right there where you left it, lying upside down
The teens spend some time resting and recovering at the Oak-Swallows-Garcia household.
It's been days, and Taylor hasn't said a word.
[title from everything stays from adventure time]
for @cookies-over-yonder (yes, me. i wrote this for me. fuck.)
ao3
“How—how are you guys? I—I—I’m… I’m—I’m not fine… but—but I’m… just…”
Normal sucks in a breath and swipes at his tears. Sparrow squeezes his shoulder. There’s fresh burn scars scattered across his body, but his eyes are open, and he’s breathing, and he’s alive, and stable—physically anyway—and that’s really all she could ask for. It’s been days. She doesn’t know how many. She doesn’t think anyone does. Lark isn’t happy, and neither is she. The kids need to rest.
And one of them is dead .
A backyard burial without their own parents. Lark thought it was unnecessary and that they were just losing time. Sparrow thinks he’s the only one who didn’t cry.
“I’m, uh… I guess I’m okay, Norm,” Scary answers, still holding his hand like it's his last lifeline. Sparrow isn’t sure she’s let go at all, or if she ever will.
Her voice is shaking like her hands, and her eyes are wide. No tears now, but her face is red from the way there were earlier.
She spares a quick glance to Link before bringing her gaze back to Normal, and then to the Doodler— Dood , lying in Normal’s lap. Asleep? Can it sleep?
She’s been pressed up against Normal nonstop, leaning on him, laying on him, like an eldritch weighted blanket.
“Yeah, same,” Link says, though the way he’s been anxiously wringing his hands together for the past few hours says otherwise. It… reminds Sparrow a little of Grant. The anxious mannerisms, the inflections of his voice, it’s… he’s left an imprint. For sure.
“Taylor?” Normal asks, glancing over at the kid half in his sleeping bag, half sitting up against the wall with a pillow wrapped in his arms.
And there’s nothing but silence.
At first, Sparrow thinks he’s asleep, but through the darkness there’s the faint glow of his sclera. A trait Sparrow knew well from Nicky. The demonic glow seems to have passed down, reflected in little Taylor. Normal’s spare clothes seem to fit him a lot nicer than the other two, probably since he’s quite short in stature.
“Taylor?” Link echoes. They’re all looking at him now, and still, he doesn’t say a word.
Link reaches out a hand and taps Taylor’s ankle.
He’s awake, eyes wide and staring straight ahead. His breathing is slow and steady, but still, he’s not responding.
…
Come to think of it, Taylor’s quite chatty, and yet Sparrow isn’t sure he’s spoken since they got inside the FBI’s headquarters.
He hasn’t said a word since Hermie…
Oh, Taylor…
The others glance at each other worriedly. Sparrow puts up a hand when she sees them start to move closer to him—crowding wouldn’t be the best idea.
Instead, Sparrow lets herself leave Normal’s side only for a moment, and she crawls over to him. Taylor’s eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly agape, revealing the point of a fang. His lips are horribly chapped and bloody—some of that blood looks fresh.
“Taylor,” Sparrow says so low it could almost be a whisper, lifting a hand to his shoulder, before placing it down slowly for little chance of startling him. “Can you hear me?”
Taylor blinks and continues staring off.
Sparrow thinks she might cry again. Had he been dissociating this whole time and she hadn’t noticed?
She squeezes Taylor’s shoulder and starts to run her hand up and down Taylor’s arm.
“Hey, okay, just listen to me, hon. I know it’s really scary, but you’re safe right now. I need you to try and focus on me.”
Taylor still shows no sign of acknowledgement.
“What’s wrong with him?” Scary asks, matching Sparrow’s volume.
“He’s just in shock,” she answers, though she’s not sure what she can do anymore. Grounding techniques… many used and many forgotten…
“Lincoln, could… you get me an ice pack from the freezer?”
He nods, and he’s off immediately.
Here’s to hoping that’ll work, she thinks, carefully prying Taylor’s hands away from the pillow and holding them in her own.
Link returns swiftly with the ice pack and she takes it, lets go of Taylor briefly to wrap it inside a loose pillowcase, and places it in his hands, holding the backs of them steady, making sure he can feel the ice.
It’s something that worked for Lark growing up, she remembers. Something about strong physical sensations pulling you out of your head and back to the present.
Taylor’s gaze breaks away from whatever distant spot it was locked on, and he’s looking at their hands and the ice. That’s good. This is good.
“Can you feel that, Taylor?” she asks.
“‘S cold…” he mumbles, his voice so small, so fragile, she almost can’t hear it.
“It is. Keep focusing on it, okay?”
Taylor closes his eyes, and his hands start to shake. Sparrow suspects it isn’t purely from the cold.
Especially when it spreads. Anxious trembles running across his body. After a while, he speaks again.
“I…” he mumbles, opening his eyes, “Wha…”
He looks at Sparrow. And actually at her. Not past her. Not through her.
