A Lullaby for Gods chapter 42

tfw you wanted to write action and therapy and emotions happen instead

xlii. Forgiveness

Roxy is pacing. 

Which honestly wouldn’t be that odd – a lot of people pace when they’re worried, after all, because they need to put all of that nervous energy somewhere – except Eridan can see how there’s dark spots that linger too long in the marks her bare feet have made on the Stark human’s carpet. He discreetly drags his gaze away when he spots them, and hope no one’s noticed. 

It’s way past midnight by the Earth’s time. He’s only just started to get used to the time here, in New York, where it’s loud and suffocating, and in addition to the light pollution making it near impossible to be able to see the stars, was in a completely different ‘timezone’ thing, whatever that was. He’s sure they had an equivalent of it in Alternia, but it had been called something else. 

Around midnight, he’d learned, most humans are already asleep except for the insomniac few. Except this is New York and is, according to Stark, the city that never sleeps. 

He sees Roxy stop. She looks down at the carpet, fists clenched so hard, Eridan’s surprised she hasn’t started bleeding yet. Her back is to him, so he can’t see her, but he imagines she’s glaring as much as she can at the carpet.

She starts walking again.

“He’s your best friend,” Stark says, repeating what Roxy had said earlier, and points to the direction of the lab, which is actually several floors below them to the east of the building, but he just points east. He’d called all of them to the living room half an hour earlier (save Hal, who sadly couldn’t really move yet), after he’d finished up whatever he had been doing, while Steve Rogers went to excuse himself to attempt to call Rose again. “That kid with the shades.”

“His name is Dirk Strider,” Roxy says, voice tight. “Yes, he’s my best friend.”

“Strider?” The man motions to the gigantic bird currently sitting (hovering) on the couch’s backrest. “Any relation to, uh?” 

“Ectobiological father,” Dave – sprite – says. “And post-scratch version of my…brother-figure. Slash father figure. Slash guardian.”

“Discount shithead of a brother version, you mean,” Roxy snaps. She turns on her heel to do another round on the carpet. Eridan blinks, and turns to Davesprite, who looks surprised, but then just laughs nervously and shifts his wings.

“Yeah, I – I told you that. Back the island – ” Davesprite mumbles the rest of the sentence and Eridan can’t quite catch it. His earfins flick down, disappointed, and he notices Tony’s eyes bright with curiousity again. You’d think the man would get used to his fins moving after a while. 

“But, yeah, we’re related through some weird ectobiology BS,” Davesprite says.

“What’s ectobiology?” Stark asks.

“SBURB stuff,” Davesprite says. “This is what you get for trying to skip the lesson.”

“Listen, there was already enough to be confused by.” Stark motions to his head. “And as much as I hate to admit it, there’s things we gotta take time to let sink in because we need to plan carefully.”

“Look at that, he’s learned to throw aside his hubris,” Davesprite says with a snicker. Stark turns to Kanaya, as if to say can you believe this, but Kanaya just shrugs. 

Eridan glances between all of them for a moment. He’d known that the others had been getting along with the humans, but how much had he actually missed? He hadn’t really talked to Stark much when he’d brought him food and attempted conversation, and he’d tuned out said attempts at conversation so he doesn’t know if Stark had told him anything about what’s been going on above the basement. 

For just a second, Eridan feels that very distinct moment, where one falls a great height, feeling the wind hit against one’s skin harshly, and then suddenly there’s no wind, and there’s no falling, there’s just cold and the sensation of suspension and weightlessness as you crash through black, freezing water, unable to hear, unable to see, unable to register anything at all other than yourself despite how much you want your awareness to reach out to lighter depths. 

He feels alone. 

And it’s a terrifying feeling, being alone. It’s not the first time he’s grappled with his demons before, and it certainly won’t be the last, he knows, but he also knows what this is a precursor to. 

