Corroded, Fragmentary Dreams - Season 1, "Goodnight"

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Ebon Chasm Area #5, Sutania [Corroded Fragmentary Dreams]

After that, they get a new family.

New father too, though… not quite.

Stick knows what’s really happened. Especially with herself and Leaf. Their father is dead and their mother hasn’t come for them. Hasn’t even responded to the information sent her way, though there was confirmation that she received it. Which means that Stick and Leaf are officially orphans. Stick has overheard the fights between the adults, the ones they have while they think the kids can’t hear them. The ones over their fate, because they’re kids and they’re not allowed to have a say in their own fate.

There’s some that are of the opinion that it’s owed to their father to try and find them a family. Most of the other adults disagree., If they do that, Stick and Leaf will get targets on their backs, and that’s not the kind of thing that any of the others really want to do after everything that their father did for the grounders. What it ultimately means is that they are on the verge of becoming orphans. Legally at least.

Because if their mother doesn’t want them, then she might as well not exist, after all.

Leaf sleeps deep and Stick is glad for it because it means that she doesn’t hear any of it. She’s able to clutch Tara and sleep. It’s not a peaceful realm for either of them anymore, and the group home they live in now isn’t quite the same as what they lost… but it is something. And something is far better than nothing. It’s a roof over their heads. It’s usually some kind of food, at least once a day. Even if all that is is a piece of scrounged up fruit per orphan.

Because that’s what this place is for. It’s for the orphans that aren’t belong recruited into one of the child gangs. There’s enough of them here for them to form a gang of their own. And that’s a problem, even if it’s not one that Stick can explain to her sister very much.

Because now, now Stick and Leaf are part of the group. And their new father — not their new father, and the man winces every time Stick screams that she’ll never call him father or even dad – despite the way that Leaf is so quick to do so. Stick isn’t sorry, and feels bad for the way he flinches, sure, but it’s not her responsibility to make him feel better. He’s trying to replace her father and she won’t let him. But their new …caretaker…. owns a home that used to double as a base of operations for a group of orphans that stopped being a gang for one reason or another.

And up until now, the place hadn’t had the numbers to fix the number of orphan gangs that were around here. There’s only been four, not the lucky five.

Stick and Leaf remaining unclaimed fixes that.

Unfortunately… Stick is the oldest and the most stubborn – at least when she isn’t stuck, or when the voices she hears and things she sees don’t stall her out. Those two things right there should be enough to disqualify her from leading the gang as far as she’s convinced, but it doesn’t as far as the others are concerned. Oldest is leader, that’s how these gangs work and how they’ve always worked – how all the other four also work, and with this new one… well. It brings them back up to five.

Stick argues it for a while, refusing to take up the leadership. Refusing to join. Refusing to be part of this. But it’s a delaying tactic and she knows it. In the end she doesn’t really get a say in it at all. In the end, Stick bows her head and agrees to take the position.

Leaf thinks it’s an amazing development. She believes that Stick can do no wrong, that Stick will always be able to keep them all safe, and of course so too will their new father.

“Just call him dad,” Leaf whispers one night, on the cusp of sleep. “I bet it’d really make his day.” Stick doesn’t answer, and Leaf doesn’t bring it up again.

It takes everything she has in her to keep from screaming, over and over, until her throat is rough and dry and scratchy, that this man isn’t their father. But she knows what role she’s needed for. They need her to lead. They need her to be okay enough to lead them. They need her to keep them safe. Stick couldn’t even save her own father but the other orphans in the gang need her to keep them safe.

So Stick swallows the voices, swallows the image of the light going out of her father’s eyes, swallows — everything that’s inconvenient or that would worry any of the others. She knows that Leaf will believe this – Leaf always has. So even as the voices get worse and worse, as the things Stick see get more and more distressing – Leaf still thinks the world of Stick. Still thinks that Stick might as well be some kind of deity or something – so incapable of doing wrong that even the implication of that much is an insult.

Out of everyone in the gang, the only one who never stops noticing what’s going on is Victor. Maybe that’s because he’s also someone who really doesn’t want to be in the position that he’s in in the gang. Maybe it’s because he and his twin really shouldn’t belong in the gang, as they’re not quite orphans. Their mother hangs around at times, but she doesn’t have the time to stay and take care of them, so they’re basically orphans themselves.

