part two of the the the alien fic 👀👀👀
hate you hate you but not really tho i killed it. also check this out i managed to make it half canon.
part one
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IN ALL THE WORLDS OF A BROKEN GOD
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Picture this: you are standing on the stage of your dreams, and you are happy.
Picture this: you are surrounded by a light too bright to see, a wind too strong to feel, a sky too dark for any stars to shine within.
Picture this:
The air hangs stiff and heavy around you, like a curtain you can’t walk through. Your ears are ringing and your throat splits down the middle in a scream, but no sound comes out. When you open your eyes, you see a thousand things – you see a room, filled with soft light that comes from nowhere and planes of silver and blue, but you also see Seabrook in every angle and light, and the lights that hang in the sky, and the sea that washes into the shore without a care for the things happening beyond its lines, and a nightmare, and a nightmare, and a nightmare, and a-
You’re sure you’re in the room. You’re sure. Those are your feet. These are your eyes.
You’re sure? a voice asks in the corner of your mind. It is not your voice.
The floor slips out from underneath you and you are falling, falling, into a black abyss that yawns so wide and so deep that you can only hear your own screams reverberating back at you.
At the bottom is Seabrook, dark and peaceful and utterly still in the starlight that rains down from the not-sky. A shiver runs up your spine at the sight of home, because it is not like home at all; all around, people stand in the streets, staring upwards at the cardboard sky. Their faces are painted in horror and frozen in time – fear turns their limbs stiff, locking them into place even as their minds tear themselves apart.
WHERE IS IT.
Claws dig at you from the ether, dragging at something far harder to reach than your skin. Your head bursts with images; you try to get up and run, but every step carries you closer to the hands inside your skull, further from the escape you’re starting to believe doesn’t exist.
Seabrook flashes past your eyes; the beach, the main street, the statue in the centre of town. The new cheer pavilion you’d worked so hard for. Your friends stare at you from every corner with dead eyes. They’re screaming, but their mouths are still closed. When you look away, you see yourself through their eyes, your wild chest heaving as you disappear into the night.
WHERE IS IT.
“Why are you doing this?!” you cry, and then your body is not your own.
Someone cold sits at the wheel and locks your hands into chains. Someone burning with an old and ancient rage steps across the world with your feet. Someone smothering a soft light that burns within their black heart watches with fascination as your world slips by the window.
The carved walls of the wolf den. The graveyard of the power plant. The gaping hole in the middle of the school hall, the path underground, the door slamming shut, the-
WHERE IS IT.
WHERE IS IT.
WHERE IS IT.
Something was lost.
WHERE IS IT.
It glitters in your memory, not so bright and brilliant as a diamond, not so deep in colour as a precious gem. An old, strange thing from somewhere far away or long ago.
Something was found.
They jump as one, a thousand clutching hands dragging you down into the sea. You kick upwards, pry their fingers away – not that, not that, not that. Something too precious to lose again, something that cannot disappear off into the stars, because if one goes to the stars then many will go to the ground, and-
WHERE IS IT.
You are more than what you think you are.
Their hold snaps like a breaking chain, glass shattering in every direction from an unseen blow.
You blink.
A body slumps to their knees in front of you, forehead pressed into the damp grass as the rain begins to pour.
He sobs out loud, his tears soaking the ground beneath your feet. Wyatt, you think, but you cannot speak. Your feet won’t step forwards, your arms won’t reach out, so close, and yet so far away still. Where has he been? What has he seen, to no longer hold his head up high, to not stand between you and whatever is coming, as if he can shield you from any force that exists in this world?
In the distance, stars gather, lights blinking into existence and growing brighter and brighter, until it hurts to stare at them, until they are brighter than any sun or star or spotlight you have ever seen. They’re coming, says Wyatt, but when you look down at him he is still motionless on the ground, curled into himself like some broken, wilted thing. You think for a moment that you can feel the cold earth pressed against your face, the heat of your own breath against your cheeks, the sharp, jagged ache of a broken chest.
You think for a moment that you are standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the abyss. You think you are standing on the highway in the middle of the night, watching the forest burn down around you. You think the sky is made of diamonds, so bright that nothing else can be seen.
Not him.
The voice echoes clear in the air, the words repeating over and over and over again, and you are ripped from the dream and back to the empty plane you had been standing in before. A tree stands over you now, its branches hanging low around you like a shelter. The stars in the distance form into lithe bodies of glittering light.
Them.
“What do you mean?” you ask the sky that forms overhead, the tree that bends in a new-found breeze, the ground that trembles underfoot.
For everything, there is a nightmare to be found.
WHERE IS THE STONE.
Picture this: you are standing in a room filled with soft light that comes from nowhere and planes of silver and blue. You are looking for the thing that will guide you home, but everyone you ask tells you a home is something you cannot have. It makes you angry. It makes you want to break things. It makes you chase after a girl who reminds you of someone from long ago until her back is against a wall and her throat is in your hands.
Picture this: the earth opens up and the door slams shut and the building crumbles down upon everything that lies underneath. In the morning, you dig out the bodies it leaves behind before they can turn as hard as the brick and stone that buried them alive. In the morning you find a shard of stone that flickers with a strange and dying light, and in the forest a hundred monsters howl a mourning song to the blue, blue sky.
Goodbye.
Picture this: you are standing on the stage of your dreams, and you are happy.