He looks down at his hands, hating how easily it is to imagine blood there. He looks up at Roxy, still pacing, who he hasn’t allowed himself to face in days. He looks at Kanaya, rightfully angry with him, and who’s giving him a curious glance now. He looks at Davesprite who a few months ago he unapologetically would have ripped to shreds, and is looking at him with concern.

“Eridan?”

“Yes?” It’s a miracle he even remembers to answer, but then when he turns to whoever’s asked him, he’s seeing bright pink eyes. The neutral look he’s plastered on his face falters.

“Are you okay?” Roxy asks.

He tries not to look down quickly, tries not to draw attention to himself, and thankfully mostly succeeds. He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Roxy just keeps staring at him. She looks like she wants to say something, but she only opens her mouth and then thins it out into a line, unable to make up her mind. 

Stark clears his throat. “Anyone willing to explain ectobiology to me?”

Eridan looks away, leaning back into his seat. He doesn’t see what Roxy does. Kanaya begins to speak, thankfully sparing everyone from the awkward silence. 

“It’s a mechanic in SBURB,” Kanaya says, “An Appearifier – ”

“What is an Appearifier?” 

“A machine designed to appearify things,” Kanaya says, clearly attempting to hide her amusement.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“What are you thinking, Mister Stark?”

Even Eridan can’t stop himself from chuckling. 

“Teleporter,” Davesprite mutters, “Kinda.”

“That’s such a stupid name for a teleporter,” Stark says, but laughs. “An Appearifier does what?”

“An Appearifier is a…teleporter,” Kanaya says the word with a bit of difficulty but manages, “That can access all of time and space.”

Stark pauses. “A teleporter that can access all of timespace?”

“Yes.”

The man steeples his hands, brings them close to his face as he inhales, and then huffs. “How?”

“Do I look like I invented Appearifiers, Mr. Stark?” Kanaya asks.

Stark throws his hands up. “Then who did!”

“Dude, don’t worry about it, they’re probably not in this universe anyway,” Davesprite says, “Focus on the Appearifiers.”

“But how can it access time? Space, I understand. But time?”

Davesprite shrugs. “I’m a time player and I don’t understand it.”

Stark quiets. Then. “What’s a time player.”

This time Dave raises his head as if he’s about to huff, but doesn’t fully let it out. Instead he just shakes his head. 

“Appearifiers,” Roxy starts. Eridan still doesn’t look at her. “Are machines that can access time and space, like Kanaya said. They’re able to transport objects from one place to its platform, so it’s like a teleporter, but it’s a fixed teleporter.”

“Do you know how it’s able to access time?” Stark asks. 

“No,” Roxy says, “But honestly, don’t think about it too hard right now, you’ll burst a vein.”

Stark mumbles something about him eventually figuring it out, but he waves at Roxy to continue. She does.

Eridan feels the couch move, and he glances up. Roxy’s sat down. 

“Now,” she says, “Paradox space is really fragile, so whenever something that might destroy a timeline occurs, it smooths it out. It fixes its own mistakes, and I believe Appearifiers were made with that detail in mind.”

“Which actually points to the possibility that whoever made Appearifiers knew about the game,” Davesprite say. 

Eridan looks up at him, suddenly, because that brings a thought to his head, one that is important enough for him to throw aside his momentary oath of silence. “It’s possible they were the former winners of the game.”

The others turn to him. 

So does Stark, although he just looks confused. 

“Okay, uh,” the man says, “What does that mean?”

“Whoever wins the game gets to create a new universe,” Kanaya says, “They become the gods of it.”

Stark snorts. “What?”

“Exactly what I said,” Kanaya says. “Whoever wins the game, gets to create a new universe and become its gods.”

“But.” Stark points between the four of them. “You said you played this weird game, whatever it is, unless it’s the internet meme, and you’re children.”

None of them say anything. Eridan knows the implications of it – that children are expected to rule a new universe they’ve just made; that Skaia doesn’t care.

