To Know It By Name
Hello my lovely followers! Who’s ready for one last story for 2020?
I bring you this cute au that I wrote for The TSS Fanworks Collective Gift Exchange for @making-stuff-up! Hold on tight because I had a lot of fun making this and I might turn it into a series.
Summary: It knows exactly the reason why the Scientist threw another kid into Its container. It also knows exactly what It is NOT going to do, no matter what the cost to Itself. It’s not going to eat the new kid.
Words: 12072
TW: Unethical Experimentation, starvation, oxygen deprivation, dubious science stuff, mentions of eating someone (but not cannibalism because It’s a slime)
Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders
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They threw another kid in.
It doesn’t have eyes or ears, but It knows that feeling in the air like It knows Its own body. It can’t forget, no matter how much It tries to get rid of the knowledge. Which is ridiculous: something like It not wanting to keep and retain and hoard knowledge within itself? That’s unheard of. Unprecedented. Impossible.
Not allowed.
But then again, It’s pretty sure It's the only of its kind. So maybe that is heard of, that is precedented, that is possible. But It has no real way of knowing, because It’s all alone in Its container.
It hadn’t known about that before either. It wishes It could unlearn that too. Because now that It knows how alone It is, It’s able to feel lonely, too.
It hates feeling lonely. It makes It so very aware of how small Its container is, how smooth the walls are, how tightly the ceiling hatch is sealed, how cold and dark the room must be without anything there to keep It warm and give It light-- not that It can perceive temperature or light. It hadn’t known those things existed either, and It desperately wishes to get rid of that knowledge too.
Before the first time, It hadn’t craved a sun It had never felt, hadn’t craved a warmth of another It had never had, hadn’t craved a something more It hadn’t realized It was missing. Before the first kid, It had been happy-- although It hadn’t known that It had been happy because It hadn’t known what happiness was. Nor sadness. Nor Loneliness.
It hadn’t known what a wall was, what a floor, or a door or a container was. It had just been .
Nothing more and nothing less and It misses that time without emotions that It doesn’t know what to do with because It shouldn’t have emotions either.
It knows Its container very well, too well, and that makes Its insides twist and bubble and refuse to hold any type of shape. It knew that It’s in something called a “cell” because It is a “project”. It knew It was “created” and not “born”. It knew that It was “meant to be a weapon” and that if Its creators were caught It would “die”.
It doesn’t know how It can be “die” though. It knows It’s supposed to hurt, and cause pain, and be bad, but It doesn’t know that It can be hurt and feel pain and observe badness. The knowledge wracks through Its body again, causing It to lose Its precious partial hold on a compact form and turn back to a liquid despite Its best efforts.
((Effort is another thing It hadn’t known. It doesn’t know if It likes that knowledge or not. Effort leads It to have goals and goals lead It to have wants and wants lead It to the realization that It is trapped in a container It does not have the ability to get out of.))
But they threw another kid in here. It knows and It's upset about that-- or at least It thinks that is what this is. An emotion. It’s so hard to know because It is not made to have emotions and now It does and It has no way to show emotions.
The kid-- It thinks that is the best term for the other being, although It also is confused by words and language and time-- the kid that they threw in, came from the door on the ceiling, tumbling down a hatch, head over heels and landing in the middle of the container. It had lunged for the opening in the ceiling once It realized what had happened but It had been too slow and the hatch was closed.
It was alone with a kid now. In the dark and the cold.
It knew what It was supposed to do. It did not want to do it.
It knows where the kid is: still in the middle of the container unmoving leading It to think that maybe the fall had “die” the kid, or at least injured the kid so that they cannot move from where they are. It can tell by the amount of magic coming from the kid; It can feel the sudden increase of magic particles in the air, from how the magic is condensed in a singular spot in the middle of the room, from how his form spasms and quirks with the desire to absorb all the traces of magic.
((The kid was thrown in here for It. The magic was meant for It. Everything inside the container is Its, and Its alone, because It is all alone.))
The urge is called an “instinct” and that is part of Its job, part of Its reason for existing, part of It. The scientists that made It, made that instinct and they were proud of It, of how well It had come out, of how well It could move and attack and consume.
They didn’t understand. It envied how they didn’t understand.
It hadn’t understood before the first kid. Now It knew better. And part of It thinks the scientists should as well; they were humans too, weren’t they? Shouldn’t they, of all creatures, know? Shouldn’t the scientists that made It, that created life from nothing, created instinct from air, created un-”die”-ability from chemicals-- shouldn’t they know that once something is given to It, that thing becomes It?
The magic particles in the air shimmer and shake and buzz with energy. It feels like It's starving as It quivers in the corner of Its container: Its form is trying to split again, shifting and shaking and tearing itself apart from the inside as It does Its best to hold itself together. It doesn’t know what It will do if It lets Its atoms separate and fill the floor again, doesn’t know that the urge to wrap around the magical particles won’t take over Its thoughts, doesn’t know that It can trust itself not to catch the kid inside itself and hug, hug, squeeze, suck, eat, consume, be.
Even a small touch would be bad, It knows. It doesn’t want It to be bad, It doesn’t want to be bad. Even though It thinks that It was made with the purpose to be bad -- that is what it means to be illegal, right? That’s why if the scientists that created It get caught, It will be “die”. Because It is bad.
It doesn’t want to be bad.
Bad feels not-good.
It doesn’t know how to describe It any better. The differences between bad and not-good and “feeling”. It shouldn’t ever have a need to. It thinks that It's supposed to be mindless. It's supposed to be a tool. A weapon. A nightmare to scare anything that has magic.
It’s supposed to be a monster.
It doesn’t want to be a monster. It thinks that monsters don’t get to learn things, don’t get to observe the sun, don’t get to be good. Monsters hurt people.
It doesn’t want to hurt people anymore. Not again.
(Please no not again. Please, It’ll be good. Don’t make It do this--)
It can still feel the kid from before, doesn’t know how to stop feeling the kid from before. The first kid was so much. And they had given the kid to It and It hadn’t known any better. Now It’s both, and It hates being both, hates being the first kid, hates being itself.
It’s form shudders again, prickly, sluggish, like an itch that It can’t reach, although It doesn’t have itches because It’s body doesn’t have itches. It’s atoms spread out as if to taste the air, taste the floor, taste the situation that It and the new kid, the second kid, this kid that is not part of It, are in.
The kid is not moving, not really. It thinks that the kid is lying so still to “prank” it. It thinks that maybe the kid believes that if they don’t move, It will not know the kid is there. Which doesn’t make sense, because It knows the kid is there because of all the magic the kid gives off, which It can’t not see. The magic is in the air and it tastes like… like…
It doesn’t know how to explain taste because It hasn’t tasted very many things before. Magic tastes better than rocks, better than iron and limestone and salt, better than leaves, better than plants both dead and alive, and better than meat, cooked, raw, cut up and still on the bone, flesh dissolving as it’s body picks the foreign thing apart atom by atom and absor--
Magic tastes like something better, something sweeter, It thinks. Although It doesn’t really understand the concepts of “sweet” and “sour”. Magic is unpleasant in the air, It knows. Magic causes Its body to quiver and shake and It struggles to focus on holding form together, because of the urge to wrap itself around the magic and eat. Magic buzzes and burns along Its outer particles. It thinks It would feel a lot like being constantly poked at no matter how much It begs for the poking to stop. But once It’s around the magic particles, once It plucks and pulls the magic particles into itself and chews on them Magic tastes good. It tastes pleasant.
