Link to article: No Longer, part 2.
:scp-wiki:component:preview
:scp-wiki:component:license-box
:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end
===== [[include :scp-wiki:component:preview text= The start of a new chapter. ]] ===== [[>]] [[module rate]] [[/>]] [[=]] + Part 2: Home [[/=]] “Do you trust them?” Sprocket said to Athena. “These people you've been keeping a secret from us.” He checked his rear-view mirror now and then to ensure that his friends—Markus and Mikhail—in the backseat were safe, minus Athena, who was conversing with him in the passenger seat. It was supposed to be Athena's turn to drive for the past hour, but Sprocket didn't mind driving a bit longer; she was exhausted and needed more rest after being on the road for a few hours. It was dark outside, and the road Sprocket had been driving on was lonely, desolate, and only the cowl of darkness smothered them. Looking to his left and right, he saw nothing but a wall of trees, but he was just being cautious, checking to make sure they weren’t being stalked. Athena had promised him and the rest of the group before this drive that individuals were waiting for them there, people with born abilities like them who wanted to help them escape the Foundation, at the laboratory around the Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve. He had a hard time believing it, trusting in outsiders, trusting in people wanting to help, but Athena's persistence won over other people's votes to check them out—he swallowed his disdain. Athena was directing him where to go. He glanced at Athena as he drove, silent, looking out the window with an inhuman stillness, like a gargoyle. She was wearing a hoodie that was two sizes too large, way too tight trousers, and mismatched shoes from different brands. Athena inhaled sharply. “You can trust them, Sprock. I don’t get why you’re being so defensive about this—I know we are running from the Foundation and such, but these people are trustworthy. Just open your heart a little bit. This could be our chance.” Sprocket knew Athena was a smart woman who had been cautious in the past about trusting folks outside of their circle, but something about this made his stomach turn. There were countless reasons not to trust people outside of their group; these people they were meeting were no different. Why were they being sought out specifically by these people Athena had been talking to? To help? It felt too much like a trap to him, luring them in with the promise of finding a home. “I trust you, but I just don’t get why you won’t tell us exactly who they are,” Sprocket said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I trust you with my life, but the fact that you’ve been so… secretive about it makes me nervous.” "I understand, and I apologize. But secrecy is the reason we might be able to escape the Foundation permanently this time—no more running. We'll finally be in a place where, as they guaranteed me, there will be others like us!" Athena spoke in a delighted tone. They wanted nothing more than to settle down; everyone did, but they were more optimistic about it than Sprocket was. “The Foundation has people like us, too. I want to make sure that you know where I’m coming from,” Sprocket said. “I love you guys, and after what happened to Amira, I…” Sprocket attempted to keep his cool, biting his lower lip and holding back tears just behind his eyes. Amira, a former member of the group, served as its leader for several years before making a disastrous mistake: trusting an outsider. The person they trusted was subsequently shown to be involved with the Foundation, resulting in Amira's death. Heartbroken, Sprocket had to take up that role. "I miss her, too," Athena remarked, glancing out the car window with a sorrowful expression on her face. "I understand that trusting people who are not us is risky, but I am confident that we can trust these people. When I met with them, there were four of them, and they could have killed or captured me at that time. But they didn't; they wanted to help and see us have better lives. You know that's all I want for us." Sprocket looked at Markus and Mikhail sleeping in the back seat through the mirror. He shook his head until it morphed into a nod, biting his pride with acquiescence, and gripped the wheel tightly. “I trust you, and if you trust them… then so do I. I love you and the rest of the gang; I just want to protect you all.” “Thank you, Sprock. We need to—” Sprocket was looking to his left, to the trees. He noticed a flash of light, followed by a loud popping sound. Then, his driver's side window exploded, scattering shards of glass across the front of the car like a bomb and causing minor cuts on his face and Athena's. Something had struck Sprocket's shoulder, and he was starting to feel a searing sensation that washed over him as if burning coal was placed on his skin. Sprocket jerked the steering wheel, causing the car to veer off-road—Athena was able to grab the wheel and help the car get back on track before it crashed into the ditch. Markus and Mikhail woke up; a panicked look spread across their faces as they kept their heads low. “My fucking arm! God damn it!” Sprocket said with a yelp, blood was running down his arm as it dripped onto himself and his seat. He kept his one good arm on the wheel as he tried to keep the car straight. “What the hell is