“I’m an adult now, actually,” Davesprite says. “I’m counting all the years I spent playing the game in my timeline, and then the four years on the ship, plus the few more years with everyone else. I’m practically the oldest. I’m older than Roxy.” He jerks a thumb towards Roxy. “And she’s – sixteen when you started the game, right? So now you’re uhhh, eighteen or nineteen, provided you didn’t spend a lot of time in the void or wherever we were before we were thrown here.” He adjusts his shades and leans a bit towards her direction. “Actually, you’re closer to twenty, so we did spend a bit of time in the void.”

“Dave, you’re rambling,” Roxy says.

He shifts his wings.

“Nervous?”

He shrugs. 

“How do you know she’s nearly twenty?” Stark asks.

“Time player. I can sense it,” Davesprite says. “It’s not exactly a skill I can do easily – that’s probably easier for Seers, I’m a Knight, or was one – but given how much I’ve had to learn and cheat over the years, I’ve picked up a few tricks, including bypassing Sprite Mystical Bullshit.”

Eridan snorts. “Thank the Empress for that.”

“Sprite Mystical Bullshit is exhausting,” Davesprite says.

“Basically, what you’re saying is that your third eye is open,” Stark says. 

Davesprite actually bursts out laughing. “Technically.”

Stark chuckles for a moment, but obviously feels more at ease despite the confusion. “Okay, back to Appearifiers. What does being made with Paradox Space in mind have to do with them?”

“They can’t teleport objects if they’re going to create a paradox,” Roxy answers. “If that happens, the Appearifier creates a ghost imprint instead, which takes on the form of ectoplasm.”

“Slime,” Davesprite says. 

“Slime,” Stark repeats, and then snickers. “Wow.”

“It’s that slime that can be used to create offspring, or ectobiological children, if two…let’s just call them ectoplasmic imprints, are combined,” Roxy says, “A version of myself, and a version of Dirk had their ectoplasmic imprints taken and combined, which created Dave – ” Davesprite raises a hand at that. “ – and Rose.”

Stark looks like he wants to be holding a can of beer at the moment, but as he isn’t, he just settles for fidgeting and then crossing his arms. “Ghost children, then. Kind of,” Stark says.

“Yes, although they’re more tangible,” Roxy says.

“And these ghost children are able to grow up and live just like everyone else. No genetic – or ectogenetic, I guess – conditions, or mutations, or anything? Complications? Babies conceived normally already have enough birth complications as it is.”

“They’re able to grow up and live normally, yes,” Roxy says.

“Well, I don’t really have a belly button. At least, when I was fully human,” Davesprite says. 

Roxy laughs. “I don’t either.”

“No umblical cords, no belly buttons,” Stark says. “That’s actually fascinating.”

“You don’t have Appearifiers here, sadly.”

Stark looks thoughtful. “Maybe not yet.”

“If it’s a universe involved with Skaia, then there’s bound to be an Appearifier existing in it somewhere, whether past or present,” Kanaya says, “It’s a cycle.”

“Yeah,” Roxy says. She crosses her arms, shoulders lifting defensibly. “I wish it wasn’t.”

“A cycle,” Stark says. “I’m probably asking out of order here and am just going to make myself confused, but – you said the game births a new universe, but how long does a universe get to live before a new game has to be begun, and how does it manifest?”

Davesprite slowly sits up straight at that and looks up at the ceiling. “I…actually, I don’t know how long a universe gets to live.” He turns to Kanaya and Roxy, who shrug, and then to Eridan, who gives him the same me neither gesture. 

“So it can just happen anytime,” Stark says.

“It happened to me when I was thirteen,” Davesprite says, “It was 2009 in my timeline.”

Stark raises an eyebrow.

“Mine was further into the future,” Roxy says.

“So there’s really no set timetable?” Stark asks.

Roxy shrugs again. “Not that we know of.”