It doesn’t quite know if that is because the poking has stopped or if It actually likes taking the magic particles for itself. It doesn’t think It wants to know. Not really.
It thinks that It uses magic too, a bit. Because It takes magic into itself, that must mean that It uses magic too, right? It doesn’t know if that’s really how everything works and there is never anyone to ask, never any way to ask. It’s horribly curious in that way-- It wants to know, but It doesn’t want to ask in the only way It really knows how to ask at all.
It thinks that’s unfair. Why did the scientists make It this way? Why did the scientists make It at all?
The magic is there and it’s buzzing and poking and It doesn’t like that it's there, but the magic is part of the kid. It doesn’t think It can eat the magic without….
It doesn’t want to try either. It grabs at Its atoms again, pulling them into itself and making It as small as It can be. Small and solid and held together. It thinks that magic particles help It do this the best. The magic in itself helps It hold Its atoms in place exactly how It wants them to be. It’s a lot harder when It doesn’t have magic particles-- but again that’s the whole effort thing. It hadn’t cared that holding itself together had been harder until It realized there was such a thing as being easy.
And It hadn’t had the realization until It had eaten the last thing that had been thrown into its container without realizing that the thing had been alive and breathing and screaming and begging It to stop.
It wishes It could have stopped. It doesn’t know if the bad emotion It feels all the time is from the first kid, or if that’s Its own emotion that It’s just now aware It can have. Either way It is both now and so It feels and It knows how bad It was.
And now the scientists want It to be bad again, don’t they?
The first kid had been screaming and begging for It to stop-- It knows because all of the first kid belongs to It now, all of the first kid is part of It now. Did the scientists not hear that kid crying? Did they not hear that kid begging?
Did they not feel bad about what they did?
But then again, they hadn’t really done anything, right? It is the bad thing, the monster that felt and consumed and ate. It had done everything, not the scientists that created It so the scientists didn’t really have a reason to feel bad.
It doesn’t want to feel bad, so It's not going to eat this time. Then they’ll know that It’s not bad anymore.
That is how everything works, right? It feels like there is something more, something that It doesn’t understand, something that It doesn’t know, but It knows everything that the first kid knew before the first kid did the “die”. It knows all the thoughts and the feelings and It can think and feel too now! And It thought and felt and It came to this decision.
No more eating.
Even if It wants to know why the new kid isn’t moving. Even if It wants the magic particles to stop poking it. Even if It wants to learn and understand and experience and the only way to do that is to eat--
There’s dirt on the ground. Itty, bitty, tiny clumps of barely recognizable minerals-- iron and magnesium and potassium-- mixed in with forgotten remains of microorganisms and water and air. There’s dirt on the ground that came from somewhere else-- somewhere where the other things are, where plants live, where the sun touches. It yanks back Its atoms frantically because It hadn’t noticed that It had let itself fall apart and It got close enough to eat the dirt that came off the kid during the fall.
It almost ate the kid.
It almost ate the kid, again. It was inches from them, centimeters from touching, millimeters from wrapping around and squeezing and holding and plucking apart the kid next to It because It was so busy thinking about how much It wants to know things that It wasn’t paying attention to the fact that Its not ever going to know those things.
Iron and magnesium and potassium-- those are part of It now, too. So small, so little and It wants to scream at itself for getting so close to the magic particles that It doesn’t want, shouldn’t want, can’t want because despite being in Its container the kid is not supposed to be eaten by it.
Small, tiny, solid, It tells itself. Away from the kid, don’t go near, not for it.
Surely when the scientists realize that the kid is in here, when It won’t go near the kid, when It doesn’t eat the kid-- surely then the scientists will get the kid from there? Maybe they’ll even realize It’s good now and will let It out too.
Maybe It can experience the sun like the first kid did?
(But thats stupid, right? It’s a monster. Monsters aren’t supposed to want to be out in the sun.)
It doesn’t even have a body that can experience the sun, does it? It knows that the sun is made of light, and It doesn’t think that there’s any light in Its container. What if the light hits It and It becomes “die”? It doesn’t know what Its body will do if It becomes “die”.
Because the first kid had become “die” and then It had known all these things about the world outside Its container, about what It was, about what It was supposed to. The first kid had become It and now It was both of them. If the light hit It and It becomes “die” would the light then become both It and the first kid? Or would It go back to not knowing anything and It might eat another human or magician or a creature?
Would It be bad again? It doesn’t want to be bad again.
It doesn’t think the scientists know that It doesn’t want to be bad. After all, how could It tell them without having a voice? Or hands to write with? It had tried to make Its body hold the shape of letters, but It takes so much concentration and focus and It can’t do that for more than a few minutes before Its atoms want to move and explore and break apart.
It only kinda knows how to spell anyway. The first kid only was always told he was an okay speller-er.
It thinks, though, that human bodies are much easier to hold than letters. They’re more complicated, but It knows human bodies because It’s both itself and human now. Sometimes when It feels really lonely It likes to fit back into Its human form and hug itself a little-- although It can’t really feel a hug. Hugs are supposed to feel good, and so It thinks that by pretending to hug itself It can pretend to feel good.
(Hugs are supposed to be warm. It wonders what warm feels like. It knows it's like fire, like food, like a billion blankets in the middle of a cold winter. Hugs mean everything is okay, everything is safe, everything is good because nothing bad ever happens during a hug--)
It’s human form feels just right, although It knows that It is small, that It could be bigger if It wanted to, that It could be like the towering scientists, but every time It tries to be bigger something is wrong. It’s not sure what is wrong, but something is weird: It’s “arms” are too long, It’s “legs” too short, It’s face is upside down or sideways or backwards.
In the smaller form, It knows exactly how things are supposed to fit together. Of course It does! It’s It.
It shifts to that form and solidifies, so Its standing-- which is always a little weird, a little different, a little silly. It’s balance is different when It stands on two legs rather than splay itself across the walls or the ceiling. It doesn’t need to push or pull or hold with so much concentration, but It needs to balance.
It doesn’t do that very often.
It doesn’t like this. Being on two legs. It thinks It should be better at balance, maybe be able to walk like the first kid had been able to, like It should be able to, now that It and the first kid are the same. But It tries to move just one leg and then It wobbles over and falls like a baby.
It’s not a baby.