happening?” Markus asked in his deep Southern accent, their voice panicked like an animal trapped in a corner, hyperventilating. "Is that the foundation?" Oh my god, isn't it? "They found us!" Athena said, keeping their head low. Mikhail turned to Markus, who was asking in sign language what was going on. Markus signed to them about what Athena had said. Mikhail grasped the back of their head, causing their body to shake and eliciting a faint whimper of dread, shaking their head. Sprocket slammed on the throttle as additional gunshots sounded out, some of which impacted the car and broke more windows. "I knew you should not have believed them! It's Amira all over again. Goddamn it, Athena!" "No, no! I used my ability to read their emotions and thoughts. I know they're innocent! The Foundation must have overheard or stalked us somehow; I know they didn't set us up!" Athena murmured, flinching when bullets struck the car. Everyone in the car but Sprocket kept their heads down; he kept his up just enough to see the road ahead, steering the car from side to side to avoid getting hit. Bullets continued to strike the car, eventually hitting one of the tires. Sprocket managed to keep the car on the road after the tire popped, causing him to drift slightly. He attempted to use his other arm, but the bullet that had struck his shoulder made it difficult to raise it without searing pain pulsating throughout. As Sprocket was trying to evade the Foundation ambush, he noticed a bright light coming from deep within the forest line just ahead, with the trees pushed to the side as if they were made of paper. The shimmering light redirected itself and began to veer towards the car, blinding Sprocket, who was having difficulty seeing because it stung his eyes, making it hard for him to drive. And it wasn't until the light neared him that he got a glimpse of what was barreling towards them. It was an armored semi-truck, and before Sprocket had time to react, it smashed into the car. ------ “No!” Sprocket sat up abruptly, breathing rapidly, and sweat was rolling down the sides of his face. He checked himself for signs of bleeding or new injuries but discovered none. He noticed that he was sans a shirt and that his previously injured shoulder was bandaged in gauze. He saw that an intravenous needle was placed in one of his arms and followed the tube to see it connected to an IV drip. Sprocket then realized he was lying on a bed, one massive enough to cover a quarter of the room he was in. He felt a rush of panic run through his chest as he looked around, expecting to find himself in a torture room or jail cell. His eyes darted as he scanned the area. However, to Sprocket’s surprise, it appeared to be a normal room. The lights had a mellow, warm glow that ensured they weren't too bright in the room but still allowed everything to be seen. The walls were constructed of wood, and the aroma of oak was delightful as it roused something beneath the brine within Sprocket. //Where the hell am I?// he thought to himself. The door to the room he was in slowly opened, allowing light from beyond the veil to enter as if it were the curtain being slowly opened. Sprocket scooted back in the bed till he struck the headboard, curling up and making himself as small as possible, ripping the IV from his arm in the process. A body poked through the door once it was halfway open. It was Travis. Sprocket saw that they looked like they were about to explode with the amount of stress in their eyes as they swept the room—they wore a more casual outfit than the last time Sprocket saw them. When their gaze fell on him, Travis went wide-eyed with incredulity. “Holy shit, you’re awake,” Travis said as he entered the room, took the chair that was at the computer desk, and placed it next to the bed, sitting down closest to Sprocket. “I—… this is amazing! I was so worried when you weren’t waking up. It’s just been—I’m happy to see you alive.” It looked like they wanted to say more, their facial features contorting into an array of emotions, a wheel of color being spun with no sign of stopping. The way Travis was acting reminded Sprocket of Amira. She had been the group's kind mother figure, going out of her way to ensure that everyone's needs were met first. And as he saw Travis do the same, having that caring and worrying attitude, he understood the emotion he was experiencing was one of safety. But was he able to trust it? “Where are we?” Sprocket said. “Our home. That’s where you are. Still in Illinois—Springfield to be more exact,” Travis said, leaning in close as a Cheshire grin was beginning to grow on their face, their leg was bouncing. “I told you that I was going to bring you home—OH! One moment, please.” Sprocket watched as Travis dug into his pocket, pulling out a phone. They began to text someone, their eyes jumping back and forth between their phone and him. “Who are you texting?” Sprocket asked, tilting his head to the side. "Amelia, our group doctor, I’m letting her know that you are awake. She’s downstairs cooking some food right now. I’ll ask her to save you a plate and come check on you when she’s finished. She’s been the one caring for you ever since you’ve been out," Travis said as he finished his text and put his phone away. Sprocket furrowed his brow, fluttering his eyes. “Since I’ve been out? What does that mean? How long has it been?” “Three days.” //Three days?