Stark frowns and gestures towards the glass walls, where the rest of New York could be seen, just going about their busy lives, not knowing that somewhere, out there, two children are being taken to a government facility for who knows what, one more is already in a cell, and two more kids are in a hospital, not-quite-safe yet. 

“Are there signs, at least, so everyone can prepare?” he asks. 

“Not that we know of…” Roxy repeats, but she sounds unsure as she continues.

“The game,” Davesprite says. 

Stark frowns. “What about it, isn’t it the one that destroys everything?”

“When the game is released to the public, or at least, a copy of it goes out somewhere, it means that Skaia has decided it’s time to create a new universe and destroy the old one,” Davesprite says. 

“So we just have to destroy the game?” Stark says, “All copies of it?”

There’s another round of looks being exchanged. 

“Well,” Davesprite says, “I’m not sure either if the game is a chance to create a new universe in spite of the old one being destroyed, and that if it’s not played, the old universe will be destroyed anyway, or if the game begins the end.”

Stark looks towards the city again, and then to Dave, and back to the city. “Is there a way to learn more about the game outside of, well, experience? Because I don’t blame you for not knowing much, considering – you know.”

“Rose wrote a guide on it, once,” Kanaya points out. 

“So, out of everyone you all collectively know, Rose is the most knowledgeable one about the game,” Stark says. 

Kanaya nods. “She may be.”

“Calliope knew things too, but…” Roxy trails off. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Another friend of yours who may or may not be on Earth?” Stark asks. 

“Yes.”

“God, how many of you are there?”

“A lot,” Davesprite says, “It’s a question of which sessions and which versions of those sessions are here, really.”

“Excuse me?”

Davesprite only snickers, not deigning to answer, but Stark doesn’t get a chance to ask more anyway, because Steve Rogers steps into the room, cellphone in hand, and Stark immediately turns to him, asking, “So?”

“Rose still won’t pick up,” he says. “I think we’ll have to really pay her a surprise visit.”

“We’re going to the hospital first?” Eridan asks.

Steve nods. “I think that would be the best thing to do. Tony and I have read over what S.H.I.E.L.D. has given us, and we’re going to be having a debriefing this afternoon, presumably about what happened yesterday, so we don’t have much time – and it might be better if we tackled this together with the Safehouse members,” he says, “They do know who the children on the news are, right?”

“If their memories haven’t been too tampered with, then yeah,” Roxy says. 

“That’s good then. Although – what do you all think? Hospital first and then S.H.I.E.L.D.?” he asks.

Eridan lets himself think for a moment, mentally stepping into the shoes of a tactician, like he once was a long time ago, FLARPing with everyone else and living up to the title of an Orphaner. He was pathetic at talking to people, but if there was anything he was good for before, it was military tactics. Attending to the closest, equally time-sensitive task at hand would lessen their damages especially since there was a possibility that they could get the sympathies and the cooperation of the Safehouse, and if the Safehouse was as safe as it sounded, then as soon as they had the others out of S.H.I.E.L.D., they’d have a bunker. 

Not too bad.

“Eridan?” 

That’s Roxy’s voice again. Eridan looks up. 

“We asked you what you thought of this plan.”

Ah. He’d spaced out on them a moment there. He really needs to get himself together. 

“When would we leave?” he asks, turning to Rogers. 

“In a few hours,” the man says, “So it would be best if everyone got ready now.”

In a hospital , executing a stealth mission with everyone when he still isn’t in a mood to socialize. 

That’s fine.

“Okay,” he says, “That’ll work.”

-

Eridan looks clearly uncomfortable with doing this. It’s the hoodie, Kanaya thinks. Eridan is the sort of boy who dresses up, and dresses up fancily, because that, to him, is what’s comfortable. It makes him feel good, and it makes him feel like himself, so he dresses up and moves around with flair, and frankly, it’s a little dramatic, but Kanaya’s a fashion designer, and that’s one thing they both would come to an agreement on, style. 