It’s not really sure why babies and falling is a bad thing, but the first kid seemed to think so. The first kid did not like being called a baby, but he did cry and fall a lot. It feels something bad in It’s chest when It wobbles and falls to the ground. Like It wants to “throw up” although It doesn’t have a mouth or anything inside It to push away from Itself, unless It counted… the rest of It.
It wavers on the floor, checking the magic particles in the air. They’ve moved back to the corner of Its container, farther away-- It thinks the first kid did that too, although Its own memories are fuzzy from then because It hadn’t been remembering or thinking or feeling when It was too busy just being. It remembers much more clearly the first kid’s memories: he had been taken by the scientists from his home with all the other kids that didn’t have parents and the scientists had told him he wasn’t allowed to talk, but he hadn’t listened. So then the scientists had pushed him into the room with It and he had said he was sorry and that he wouldn’t do it again and he would be so so quiet just please let him out before It gets him, please PLEASE PLEASE--
It wants to cover Its ears and get the voice to stop, the voice that isn’t Its but also is, because It’s both now. It wants to make the words stop, because the words are what make It hurt, aren’t they? It didn’t care before It knew what the words meant and now It does. It knows and It wishes It didn’t.
Covering Its ears doesn’t make the words stop making sense. Covering Its ears doesn’t make the memory go away. Covering Its ears doesn’t make It hurt less.
It doesn’t even know what covering Its ears is supposed to do. The first kid seemed to think that the action would make everything better, but It doesn’t think it does anything. The hurt in Its center is still there, after everything, under everything, through everything.
It hurts when It thinks about the sun and warmth and a hug. It hurts when it thinks about the first kid that won’t get those things ever again.
It hurts when It thinks that It is both now, and It won’t get those things either.
“--se don’t.”
It freezes on the floor-- but not really because It's not able to “freeze” like It's made of ice, like It’s so cold that moving is hard, like It can feel temperature enough for that to stop It from doing anything. It stops moving because It that It feels something.
Something weird. It's different from the hurt, different from the loneliness, different from the poking of the magic particles in the air. It feels like… like...
Like the air atoms It’s always taking in are moving quicker, faster, weirder. Like they’re vibrating. Like they’re dancing around. Like they’re doing things deliberately.
“Please.”
There it is again!
“Don’t, please please please.”
Again! Different but the same? Like a pattern. It thinks that It knows that pattern of vibrations. It waits for them to happen again--
“Please. Remus. I’m sorry I won't leave again pleasepleaseplease--”
Words! It’s feeling words! Real words that move through the air and make wobbles in the atoms so that other beings can communicate! It’s just like the first kid!
It's just… like…
Those are just like the same vibrations as the first kid.
Oh.
“Please, I’m sorry! Remus, please! Help!”
The magic particles buzz like jabs in Its body, the words vibrate like thousands of needles into Its ever-changing form making It hard to hold together. It hurts, It hurts, It hurts hurts hurts--
“NO WAIT STOP!” The words screech from the second kid. “PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!”
The magic particles move suddenly, quickly, scrabbling across Its container to get as far from It as possible, which isn’t really far at all because when It goes formless It can fill the entire floor by itself. The kid is moving to put as much space between them and It as possible.
The vibrations buzz in the air-- no pattern this time, just noise. Like the kid is also hurt.
It doesn’t understand. It doesn’t understand why the kid is also hurt, why it makes those noises. What is “Remus”? The first kid doesn’t, didn’t, won’t know a Remus and It wants to ask but asking means eating and It doesn’t want to be bad and eat.
“GET AWAY!”
Words are so loud and they sting in the air, prickly and hard in a way that is worse than the magic particles that burn and itch along Its core. It doesn’t like that. The kid sounds scared. How does It make the kid not scared?
Hugs? The First kid thought hugs make everything better. But It can’t hug-- It might eat! And this kid is not for eating, not, not, not, not--
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” The kid vibrates so piercingly loud, then softer, “please. Just leave me alone. I’m sorry.”
It can’t hug. It thinks that maybe the words are meant for It. Meant for It to feel and understand, rather than the scientists. It didn’t think that anyone knew It can feel and understand-- is the kid so scared that they are trying anything to get It to listen? It has to make the kid less scared, to show them that It can hear and understand and that It’s good.
If It is making the kid scared, maybe they need to think It can’t touch them? That they need to know It won’t touch them?
((Even though the magic particles keep poking it, even though It wants to understand, even though It wants to feel what a hug, warmth, not-lonely is like.))
It’s human form scoots backwards; Its legs wavering between being divided and melding back together into Its usual body. It moves away and the vibrations lessen a bit-- getting softer? Harder to feel? It scoots back until it feels the wall and It climbs up--
The vibrations scREECH. THE KID IS SCREAMING THE KID DOES NOT LIKE IT GOING UP AND IT DOES NOT LIKE THAT THE KID DOES NOT LIKE THAT SO IT DRops back down to the floor as quickly as It can. It abandons the human form and curls into a tight, tiny, small ball that isn’t anywhere near the kid.
The kid makes more vibrations, patterns that It doesn’t recognize, patterns that It thinks don’t actually mean anything and It hates that It wants to do that too. It hates, hates, hates, hurts inside itself in a way It’s not supposed to be able to hurt. It hurts and It doesn’t know what to do.
It doesn’t like not knowing. It doesn’t like anything.
It thinks that should be funny, right? It wants to know, It doesn’t want to know, It doesn’t like not knowing, and It shouldn’t be able to “know” or “not know” because It’s It.
It’s atoms sing, spreading out as much as they can when It won’t let them go more than a foot away from the center of It. The magic particles pulse in the air, like a cloud, like a shadow, like a blanket that makes It hard to think-- which is fine because It shouldn’t be thinking either. How does It stop? How does It stop thinking and yet still keep itself from eating?
“W...what?”
There are new vibrations in Its container, something It doesn’t immediately know; the first kid hadn’t made those vibrations at It. The first kid had been screaming too much, begging too much, crying too much; there was no time for asking things when It was absorbing the kid into itself and learning everything there is to know about him.
The new kid, this kid, the one that is dancing with magic particles and curling as far away from It as the kid can get, makes the different vibrations.
“W...what... stop!” The kid vibrates. “STOP!”
The kid’s arms move up and they cover their ears or yanks on their hair-- It thinks that those are what the magic particles are telling It. The kid is moving, and they’re whimpering, and that means they’re scared. But at least they aren’t screaming.
“Shut up! Shut up, shut up!” They vibrate. “You don’t mean it!”
It… It doesn’t know what that means. What are they saying? What does that mean?
“You’re not sorry!” The kid is curled up in the corner of the container. “You… you aren’t…”
It is, though. How did the kid know? Is… is It vibrating too? It didn’t know It was vibrating. It counts It’s atoms as they move around in Its body, watching for where they could be vibrarting to move the air and would give It the same vibrations as speaking.
It's vibrating .
It can… how long has It been able to vibrate? Has It always been able to vibrate? Did the scientists know It could vibrate?
