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brutal-nemesis · 4 months

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YWDaC: Turns Out, Forever Is a Long Time

Ayo we have FINALLY arrived at the end of Castys's lil pirate misadventure I hope you have enjoyed all of the delicious lore

←Previous - Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: storm at sea activity, mentioned stabbing, suicide for "convenience" (it's not quite the usual level of he doesn't care but it's still not like bro wants to die yk), a little self harm (once again, out of practicality)

What Castys really wanted was to have something for breakfast, but responsibilities came first, so here he was, delivering a message that he could have ordered anyone else to relay, just so he could go back belowdecks and hopefully grab something on the way back, which made him wonder if he should have been given responsibilities in the first place, but oh well, he didn’t put himself in charge. Now, to get this done so he could eat. Castys knocked on the door in front of him, and upon hearing a noise that sounded like a word, he entered. Captain Izogie was sitting with her shirt partially off and her back to him, exposing the bold patterns of white fire ink curling around her dark shoulders. Alfyn was standing behind her with his hands on her bare back, clearly concentrating. It was a sight he’d seen before, but he always felt a little awkward stumbling upon it.

“Uh, sorry, didn’t realize it was woman magic day.”

Izogie laughed a little as she turned her head to look at him. “Is that what you lot call it?”

“Less of a mouthful than whatever Alfyn says.”

Alfyn just sighed. “Estrogen production stimulation?”

Castys nodded. “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Anyway, Captain, just thought I’d let you know the sunrise is red this morning, and given the clouds now, we’re all pretty sure it’s gonna storm. And yes,” Castys held up a hand, “preparations are already underway. Just wanted you to be aware.”

Alfyn, finished with Izogie’s treatment, stepped back. “In that case, I have a few things to secure in the med bay. If you’ll excuse me, Captain.”

Izogie nodded as she buttoned her shirt. “Thank you, Alfyn, you’re excused.” He gave Castys a smile as he left. “Thank you as well, Castys.” She gave him a thoughtful look as she pulled her coat on and stood up. “You know, when you first arrived, I wasn’t sure if you were going to last here, but here you are, my first mate, of all things. You’ve grown quite a bit.”

Castys rolled his eyes and smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, yeah, a scared tied up kid rarely looks like he’s gonna amount to anything. And it took you a few years to get that mouth off of me,” he laughed.

“You say that like it’s gone completely,” Izogie said with a glint in her eye, coming up to stand in front of Castys. Despite more than a decade passing, she still towered over Castys, the passage of time only showing in the lines on her face and the gray streaking her hair. He hadn’t grown any taller, but he’d at least gained some muscle and quite a few scars, which was well within the realm of expectation for being a pirate. “Well then, let’s go help out, Castys. This isn’t our first storm, and we need to make sure it won’t be our last.”

“I’d prefer to go down to a sea monster, at least. And I can’t imagine anything short of a hurricane taking you, Captain.”

“I’d like to see one try.”

The storm that night certainly did.

The rain came down in sheets, driven to needlepoints by the harsh winds. It was more difficult than ever to hear the shouts of the crew as reports and orders were passed around, and Castys’s throat was raw from relaying directions to the men at the helm. He was glad for the storm sails, because even though they hadn’t had time to put all of them up, they were still making good progress through the crashing waves. At least, he hoped so.

The ship’s bow pierced through another wall of water, and it was all Castys could do to stay on his feet, holding tight to the rope tied around his waist. Shit, one of the men at the helm had collapsed, and there was no one else to take his place. Castys ran up, grabbing the wheel alongside the others as he continued to keep an eye on the angle of the bow and the oncoming waves. It was fine, he could keep this up even as his arms burned from the strain, the hairs that had escaped from his ponytail blowing in his eyes and sticking to his face, making it even harder to see, the ever-louder thunder overhead drowning out the sound of his own voice. Didn’t matter if things were only getting worse, they had to keep-

CRACK

Everything was too loud, or maybe too quiet, roaring and buzzing, he was pressed up against the soaking wood of the deck and there was a ball of dense, sharp agony buried in his chest, making it hard to breathe, he kept coughing, couldn’t stand, couldn’t see, the blackness was coming, fading in and out, and all of a sudden he was belowdecks, blood and rain puddling around him, hands on his chest, pulling up his shirt, the words muffled, his chin moved up, Alfyn’s eyes were gray and full of fear, he hadn’t seen that expression before, or maybe he had, and maybe he was going to die, here, because of the storm, because he couldn’t breathe, time was up, that was it, those thirty-four years were over and done he wasn’t getting that time back no more tries he was satisfied with that right he had to be he couldn’t have any regrets because he wasn’t supposed to but it would have been nice if…if…

Castys woke up to a vast expanse of yellowish-white, which was not the color he expected the afterlife to be. Upon further inspection, though, it turned out that it was just a sheet over his head. After tossing it off and sitting up, he was greeted by a shrill scream that should have come from a young girl but actually came from Alfyn.