Eridan hasn’t really been dressing up or taking care of his appearance in the past few days. He’s just starting to again, thankfully, and although they’ve had their differences (not really – more like Eridan’s been an asshole) in the past, but Kanaya isn’t cruel, and she doesn’t wish for Eridan to slowly allow himself to be destroyed by his guilt. To think upon and dwell on it for a moment, to be able to move forward, yes, but to slowly and painfully kill himself with it, never. 

He’s not doing anything, aside from stand there in the corner in a black hoodie that’s too large, hands stuffed in his pockets, while Tony and Steve relay the plan. In a few minutes, they’ll be having breakfast, and then after that go over the plan one last time, before going to the hospital. 

Kanaya watches him as he just nods, going along with whatever everyone else is saying, and then Tony dismisses them and tells them all to go down into the kitchen to help with food. Roxy makes a joke about him burning water, and the man just huffs – banter is light as everyone files out of the room, and Kanaya slows her steps down until she’s right beside Eridan, who’s lagging behind everyone else.

She puts a hand on his arm and he stops.

He says nothing though, only glancing at the others as they continue to leave, too caught up in a friendly argument, before turning back to Kanaya. 

Once the room is quiet (and bless JARVIS for letting them be despite the fact that he knows they’ve stayed behind), Kanaya lets him go.

“Kan,” he says.

“Eridan,” Kanaya says.

“What do you want?” he asks, and winces a little at his stutter. 

“To talk.”

She expects him to stand up straighter, shoulders rolled back and head held high, attempt to seem taller than he really is, just like all threatened animals who want to ensure their safety by intimidation do. But Eridan doesn’t do that. Instead he just lets out a small, tired sigh and says, “What did you want to talk about?”

“What happened to you?” 

Kanaya doesn’t mean to ask that. She’d expected to say something else, but she blurts that out, on accident, and immediately wishes she didn’t, but even Eridan looks surprised, so she doesn’t take it back and instead pushes on.

“You’ve done worse before than almost harm someone,” Kanaya says, “And don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that you’re starting to learn how to grovel like the rest of us who are trying to be decent people, but you never used to do that and then…” She motions towards him. “What’s happened in the past few months before you came here?”

Eridan looks down at his feet, crammed into shiny new sneakers Tony’s got him. “I don’t know,” he says.

“You’re not forgetting those memories, are you?”

“What – no, Kan, I’m not,” he says. “I just…I had friends, I guess.”

“You had friends before.”

“And I didn’t know how to – how to deal with them.” He looks like he’s struggling with his words. He starts picking at the skin of his palms. “How to take care of them. How to keep them, I guess.”

Kanaya raises an eyebrow.

“Look, we’re going to be late for breakfast,” he says.

“Keep going, you’re getting there,” she says instead. 

“Kan.”

“Eridan,” Kanaya says, “Seeing you go on a murder spree has made me lose all my respect for you, there’s literally nothing for you to salvage here, so be brutally honest.”

He actually deflates at that. Kanaya’s never seen him so heartbroken before.

And then he laughs and looks away. “I deserve that,” he says. “I’m actually glad you were honest.”

“Don’t expect any less from me. I still hate you,” she says. “But while that may be, I don’t wish to see you starve and let yourself go either.”

He stares at her for a second, disbelieving. “…thank you.”

She crosses her arms, patiently, shifting her weight back on one foot, while he turns his attention to the floor and continues to pick at his hands. 

“I guess, before it was – I’m a violet blood. Close to fuchsia. A seadweller, and an Orphaner. Everyone should have wanted to be friends with me. It was an honor to be friends with me,” he says. “So I thought, anyway.” 

He pauses for a while, gathering his thoughts.

“And then the meteor happened and I kind of snapped – I have no excuse for that, I was just being an ass,” he says, “And then I was dead. And then suddenly, I wasn’t, and I was in an ocean in the middle of nowhere, with the friendliest fish and the most loyal school.”

“That was where you met Roxy and Davesprite?”

