interstellar5555 | the last mistake, the choice i made

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the last mistake, the choice i made

Who: Steven, Greg, and technically Sans.
What: Sans teleports Greg into Steven's room one more time, by popular demand.
When: February 11th, 2055
Where: Steven's room in Pride HQ
Warnings: Potential discussion of torture, child abuse, etc.

It's late in the evening, and he's feeling claustrophobic.

Jin has been locking him in his room at night lately - ever since he had a few bad episodes of wandering off to other parts HQ and doing clumsy things. She told him it was because he was a liability and that there was no guarantee of supervision at these hours of the night. He didn't argue with her about it. He didn't even want to. Being locked in here is far preferable to the tiny cell he'd been kept in before, waiting for hours until the next terrible thing they did.

It doesn't seem like they have much use for him anymore. His manager had even threatened him with as much - if he didn't start pulling his weight again, then he was worthless to the label. He understands that, he thinks. He just doesn't know how to give them what they want.

He's been trying to take notes, to write music, to do anything, but he mostly just ends up scribbling on paper instead. Drawing is the only thing he seems to be able to focus on, in bits and pieces. His thoughts are always so disconnected that words quickly get difficult - at least with images, its always so easy to pick up where he left off. It doesn't matter if he doesn't remember what he was going for initially, he can just turn it into something else.

At some point he got the idea to get out his makeup, and has been playing with them for a while now, painting his arms and face in between doodling on paper. It's kind of nice, even when the glowing cracks all over his body cut through the patterns. Maybe it's even pretty.

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Sans had been able to tell that Greg was still losing his mind over this whole thing. It didn't take much prompting for him to offer another careful trip over to Pride HQ, despite all the worries he'd had about the concept initially. Maybe he's just been getting cocky. He made it the first time, right? Why not keep pushing his luck?

Heh.

Either way, it doesn't matter how smart it is, he's doing it. Planning an optimal time for the meeting to be discreet, Sans brings him and Greg into the room soundlessly. He checks the door - it's locked from the outside. The kid is over in the middle of the room...painting? There are a lot of questions about the state of Steven's mind, but Sans decides its not his job to answer them.

He just nudges Greg forward, quietly noting that he'll stay over here and watch the door. Maybe this will be a bit less agonizing than the last time.

Despite his reluctance to leave Steven in the first place, Greg had been just as anxious to come back. Despite his deep concern for his son, getting caught would put both Steven and Sans in huge trouble--Sans especially. Greg had even refused the first offer to go back--they couldn't push their luck.

Yet for all of his hopes not to rock the boat, he wasn't able to keep it up for long--Steven weighed on his mind too much, and Sans was offering in earnest. Greg couldn't pretend this wasn't what he wanted, misgivings or no.

He hesitates and watches Steven for a moment, a bag clutched to his chest. He looks better, doesn't he? Still off, still broken, but not lying in bed listless anymore. It takes the nudge from Sans to spur Greg forward.

"Hey."

One of the most off things about it is how Steven doesn't even seem to notice that anyone has entered the room until Greg is actually coming over to him. He's startled to see anyone, let alone these guys again. The door had been locked for the night, and he was anticipating being left in here until morning.

He shies back uncertainly, facial paints still on his fingers, spots of it smeared on his cheeks and clothing. His eyes are still filled with nothing but glittering cloud, and crack lines still refract across his skin.

One downside to him being marginally more aware is that he's capable of understanding the possibility of consequences. Jin has definitely been trying to get that across to him, recently.

He huddles low against the desk he's been working on, like he's trying to hide. He doesn't really know why - he's just confused and scared and doesn't know how to react. His curls are messy and ungroomed.

"Hi," he says frailly.

Though Greg can't bring himself to smile, relief comes off him in waves. "Looks like you're getting better."

Yes, definitely better than before, but that's an extremely low standard to go by. Steven (rather, Tiger) has always been squirrely, but he'd been getting better before this. Greg can't blame him for sliding back a little.