“Chill, dude, you shouldn’t have put that over me if you’d healed me.” Castys narrowed his eyes a bit as he talked. Did his voice always sound like that? Maybe whatever injuries he’d had had damaged his hearing or something. He wasn’t in any pain now, though, so that was good.

“C-Castys you-you’re-how are you-” Alfyn ran over, nearly tackling Castys as he pulled up his tattered shirt to reveal a rather bloodstained but otherwise perfectly fine torso. Castys gave him a weird look, leaning away.

“Uh, you’re the one who fixed whatever it was, weren’t you?” He brushed his wet hair off of his face as he stared down at himself. Why the fuck did he grow his hair out, again? It was annoying as hell like this.

Alfyn shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t heal you, Castys. You-you were…both of your lungs had collapsed and I-I couldn’t fix it but-” He looked Castys in the eye, frowning. “You…you look different. Younger.” He ran a hand over Castys’s ribs, and Castys was very glad that he was more than used to the medic touching his bare skin. “There’s no scar from what just-”

“Hey, what are you-” Castys yelped as Alfyn forced him to lean forward, pulling up his shirt even more to expose his back.

“You still had scars from your first day, didn’t you? When you were flogged?”

“Uh, I think so? I don’t really make it a hobby to look at my back, so you’d probably know better than me.”

Alfyn sighed, letting go of Castys and standing up. “Well, if they were there before, they’re gone now. You…” He looked around at the patients lying on the cots on the other side of the room. “Do you feel alright, Castys?”

“I think so? I’m not in any pain or anything, but…I dunno, does my voice sound weird to you?” There were a few other things that were bothering him, but he couldn’t really get a solid hold on what they were. He just felt different, his thoughts more scattered, his arms less muscular than he remembered, the persistent ache in his left knee from a battle wound a few years ago completely gone now.

Alfyn nodded slowly. “Now that you mention it, it does seem a little…off.” He frowned again. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, Castys, but I have more urgent patients to attend to, and I’m going to ask you to stay put until we can get this sorted out.”

“But the s-”

“Fine then, I’m not asking, I’m ordering. Doctor’s orders supersede everything else, you know that. And the storm has almost passed. So stay. Put.”

Castys grumbled and crossed his arms, but he didn’t move to get up. He knew all too well that Alfyn wasn’t above restraining disobedient patients, and he’d rather avoid that today. Bored, he peeked at his chest again. It was very bloody, but there were no injuries anywhere, and poking his ribs didn’t hurt like a bitch, so they weren’t broken or anything. What was weird though was that he still had some scars, just not all of them. The twisted one on his tummy and the clean line over his heart were still there. He slapped a hand on his right cheek and tried very hard to smile, finding that, yup, he still couldn’t really do it on that side, so the remnant of the gash on his face was still there. But the one on his knee, on his arm, and apparently the ones on his back…gone. It didn’t make sense. Unless…

He put a hand over his heart. Every scar he still had now, he’d gotten before…before that day. The day he still didn’t want to believe had happened. Just as he was about to dig up that lovely little box of buried memories, Captain Izogie rushed in, worry etched in her face.

“Alfyn, is it true Castys is-” she laid eyes on Castys and the tension visibly drained from her body. “Oh thank Mydnar.” She walked over and crouched down in front of where he was seated on the floor, eyeing him suspiciously. “What…what did Alfyn do to you? You look like a kid again.”

“Not my fault!” Alfyn called from where he was working on someone’s fucked-up arm.

“Uh, yeah, I, um,” Castys laughed nervously. “It’s my fault. I think. But I’m okay! All the breathing is happening fine.”

Izogie shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. Laias said a broken piece of the mizzen top yard poked a hole through your chest.”

“It did,” Alfyn said, wiping his hands as he walked over. “Both of his lungs were punctured. I worked as quickly as I could after I pulled it out, but…” he swallowed. “Your pulse was gone, Castys.”

“But I…I’m fine. I’m…” He swallowed. Everything was so cold all of a sudden, that was the only reason he’d be shaking like this, right? Had to be. Unsure if he even wanted to know the answer to this question, Castys lifted his shirt, poking at the scar on his stomach. “Alfyn…what if a person was…was stabbed right here. And the knife was dragged and twisted a bit before being pulled out. And then it went,” his finger was over his heart now, “right here. Would that person…would they die?”

Alfyn looked at Castys in slight horror before slowly nodding. “Without medical attention, in a matter of minutes. Possibly less depending on how much the stomach wound had bled and how much damage had been done.”