// Sprocket shook his head, craning his neck forward with his mouth open. “Wait, wait. I was asleep for three whole days?” he said, disbelief clear in his voice. Had it been that long? He thought to himself. It had not felt like it to him; it felt different, like only a moment had passed since he was at the apartment building until now. “Yeah, three whole days. No matter what we did, we just couldn't wake you up,” Travis said, placing one leg over the other. “I was half scared to death, thinking that maybe you’d gone into a coma. Amelia assured me that you just needed to catch up on some rest. Glad I was wrong.” Sprocket was staring at the IV drip again, feeling the pain that had been creeping up on him since he yanked it out of his arm. He did feel like he was more refreshed, no longer fighting every waking moment to keep his eyes open, still tired, but less so. It dawned on Sprocket that Travis wasn’t lying; they did want to help him. “I’m sorry, Travis. For doubting you. It’s just been so—what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for pointing the gun at you when you found me. It’s just been so long since I placed my trust in anyone, not since—” “Your friends died.” “Yeah,” Sprocket said as his voice dropped to an inaudible level, looking down at the floor. "Look," Travis said, placing his hand on Sprocket's leg. "I am truly sorry for what happened to them. I wish we could have saved them, been faster. But we saved you, and there is some solace to be found in that." Sprocket felt a primal need to escape out the door and disappear as Travis touched him, sending a jolt of lightning through his spine and yanking his legs away. Being around strangers (including Travis, whom he felt a little more at ease among) terrified him; he had spent his entire life running away from others. Sprocket took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and kept reminding himself that Travis had no intention of harming him and only wanted to help. "How old are you? If you don't mind if I ask." Travis said, pulling their hand away as Sprocket jerked his leg. “I, uh, I don’t know. That hasn’t been something I’ve, um… kept track of,” Sprocket said, his eyes darting around the room as he struggled to remember. The past few years had been one massive blur, with each day, week, month, and year slowly morphing into one long nightmare. “I don’t remember.” “Oh, uh,” Travis said, hissing through clenched teeth. “Well, do you remember how old you were when you first started running?” Sprocket looked away from Travis; his gaze had been dragged to the floor like someone was forcing his head. That was the one thing he remembered, like it was yesterday, a stain on his brain that was never to be removed: the day he was no longer allowed to be a kid but a monster in everyone else’s eyes. “I was thirteen.” There was a brief stretch of quiet during which Travis had not responded; Sprocket found the silence uncomfortable. He managed to lift his gaze from the floor to Travis. Travis had been staring at him, face devoid of color, as if they were watching a car accident or had seen a ghost—somewhere between sobbing and screaming. Travis got out of the chair after a few moments and walked across the room to the computer desk, clutching the edge and leaning against it while their nails bit into the wood. “I’m sorry if I offended you!” Sprocket said, terrified of the prospect of causing anyone trouble, feeling tears as they were starting to well up in his eyes. “I—I didn’t mean to make you upset. Was it something I said?” “No, no, no. You did nothing wrong; you did nothing at all.” Travis said they let out a stifled breath before turning around to face him. “You were a fucking kid when you—That’s—I promise you that we’ll make those fuckers pay for what they did to you. I swear on my life, Sprocket.” Sprocket felt a cold snap rush through him as if he were standing in the dead of winter, taken aback by what Travis had just said. “I never told you that name before. How do you know that name?" Travis had a regretful expression on their face, plain and obvious, biting down on their lips as if to keep themselves from talking more. With a muttered curse, they pinched the bridge of their nose and shook their head. Sprocket surmised that Travis had said too much. “How do you know my name?” Sprocket said as his voice grew into a shout. “Fuck it, I knew this was bound to come up—Athena, we had been talking with her for some time before you guys made that trip to the laboratory near the Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve,” Travis said, looking at Sprocket with eyes filled with remorse. “We were the people she was talking about; she told us a lot about you all. We also got ambushed.” Sprocket’s brain was having trouble processing what Travis had said, even though he had heard it clearly as the day shone in the sky. He felt his blood beating like drums in his ears. His chest pounded as his heart tried to escape from its bony prison. His hands trembled. His feet were numb. And as though he were peering through a fish-eye lens, his vision was distorted. He had his fist clenched so tightly that the flesh was breaking from his unkempt nails. Vomit rose in his throat, and he began to heave as breathing became the most difficult thing in the world. Bending over, Sprocket found himself in a sitting