“And Hal,” he says, nodding. “But before that, it was just the fishes, and it was fun, for a little while. They recognized me as royalty, and Anshu – that’s the name of the friendly fish, they kept following me around and helping me – ” Kanaya notes the fond look in his eyes as he says that “ – Anshu kept following me and everything was great. That was exactly how everyone should have treated me, I’d thought then but…”

“But?”

“But, not really, I guess,” he says. “It was always in my mind, the meteor. I thought, why did I do that? Because I lost my temper – because I was jealous, I spilled blood? I know it was within my rights being high up the system, but why did I do that? I’ve gotten into fights before. I’ve stopped my hand. Why do something irreversible for one moment I lost it?” 

It’s weird, to hear him talk about it like this. Kanaya has tried to see the good in everyone, she knows. That’s why she always makes an effort to help mend relationships, harsh quips about her being a serial auspistice be damned. No matter how bad a fight can be, if there’s genuine love in a relationship, it’s never as bad as it seems. It can always be remedied, so long as everyone is willing to lay down their pride. 

But Eridan has always been the walking definition of pride.

At least, maybe he used to be. 

“And then I was on the island, I was at sea,” he continues, “It gave me time to think. It was quiet, and I didn’t have to face anyone there. I didn’t have to answer to anyone. It was just me and everything in my head, and too much time on my hands.”

“Time enough to think?”

He laughs dryly. “More than enough time to think,” he says, “I was willing to end people’s lives over one time I lost my temper over something ridiculous.”

Kanaya says nothing.

“The fishes got into a war with some featherbeasts. They called them Loud Mimics,” he says, “They still thought I was their god, their prince or something, and I never let them think otherwise. I’m not going to lie, I fought the war first because I liked Anshu, and because I felt territorial, but somewhere along the line, I just…I realized these fishes depended on me.” He sighs. “They depended on me to fight for and with them. Depended on me to protect them while they stayed in the reef. Depended on me for, I don’t know, support, I guess, because I could see most of them felt safe while I was in the reef.”

“Faith fueling them on through the war?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He nods. “And I guess I thought that, for so long, I thought being someone people looked up to, someone people respected as a higher power, or a higher authority, was just people being praised and worshipped and flattered and they never had to lift a finger for anything, ever,” he says, “But what I was doing, and what I had to do and what I felt like I should do was help protect them, just like they were all trying to protect their reef and school too.”

Kanaya gets it, suddenly. Responsibility. He’d learned responsibility. And learning that always opened up pathways to so many things. 

“And just because I was technically capable of more things that the fishes didn’t change a thing. I still had to fight in the war. I still got hurt. They still cared about me like they would any other member of the school. I was part of the school,” he says. “And then I met Roxy and Davesprite, and they were patient with me, even though they shouldn’t have been. Roxy kept – kept trying to talk to me even though I never wanted to talk to her.”

There’s tears at the corners of his eyes now, and he wipes at them furiously. 

“I wasn’t even really a god, or a prince, at the end of it all, back at the reef. Just another part of the school who had claws and was significantly bigger than everyone else,” he says, “And I wasn’t a prince or a god back at Alternia for having violet blood either.”

“And you had no right to hurt anyone.”

“No, I didn’t.” He sighs again. “I just don’t want to lose everyone I have now. I promised myself I wouldn’t. And then I fucked up. Again. Because I never know how to control my temper.”

Kanaya looks at him. Really looks at him. At his baggy hoodie and the dark shapes under his eyes, and the small wounds on his hands from how he’s broken his skin from picking at it. He’s a tired boy, not an entitled, violent, megalomaniac anymore. He’s learned, and has been trying, and is still trying.

He stills when she reaches out and pats his head, gently smoothing out his hair.

“You’ve grown.”

Eridan breaks. He brings his hands to his face, furiously wiping his tears away as he starts to sob. Kanaya says nothing, only wraps her arms around him, and listens to him cry.