It leads to a meltdown one night. Stick and Victor are scrounging for enough food to keep the whole gang since everyone caught a sickness and none of them are used to fighting their own bodies quite so much as Stick and Victor are. Stick keeps hearing the voice of her father and Victor has had at least four serious coughing fits – but neither of them have given the signal that’s for going back. No. Neither of them are going to. Four serious coughing fits is four more than Stick is comfortable with staying out here with when it comes to Victor – but bringing up that he should go back causes him to call out that Stick is in just as bad of a spot. Not physically, sure, but Victor can tell how badly the hallucinations are bothering Stick.

She snaps something she forgets almost as soon as she says it, about how Victor doesn’t have to keep going because Stick is the leader and their group can’t afford for her to slow down or stop but she can cover for him enough that it’ll be fine

Victor counts with a comment that gets stuck in Stick’s mind.

“You swallow absolutely everything that is wrong. You don’t stop, you try to shoulder everything so we don’t have to shoulder near as much but that’s not fair to you. Sure some of the others might be fine with letting you carry their roles too, but you’re our leader Stick. If you can’t tell us what’s wrong and rely on us, then how are we supposed to act? We’re supposed to follow the leader! So don’t scold me for doing the same thing as you are!”

Stick grits her teeth, and oh she can feel the shouting building up behind her teeth. The desire to shout and rage at him about everything that she’s been swallowing is hot and fast and Stick swallows it. Victor makes a face as she does, and Stick knows all at once that he must have figured out how to tell when she swallows things. But swallowing the rage leaves space for the other feeling, and Stick isn’t fast enough to swallow that.

The tears start, and they won’t stop. They won’t stop and Stick can hardly see anything around them. “What else am I supposed to do?” It’s a question, a plead, a beg. She doesn’t know what to do, who to turn to, what to even make of… any of this. The only one who even seems to notice at all is Victor – none of the others, not even the adults whose job is supposed to be making sure none of them burn out or are in too much danger. “I don’t- I never wanted to lead this gang!” Stick is aware of the way Victor comes close, pulls her into a hug like he’s trying to protect her from the meltdown itself.

It keeps her hands from finding her hair and pulling and pulling until the pain in her skull outweighs the emotions that are threatening to drown her now. It’s better, she thinks – because like this it means that she won’t have a splitting headache that makes all of the lights pulse later.

Neither of them know what to do, but Victor is good at comforting others, and that’s something. A skill Stick informs him is far more valuable than he tends to consider it. It gives her time to breathe, to think, and time for both of them to rest before they go back to scrounging for food to take back to the gang so there’s even the smallest chance of getting a half decent meal for the first time in at least two weeks.

Something has to give.

Has to change.

Be different.

—

Something has to change.

Something has to be different.

Stick has to do something different.

Do something different.

Do something different.

The idea comes in the grips of one of Stick’s episodes. She doesn’t even know if it’s her own idea or if it’s… does it matter? It’s the kind of idea that no one ever suggests, not after what’s happened in the past. The kind of idea that the adults specifically warn them away from with hopes of keeping the grounder children gangs …at least out of the line of fire of the platies and topsiders.

But it’s the kind of idea that just might save them, or give them half of a chance. And that – that’s worth its weight in the rarest of stones from the mines.

Victor thinks it’s a bad idea, possibly the worst he’s ever heard of and he’s including his twin Margaret’s whole ‘why don’t we lure some platies down here and kill them and take their stuff’ idea. Stick agrees – at least with Margaret’s idea there’s a lot less of a chance of the whole gang dying. It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible idea – dangerous, could get them all killed or something far, far worse.

The man that’s not Stick’s father says it’s the best idea she’s had since finally agreeing to lead the gang. After all – it could get them trinkets and other items that will sell for a lot of money. If not to some of the more well off grounders, then to the platies that come down here thinking they’re slick with their whole ‘gutter surfing’. Failing either of that, though, the platie they steal from would probably pay a premium to get their stuff back and then get back up and on their plate without having to stay and breathe the grounder air for too long.

That kind of payday would make sure they all got good food for at least a few months, and if they can pull it off without getting caught – then they can do it again before the money runs out and everything will be fine!

Leaf thinks it’s a good idea too.

Margaret looks proud when she agrees that it’s a damn good idea and about time that Stick came up with something that would really put them on the map when compared to the other gangs.

Stick and Victor meet each others eyes over the excited chattering. Victor takes a slow, deep breath, and the soft cough is the only one he lets escape before he swallows it. Then he looks around the room and closes his eyes before giving a short nod. And that seals it, doesn’t it? Victor’s going to swallow it, and he already knows that with this much excitement out of the gang that Stick was going to swallow it herself.

