Episode: 2.3

--- Molly ---

Her head hurt, as she tried to remember something, she felt she wasn’t supposed to.

Pain and confusion were the only things she could recognize as she slowly drifted back into the waking realm. Well those, and the swing music playing in the background.

(…)

(What.)

Her eyes snapped open, before looking around her empty living room, as she tried focusing on her hearing… And yes, her usually silent house was in fact filled with swing music.

(The fuck?)

Ignoring the aches and pains, as her body screamed at her to lie back down, she forced herself to sit up, before realizing she’d been asleep on her couch.

(Why am not in bed?)

A voice began singing a song she couldn’t quite make out, one she just knew wasn’t part of the recording.

Shaking her head, she forced herself onto her feet and began making her way to the kitchen, in what was more of a stumble than a walk.

Her head chose this moment to throb a lance of pain through itself, causing her to stagger into her wall.

(Gah! Damn it!)

She took a minute, trying to keep calm as the room spun, and the floor danced to a tune that was far too upbeat for her current state of mind.

Placing a hand against the wall, she took the last few steps needed to catch sight of her kitchen, a sight that caused her to pause at the stacks of food littered on her dining table, as well as the odd chef cooking them.

She couldn’t help but stare at the dark-haired boy dressed in a faded green and violet vest, white dress shirt, and black slacks, as he flipped pancakes with a toss of the pan, all while singing a song she was still having trouble understanding, through her pounding head.

The boy tossed another pancake into the air before doing a twirl, only to freeze half way through as he noticed her.

He blinked once, then twice, before finally smiling at her, like a kid on the first snowfall of the year.

“You’re up, you’re up, you’re up!” the boy laughed, a slight sway to his hips as he continued dancing to the music, “I was wondering when you’d get up, it’s been hours since I patched you up.”

“W-wha-ah!” she stumbled half way through her questions of ‘who the hell are you?’ and ‘what the hell are you doing in my house?’

“Careful there,” the boy caught warned, somehow catching her by pushing a chair into her legs, before leaving her sitting at the table, “you’re still in the adjustment period. You should avoid moving too much until the dizzy spells stop.”

(Dizzy spells?)

(How did he know, I’m having…?)

She shook her head and ran a hand down her face.

(That doesn’t matter.)

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been starving for the last fifty years or so, and just couldn’t help myself.” The strange boy told her, as he moved back toward the stovetop and proceeded to flip another pancake onto a plate that was already stacked with enough food to feed a family four times over, and that wasn’t including the rest of the breakfast spread waiting on the table.

(Did we even have this much food in the kitchen?!)

“Truthfully I was never much of a chef, usually hired someone else to take care of that stuff,” the boy continued catching the pancake that had spent far too much time in the air, “but after so long I just can’t bring myself to be picky. Even if I’d kill for Hestia’s cooking right now.”

Through a powerful force of will she managed to tear her eyes away from the (delicious smelling) food in front of her and look at the boy’s pale silver eyes.

“Who… who are you?” she tried once more, this time actually managing to get her question out.

“Oh, right, that.” the older boy blinked, before giving her a wide smile and striking a dramatic pose with his hand on his chest, “I’m your new best friend.”

(What.)

The boy held his pose, likely waiting on her reaction, an impressive feat after five minutes of dumbfounded silence.

“My what?” she finally asked, verbally reiterating her only real thought.

“Your new best friend.” the boy repeated, before going back to his (or rather her) food, “It was part of the deal we made.”

“Deal? What deal?”

“The whole: heal you, fix all your problems, and be your best friend forever thing.” The older boy explained just a little too casually while eating his food.

(I… What?)

“You’re a surprisingly good negotiator.” The boy informed her, with a point of his knife, “Especially given the whole bleeding out thing, most people only get one thing out of deal with me, but you got three! Good job.”

She tried processing the boy’s word.

“I… What?”

And failed.

“W-wait…” she raised a hand, as something he said finally red flagged, “Did you say bleeding out?”

“Mmhm. Honestly it was kind of a crappy job the way you did it.” The boy commented as if they weren’t talking about (my fucking death!) “The way you cut your wrists, very inefficient means of bleeding your corpse, and you only did your wrists.”

(Oh, god…)

She remembered, what she wasn’t supposed to.

(Desperation… Metal… Pain… Blood…)

(No, no, no, no…)

(Cold… Numb… Alone…)

She covered her mouth to keep down the building panic.

(I… I did… I… I actually tried to… to… Oh, god…)

For a moment the boy seemed to panic himself, finally getting the topic they were talking about.

