Archive of Our Own

After he gets his new body, Andrew sneaks off as soon as possible. 

Andy and Jake won’t find it suspicious; the older Andrew usually has a low social battery. Roxanne might, maybe, but being occupied with the other two means she won’t come after him for a while, if at all. 

As long as no one talks to him, he’ll have enough time to calm himself down. Hopefully.

Andrew makes his way to the tiny closet in the lab he’d claimed as ‘his room’ back when he’d decided to… stick around. He didn’t actually sleep as a ghost, so he never tried to ask to furnish it. And right now, he appreciates having a private space of his own, small and bare as it is. 

He struggles for a second as he realizes he can’t phase through the door - he has to actually open it first. The body’s arm trembles at first, not wanting to respond to the signal from his ‘brain’ to reach out, but eventually he does. The cool metal of the handle stings his hand, and the creaking of the sliding metal roars in his ears, and he screws his bright red eyes shut against the fluorescent light that flickers on automatically. Too much, too much, too much .

The door slides itself shut ( too loud ) and Andrew feels around for the light switch, blindly pushing the dimmer down until he feels okay to open his eyes. He slides to the ground, his back against the metal door for a second ( too hard, too cold ) before he leans forward instead and puts his head between his knees. Staring at the ground, following mindless patterns in the floor.

It’s been five years. Five years and two months, specifically, since he’s had all his senses working at once like this. For a year, he’s been so used to not having real touch, or taste, or smell. For four years trapped in that horrible endoskeleton body, he’d only been able to see and hear. Even then he only saw what Jake did. 

So much time feeling nothing, nothing, nothing . 

Now suddenly he feels everything , all at once. 

And the last time he’d felt everything like this was–

Don’t think about that. 

He tries to focus on something else, anything else. Anything besides the sensations overwhelming his new body, besides the memories being triggered by the cold metal, the bright lights, the small space, why did he go in this tiny room , he’s trapped again, he can’t do it again, he can’t , he’s alone again and some terrible fate is waiting for him, some grand design he was dragged into, why won’t everything just stop , it isn’t fair , where is–

“Really? You get a happy ending, and you’re crying about it?”

It sounds like Jake. 

It’s not his little brother. 

Andrew lifts his head. His Jake sits just a few feet away, leaning against the wall in a mirror of Andrew’s position. But his arms are crossed and there’s a scowl on his face. The expression doesn’t fit him. Not the version of him Andrew is seeing, anyway; nine years old, bright green eyes. Skin a healthy hue. Curly hair still covering his head instead of the massive ‘surgery’ scar. Like Jakey, this Jake wears a layered shirt, but in black and gray rather than red and blue. 

He looks like he did the day they were snatched off the street on the way home from school.

Oh. Andrew blinks and tears fall ( too wet, too salty) . Eclipse put that in too.

Jake sighs and shifts to be cross legged. “I’m the crybaby, not you. What gives?”

Instead of answering aloud, Andrew stares at his vision of Jake - of course it’s a vision, his Jake is dead - and pulls out a memory. He can’t help it. 

The sterility of the lab, the lights, even the smell of chemicals, it all reminds him all too suddenly of a small metal room like this one. Andrew, masking his terror with anger by screaming at the camera in the corner, demanding to know where the nondescript robots took his classmate. The mask falling quickly as the door opens and an unconscious Jake is placed unceremoniously onto the floor with a bald, bloodied head, tear stains down his cheeks. Time passing, Jake getting sicker and sicker. Andrew, terrified, doing what he could to comfort him despite being the last person he’d imagine doing that, waiting for the day he would be taken too.  

“Yeah,” Jake says. He’s changed, matching the memory. His hair is gone, shaved off and a gnarled, unhealed scar, poorly sutured, mars the back and sides of his skull. His Jake didn’t have brain cancer when they were taken. The Creator fixed that. “We both know how that went. But that’s not the only reason you’re crying. Or why you’re seeing me.”

“‘m not crying ,” Andrew mumbles. “That’d be stupid.” It’s a lie, but they both know it and it makes him feel better, so neither comment. “It was too much. The, the noise and the lights and the touching and stuff.”