“W...who?” The kid’s vibrations are smaller, softer, quieter. It almost wants to think that maybe the kid isn’t upset anymore.
It doesn’t really know what It’s doing. It feels something in itself, similar to the hurt, similar to the sad, but different too. Something like when It’s alone for so long and remembers that there is a sun and warmth outside Its container, something like when It thinks about the scientists getting caught and how It will be “die”, something like when It wants to ask questions but can’t--
But It can now, can’t It? If It vibrates right? If It figures out how to vibrate better It can ask all the questions It wants which means that It doesn’t need to eat anyone and then It can be let out because It's a good It.
Vibrates. It holds itself closer, tighter, stronger, because the want to vibrate right is stronger than the hurt feeling in its chest. What were the vibrate patterns that the first kid knew? What were the patterns that meant friendly-happy-I’m-here?
“Greetings!”
The kid does not vibrate back-- actually, the magic particles in the air stop moving even a little bit, which It thinks is around the kid’s chest area. It doesn’t understand. The first kid always moved that part of his body, because that was the part where his lungs were before he’d become part of It. Does that mean that the kid isn’t using his lungs anymore?
Don’t humans need to do that-- all living creatures do don’t they? That’s what the first kid thought! That’s what It thought! Except for things like Vampires or golems because they were dead or not living, everything needed to breathe.
It wants to scream, wants to vibrate loud enough that someone comes and helps because the kid needs to breathe and they’re not and It can’t help. But It doesn’t want to vibrate like that in case the kid stops breathing for longer.
Did It vibrate wrong? It would make sense if It had, because It doesn’t really know how to vibrate, but the first kid thought that the pattern of “greetings” was good! The first kid liked to say “greetings” instead of “hello” because that made him sound smarter and less like a baby-- and the adults all said that was good. The adults liked him more when he said “greetings”, and when adults liked him they were more willing to do things for him: give him gifts, smile at him, maybe adopt him, too.
“Wha…” the kid vibrates after too long, and the words have a drawl to them, a rumbling that makes the pattern sound not-right. Raspy, the first kid would have called that. Like the kid was sick.
(It doesn’t get sick. It didn’t know getting sick was a thing before.)
“Are you…?” The kid vibrates again and the magic particles move a little; they’re breathing, they’re lowering their arms from their head so that they can receive the vibrations better! It thinks that’s a good thing right? “You… talked… No, no stay over there!”
It’s not moving. It checks Its atoms really closely to make sure they were all where It told them to be-- and they were. It doesn’t know why the kid did not know It was all over here still.
“I am,” It vibrates. “Over here. I’m not going over there.”
The kid makes a vibration It doesn’t know, something quicker, louder, jarring that makes It think It did something wrong. But It didn’t; It knows what message It sent out, exactly as the first kid might have vibrated, if the first kid was not “die” and spread within It.
“Oh, yeah sure ,” the kid vibrates raggedly. “I believe that.”
Something about the quickness of the vibrations makes It think that the kid does not actually believe It. The kid is lying? Why would he lie? What is the point of lying about this?
It doesn’t know and It doesn’t know if It wants to ask. Surely if It did the kid would get more upset again? It would vibrate really loud again? So It needs to not vibrate that way.
It twists on itself again while It tries to figure out what the kid wants It to do now. It presses against the walls a little, but It doesn’t climb because the kid doesn’t like that. The kid, the kid--
Oh. It should ask the name of the kid right? That is what the first kid thought you were supposed to do when you met someone new: greet, then introduce yourself, then offer one important fact about yourself.
((It doesn’t know any important facts about itself. But that can come later, right? The kid will have an important fact to share and they can vibrate about that instead of about it!))
“What is your name?” It vibrates.
The kid curls on itself more. It thinks that might be bad but It doesn’t really know. The magic particles in the air poke at It again, make It move along the wall more, make It feel so bad It almost misses the press of the soundwaves against itself again.
“...Are you going to hurt me?” The kid vibrates.
It thinks that is a bad answer. So bad, in fact, that It thinks that must not be an answer at all. Why would the kid ask a question instead of answering? Should It do that too? It doesn’t know what to ask-- not really but if It just answers the question, It doesn’t think that the kid will believe It because they’re so scared.
“Why are you scared?”
The kid is quiet. It wants to vibrate more to make the room feel less bad. But it’s not It’s turn to vibrate, and It’s pretty sure that talking was something that was done in turns. One for It. One for the kid. One for It. One for the kid.
Like sharing! It hasn’t ever gotten to share anything before. But what if… what if the kid doesn’t want to share with It?
“...Virgil,” the kid vibrates.
It’s a weird pattern. It likes that though; the hard vibration at that start rumbly and neat followed by the shorter ones. It feels nice.
“Virgil. Virgil. Virgil,” It vibrates. “Virgil!”
“Ye-yeah,” Virgil vibrates back. “Thats-- That’s my name.”
“I know!” It twists on itself. It wants to fill the floor again even though It can’t, wants to smile even though It doesn’t have a mouth, wants to reach out and hug even though It eats everything It--
Virgil makes another vibration, high and long and trembling. The magic particles in the air spin and spritz and poke and prod and It tries very hard to ignore the urge to do something about them.
“You’ll tell me now, right?” Virgil vibrates. “You won’t hurt me, right?”
It wavers for a moment-- as much as It can waver when It is on the ground not moving at all, because It’s atoms have to stay in the area It tells all Its atoms to stay in, or they might go out and touch--
“No,” It vibrates back, and then because the kid asked two questions, It thinks that Its allowed to share something else, right? Two for him, Two for It? “Why would I hurt you?”
Virgil doesn’t not vibrate actual words again; just another long drawn out rumbling of air moving without a pattern. It’s similar to the others he’s done before. The magic reacts with the noise, dancing and moving and burning, and It thinks that the magic is harder to ignore now than before. The urge to make them stop makes Its core twist around and around and around until It wants to think about anything but how It’s feeling a pain It can’t not feel.
“Virgil,” It vibrates again. Because the patterns are something that is not the hurt. “Virgil. Virgil. Vir--”
“Stop,” Virgil vibrates. “Please stop.”
“Stop what?”
Virgil rumbles low again. “Saying my name. ”
“Saying?” It vibrates. “Oh this is talking. Speaking. Saying. I’m talking.”
“Yeah,” Virgil vibrates-- says. “Yeah, you’re talking. Stop saying my name. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Want?” It repeats. The air in the room feels weird, different, and It didn’t know that the air could feel different in Its container. Maybe that’s because It’s always been alone before this. The word hums in the air like a song, like echoing in Its mind even after the vibrations stop.
Whatever It wants? It doesn’t think that Virgil can give It what It wants. Virgil is stuck in Its container too, and they’re the one giving off the magic particles that make It want to fall apart and eat. But when It doesn’t eat Virgil then the scientists should come back and get Virgil out of here, right? Then Virgil can tell the scientists that made It that It’s a good It and It can be let out of Its container too.