Every worry line in Izogie’s face stood out more than ever before. “Castys, you-what are you saying? Are those scars-”

“I think so.” Castys dropped his shirt. “At least, from what I can remember. So maybe I…I already died. Before this. All this time I just thought I might be remembering things wrong, but if what Alfyn said about earlier is true, then…and it might explain why I’m…different.”

“So you think you’re some kind of…” the furrow in Alfyn’s brow deepened, “immortal?”

Immortal. The thought was sort of exciting, as ridiculous as it seemed, but it was also sort of terrifying. Why the fuck was he one, anyway, if it was true? He was just Castys, a random pirate with incurable amnesia about his childhood and hadn’t done anything special besides the whole…maybe this was some kind of fucked-up reward for finishing his mission? But then where had-fuck, okay, no more of that, his brain hurt too much. Why think about things when he could get some results?

“Hey, Captain, could you stab me or something? I wanna see what happens.”

Izogie, who was still clearly trying to process whatever the hell was going on, gave him a very concerned look. “No, Castys, what-even if you think you’ll-you’ll come back what if-”

“Well, I should have died twice now. So I feel like I’ve already gotten a second chance if I was going to be dead anyway.” He glanced over at Alfyn. “Could you-”

“I’m a fucking doctor, Castys. My hands aren’t-I can’t. No.” The other pirates cursed pretty much every other word, but coming from Alfyn, that word might as well have been a cannon blast. Seeing that neither of his friends were willing to stab him for science, Castys dropped the idea and let them examine him for a bit before finally getting cleared to go back to his quarters. The crew gave him odd looks as he passed by, just hammering it in even more that he was different somehow. Either that or they’d heard he fucking died and was now walking around perfectly healthy, which was also probably cause for concern.

Once he was alone, he pulled out his sword and looked at his reflection in the blade. From what he could tell in this shitty makeshift mirror, his face did look a lot more youthful than he remembered. The scruff on his chin and his longer hair did make him look a bit older than the age he supposed his body was now, but the beard was itchy and long hair was a pain in the ass. Part of him wanted to hack his ponytail off right now with his knife, but he’d rather not look like a total mess on top of everything else, so he could wait to ask for a haircut tomorrow. He could shave, however, and he felt a lot better once it was done.

Turning the razor over in his hands, Castys wondered if he really would come back to life again if he slit his throat or whatever. Well, only one way to find out. His clothes were already super bloody, anyway, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Here goes nothing, then.

Why were his hands shaking so much? It was just dying, he’d apparently done it before, it was fine, he’d come back, he wasn’t leaving anyone behind, just a quick swipe of the blade and then…then…he’d come back, right? Right. A-and if he didn’t, he’d already cheated death before, so it was only fair for things to end now. Deep breath maybe his last-

The blade moved a little more slowly than he would have liked, a flash of pain before-

Castys opened his eyes. He was still in his cabin, lying on the floor, razor still gripped in his hand, fresh blood warm and sticky on his neck. S-so then…he’d died. And come back. And wasn’t in any pain.

Some sick fascination drove him to slice a deep gash in his arm before turning the blade on his neck again.

He woke up just as healthy as before, no cut in sight.

That settled it, then. Castys…he was immortal. A deep feeling of freedom unlike anything he’d ever known washed over him. He could do anything, go anywhere, not having to worry about wasting his time or being in danger, because fuck that he was immortal nothing would ever stop him again.

Lying in a puddle of his own blood, Castys couldn’t help but laugh.

He got slapped and lectured the next day for testing things out on himself, sure, but it was nothing in the face of his infinite future. He could go on with everyone forever and e-

Kamon left.

Alfyn died.

Izogie retired.

And then, one day, Castys was standing on the deck of the ship, his ship, and he realized he didn’t recognize a single face looking back at him. Well, he recognized them, but he didn’t know them, didn’t remember any of them from his life before the years felt like minutes. There was a divide between them, and he wasn’t sure who put it there.

Immortality was…lonely. Isolating.

Someone else like him had to be out there, right? So he’d look all over, chase down every lead, even an immortal monster or something would do, he just needed-

Castys felt as alone as he was all those years ago, trapped on that deserted island, the passage of time impossible to follow.