Greg doesn't invade Steven's space, just stands awkwardly a couple feet away. "Uh, I didn't get to introduce my friend before, this is Sans. He's good." He indicates back towards the door. It would've been nice if they'd met under literally any other circumstance.

He holds out the blue paper bag. "I got you something."

"Um...I dunno..." he says meekly. He doesn't really know if he's getting better. At the moment, it's hard to remember what "better" is. He looks over at Sans when he is introduced (who just waves) and vaguely remembers seeing him before. He hadn't even thought to ask at the time.

He blinks owlishly at the gift, his vacant eyes making the expression even more odd. He carefully reaches out to take it, shatter lines spreading over his hand. What is this?

"They didn't...they didn't let you come...did they?" he asks, distracted by the thought. "Jin locked the door..."

Greg casts a glance back at the door. "Well, you know about how well I do with her rules." As well as how well it tends to work out for him, but that's neither here nor there. Well, hopefully not. "Your old man's got a few things going in his favor."

Your old man. It slipped out, natural as anything, but after he can feel it hanging in the air, awkward and unfitting.

That does sound pretty weird, and if his head was more together, what remains of his Tiger identity would probably think it was sort of uncomfortable. As it is, it just makes the situation feel more surreal and confusing.

Steven looks at him for a moment, before examining the bag. It feels sort of heavy. Reaching inside, the first thing he finds is a book, with an image of stars and galaxies on the front. He looks it over, letting the back drop for the moment, before looking over to Greg, and then back to the book again.

"It's mine?" he asks, still a little bit dazed.

"Yep."

He tucks his thumbs into his pockets, grinning hopefully. He'd never heard back about if the last one had been well received, but he sure as heck hopes.

"I thought you might be getting a little bored in here."

Tiger had never mentioned them. Given that he'd never been explicitly told who they were from by Garnet, he'd been too embarrassed to mention it, even though he'd highly suspected something like that was the case. If Greg was focusing on much other than Steven, he might even notice one of them on his night table, or on the floor next to his bed.

He cracks open the book to a random page, regarding the whole thing with a purely child-like sense of wonder. He really likes looking at the pictures, and reading random facts about random planets and nebula. It always felt so big and exciting.

He smiles a little, to himself, before getting curious as he dully remembers the last time he got something like this.

"Did you...get me these before?" he asks. Both because his memory has been terrible lately, and because he'd never been sure.

Greg bites at his lip, watching Steven slowly take the gift in. It's strange--they always have to meet in bustling, public locations. There's an unspoken tension of feeling rushed, and being watched. This feels so quiet in comparison.

"Yeah. Sorry, I was worried it'd be a problem if I signed a note or something that time." If Garnet was right, it would have been a problem either way.

He hesitates, for a moment. "But I thought it'd be nice to give you this one in person. I missed you birthday when we were touring, after all."

"I really liked them," he says, without hesitation. He's still looking over the pages of the book, visibly enraptured. He thinks for a moment about that, and about his birthday, and then his gaze becomes distracted as a strange thought seems to pass through his mind - another memory.

He closes the book and clutches it between his fingers, like he's worried he's going to lose track of it if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

"It's still happening to me," he says, sounding confused and faintly distressed.

It's a lot harder to tell with Steven's eyes as they are, but Greg has a pretty good idea of what caused that moment of confusion. It's a strange thing to get used to, as much as anyone possibly can in this situation.

"Yeah. Me too. It's happening to lots of people, I think." He steps forward, leaning on the desk beside Steven.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

It's more than just confusing, at this point. It's like Steven seems actively threatened by the idea - as if he'd been expecting that what was done to him would somehow prevent it from again. He shakes his head to himself, but it doesn't seem to be in response to Greg's question.

"I don't want to keep doing this, I'm going to get in trouble," he pleads, looking up at Greg with those glowing pink eyes. "It was really bad this time...I..." His voice cracks, and he holds book close to him. He's less confused about what happened than he was the first time they talked, but clarity on the matter isn't necessary a good thing.

The labels are doing everything they can to stop whatever's going on with their memories, but they have just as much control over the matter as Greg or Steven does. All they've done is hurt him, for no result but the pain left behind.