So Stick can make this work. She can do it. She has to. Head jerking as she waves at the crowded (empty) air over her right shoulder with a warning chitter, Stick stares at the group. Her gaze goes from one to the next to the next. They’re all excited, all looking at her with bright eyes and eager gazes. Not Victor, but his expression is carefully schooled. That one that Stick now knows means he’s going to follow her lead no matter what.

She swallows where only she and Victor can see, and then she speaks. “Alright. Get ready. If anyone wants to stay here, you can.” She means for Victor to stay, but she won’t make him. She can’t make him. (She should stay. The voices have been extra nasty lately, and she keeps seeing movement out of the corner of her eyes that nearly have her pulling a knife at space she knows is logically probably empty based on the fact that no one else is reacting to it at all. It’s not safe. It’s not safe. She’s not safe. — She doesn’t have a choice. They need this, and she swallows the uncertainty and fear. As long as she doesn’t make a mistake, everyone will be back here and it will be okay.)

“Just don’t bring that domino tendency of yours this time Stick, eh?” Margaret laughs as she says it, and Stick gives a little jerky nod as she turns to go get her own supplies. “Last thing you need is you knocking us all down while we’re up on one of those damn plates.”

“Hey!” Leaf speaks up, like she always does. Like she does every single time that someone makes the domino joke. She hates it, and the way her fists ball is an implication of violence that she’s only not pulling out because Stick has instructed the gang that they really should not take out their anger on one another because this life will take out so much on them all already. “That’s mean.” Leaf says, and her own warning chitter is a much softer thing than Stick’s is. Her tone is almost gentle, like she’s explaining morality to a child too young to understand.

Margaret, who is older than Leaf, bares her teeth. But then her gaze flicks up to where Stick is watching them and she lifts her hands in a nonverbal signal of surrender so Leaf backs off. Then she snorts, makes a noise that’s all scorn.

Stick swallows that too.

Like she has for every time it’s happened for the last few years. Just another joke. Just another moment where Stick is too sensitive, according to the man that’s not her father. It goes into the box, all bulging and threatening to break out one of these days. It’s not like Stick does it on purpose! Victor doesn’t either, but there’s the other comment already dripping from Margaret’s lips like so much of the poison from the upper plates.

“Well, we should also probably leave our resident victim behind.” Margaret says, gaze darting to where Victor is. She starts to say something else and Stick’s chitter echoes loudly across the room, cutting her off.

“I said. Get ready.” Stick orders. Her voice is quieter than the chitter, but the immediate scurrying and scuttling of movement and working and getting ready is what she wanted. Stick exhales. Good. She can work with this. She just has to get them up a few plates and get the best and most things with the least amount of risk.

They can do this. Get these things without any of them dying. It’s possible. It has to be.

Stick just has to make sure that she does everything right.

No pressure.

—-

There’s something… something wrong with everything going on. Stick isn’t sure what it is. All of them are feeling sick, even though they were all okay this morning when they set out. As they gang has climbed higher, they’ve all had a harder and harder time breathing and everything that was even vaguely easy before is now… not. Not at all. Victor is having it the worst of them – he’s had more than a few coughing fits, but he keeps pushing forward, insisting that he’s going to be just fine and that there’s nothing that they all have to worry about.

Stick doesn’t like that, not one bit, but she doesn’t have any way to call him out or send him back. Especially not since Margaret keeps talking about how proud of the domino and the victim she is, and Stick almost regrets her own rule about combat within the gang because this is… she hates it. She hates it so much.

So once they make it up to the fifth plate, Stick makes an executive decision. She’s not going to take them any higher. She’s not willing to push her luck further because they still have to get back to the ground after this, and all of them are complaining about headaches and problems like that now. And… and part of it is because she can hear the wheezing at the edge of every breath Victor is taking, and the voices are… nasty. Victor’s lungs though, they’re handling this the worst. But he won’t go back. Not if no one else is. And Stick won’t (can’t) go back either, so she doesn’t blame him. Not one bit.

But the fifth plate is one of the ones Stick had a tip for, so she follows the tip. Swallows the fears, swallows the part of her that keeps looking out to the side and marveling at how much brighter this plate’s slice of the sky is than the ground’s ever is. Good, bad, it doesn’t matter. It all goes swallowed.

The tip leads them to a pretty lavish apartment, up on the nineteenth floor of an apartment block. It’s empty, and so is most of the floor as far as it seems like. That’s good, as much as it tempts Leaf and Margaret to go and check out some of the other apartments. Stick shuts that down as quickly as she can, because she doesn’t know about them – doesn’t have any information on them. Besides, according to what she heard – the apartment they’re breaking into now should have more than enough to have them settled for even as long as potentially a year.