But no matter what, he’d find that ship on the horizon.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hearse-song @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen @galaxywhump @starnight-whump @his-unspoken-words @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg @pumpkin-spice-whump @painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad @befuddled-calico-whump @whumpinggrounds @whump-queen @whumpedydump @theelvishcowgirl

#i wrote something #whump #castys #immortal whumpee #pirate whump #suicide for convenience #why is it so hard to write things that arent pain why do people have to talk to each other so much #but uh there you go there's Boy Finds Out lore #ive said it before in like an ask answer but now it is right there in the canon:#castys acts the way he does partly due to the fact that he is mentally 19 and his brain is not fully mature!#he's also just. like that. but he would mellow out some with age for sure #uh what else...oh rip to kamon i was planning on including them more and then it just felt forced so sorry bruh #yes izogie is trans and during this time period HRT is similar to our world where it's something that has to be upkept constantly #it's just a magical procedure instead of a shot #later as shit advances magic will be able to force the endocrine bitches to produce the preferred hormones forever with only one procedure!#it's still a slow process but much less upkeep #i could talk more (you can send an ask if you want me to 🤧) but back to this actual thing #alfyn i just took his name from the octopath apothecary and no one called me out so im doing it myself #poor castys gets so excited about being immortal and then immediately gets hit with the reality of crippling lonliness lmaoooo #i say immediately but it was like 20 years or smth #i can FINALLY work on next erebus chapter oh we are finally at the Place no one will be excited but me

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jasontoddenthusiastt · 8 months

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‘The point is not “is bftc good Jason characterization”’

Actually the point can be anything that the op of the post wants it to be. Oh you mean that is not your point. Um …. Cool. Nobody asked.

#*provides canon proof of Jason absolutely traumatizing teens in canon*#/s #*the whopping two instances are titans tower and the Mia Dearden incident*#both of which happened around the same time as uth. effectively making Jason approximately … eighteen or nineteen.#while Mia was 17 and Tim was like 16. wow how could this seasoned old man be so cruel to these literal babies #this is coming from someone who cares deeply about how different authors’ visions for bruce can turn him into a male power fantasy #but according to this person that's technically all fanon because the authors are fans of Batman who write him how they want #<- a needlessly complicated way of saying it doesn’t matter that almost every writer has written Batman as a cop symbol #because they don’t agree with those authors’ visions it’s just bad characterization #not consistency #anyway back to how any Jason fan who doesn't ascribe to your flawless interpretation of these iffy events is actually missing the point #mhm okay ignored winick showing Jason desperately saving children like three times in lost days #and other authors later wrote him being good with kids too #oh but even if he had the same trait in post crisis and n52 these characterizations are actually irreconcilable because they said so #kelseethe #for someone who seemingly cares so much about numbers and patterns #they tend to skip a lot of important panels in their ‘analyses’#like the panels in batman 650 where Jason mentioned the thousands joker killed and the friends he's crippled #and the lost days panels of him being upset about joker going on to hurt more families and fathers and sons #all this to claim Jason’s ultimatum in utrh was entirely self-centered #I guess it just goes to show how much evidence you have to ignore/disregard to come to the conclusion that Jason is a bad person #but yeah your vision is the be all & end all and anyone who thinks otherwise isn’t ~normal~

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justaz · 2 years

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after mt st helens erupted and percy went missing, annabeth rarely slept or ate. at first, when she did sleep, her dreams were filled with him dying over and over again. then they began to become more realistic of him shaking her awake and standing in front of her perfectly fine, healthy, alive. those hurt worse bc when she actually wakes up there’s this split second where she believes in her heart that it was real, only to look around and find herself alone again.

#annabeth chase #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #percabeth #headcanon #head canon #hc #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #mt st helens #percys missing #assumed dead #and she has to live with the guilt of leaving him behind for weeks #she had to deal with the crippling grief of him being gone. being dead.

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youaskedfurret · 2 years

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I was looking at all of the characters favorite foods and 😭😭😭😭 LMAO

MF really do be based on Gaston he just out here eating raw eggs

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #gaston literally crippled the local egg economy with his raw egg eating habit that's a canonical fact if you pay attention #to one of the lines in that song

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and-stir-the-stars · 1 year

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Perhaps unsurprisingly, the latest Lonely Children post got quite long, so I'm tagging you both in a new post <3

This could be the point where William tries getting Evan fully on his side, but I like to think that even though he'd trusted the creepy rabbit man over the Fragment, Evan wasn't oblivious to the red flags.... And since Glitchtrap has William's arrogance, he severely underestimates both Evan's intelligence and his willpower. This could lead to Evan learning the truth of who was behind the endless nightmare.

@dire-kumori Evan noticing the red flags!! YESS GOOD FOR HIM! He's been through so much at this point and he SO needs that win (though, i can't help but wonder what Evan thinks of the Fragment after learning the truth about Glitchtrap. Does he realize the Fragment is, at heart, a force of good that Glitchtrap wants to get rid of? Does he assume the Fragment is another one of Glitchtrap's creations put here to trick and manipulate him? Does Evan's fear of it, plus witnessing the Fragment manipulating Vanessa, lead Evan to think of it as more of an "enemy of my enemy is my ally" thing?)