fetal position, watching the tears that dripped from his face splash onto the fine silk of the blanket he had been sleeping on. Athena was telling the truth; they were going to meet up with Travis and their friends. Sprocket was crushed; he felt entirely to blame for his friend’s demise. Their death may have been prevented if he had been listening to Athena more and placed greater faith in her. However, he was too self-centered and distrustful following Amira's death. “She was telling the truth… I doubted her. Oh god, I’m a terrible friend, and now they’re dead because I didn’t believe her,” Sprocket said to himself more so than to Travis, stumbling over his words like they were tumbling down a hill, scratching at his scalp as hair began to fall out. “I got them all killed…” “Hey, hey, hey. It’s not your fault; it never was. It was our fault for not seeing the ambush earlier; we should’ve been the ones who made sure you guys made it safe. From what Athena told us, you did everything you could when Amira passed, and you did your best even when things started to fall apart,” Travis said as he sat next to Sprocket on the bed. “It’s not fair to blame yourself; you did everything you could.” “I was supposed to protect them… After Amira died, I—I didn’t know what I was doing. We were so lost, and I just wanted to keep us together,” Sprocket said as his vision became a blur, placing his hands in his face. “I didn’t even get a chance to bury them…” Travis grabbed Sprocket and yanked him into a hug. Sprocket didn’t try to push away and didn’t try to run or scream. He simply held onto them as if he were holding onto a buoy for dear life. “You did your best,” Travis said, caressing the back of his head. "But they're dead; I couldn't save them," Sprocket murmured, pushing his nails into Travis without realizing it. "I should have been stronger, but I was too weak to save them. "...Oh god, I'm so sorry..." “You’re not weak, Sprocket. You all survived for years when Amira was around and when she was gone because you are strong. Under extreme circumstances, you did your best to protect your friends, even when the situation was impossible. I’m sorry that we couldn’t save them, but you can’t blame yourself; you did your best.” Travis said, the sound of his voice shook as they were trying to keep their composure. “I did?” Sprocket said, looking into Travis’s eyes, pleading like a dog. Ever since he had assumed leadership of the group while his friends were still alive, Sprocket was aware that he had undertaken a lot more responsibility than he was capable of handling. He stepped up because he knew that someone had to look after the group after she passed away, to be that guiding hand and parental figure. “You did, and I’m sure that Amira would be proud of you. Again, I’m so sorry about everything, but now is the time to keep living on, for them.” Travis said, finally breaking the hug, wiping away Sprocket’s tears. “My mentor—he’s not a part of this group I’m with now—told me something that I like to tell people that we save: a man dies twice, once when he is buried and again when his name is spoken for the last time,” Travis spoke again; they were holding onto Sprocket’s shoulders. “My mentor said it meant that, although people die, memories won’t if they are remembered.” “He,” Sprocket paused for a moment to find the right words, sniffling and wiping away the remaining tears. “Sounded like he saw a lot of things.” “We all have; that’s why we do this, why we are a part of the Serpent’s Hand, and why we save people like you. And that’s why I was scared when I saw you point that damn pistol at your head,” Travis said, his face hardening but then softening up in the same moment. “Because I was afraid that your friends were going to die that second death.” A wave of regret washed over Sprocket. Thinking back on that, he realized how foolish it was to even entertain the idea of trying to commit suicide. But at the same time, it also felt like both the right and wrong answer. If someone had been standing in his shoes, they would have been bound to make that same decision. However, he knew that Travis was right, thinking about what he said, that he had to live on for the sake of his friends and keep them alive. “I’m sorry… I guess I wasn’t—I don’t know how to explain it. I was scared,” Sprocket said. “I can’t explain why I did that. I’m sorry.” “I know, and I can’t be mad at you, not fully at least. I’m just… happy we were able to find you before you were gone as well. I promise you that things will get better from here on out; just trust me, ok?” Travis said. “I trust you,” Sprocket said, and it was true. Travis was the first person he opened his heart to; he was thankful that he made that choice to trust them, just like Athena had wanted him to. However, there was something he had been wondering about since Athena first mentioned that people wanted to save them. “How did you guys find out about us? About my friends and me?” Sprocket asked. “When a group of people outplays the Foundation at every turn, people tend to talk, and that talk falls onto the ears of those who have them close to the ground,” Travis said as they let out a small chuckle. “We have known for over a year, but you guys were too fast for us to catch up.” A knock on the door interrupted Sprocket and Travis's conversation, and they both turned to see who it was. A