A year where none of them need venture into the mines or worse.

It sounds too good to be true.

But like Margaret has been saying lately – neither the domino nor the victim are going to cause issues for them today. It looks like they’re going to be able to do things just fine. It’s going well – they get into the apartment and there’s no alarms, and there’s… there’s stuff everywhere.

Stick has never seen this much stuff in one place. So much of it is plated in gold and plumazie – and that latter brings a bubbling rage to Stick’s throat. She knows where plumazie comes from, knows how many grounders likely died in order to get this much of that damned stuff. And yet, and yet – it sells well. And she knows it. So do the others.

Victor has the idea of raiding the fridge for some stuff they can eat now, and that’ll get them on their way down. It’s a good idea, and the group takes turns rifling through the apartment and raiding the fridge. A few folks take turns on lookout duty as well, just to make sure that no one arrives early in order to bust them.

They get so many things. So much that the bag that the man who isn’t their father threatens to pitch some things out of it. It’s… it’s a good haul. Stick cuts them off at that point. It won’t do them any good to get more than they can carry. There’s a bit of an argument that nearly gets started at that point, but it dies down quickly. Stick feels like she’s maybe doing this thing right, where she’s supposed to be a leader.

Margaret even apologizes for ragging on Stick and Victor so hard, an almost grin tugging at her lips.

Together, the gang leaves the apartment.

Together, they take the fire escape down and Stick activates the fire alarm so they’ll get lost in the crowd of platies who have never had to struggle a day in their lives and so don’t have the slightest of ideas of what they need to do when something out of the ordinary happens.

They make it off the fifth plate and onto the fourth plate, but the whole trick with the fire escape won’t work on the fourth plate – and of course the cops have messaged ahead in order to do what they can to catch the little group of thieves. Which means they have to hide very well, ducking into the shadows of an alleyway and swallowing harshly in order to muffle their own sounds. Things are a little dicier than Stick wanted them to be, but… but it looks like this is going to work.

On to the third plate, and the cops are even more visible and out and about. But all they’ve got to do is make it to the ground. Three more levels down and then they’ll be in the clear. Everything will be okay, as long as they can make it those three more levels.

The voices can be as nasty as they like, but maybe… just maybe this wasn’t as bad of a plan as Stick had assumed it was going to be. Just maybe things–

The illusion is shattered like a gunshot.

With a gunshot.

In so much slow motion, the gang looks. First each of them down at their own chests and then back at one another – until they spot the one of them that’s been shot. With a weak little whimper, one of the gang members collapses. Stolen loot crumbles from their hands as they collapse, falling to the ground and scattering. There’s blood spreading out across their chest – bright and a sign even without the fact that those of the group with sharper noses can smell the reek of death already moving to cling to the corpse before its even cooled.

Victor starts to say something – and his lungs seize, sending him spiraling into a coughing fit. It’s quick and vicious, and the police officer that just shot one of the group of children is already moving their gun to aim it for the coughing boy.

Stick can’t tear her gaze away from the corpse at first, and then she can, and the angry chitter that explodes out from her comes along with the sharp order. “Keep going! Help Victor!” And Stick lunges for the cop with murder in her eyes.

—

There’s still blood on her hands when Stick catches up to the others, on the first plate. She’s limping, following scent because that’s the only sense that isn’t running her ragged. Things follow the edge of her vision, whispers that crowd her hearing, sensations rubbing up against her flesh that drives her to distraction.

Margaret flinches away from Stick when she reaches out for her. The other kid’s eyes are huge, and keep darting to the bloodstained hands. “Did… did you….?”

Stick’s expression wavers, confusion lighting up for a moment. “Why wouldn’t I?” Stick asks. “They killed one of ours!”

“That’s your fault!” Margaret snaps the words, stepping almost protectively in front of Victor like she thinks Stick is a danger to the rest of the gang. “You fell down and took us with you Stick! And now one of us has died because you’re such a domino!”

The words drive Stick to take a halting step back, hands coming around her torso and fingers hiding under armpits. Her gaze darts to Leaf, looking for support – but her sister is already shaking her head at her. There’s fear in Leaf’s eyes, and she takes a step back like she can’t believe what her sister has done. Like she’s… like she’s afraid of Stick now. Breath catching in her throat, Stick opens her mouth to say something.

Anything.

Victor is trying to gasp out words between another set of coughing.

And the moment shatters when cops round the corner and recognize the group.

Shouting and screaming captures the air, and-

And-

Stick.

Gets.

Stuck.