And I also love the thought of Evan trying his hardest to save this kid and just failing at every turn because Michael refuses to leave this awful place [Circus Baby's]. He's certain that something much, much worse will happen if he tries running away from his 'punishment' (even if he doesn't exactly remember what he's being punished for) but he's nonetheless willing to help guide them through the level towards the exit. He's been around long enough that he knows every nook and cranny of this place ("don't go left; that way's the scooping room") and is able to get them out quickly enough. - Dire

Gregory: what's so bad about the scooping room? I could go for some ice cream...

I think another layer that makes Michael refusing to be saved even more heartwrenching is that, once the two of them get their memories back, Mike remembers just how crushing and soul-destroying it was to try saving Evan over and over only to fail and watch his little brother be torn apart so many times. Foxybro obviously doesn't (consciously) remember this, but once he gets his memories back, maybe he's left with the horrible realization that by refusing to be saved, he left Evan subject to the same torment he lived through for so long (not being able to save your brother). He's horrified that, even after everything, he still managed to find yet another way to hurt his little brother (me too, Mike; I have NO idea how you two manage to find new ways to hurt each other with every post and au I see from others or make myself. You'd think you'd run of ways eventually.)

Even when Gregory forcibly drags them both out of Circus Baby's and even before fully getting his memories back, all that self-hatred and self-doubt and the "emotional imprints" left inside him from not being able to save his little bro no matter what he does, just leads him straight back to Glitchtrap. So horribly ironic that he's the one to get completely suckered in; I have no idea what horrors Glitchtrap would have in store for him, but hopefully Gregory and Evan would manage to pull off a rescue mission (and yell at Mike for doing something so stupid.... and let their "little brother" know that they don't care whether he makes the right decisions all the time. They just want him THERE).

This whole time, I’ve been imagining [Mike/Fragment] as the age when his first little sibling was born (be that either Evan or Elizabeth, take your pick) the age where he became a big brother. He’s still so, so little, but has this new, sudden responsibility that he doesn’t quite understand.

@honey-bunnysaurus I am feeling so Reasonable and Normal about the Fragment manifesting as the same age he was when he became a big sibling for the first time. I don't have words for how beautifully painful that is; he is way too young for this really big responsibility that he doesn't understand, AND he's being given a chance to try being a good big brother (well... little brother) again on so many different levels, especially when you incorporate Dire's idea that he constantly flips between ages depending on his mental state. Mike's the one who "faded" inside the Endless Nightmare, too unsure of his place or purpose or ability to save Evan to hold himself together, so it makes sense that he'd be so fragile and unstable in this digital world. Maybe as Mike gets more and more sure of himself and his place with his new brothers, his form becomes gradually more and more stable; or, maybe it's a comfort in and of itself to Foxybro that he can flip between ages and just be himself without the fear of responsibility or judgement or messing up that made him feel the need to hide and be someone something/else even before the Bite.

Gregory still calls him tiny even when Fragment Mike reaches his teenage stage, just because it annoys Mike. - Honey

Oh for sure. Gregory has an unending supply of nicknames that are some variation of "little bro" and "little guy." Does the use of these nicknames lead to noogie-ing when Mike is in his teenage, or maybe even young adult, form? Absolutely. But Gregory has Goldie on his side, too; they outnumber Foxybro, and Gregory is more than willing to play dirty. Just imagine Foxybro giving Gregory a noogie, Goldie tickling Foxybro to try making him let go, and finally Gregory slams his foot into the back of Foxybro's knee and the three of them collapse into a giggling pile of sibling antics on the ground as they bicker with each other.

Maybe they’d cycle through a bunch of names like the fandom does for him; Chris, Norman, Cassidy, Jeremy, so on and so forth. - Dire

!!!!

i LOVE that. Maybe Gregory throws out a couple names for Ev soon after they first meet, but Evan quietly says he doesn't know if he likes any of them. So, Gregory decides not to ask Evan if he likes the names but to randomly call Evan whatever names he thinks of and sees how his new friend reacts (I imagine a lot of these new names Gregory thinks of are actually popular memes from 2035, or whenever you think SB takes place). Despite Gregory being able to call him 15 different names in the span of five minutes, his new friend still doesn't seem to latch onto any of the ideas, though (some ideas are so bad that his new friend can't help but wrinkle his nose or stick his tongue out at them). Maybe after an exasperatingly long time of trying to find a name, they finally decide Gregory will call Evan Him (capitalization included) and Evan will call himself Me (as reference to Golden Freddy's IT'S ME IT'S ME IT'S ME). It still doesn't quite suit Evan, no, but it's better than nothing... until Evan finds the golden Fredbear plush. It's a major relief to both of them when Gregory looks between the plush and his new friend and the nickname "Goldie" slips from Gregory's smiling lips.