“Okay,” It says. Because if all It has to do is not say Virgil’s name, then It can do that!
It thinks that the sun will feel really nice on It. Warmth would be very nice-- can It learn to feel warmth? It thinks that if It learned to vibrate-- to talk and communicate, then It can learn to feel warmth like how the first kid had.
It thinks that the warmth of the sun would be close enough to a hug, right? It wouldn’t feel the pressure or the safety, but It could take Its human form and wrap Its gangly arms around itself and pretend they were someone else’s. A hug! Yes that would be nice! So nice. Much nicer than the magic particles digging into It.
“W…” Virgil starts, almost startling It. It didn’t know It could be startled. It jolts away from Its core for a second flicking out and then coming right back like a yoyo-- the first kid liked yoyos. He had one stuffed under his pillow at the home for all the other kids without parents. It wonders if It would be good at playing with a yoyo if It got the chance once the scientist realized It wasn’t bad anymore.
“What’s your name?” Virgil asks.
“My name?” It copies. It thinks that the way Virgil says that means he doesn’t really want to know the answer. Isn’t that weird? Why would Virgil ask a question he doesn’t want to know the answer to? Why would Virgil ever not want to know the answer to something? Isn’t it always good to know everything they can?
“My name.” It says again. “My name, my name.” It tries to think. It has a name, right? Something that is Its, something that It would say to anyone that It meets. Something that It would answer to when talked to. The Scientists called It something , right?
“My name….” It says.
This shouldn’t be a hard question to answer, It knows. Especially not when Virgil doesn’t even want to know. It should be having this feeling because of a question-- the bubbly, fuzzy, bad feeling that makes it hard to count it’s atoms and retain Its shape and makes all the magic particles in the air itch at It, poke at It, laugh at It.
“You don’t have to answer!” Virgil yelps. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
It thinks that Virgil curled up into a smaller ball in his corner of the room, but It also thinks that it’s hard to tell with the magic flitting around like that. It coils around itself, tight and binding to the point where if It had human shaped lungs It would have crushed them.
“I’m sorry,” It says finally, stinging with pain that It didn’t know It could feel. “I don’t think I have a name.”
Virgil doesn’t respond, but It barely notices. It’s too busy pressing along the wall, feeling the crease between the floor and the wall like It will suddenly find Its name engraved there. The first kid had a name-- It thinks he did. Why wouldn’t he have had one? A name is part of the three things you do when you meet someone new: greet, then introduce yourself, then offer one important fact about yourself. Why didn’t It know Its own name?
“Hey,” Virgil says. “Hey! It’s… uh… it’s alright!”
“I should have a name,” It says. “I should have a name, right? It’s only logical that I should have a name.”
Something to call itself. It presses against the walls, and for some reason It thinks suddenly the room is smaller. Which doesn’t make any sense. The walls can’t move and Its container has always been the same shape before; that shouldn’t change now of all times. Still It can feel the magic particles stabbing into It while it pins itself against the uniform surface trying to get away, I can feel the way the air is vibrating with hundreds of tiny little atoms that make it breathable for other creatures, It can feel the way that Virgil is watching It struggle to-- struggle to--
What is it struggling to do again?
“I should have a name,” It says again but the vibrations are patterned weirdly, like It had messed up how to make them, like It had forgotten between the first time It had said them and this time, like It was struggling to repeat the patterns.
“It’s okay!” Virgil says. “It’s… uh! You need to breathe-- I think-- can slimes breathe?”
“What’s…” It asks, “...a slime?”
Virgil is staring at It. It doesn’t know what to do-- why does It hurt all over all of a sudden? Where was this hurt coming from? Is it the magic particles? They’ve never hurt like this before! But It thinks that It's never left magic particles in the air long enough for that to be true. It hurts, hurts, hurts--
“What do you mean ‘what’s a slime’?” Virgil says. “ You’re a slime. At least I think you are. I kinda fell asleep when Remus was telling me about Slimes… but he never mentioned that slimes could talk. He showed me a bunch in his workshop once, but he didn’t take them out of their flasks-- and you’re really big. Oh my god, you’re really, really big. I’m sorry I’ll shut up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry--”
It tries to wrap Its mind around the vibrations, but Virgil is talking so fast. Almost as soon as It recognizes the patterns and figures out the meaning of one word Virgil is through an entire other word and It thinks that’s a lot like drowning-- except that It can’t drown because it doesn’t even breathe.
Does It?
“Slime,” It says because that’s the only word It can make out, the word that makes the rest of the words not make sense, the word that doesn’t sound like a word at all. Slime, slime, slime . Why can’t It wrap Its core around the meaning of the word the way that It can wrap around a body full of magic particles and squeez-- “I’m a slime. What’s a slime?”
The air moves between the two of them, and for a moment It thinks that there might be electricity zinging between them. That after all this, Virgil decided to attack It with the magic that is an inherent part of him-- would that make It stop hurting? Would It be able to eat the magic if Virgil just threw all of the magic at It with no regard?
“A slime,” Virgil says shakily. “Is a type of creature. It’s... uh… they’re like jello-- do you know what jello is? It’s uh… slimes have this ge-lat-i-nous body which means they can change shape to whatever they want. Usually they’re green or purple or red, but you’re blue. I’ve never seen a blue slime before. Remus said that slimes are the coolest because you guys eat--”
It feels like It’s drowning, suffocating, constricting. “What’s a Remus?”
Virgil breathes in deep. He’s curling on himself a bit, but not as much as before. “Remus is my witch.”
“Your witch?”
“My witch,” Virgil repeats. “Like, uh, he has magic that’s in his blood and he can use it to cast spells and do stuff. He’s really powerful so everyone is always asking him to make them potions and Remus says they’re “greedy pigs” but he still makes them anyway, because Roman asks him to, but he charges them thrice as much for ingredients and then uses all everything left over to finance his research into, uh... all his other stuff.
“I’m a Familiar,” Virgil continues. “I can help Witches channel energy to make them ever stronger. We’re supposed to accept all the backlash when spells go wrong too, but Remus never makes me do it. He says its because he’s the one doing all the dumb stuff so he should face all the consequences, but last time he nearly died and Roman was so upset with me that I didn’t take it and I didn’t want that to happen again even though Remus swears that this time the spell is gonna work. I don’t wanna help him kill himself and so I yelled at him and then Remus had this look on his face and I got scared because I’m not supposed to yell at my witch and so I ran which was stupid and now I’m here because those guys in masks shot me with a tran-quil-iz-er and I couldn’t move. And…. and Remus is never gonna find me because I made him upset and why would he come for me after that? He can just go find another black cat familiar and that one won’t be too afraid to take the backlash when he tries new things.”
“Slime, Witch, Familiar,” It says. “Virgil. Remus. Slime . I’m a slime. I’m….”