Greg's knowledge of what happened the first time is hazy at best, faded and blurred leftovers from what Multiverse had shared--resulting in a fear and desperation powerful enough to nearly rip them apart on its own. He'd come so far since then, and they'd pushed him back further than ever.

Slowly, Greg gets down on Steven's level and pulls him into a hug, the book between them. The label doesn't know how to make it stop, Steven doesn't know how to make it stop, Greg doesn't know how to make it stop. He doesn't know much of anything.

At least this time it hadn't been a punishment for just having the memories. Maybe for acting on them, though. He'd made a very pointed move against Pride, that night, and he wasn't sure how he'd anticipated it would end up different. Or maybe he hadn't, and there was just no preparing for what ended up being the cost.

"I just wanted to help everyone," he whimpers into Greg's shoulder. "They got everybody and we all got hurt, and...and I don't know what it was for..."

"You'll find out." He holds Steven close, heedless of the face paint smearing onto him. "It might take a while to see, but I know you did something great. You were so brave, Steven."

He still doesn't know much of what happened, but the punishments wouldn't be so severe if it weren't something important. More than that, all this pain and struggle had to result in something. All this can't come back to nothing.

Brave. Maybe that's what it had been at the time, but right now he feels overwhelmed by everything that was forced into him after the fact - everything that told him it had been foolish and reckless and that he had earned the punishment he was give. His horror at his own actions nearly eclipsed his memory of why he'd wanted to do it in the first place.

Yet, with Greg here, telling him he had been right...it's a little easier to take.

"We had to free something," he says, faintly and like he doesn't quite comprehend his own words. "Something like us..."

For a long while, Greg's been feeling like a coward: too afraid to take a stand, stick up for himself, protect those he cares about. He's said it's because there's nothing to be done, he can't find any way to help, but it's become too clear it's an excuse. So many others have been through so much in their efforts to help, and Greg keeps clinging to what's left. Something's got to give.

"You helped set it free. That means it'll do the same for you."

He doesn't know why, but ever since his gem broke, it's like he can't cry anymore. He feels sad still, but even when he's miserable it's like everything is distant and muted. That's sort of what it feels like right now - like he should be crying, but he's not.

His fingers grasp at Greg's shirt.

"Maybe they just left us here," he says.

Greg has no way to know the likelihood of that. He doesn't know anything about these mysterious freed beings--what they were like, why they were trapped, what they're capable of doing. All he has is his gut feeling.

"Do you really think they would?"

"I dunno," he says, resting his head against Greg's shoulder. He feels sort of sick again - it always comes in waves. Crack lines spread up along his neck and across his face. It makes it hard to think. "They knew this would happen. Why did I think it was okay...?"

It doesn't seem like it could have possibly been worth what happened afterwards.

"You said they were like us, right...? You knew they must be scared, and hurting, like us. You knew they wanted a hero to free them."

Greg pulls back just a little to look into Steven's face--the face streaked with cracks and glowing lines, with eyes lost in a void.

"You're their hero, Steven."

Steven stares up at him, his expression hard to read through everything that's strange about his face right now. The idea does appeal, for a moment. It's just hard to accept along with everything else that has happened.

"I wanna go home," he says, pushing forward to grasp onto him again, with added desperation. "We're not supposed to be here, it's not fair..."

"I know, buddy."

For a few moments, Greg says nothing more, letting Steven burrow into him. He's thought a long time he could put up with anything so long as he could perform. That resolution has faded; at this point, he doesn't want to be anywhere that Steven isn't.

He finally decides aloud, "Me too."

Steven is almost surprised to hear that confirmation, like he didn't know if anyone else would agree with him. It's been a reality everyone has been side stepping for a long time. He hesitates for a while before he finally manages to ask.

"Do you think it's real?" he asks. "The stuff we remember?"

"I'm sure it all happened." It feels too real, more real than some of the things he's experienced firsthand, to be anything but. Yet Greg still can't match up how it could have happened to them, specifically.