#i keep thinking how funny it is that ev and mike are trapped in this digital world but gregory is just playing a video game #the three of them are in a really stressful situation when gregory's parents/beta testing supervisors/guardians/whoever #scream at him to get out of the game for a few minutes #gregory has to shoot ev and mike a ''this is so embarrassing. sorry about this'' look before he disappears entirely as he #takes off the headset. ev and mike sit there awkwardly waiting for him to come back #unless ofc glitchtrap is keeping gregory locked inside the game somehow #or even the fragment's fiddling could be keeping gregory locked in on accident #also HAH gregory calling mikey 'crybaby'#crybaby complains and goldie is like well it's better than Him/Me #crybaby just pouts in response #and it's so funny to think about canon vanessa complaining about having to raise chaotic gregory and freddy robo duo #then she gets a glimpse into this vanessa's life #sees this vanessa struggling to raise the absolute messy trio that is gregory and two ghost boys (one of which #keeps flipping his ages) and canon vanessa is like ykw. maybe my life isn't THAT weird.#it'd be especially weird for vanessa if Fox occasionally changes into a young adult form #a form close to her own age #i don't think michael would use that form very much tbh #if his teenage form is a reminder of the guilt he faced over the bite‚ then his young adult form #is a reminder of all that guilt AND the crippling isolation as he lost all his friends and got scooped #and lost his family and failed liz and--#ykw i'll stop talking now #also i tried doing a little bit of research to see where ev might find the golden fredbear plushie in the game #i watched a few minutes of someone playing through the night terrors level and messing around at the prize counter #(the two places i thought we'd be most likely to see a fredbear plush)#but there didn't really appear to be one in either of those locations #so i'm not sure where goldie finds his namesake #i suppose that's something we'll have to take creative liberties with and make up for ourselves #lonely children au #michael afton #evan afton

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rjalker · 8 months

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The Power and the Glory

By Charles Willard Diffin

Originally published July 1930, in the magazine, Astounding Stories of Super-Science.

[Sadly, sternly, the old professor reveals to his brilliant pupil the greater path to glory]

[ID: A black and white illustration showing a young man siting in a chair in front of a table of scientific equipment, his head in one hand in despair, while an older man stands above him with his hand on the younger man's shoulder consolingly, his other wrist held across his chest, showing he is missing that hand. End ID.]

There were papers on the desk, a litter of papers scrawled over, in the careless writing of indifferent students, with the symbols of chemistry and long mathematical computations. The man at the desk pushed them aside to rest his lean, lined face on one thin hand. The other arm, ending at the wrist, was on the desk before him.

Students of a great university had long since ceased to speculate about the missing hand. The result of an experiment, they knew—a hand that was a mass of lifeless cells, amputated quickly that the living arm might be saved—but that was some several years ago, ancient history to those who came and went through Professor Eddinger's class room.

And now Professor Eddinger was weary—weary and old, he told himself—as he closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the interminable papers and the stubby wrist that had ended forever his experiments and the delicate manipulations which only he could do.

He reached slowly for a buzzing phone, but his eyes brightened at the voice that came to him.

"I've got it—I've got it!" The words were almost incoherent. "This is Avery, Professor—Avery! You must come at once. You will share in it; I owe it all to you ... you will be the first to see ... I am sending a taxi for you—"

Professor Eddinger's tired eyes crinkled to a smile. Enthusiasm like this was rare among his youngsters. But Avery—with the face of a poet, a dreamer's eyes and the mind of a scientist—good boy, Avery!—a long time since he had seen him—had him in his own laboratory for two years....

"What's this all about?" he asked.

"No—no!" said a voice; "I can't tell you—it is too big—greater than the induction motor—greater than the electric light—it is the greatest thing in the world. The taxi should be there now—you must come—"

A knock at the office door where a voice said, "Car for Professor Eddinger," confirmed the excited words.

"I'll come," said the Professor, "right away."

He pondered, as the car whirled him across the city, on what this greatest thing in the world might be. And he hoped with gentle skepticism that the enthusiasm was warranted. A young man opened the car door as they stopped. His face was flushed, Eddinger noted, hair pushed back in disarray, his shirt torn open at the throat.

"Wait here," he told the driver and took the Professor by the arm to hurry him into a dilapidated building.

"Not much of a laboratory," he said, "but we'll have better, you and I; we'll have better—"

The room seemed bare with its meager equipment, but it was neat, as became the best student of Professor Eddinger. Rows of reagent bottles stood on the shelves, but the tables were a litter of misplaced instruments and broken glassware where trembling hands had fumbled in heedless excitement.