Virgil shifts against his corner, shifts and sighs and makes the air in the container feel a little less heavy. It hadn’t even realized the air was heavy. It hadn’t realized that the magic particles were knives digging into Its core. It hadn’t realized that It was pressing as flat as It could against the walls until It was leaking atoms wherever It could.
“Are you….” Virgil says softly. “Are you still upset about the name?”
It doesn’t want Virgil to laugh at it. It isn’t sure why It thinks that Virgil will laugh at It for that. Maybe because It should know Its own name considering how old It is (how old is It, again?), maybe because of all the things It shouldn’t know, Its own name is the silliest, stupidest one of them all. Maybe because It doesn’t want Virgil to think that just because It’s a slime, It doesn’t know anything at all.
It doesn’t want to think that It doesn’t know anything at all.
The pain in It is sharp, carving around Its core in slick, repetitive motions where the magic particles in the air poke at its outer atoms until they itch to poke back until the magic is no more.
“We can give you a name,” Virgil says, although they sound like they immediately regret the idea when after they offer it. “... If you want, I mean! If you don’t want a name that’s okay too! Or if you don’t want me to help you pick a name! I just thought that maybe you might like it if I didn’t… just… call you slime in my head! Pleasanton’teatme!”
Why does the air seem to press against It just as much as It is pressing against the wall?
“You would help me get a name?”
Virgil seems to rub their arms. “If that’s what you want.”
“Want,” It echoes, because the vibrations should have made the air feel less like it was crushing It, but instead It just feels stupid and empty and dumb.
((But not mindless. Not uncontrolled. No giving in the instinct, the urge, the need to hug Virgil until Virgil is part of It too. Not for eating, Not for eating, not for It, no--))
The magic particles flicker and move around Virgil, around something that’s next to Virgil that It holds itself away from: something long and thin that reminds It of a tentacle from a book the first kid liked. The object swings in the air curling, wrapping, dancing, in a way that makes It struggle to follow when the magic particles are stabbing from everywhere the object is and will be and was.
“A name, a name…” Virgil repeats. “I’ve never named anything before, except like my imaginary friends, but they always liked their names because they’re pretend and I make them like their names because I’m not supposed to have any real friends because I’m a familiar and we’re just tools for Witches. What about uhh…. Bartholomew?”
The vibrations ring in the air, sharply up and down and fading out at the end in a way that makes It press deeper into the wall. The name is too long, too many syllables, too old and it feels wrong in a way It doesn’t know how to explain. Virgil picked it out but It doesn’t like that-- but it’s mean and rude to say no, isn’t it? It doesn’t want to be mean and rude!
“Not Bartholomew, got it,” Virgil says, the object beside them twitching nervously. It doesn’t know what the emotion that floods over It is called-- not even the first kid knew. But It feels that emotion when Virgil manages to figure out that It doesn’t like the name at all. “Uh what about…. Mallory?”
Still too long, and just saying the name leaves it hummmmm-ing the air with vibrations that make It twist and churn and struggle to focus on the patterns of everything else. It’s not right, but It doesn’t want to say it’s wrong but Virgil might decide It’s being too picky and whiny and they might stop helping all together if It tells them--
“Not Mallory,” Virgil says. The object behind them swivels in the air and It thinks that the magic particles wafting off it dig directly into Its core. “Okay. Okay. What about Blake? Alex? Taylor?”
It shifts and squirms under the weight of the air, of the magic particles, of the names that aren’t right but It can’t say why they aren’t right. It digs into the wall like It can get away from the weight on It and the bad feeling that originates in Its own core. It’s outer atoms sizzle and burn and try to split off but It holds onto them.
“Drew? Or maybe not. That’s the name of the really mean guy at the Familiar house. He sprayed me with water when I hissed at him.” Virgil tugs on their sleeves, It thinks-- the movement of the magic particles makes It feel sick regardless of what they’re doing. Why does It feel so sick? Why does It have to hurt so much?
“What about Parker?” Virgil suggests. “She was always really nice. She brought us cookies once before she was fired… Not that you can’t be Drew! I don’t think you’re like the other Drew. You’re… I think you’re nice? You haven’t eaten me yet and Remus said that all slimes really do is eat everything they want to…But not you!”
Virgil tugs on their sleeves again and the object behind him flicks with the motion. It thinks that the motions are signals of something, that Virgil does them when they are feeling not-good to some extent and helping It find a name is making them feel not-good.
“Paris?” Virgil says. “That’s the name of a city that I read in a book once when Remus took me to the library while he was researching bunyip oil substitutes for a potion.” They lean forward and hug their knees to their chest. “Remus said… he’d take me one day… but I don’t think he will. Not anymore.”
It trills in a way It doesn’t really mean too. Some part of Its core tells It that It should trill so It does-- and perhaps that’s the right thing to do because Virgil sucks in a breath and shakes their head a little bit.
“Not Paris? What about Orion? I think that one is the brightest stars in the sky or something.”
“Stars?” It rumbles. “What are stars?”
It thinks It kinda knows what stars are. If It thinks very hard and ignores the magic particles stabbing at Its core. The first kid had heard of stars before-- had seen them. Maybe? The memories are hazy in a way that makes It feel not-good, because It knew that those memories had been clearer before. The first kid had known about stars and It should know about stars too!
Why couldn’t It remember?
“Stars?” Virgil repeats back to It. “Stars are uh… they’re balls of light! And, uh, gases! In the sky. Like the sun! ”
“Sun,” It echoes. “The sun gives off warmth, right?”
“Yep!” Virgil moves their head up and down. “The sun is a star that’s really close to Earth. It makes it so that everyone can live on Earth, because without it, the plants wouldn’t be able to grow and everything would be frozen over with ice.”
“Earth. Plants.” It knows what plants are. It’s eaten them before. (But that’s okay, that’s allowed. Because even though plants are living, they can’t think like creatures.)
The object behind Virgil moves again, coiling up. “Plants are cool,” They say. “I always liked the flowers that Remus has in his workshop. They glowed when it got dark outside. Remus let me keep one in my room too… It would close up during the day but at night the petals peeled back and the middle of it made a soft, pretty purple light that would float around the room all by itself. When I couldn’t sleep I would just watch it move and make shadows on the walls. I tried really hard to keep it alive, but one time it died in the middle of the night and I cried because it was Remus’s plant and I thought he was gonna hate me.
“But when he found out, he used one of his potions and brought it back to life. Just like that. Because he’s the coolest witch ever.” Virgil leaned forward until his head was half buried in his knees. “He can bring any plant back to life but he can’t really grow ‘em himself so he’s friends with a druid who can make all sorts of plants grow really fast. I liked him… he grew some catnip for me once and gave it to Remus free of charge, even though I told him it was okay and I didn’t want it.”
“Catnip,” It hums. “Is that for a cat? Do you have a cat?”
The object behind Virgil finally stops, freezing in place at Its question.