"I think we did it," he says, slowly and a little foggily, like he's having trouble getting through the thought without his concentration scattering. "I think...I think it was us. They don't want us to remember...that it was different...that we were different..."

He sniffles softly, his voice strained.

"You're my dad..."

A small, dull pain throbs in the very back of his skull. That woman was sure of it. Steven is sure of it. Why can't he quite get himself there?

"I've been remembering more stuff." He speaks softly. Even in private, it feels dangerous to talk about. "We were... really happy..."

"I haven't..." he starts, and then trails off. He feels like he should be crying, but he can't for some reason. There is an emotional disconnect that just makes him feel hollowed out instead of miserable. "I haven't felt like that since...since I remember being like this..."

He shakes his head, closing his eyes.

"Why did they make me be like this?"

"I don't know."

He wishes he could possibly understand. It was so hard, at first, to connect the happy child in his memories with the one in his arms. They had seemed like two separate souls. There's no mistaking him now.

"I think they're scared of you."

"Why?" he mumbles, and the despair there is obvious. He'd tried so hard to do the right thing, and he'd been wrong. Those moment leading up to being caught and punished had been the most alive he'd felt for as long as he can remember - the most right. But the cost of it had been too much to stand. "I can't do anything to them..."

"I think maybe you could, before. They were scared of how happy, and friendly, and kind you were, so they tried to take it away."

There's no way to know if it's true, but Greg can't possibly imagine any other reason they'd do this to him.

"You used to be strong, and magical, and brave. They know you still can be. You showed them that, last week. I bet you and Garnet and the rest could've taken these guys out easy."

"Garnet..."

His fingers clench around the fabric of Greg's shirt. All of this does seem possible to believe, now. That they destroyed him so he couldn't fight back. It seems unfair, but it makes sense. It worked too well. He's not good for anything now.

"I can't remember her. I wish I could..."

It hurts, knowing something so important must be so close. He just can't visualize her in his memories at all.

"Why did they want us here?" Out of so many people, they'd been chosen, but what for? "It's so bad...and I don't get why..."

Greg's already heavy heart sinks further. His own memory of Garnet is pretty hazy, but he's sure she was close with Steven. It must be killing her not to have him remember.

"I wish I knew."

It's the biggest question on everyone's minds, it seems. Whoever they were, whatever they were all capable of, none of it explains why they were brought here. It all feels so arbitrary.

Steven is basically curled up on Greg's lap at this point, cradling himself against his chest. He doesn't want him to go again, even though he realizes that he's going to this kind. He's not allowed to be here. It isn't right.

"They want us to keep playing," he says softly. "The music...it's...somehow..."

He feels all confused whenever he talks about it, but they all know there's a magic to it. It must be related.

It's not wholly clear when they ended up like this, but it doesn't really matter. It's not the first time they've been curled up on each other, here or in their memories, and if Greg has a say it won't be the last.

The music... Greg's been stroking Steven's hair, but his hand stops at the boy's unfinished thought. The music... is...?

"Weird things have been happening when I play." His voice is hushed, saying it as much to himself as to Steven. "Other people, too... it's... it's changing... something." This is... this is important, isn't it? He's been noticing it, but unable to put it together. Something's right in front of him, staring him down, and he can't quite get there.

It's something they want more than anything they were capable of before being changed. It's why someone broken like him is useless. He knows he's useless.

"That...that lady...the one who died. She could do it, too." He shakes his head, having a hard time remembering the specifics. He can't remember the woman's name now, or even what she looked like. He just remembers that she died. Lesedi Santiago killed her. "They said that he made her do it..."

Greg can't claim to remember her in any capacity either. All that's left are eulogies and recordings. Those, and the fear and confusion she passed on to all of them.

Steven's not the first one to draw the comparison. Greg's mouth goes dry. "That won't happen again." If he could hug him any tighter, he would. "I won't let anything like that happen to you again." If he's got a power like Naomi's, then that means he has the power to stop it. If he can make sure of that much, he can be of some use.

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the last mistake, the choice i made

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