"Glad to see you again, Avery." The gentle voice of Professor Eddinger had lost its tired tone. "It's been two years you've been working, I judge. Now what is this great discovery, boy? What have you found?"

The younger man, in whose face the color came and went, and whose eyes were shining from dark hollows that marked long days and sleepless nights, still clung to the other's arm.

"It's real," he said; "it's great! It means fortune and fame, and you're in on that, Professor. The old master," he said and clapped a hand affectionately upon a thin shoulder; "I owe it all to you. And now I have—I have learned.... No, you shall see for yourself. Wait—"

He crossed quickly to a table. On it was an apparatus; the eyes of the older man widened as he saw it. It was intricate—a maze of tubing. There was a glass bulb above—the generator of a cathode ray, obviously—and electro-magnets below and on each side. Beneath was a crude sphere of heavy lead—a retort, it might be—and from this there passed two massive, insulated cables. The understanding eyes of the Professor followed them, one to a terminal on a great insulating block upon the floor, the other to a similarly protected terminal of carbon some feet above it in the air.

The trembling fingers of the young man made some few adjustments, then he left the instrument to take his place by an electric switch. "Stand back," he warned, and closed the switch.

There was a gentle hissing from within glass tubes, the faint glow of a blue-green light. And that was all, until—with a crash like the ripping crackle of lightning, a white flame arced between the terminals of the heavy cables. It hissed ceaselessly through the air where now the tang of ozone was apparent. The carbon blocks glowed with a brilliant incandescence when the flame ceased with the motion of a hand where Avery pulled a switch.

The man's voice was quiet now. "You do not know, yet, what you have seen, but there was a tremendous potential there—an amperage I can't measure with my limited facilities." He waved a deprecating hand about the ill-furnished laboratory. "But you have seen—" His voice trembled and failed at the forming of the words.

"—The disintegration of the atom," said Professor Eddinger quietly, "and the release of power unlimited. Did you use thorium?" he inquired.

The other looked at him in amazement. Then: "I should have known you would understand," he said humbly. "And you know what it means"—again his voice rose—"power without end to do the work of the world—great vessels driven a lifetime on a mere ounce of matter—a revolution in transportation—in living...." He paused. "The liberation of mankind," he added, and his voice was reverent. "This will do the work of the world: it will make a new heaven and a new earth! Oh, I have dreamed dreams," he exclaimed, "I have seen visions. And it has been given to me—me!—to liberate man from the curse of Adam ... the sweat of his brow.... I can't realize it even yet. I—I am not worthy...."

He raised his eyes slowly in the silence to gaze in wondering astonishment at the older man. There was no answering light, no exaltation on the lined face. Only sadness in the tired eyes that looked at him and through him as if focused upon something in a dim future—or past.

"Don't you see?" asked the wondering man. "The freedom of men—the liberation of a race. No more poverty, no endless, grinding labor." His young eyes, too, were looking into the future, a future of blinding light. "Culture," he said, "instead of heart-breaking toil, a chance to grow mentally, spiritually; it is another world, a new life—" And again he asked: "Surely, you see?"

"I see," said the other; "I see—plainly."

"The new world," said Avery. "It—it dazzles me; it rings like music in my ears."

"I see no new world," was the slow response.

The young face was plainly perplexed. "Don't you believe?" he stammered. "After you have seen ... I thought you would have the vision, would help me emancipate the world, save it—" His voice failed.

"Men have a way of crucifying their saviors," said the tired voice.

The inventor was suddenly indignant. "You are blind," he said harshly; "it is too big for you. And I would have had you stand beside me in the great work.... I shall announce it alone.... There will be laboratories—enormous!—and factories. My invention will be perfected, simplified, compressed. A generator will be made—thousands of horsepower to do the work of a city, free thousands of men—made so small you can hold it in one hand."

The sensitive face was proudly alight, proud and a trifle arrogant. The exaltation of his coming power was strong upon him.

"Yes," said Professor Eddinger, "in one hand." And he raised his right arm that he might see where the end of a sleeve was empty.

"I am sorry," said the inventor abruptly; "I didn't mean ... but you will excuse me now; there is so much to be done—" But the thin figure of Professor Eddinger had crossed to the far table to examine the apparatus there.

"Crude," he said beneath his breath, "crude—but efficient!"

In the silence a rat had appeared in the distant corner. The Professor nodded as he saw it. The animal stopped as the man's eyes came upon it; then sat squirrellike on one of the shelves as it ate a crumb of food. Some morsel from a hurried lunch of Avery's, the Professor reflected—poor Avery! Yes, there was much to be done.

He spoke as much to himself as to the man who was now beside him. "It enters here," he said and peered downward toward the lead bulb. He placed a finger on the side of the metal. "About here, I should think.... Have you a drill? And a bit of quartz?"