“Huh, I guess you can’t uh… You can’t see me, can you? Because you don’t have eyes.” Virgil says. “I’m a cat Familiar. A black cat-- I’ve got ears and a tail and I’ve got a, uh, sigil on my neck where me and Remus are connected. I think it looks like a stormcloud.” They settle back in their corner.
They settle with a silence suddenly that only serves to remind It that the container is small and the magic particles in the air will probably taste really good as Its plucking them apart in Its body.
“Can you….” It struggles with the right pattern of vibrations for a second, trying not to confuse them with the rhythm that the magic particles poking at It with. “Tell me more? Please?”
Please, something to think about. Something that is not the hurt, not pain, not magic, not you not eat, not hungry, not want--
Virgil shifts. “Tell you? About what?”
“ Anything.”
Virgil is quiet. It wants to scream.
“Do you know what festivals are?” Virgil says finally and their voice makes It feel like It can breathe for the first time in ages-- although It doesn’t need to breathe at all. “They’re celebrations for really big holidays that everyone gets to do stuff in. When I was back at the Familiar house, witches and warlocks and mystics would come in all the time during festival weeks and they would sometimes buy us, which means that we would have to look our best and be on our best behaviors all week. I didn’t like them because it meant I had to smile and let people look at me all the time and if I hid up in the rafters they wouldn’t let me have dinner that night. The only really cool thing was at night, all of us Familiars could crowd around the upstairs window and watch the fireworks light up the sky in patterns.
“When Remus came and bought me, I was kinda relieved despite everything… like I wouldn’t have to dress up for strangers and Remus let me just lie in the sunlight patches on the floor of the workshop. But because he’s so powerful he always gets asked to perform in the festivals for everyone but he hates doing it because the Mayor said he can’t destroy any buildings or reanimate any corpses to do dances. He said he wasn’t gonna bother with anything that year… but then he figured out that I had never been to a real festival before, and he changed his mind and said we were going.
“We got there and there were so many people…” Virgil sighs. “Goblins, demons, angels, boogiemen, pixies, fae-- Remus bought me a Hydra Truffle that tasted better than any fish I’ve ever had. There was a satyr band playing for a bunch of elvin and vampire dancers who were doing fancy dances that I had never even seen before. There was a psychic doing magic readings at a booth who smacked Remus away and some sirens were singing songs that manipulated the smoke from the Cyclops barbecue stations to show what they were singing about… Then Remus dragged me to the front of the crowd and I got to see… oh they were so pretty… the light show… It was done by Remus’s brother Roman…. He made sparklers for some kids and he swallowed fire and he spit it up into the air like a volcano and then he turned his lights into different colors and sent them straight up into the sky where they exploded outward and made patterns that retold the story of the Great Race Wars….”
Virgil’s breaths seem to pick up slightly. “I’d never seen it so close before… It was… It was…. Amazing. And loud. And after it was over I started to fall asleep and Remus carried me back home and he said he didn’t mind it one bit that I drooled all over his shoulder.”
Virgil goes quiet again and It thinks that Virgil’s voice made It feel not alone for once in Its life. It doesn’t know a lot about what Virgil is talking about: the first kid remembers bits and pieces of these festival things, about the races, and the lights. It thinks that the light show that Virgil talked about might have been warm too, warm and cool and surrounded by so many people It couldn’t have possibly felt like It was alone. It would be nice to see that, to witness that much noise, to feel that closeness without touching someone else-- It would be nice to go to a festival, to see the stars, to… to…
“Have you… have you ever been outside before?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that It almost doesn’t feel them talk at all.
“Not allowed,” It says. “Want to.”
Virgil seems to nod. At least It thinks that what that slight motion is. Their tail curls behind them again, and It thinks that the action says something even when Virgil, themself, does not say anything. It thinks that It would understand whatever that is if It could just... just...reaches out… and… eats--
“Do… do you know what you look like?” Virgil says and It tries not to let Its atoms crawl away, get away, slip away. There are so many atoms. Why does it have some many moving parts of itself? Why don’t those parts listen to It and stay away from Virgil’s magic particles?
“You’re blue, which I know because blue and green are the colors that I’m best at seeing, even in the dark. Is it always dark down here?” Virgil asks. “Wait, you probably don’t know how to answer that because you can’t see... I don’t see any lamps in this room outside of the light from the hole they pushed me in through to put me down here. You… you’re kinda see through, but not really. Like looking through…. a window covered in conden...sation. And right at the very middle you have this…. ball that looks darker than.... the rest of you.”
“My core,” It says.
“Your core?”
It drags itself outer atoms closer to itself, making itself smaller, less noticeable, less It. “My core. Me. Slime.”
“Like your…. heart?” Virgil suggests although there is something off about the way the vibrations feel. “Didn’t think... Slimes... had hearts.”
It doesn’t think slimes do either. The Scientists created It, they put It in this container and sealed it off with a door that It can’t squeeze out through or around. Virgil only said It looked like a slime. It didn’t think there was anything like It out there, outside this container, outside It. It was all alone, right? Always alone.
There’s another noise from somewhere. Something that makes the whole container shake. It crawls a few inches up the wall, but drops back down because Virgil hadn’t liked that before and they wouldn’t like It doing that now either. There are more shakes, more rumbles.
“What…?” Virgil breathes in sharply, once, twice, thrice. “Do you…?”
“Something is happening outside,” It says.
“Is it...” Virgil says, and then they make a raspy strange noise that reverberates through the room, through the air, through It. The magic particles shift after the noise, tittering like they were disturbed by it like It was. Virgil makes the noise again, and It thinks that It doesn’t know a lot about Familiars, but nothing that breathes should make a sound like that.
“S-sorry…” Virgil says weakly. “I don’t… I don’t…”
“Vir--” It starts and stops because Virgil asked It to stop saying their name.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” Virgil makes that noise again. It thinks that they’re forcing air in and out of their lungs, raspy and dry, shaking more than even Its atoms are. Virgil’s in the corner, sitting with their back to the area where the walls meet and It watches as Virgil’s body shifts and they slide down one wall to the floor, like they couldn’t possibly hold themself up anymore.
“Hey! Hey!” It says. “Virgil!”
Virgil makes the noise again, long and hard and violent and It knows something is wrong here. The magic particles tell It that Virgil is wreathing on the ground, hands clutching their neck, and that noise resounds in what little space there is in Its container.
“Virgil!” It wants to come closer. It wants to help. It wants Virgil to stop making that noise and tell It more about the world outside. “Virgil!”
It doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know, doesn’t know, doesn’t--
“HELP!” It yells. “HELP! SOMEONE!”
The scientist would come right? They would help, right? They wouldn’t let Virgil die like they let the first kid die, right?
“PLEASE SOMEONE!” It screams because It thinks that Virgil’s movements are slowing down and their chest is frantically moving up and down for air they need to breathe but for some reason the air isn’t good enough anymore. “SOMEONE HELP! PLEASE!”