“Can you hear me?” she asks again.
“Ye…yeah… hi…”
“Hey, kiddo.”
Taylor looks at the walls, and then at the floor, and then at the ceiling, and then out the window. “Um…”
“We’re at your friend Normal’s house. We’ve been staying here for a little bit,” she tells him, sensing his confusion.
“Right. I… I knew that…” he says, looking over at Link, then Scary, then Normal. Sparrow takes her hands and slides them up and down his arms once more, when he starts another question…
“Where’s… where’s—”
He cuts himself off with a sharp gasp, and oh, it hurts .
He’s just a kid.
They’re all kids .
Sparrow thinks she might cry.
Taylor stands up fast, dropping the ice and breathing faster, and Sparrow is quick to catch him when he starts tipping over. His body temperature much higher than before, much like Nicky when he’d start to panic.
“Let’s sit back down,” she says, guiding him back to the sleeping bag. He’s hyperventilating now.
“That—Hermie—tha… that’s… that wasn’t real, right?” he asks between breaths.
“Taylor, hey, slow dow—”
“It wasn’t, right? ” he asks again, his voice gaining more strength however strained it might be.
Sparrow doesn’t know what to say.
“I mean—he’s, like, freakishly resilient! Or—or—or—or just lucky… either… either way! There’s no way!” he continues, yelling now, locking eyes with everyone one by one and bordering on hysteria. “Why aren’t you guys saying anything!?”
Scary starts, “Taylor—”
“We buried him in the backyard,” Link finishes.
Taylor lets out a choked squeak sort of noise, and the waterworks start. It’s not sobs, just a steady stream of tears as the frantic breaths continue. “Maybe it was a—a—another scam…?”
“It’s been days, Taylor,” Scary says.
“ Days? ”
“Ye—”
Before Scary can finish her sentence, Taylor is booking it out the door and into the yard, nearly tripping over himself but stumbling out nonetheless.
“Taylor!” two simultaneous calls from Link and Scary as they get up and chase after him.
Sparrow’s about to follow when she sees her son has stayed put.
Curled in on himself.
Crying.
It’s something she’s seen much of lately, and every time, more of her shatters.
Dood stirs, and turns to wrap his arms around Normal’s waist. The purple static is exceedingly hard to look directly at, but Sparrow’s heart aches nonetheless.
She just wants to make it all go away…
“Oh my god!”
“Taylor, stop! ”
Screams from the backyard.
Sparrow runs out.
Taylor is squirming in Link’s grip, breathing harder and faster than before.
“ Let me go! ” he screams, punching Link in the arm repeatedly with dirtied fists—
Dirtied fists…?
Sparrow’s gaze slips from Taylor to Scary, who’s standing in front of the grave with her arms outstretched, like she’s guarding it. And the grave… oh…
It’s a mess.
The flower has toppled over, and bits of dirt are spread around it.
Oh.
Oh, Taylor .
“ Ow! ” Link shouts. Taylor is kicking at his legs now.
“Fucking— let go! ” Taylor screams again, and the sheer volume could wake up the whole of San Dimas.
“I won’t. You’re—you’re not stable right now, man!”
Taylor lets out a whine, and Link yelps in pain, claw-like nails digging into the flesh of his arms.
“Put me—put me down!” he whines. His face is red, he’s trembling worse, and he’s sucking in breaths like he’s trapped underwater and his lungs have lost their air.
“Taylor, breathe !” Link shouts, his voice strained. Blood trickles down his arm from where Taylor’s piercing the skin.
“Let me go!”
“You know that I won’t.”
Taylor only wheezes in response, pulling his hands away for a moment, revealing bloodied nails, before feebly attempting to pry Link’s arms off him once more.
“Taylor, listen to me,” Link says, holding him tighter and taking on a gentler tone, “stop fighting, it’s not worth it.”
Somehow, this calms him some—well, it stops him from actively attacking.
His head tips forward a little, and his eyes start to droop.
“Taylor, hey, hey, hey, breathe. Breathe. You’re gonna pass out,” Link says, turning Taylor around so he’s pressed up against Link’s chest, and taking an exaggerated breath in for Taylor to follow. He doesn’t.
“But…” he whines.
“There’s no use,” Scary says, taking a step closer to the two. “He’s gone, and I don’t think… looking at his body will change that. It might just make you throw up.”
Taylor lets out a small squeak, and, at last, a sob rips through him.
And another. And another. And another.
A cacophony of sobs becomes muffled in an instant when Link holds him closer, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back, his eyes glassy with newfound tears. Scary holds his hand in one of hers and rubs his arm with her other, tears sliding down her face as well.
Sparrow approaches the grave.
She moves the dirt back where it belongs, restoring the even surface it had before, and she’s careful to pick up the flower and not hurt it when she replants it, upright and steady, patting down the dirt around it to keep it secure.
She hopes this didn’t disturb their rest, but if it did, she hopes they know how much Taylor cares.