The inventor's eyes were puzzled, but the assurance of his old instructor claimed obedience. He produced a small drill and a fragment like broken glass. And he started visibly as the one hand worked awkwardly to make a small hole in the side of the lead. But he withdrew his own restraining hand, and he watched in mystified silence while the quartz was fitted to make a tiny window and the thin figure stooped to sight as if aiming the opening toward a far corner where a brown rat sat upright in earnest munching of a dry crust.

The Professor drew Avery with him as he retreated noiselessly from the instrument. "Will you close the switch," he whispered.

The young man hesitated, bewildered, at this unexpected demonstration, and the Professor himself reached with his one hand for the black lever. Again the arc crashed into life, to hold for a brief instant until Professor Eddinger opened the switch.

"Well," demanded Avery, "what's all the show? Do you think you are teaching me anything—about my own instrument?" There was hurt pride and jealous resentment in his voice.

"See," said Professor Eddinger quietly. And his one thin hand pointed to a far shelf, where, in the shadow, was a huddle of brown fur and a bit of crust. It fell as they watched, and the "plop" of the soft body upon the floor sounded loud in the silent room.

"The law of compensation," said Professor Eddinger. "Two sides to the medal! Darkness and light—good and evil—life ... and death!"

The young man was stammering. "What do you mean?—a death ray evolved?" And: "What of it?" he demanded; "what of it? What's that got to do with it?"

"A death ray," the other agreed. "You have dreamed, Avery—one must in order to create—but it is only a dream. You dreamed of life—a fuller life—for the world, but you would have given them, as you have just seen, death."

The face of Avery was white as wax; his eyes glared savagely from dark hollows.

"A rat!" he protested. "You have killed a rat ... and you say—you say—" He raised one trembling hand to his lips to hold them from forming the unspeakable words.

"A rat," said the Professor—"or a man ... or a million men."

"We will control it."

"All men will have it—the best and the worst ... and there is no defence."

"It will free the world—"

"It will destroy it."

"No!"—and the white-faced man was shouting now—"you don't understand—you can't see—"

The lean figure of the scientist straightened to its full height. His eyes met those of the younger man, silent now before him, but Avery knew the eyes never saw him; they were looking far off, following the wings of thought. In the stillness the man's words came harsh and commanding—

"Do you see the cities," he said, "crumbling to ruins under the cold stars? The fields? They are rank with wild growth, torn and gullied by the waters; a desolate land where animals prowl. And the people—the people!—wandering bands, lower, as the years drag on, than the beasts themselves; the children dying, forgotten, in the forgotten lands; a people to whom the progress of our civilization is one with the ages past, for whom there is again the slow, toiling road toward the light.

"And somewhere, perhaps, a conquering race, the most brutal and callous of mankind, rioting in their sense of power and dragging themselves down to oblivion...."

His gaze came slowly back to the room and the figure of the man still fighting for his dream.

"They would not," said Avery hoarsely; "they'd use it for good."

"Would they?" asked Professor Eddinger. He spoke simply as one stating simple facts. "I love my fellow men," he said, "and I killed them in thousands in the last war—I, and my science, and my poison gas."

The figure of Avery slumped suddenly upon a chair; his face was buried in his hands. "And I would have been," he groaned, "the greatest man in the world."

"You shall be greater," said the Professor, "though only we shall know it—you and I.... You will save the world—from itself."

The figure, bowed and sunken in the chair, made no move; the man was heedless of the kindly hand upon his shoulder. His voice, when he spoke, was that of one afar off, speaking out of a great loneliness. "You don't understand," he said dully; "you can't—"

But Professor Eddinger, a cog in the wheels of a great educational machine, glanced at the watch on his wrist. Again his thin shoulders were stooped, his voice tired. "My classes," he said. "I must be going...."

In the gathering dusk Professor Eddinger locked carefully the door of his office. He crossed beyond his desk and fumbled with his one hand for his keys.

There was a cabinet to be opened, and he stared long in the dim light at the object he withdrew. He looked approvingly at the exquisite workmanship of an instrument where a generator of the cathode ray and an intricate maze of tubing surmounted electro-magnets and a round lead bulb. There were terminals for attaching heavy cables; it was a beautiful thing.... His useless arm moved to bring an imaginary hand before the window of quartz in the lead sphere.

"Power," he whispered and repeated Avery's words; "power, to build a city—or destroy a civilization ... and I hold it in one hand."

He replaced the apparatus in the safety of its case. "The saviors of mankind!" he said, and his tone was harsh and bitter.

But a smile, whimsical, kindly, crinkled his tired eyes as he turned to his desk and its usual litter of examination papers.

"It is something, Avery," he whispered to that distant man, "to belong in so distinguished a group."

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