“Which I get, if you weren’t trying to make a mess or were trying to savor those last few moments on this mortal coil.” The surprisingly morbid boy blinked, before narrowing his eyes, “Then again why’d you ask me to save you if you were trying to off yourself? I mean before I offered to help you anyway.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Something snapped.

“Maybe because, I thought about everything I haven’t done, or about the person I’d be leaving behind, or maybe, I just didn’t want to die jackass!”

She stared at the boy, breathing deep shuddering breathes as she tried to keep herself from crying.

“Oh,” The boy nodded, before going back to his food as if nothing was wrong, “that makes sense… I guess.”

She just stared at the… the broken person in front of her.

“What, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Lots of things,” the boy shrugged, “currently I’m trying to reacclimatize my empathy after the last century of isolated confinement, and sensory deprivation.”

It took her a moment to process that.

“That’s, that’s… horrible!” while she was sure the century part was exaggerated, she knew for a fact isolated confinement, and sensory deprivation were both borderline torture methods, and if he was in that kind of situation until recently…

She thought about his odd, exaggerated behaviors, he’s seeming lack of social boundaries…

(He’s… He’s in shock or something…)

“Yeah,” The boy agreed a hint of melancholy breaking through his mask, before quickly being patched over with his exaggerated excitement, “So, I’m sure you get why I want to help you so much. If someone bails you out of that kind of hellhole, well, you definitely owe that someone a solid. Like solid gold… or platinum, maybe titanium if they’re into that.”

“I… You don’t… I…” she stammered through, her head swirling with thoughts of her death, and the traumatized boy in front of her.

“Breathe, take a moment, think about what you want to say.” The boy told her idly, adding more food to his plate as if this was common occurrence.

Regardless it was good advice.

After a moment, she took his advice and inhaled deeply.

(Right, one thing at time…)

(You can deal with your de… your stuff later, this guy he… he needs help, dealing with whatever he’s been through, first.)

“I… I don’t even know how I helped you.” She finally admitted, deciding to let him lead the conversation since, even after trying to sort her head out she wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“I don’t know either.” The boy shrugged, before twirling his fork in her general direction, “Maybe your one of them, what do you call ‘ems, uh, voodoo boys… girls? No… Supers, maybe? Uh-uh…”

“Deviants?” she offered, as his face scrunched up further and further in thought.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, one of them.”

“But… I’m not.” She denied on reflex.

“Why not?”

She froze.

(Because that justifies everything that’s happened to me since I moved here…)

She couldn’t bring herself to say that, so instead, “Because, I’m not special.”

It didn’t even take her a second to realize how true that really was.

(I’m… really not special…)

The boy’s eyes flashed, in a way she couldn’t be sure she saw.

“Says who?”

She swallowed, something in the boy’s tone hinting at danger for whoever she named, and she was truly tempted to name, names but…

(A school that leaves her to rot…)

(Friends that have better things to do…)

(A father who doesn’t even look at her…)

“Everyone…” she admitted quietly.

The boy watched her for a moment. A moment she thought just long enough for him to agree with everyone else.

“Then ‘everyone’ is dead/ wrong.” The boy told her with a feral bluntness, before throwing his head back and cackling at some joke she couldn’t pick up.

Something in her chest clenched.

She shook her head, trying not to think about it, “That… that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not a Deviant.”

“Again, why not?”

“Be-because…” she tried to think of an argument that wasn’t based on her own issues, or rather wouldn’t justify them.

“Because…?” the boy prompted after a moment, rolling his hand through the air with an amused grin, as if he just knew he could beat any argument she gave him.

“I… I don’t set off the alarms.” She finally blurted out, as a desperate answer.

The boy blinked.

“Alarms?”

“Sanctuary, they, they have scanners and stuff that can pick up the different kinds of Deviants.” She explained at his confusion, “I don’t set them off.”

She couldn’t help but give an inward sigh of relief.

“Well…” the boy looked sheepish as he scratched the back of his head.

(Thought so…)

She glanced down, unable to meet his eyes as he admitted, there really was nothing special about her.

(At least I’m not a Deviant, and people are just monsters…)

“You’re going to want to keep an eye out for that now.”

She paused, before looking up to see him now refusing to meet her eye.

“What?”

The boy grimaced, “Well… you see, the thing is… whatever powers you were supposed to develop… I may or, may not have hijacked the process to escape the abyss.”

“Wait, what are you… what are you saying?”

“So, you were getting powers, from some wannabe higher power, don’t know who, but uh, I hijacked the process.”