man as tall as a skyscraper stood in the doorway, their eyes flame-amber like fire, their head nearly scraping the roof as they leaned down to squeeze themselves into the door frame. Sprocket felt uncomfortable seeing such a huge man, but when he turned to face Travis, they appeared to be fine, grinning at the massive man. "Hey, man," Travis said as they got off the bed and moved towards them. Travis and the tall man exchanged hugs momentarily. "I didn't expect you to come home so soon. How's Milo doing?" “She isn’t happy with how things turned out, but I got her to calm down; she’ll be out and about for a few hours, coming home later.” The tall man said. “I don’t think any of us are happy, either, about everything. She’ll be ok; just let her have her space.” Travis said. Sprocket was surprised when he heard this massive man speak. Their tone of voice had been a lot more high-pitched and reedier than he guessed: thin, tenor, or even falsetto-like. And to add, their soft-spoken manner and well-carried tone were a complete contrast to their imposing look, which made Sprocket more confused. No, or was it unexpected relief? “Sprocket, this is Quill. This guy is the leader of our little entourage and has been for a good seven years. This house—the one you and we are in—is his house.” Travis said as he was gesturing to the tall man. “Nice to meet you, and happy you’re here,” Quill said, bowing their head a little. “Glad to see that you are doing well, Sprocket.” “Thank you, uh, sir,” Sprocket said. Quill let out a little laugh, and they waved their hands dismissively. “Drop the ‘sir; we don’t do that here. We’re family; just call me Quill.” “Sorry, si—” Sprocket caught himself before he said sir again, biting down on his metaphorical tongue. “Quill. Won’t happen again.” “Don’t worry about that,” Quill said, giving him a toothy grin. “Look, Sprocket, I would love to talk to you more and hopefully explain how the Serpent’s Hand works and how the sect we are a part of operates, but right now I need to steal Travis away for a little. We have things to talk about. That's alright?” //Is he… asking me for permission?// Sprocket thought to himself. “Umm, sure. I don’t see why not.” Sprocket said, unsure of what else to say. “Great, just stay here. Amelia is bringing up some food soon.” Quill said. It all felt weird to Sprocket, the sudden shift from running for so long, hopping around from one disgusting place to the next, not having a place to sleep, to a place where he was put first, with guardian angels looking over him in his eyes. It was hard for him to ignore that feeling that was gnawing at the back of his head, that this was some sort of elaborate trap or drawn-out execution, that they were waiting for the right moment to kill him when he least expected it, but he also knew that it wasn’t the case. He knew adjusting to this new life was going to be hard for him, but around Travis, he felt safe, and he guessed that—although he had not met the rest of them—he was going to be safe around the rest given time. And Sprocket felt like he had to take that first step, the first act of trust in accepting the hand that so graciously saved him, to begin building that bridge with his new… family, and he knew how to do it. Sprocket felt his heart swell to three times its normal size, knowing that it had been so long since he used, or even heard, his true name. And as Sprocket watched Travis and Quill as they were starting to leave, he called out to them. “Wait!” Travis and Quill had stopped in their tracks, both craning their necks to look back at him with a curious look on their faces and raised brows. Sprocket felt his heart race at a million miles an hour. It was just a name, so why did it feel like he was about to explode? Like he stood on a stage in front of a crowd of a billion people. But he needed to do this, for him and his friends. “I… My name is Darius,” he said. “Darius Frost.” “Darius,” Travis repeated like a parrot trying out a new word its owner was trying to teach it. “Darius. I like that; it’s a nice name.” “Well, what would you like us to call you?” Quill said. The memory of Sprocket's final encounter with his real name—spoken by his family with hatred and venom, deprived of love and all he held dear, fear and anger in their eyes—flitted through his consciousness. He believed he was alone when he utilized his power at home, only using it when no one else was present. However, he had been so engrossed in his reverie that he had failed to notice that his parents were home, entering his room to invite him down for dinner. As soon as his powers had stopped, they entered just as his eyes were reshaping themselves, bright purple, piercing through the low light of his room. And the one thing burnt on his brain was seeing his father rushing back into his room, rifle in hand, after seeing his eyes change, fear in them as if they saw him as the devil given flesh, running him out of his own home. Since that day, Sprocket had despised hearing his true name, which carried memories of a wonderful life that turned into ruin in the blink of an eye. But now, he wished to give his true name another chance, another chance at making wonderful memories. He wanted to, needed to. Darius gave them a soft smile. “Darius.” “Welcome home, Darius,” Quill said, returning the smile. [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]