The world outside Its container shakes again, and there’s something else out there too that’s making vibrations that are so weak It isn’t sure if they are real or if It’s making them up in Its mind. It hopes It’s not making them up, It hopes and begs and screams because Virgil isn’t okay and someone needs to help them.
“HELP!”
Virgil’s chest flutters. It watches as the magic particles flick in the air, twisting dangerously and drifting off. What does that mean? The magic is draining out of Virgil? The magic that is keeping them alive? It’s just leaving them?
“SOMEONE!”
It flings itself up the wall towards that hatch that It's never been able to squeeze through. It rears back and slams at the flat surface with everything that It has.
“PLEASE!”
All the effort It hadn’t known about before It had eaten the first kid, It throws into Its movement. Because It swore It wasn’t going to eat Virgil, because It wants to hear Virgil talk more about the world outside, because Virgil said they were going to help It find a name and…. And…
“Please,” It drops from the unmoved ceiling hatch back to the floor. “Please, someone.”
The magic particles are drifting more. Further away from Virgil’s body, further away from a chest that isn’t moving, further away and It thinks that It would gladly take the magic particles stabbing into It for the rest of Its life if they would just go back into Virgil, please, please, no, please let him out before It gets him, please PLEASE PLEASE--
“Virgil!” It begs, but Virgil isn’t moving, won’t move, can’t move. “Virgil, you have to wake up… Virgil… Virgil…”
It’s right next to Virgil, right in Virgil’s little corner, right where It told Virgil It wouldn’t go. It’s right there and Virgil isn’t moving.
It’s right there and Its atoms aren’t even trying to reach for them anymore, because there’s no magic particles around them anymore.
It’s right there and It’s more alone than It’s ever been in Its life.
And then the ceiling hatch of Its container explodes downward and into the room.
It only has a millisecond to react: stretching itself out so that It protects Virgil from the splintering of metal-- iron, carbon, magnesium-- and it tears apart the material inside itself the way that It eats everything that It touches. It puts itself between the danger and Virgil because that was Virgil.
Something drops in with the explosion and it reeks of magic particles that reach out and cleave into Its core directly, tearing It the way that It thinks the first kid felt, the way that It eats, the way that It assumed that becoming “die” would feel.
“Get. Away. From Them.” A voice growls out and then doesn’t wait for It to do anything before all those magic particles condense down and shoot out at It.
It’s never had magic particles thrust at It before. It doesn’t know what happens-- not really. Magic tastes better than rocks, better than iron and limestone and salt, better than leaves, better than plants both dead and alive, and better than meat, cooked, raw, cut up and still on the bone-- It tastes like something sweet, something sugary, something savory-- It tastes like absolutely nothing It has ever had before, and something It’s always had.
Magic tastes like something that fills It up, something that It keeps and holds in itself forever, something that It was missing and craving and needed in order to live.
It thinks, maybe for a moment, that It had been starving this whole time down here, alone in Its container.
Why hadn’t It known that?
Suddenly It can see all around It, It can feel all around It: It had been blasted apart and those parts had been pulled right back to Its core in the other corner of Its container-- Its cell -- where It had been shoved to eat anything the Scientists shoved down there whenever they felt like It. The person who had come into there is tall, far taller than It, but he had thrown himself down next to Virgil and was gently trying to coax something into their mouth.
He’s exuding magic particles from his body and from the belt of glass bottles around his waist, but this time they don’t hurt It to feel-- nothing about this makes sense: It's never not hurt when magic particles are involved. But It can see around the room so clearly now and there’s no pain, no bad feeling in Its core, no feeling like It needs to throw up part of itself despite not having a mouth.
It feels stronger, too. With just a thought all of Its atoms fall into place and hold there. Its own body listens to It. It doesn’t know what that means as It twists between Its blob form and Its human form.
It must have made a vibration because the man twists around to look at It again with something like surprise and shock on his face-- and It can see so clearly as those emotions melt back to determinations and the magic particles around him condense to his hand, to the tips of his fingers, to himself.
Its… It has never seen something so beautiful before.
“What…did you do to me?” It asks, staring at Its own fingers and watching as they move exactly how It directs them to. “What…”
The man opens his mouth to respond, but another noise catches both of their attention. A soft ragged noise-- something that reminds It of the noise Virgil had made before their chest had stopped moving entirely.
“Re…” Virgil gasps for air.
“Virgil!” It yells and then before the man can move, It flings itself across the floor and lands on Its knees right next to both of them. “Virgil-- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“S-slime…” Virgil makes that ragged noise again. “You’re… glowin’…”
The man shifts Virgil in his lap. “Easy there, Scaredy Cat. Air goes in.”
Virgil’s ears fold. “Remus… I…didn’t think you were... coming….”
“Of course I was coming for you,” Remus says. “You’re my Familiar, dumbass. You’re stuck with me. And when we get back home we’re talking about what just fucking happened and then I’m gonna see how many Elixirs of Pain my brother can take before he just fucking dies. ”
Virgil laughs weakly and curls into him, Remus, his witch.
“What about you?” The Witch says and it takes a moment for It to realize Remus is asking It.
“What?”
"I might have just murdered everyone upstairs. I'll be honest I was too angry to hold back on any of my attacks. The one I just hit you with should have obliterated you entirely...." Remus squints at It. “What are you? A Slime?”
It nods, and Remus stares at It for another moment.
“I’ve never met a talking slime,” Remus hums. “Roman’s gonna be so jealous. You know, if he’s not dead when I’m done with him. Come on, up you go, Bad Luck Black Cat.” Remus picks up Virgil who whines slightly and maneuvers the Familiar around so that Virgil is on his back with their arms wrapped around Remus’s neck and Remus supporting holding them up from under their legs. A piggy back ride, It thinks. Virgil’s head burrows into Remus’s shoulder.
Together they have even more magic particles, and they give off a glow of sorts that It can’t really explain. It thinks that any other time they both might have been impossible to look at, but now It feels drawn to them-- not from any instinct to eat, but just for… something else.
“You got a name, Slime Time?” Remus asks It.
“‘didn’t like Bartholomew,” Virgil mumbles.
“What? Not Bartholomew?” Remus give It another look, and then reaches out a hand and plops it directly on Its head.
It almost screams. Because Virgil said a lot about Remus but they didn’t say that Remus was stupid. Because It eats everything that touches It. Because Remus’s hand is on It and there’s a feeling flowing over It that makes Its entire form shake and shudder and chant it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s warm, this is what warmth feels like.
“ Oh,” It says.
“What about Logan,” Remus says.
It’s not sure what type of noise It makes in response, but Remus rubs his hand over Logan head back and forth a few times-- like a hair ruffle, if It were made of anything other than a gel.
“Logan it is!” Remus decides. “Come on. I don’t know how long you have been in here, but I think it’s time you see the outside world.”
In another second the magic particles surround both him and Virgil and lift Remus up off the ground and straight towards the open door in the ceiling. It shakes for a moment, before It rushes up the wall and after them.
And for the first time in Its life, Logan feels the warmth of the sun.