“Hijacked it… how?” she asked slowly, trying to understand what he was saying, because what he was saying made (no fucking sense).

“Well, I don’t know what powers the other guy was giving you before I drop kicked him, but uh… yeah.”

“So, I… I was supposed to get powers?” she asked, feeling numb.

The boy nodded.

“And you… you… what did you do?” she whispered breathlessly.

“Like I said, I drop kicked the guy giving you powers.”

She blinked, before rubbing at her eyes in confused frustration.

“What is, what is that supposed to mean?”

The boy winced.

“You are a Deviant but, whatever you were supposed to have isn’t what you do have.”

“I…” she ground her teeth together before shaking her head, “Quit beating around the bush, and just say it!”

“IcorruptedyourpowersandturnedyouintoaNecromancer.” The boy said it, all at once.

“What…”

The boy inhaled, visibly steeling himself. “I usurped your natural destiny, and turned you into a dark magician…”

She blinked again.

“A dark… magician…?”

“It was the only way I could save your life, without turning you into a zombie thrall!” the boy rushed out with a sheepish laugh.

“I’m… I’m an Arcane?”

The boy covered his face, “Please, don’t try to burn me at the stake…”

(Okay, that deserves a topic change now…)

“Why… Why would I burn you at the stake?”

The boy peeked over his hands, eyeing her for a moment, before nervously explaining, “Well, typically when I tell people I am, or have turned them into a magician without their consent… they inform the nearest religious order and have me either burned alive, stoned to death, (or as close as I can get anyway) and when those fail they try burying me alive or imprisoning me for… a very long time.”

“That’s… That’s…”

She just shook her head.

(That’s the kind of shit they’re doing to Deviants?!)

She knew treatment of Deviants was atrocious in some places, her treatment as a suspected Deviant, being more than enough to know the public’s reaction. But she’d always thought her situation was an outlier at best, especially with all the heroic masks running around.

(Then again…even with heroes working for the government, there’s still a massive number of laws to try and keep Deviants monitored or contained to specific cities…)

Which painted a rather grim picture now that she thought about it.

(And if he has the ability to turn other people into Deviants…)

She imagined what would happen if a Corruptor Deviant got lose, or rather she remembered the few times they had…

(Screams… Panic… Violence… Death…)

She remembered the names that popped up whenever someone thought about Corruptor Deviant’s…

(The Dark Corruptor… The Lich King… The Plague Walker… The Cheshire Trickster…)

She swallowed a hand coming to her throat.

(Don’t most Corruptor Deviants have kill-warrants?)

Suddenly, she saw the boy in a different light, one far less naïve.

She took note of his appearance once more, the way all the edges weren’t just worn but actually fraying. The way his grey eyes seemed incapable of focusing on any one thing. How his white button up shirt was covered in nicks, cuts, and tears each with just a faint trace of red if she looked close enough. And when he turned his head, she just barely managed to note the red outlines on his collar, and the faint scars around his throat.

And if he had the power to heal her wounds…

(No, wonder he’s so broken…)

“What’s wrong?”

She jumped. “W-what?”

The boy was watching her in a concern, that likely mirrored her own, and given the things she’d been through on her end…

(We’ve both had a shit year…)

“You’ve been quiet for a couple of minutes and you sort of trailed off there… so?”

“R-right…”

(What were we talking about?)

The conversation played through her head.

(Me… dying…)

(Him fixing me… giving me powers…)

(Him being killed for it.)

She let out a shuddering breath, before deciding she couldn’t (/didn’t know how to) deal with that last thought.

“Y-you, um… You were saying I had powers now?”

The boy watched her for another moment, before accepting her answer, making her far too uncomfortable with just how relieved he was that (I don’t want him dead…)

A detail that made her chest hurt.

After a moment the boy smiled once more as began nodding with extreme enthusiasm.

“Yeah, you can use magic and stuff!”

“M-magic?” she repeated.

She knew a lot of Arcane called their powers magic, even after a number of scientists had discovered that ‘Magic’ was just the phenomenon caused by a mutation in an Arcane’s nervous system, enabling them to manipulate dark matter in the environment and make physics go a little wonky because of the molecular-level disturbance.

(…)

She… may’ve been something of a nerd.

“Yeah, like uh… oh! Oh!” The boy clapped his hands together as a wide smile grew on his face, “I haven’t done this in forever!”

He rolled up his sleeves, before rolling his wrists.

“A one…”

“A two…”

“A skiddly diddly doo.”

The boy snapped his fingers, and the world went black.