched.
Before he could react, Durin launched himself forward to grab the puppet. Dottore shifted the puppet in his arms as he dodged Durin’s attempts to reach them. That alone caused Aether’s expression to darken as Albedo’s eyes narrowed.
“D- Dottore! How are you still alive?” Paimon gasped.
What did that mean? Has Dottore died? If so, then who was this man cradling the puppet’s body close?
It didn’t matter. This could be the real Dottore or a mere fake, and the puppet wouldn’t care one bit. Since he woke up, it was only him who stared at him without even a hint of pity. He didn’t look at him as though he was someone broken. That was enough to assuage the pain that his creator left behind after she abandoned him.
“Let him go!” Aether’s tone held much warning.
The puppet looked between him and Dottore.
They clearly knew each other. More importantly, it was obvious that they hated each other. The tension was so thick that even he could feel it.
That wasn’t right.
The puppet’s head ached as Dottore’s smile sharpened.
“A pleasure to see you again, Traveler. It’s unfortunate that I must now bid you goodbye.” A cool glow began to envelop both Dottore and the puppet.
Durin tried to reach for the puppet, “Hat Guy—!”
The puppet didn’t reach for him back.
Maybe he would have, had Durin not looked at him in such a way. As though he was someone weak in need of saving. He buried his face into Dottore’s shoulder. Soon enough, they were both in an entirely different location, entirely alone once more.
Dottore kissed the crown of his head.
The puppet ignored the anxiety that weighed over his shoulders. He nestled himself against Dottore’s hold, as he then allowed himself to be whisked away elsewhere.