Jake nods in understanding. Andrew notices that the hallucination’s skin has turned ashy gray… and his eyes, now a dull, tired green, aren’t completely able to focus on him. There’s a slight slur to his speech as Jake says, “That’s why you came in here. Yeah. But you’re okay now, right?”

Andrew pauses, unfolding himself a little and acknowledging his surroundings. The lights are dim. There is no sound here but what is said aloud. He tastes nothing but a slight metallic tang that he’ll have to get used to, smells nothing but cleaning supplies on the shelf next to him, and so now he’s definitely fine. He’s fine.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay now,” Andrew affirms to himself, and presses a palm to the floor as if to push himself up to leave. 

“Don’t be stupid, no you’re not.” 

Andrew stills. Tears prickle again in his eyes. Okay fine . He’s not okay. There’s more to this… this breakdown than overstimulation, he knows that. But it hurts is embarrassing to remember, to think about, to express—

“You’re not going to talk about it with anybody else,” Jake says. His scowl remains on his face, but he’s glancing away from Andrew. An expression Andrew himself wears often. “May as well tell yourself.”

…

Andrew settles back down against the door. Yeah. If he’s already crying, already showing this weakness, he may as well get it out where no one can see or hear. Just… think about it all at once, cry if his body thinks he needs to, and then he’ll be done. No one needs to know.

He looks up at Jake. The other boy looks like a ghost now, black tear stains on his cheeks and slightly transparent. He can do this. He is alone, no one can judge Andrew but himself. He can think about his new body, about Jake, about why he… he’s not supposed to be the one who—

“It should be you,” Andrew starts. His voice cracks immediately. It’s embarrassing, but the only person here is him, so he pushes on. “You were the nice one, before, in school. I was the… the bullied kid turned bully. And, and after, I was the one who pushed you to do things, horrible things that you- you wouldn’t have done otherwise but we— I was so angry… .” He goes over the list in his head. It’s familiar.

1. All those prototypes of the machine that became FC’s base, small flickers of self-awareness snuffed out quickly to avoid ‘complications’…  until sentience was exactly what they needed. 
2. Controlling and kidnapping Earth. Manipulating her goodwill, even while Jake genuinely wanted to warn her about the Creator and craved a sibling that Andrew refused to be.
3. Killing Monty’s dad. It was Andrew’s plan. But Jake had to execute it, and be confident doing it. Show no remorse. It was the only time they’d killed.
4. Capturing all those other Stitchwraiths Andrews and Jakes, using them like batteries. 
5. Sending ten dimensions’ worth of fading star power through FC all at once, ignoring his pleas to stop the pain.

“And,” Andrew adds aloud, “I killed you.” His voice cracks a little again, finally admitting it. “I took this,” he gestures to his brand new body, “from you.” 

Jake cocks his head. His appearance has changed again. Though he remains a ghost, he wears the Stitchwraith’s black cloak and his green eyes have turned black and red. “How?” His voice sounds like it did in the suit, modulated, older. 

“That day, I was- I was just tired of being stuck , of just following your lead. So I fought you. I took control. And… and I wasn’t ready for a fight, not with two Bloodmoons.”

Jake’s red pupil dims, disappearing into the black. “If you hadn’t gotten the body injured, I’d have survived my fight with Bloodmoon.”

“And you’d— you’d be here, too,” Andrew chokes out. Tears start flowing again. God , he misses Jake. It’s not fair. “It’s not fair, that I’m here, I get another chance at life, and a family, and friends, and you’re just DEAD.”

Jake is silent. 

“I’m here freaking out about feeling too much, and you feel nothing anymore, and it isn’t fair . I don’t deserve this!” Andrew’s nails dig into his arms as he hugs himself, but the pain sends him further into the spiral instead of grounding him - he hasn’t felt pain in a while either. “I-I don’t— it should be you , not me! I bullied you all our lives, I shouldn’t be happy, I shouldn’t get a body like this, it should be you—“

Jake is gone.

Andrew’s voice drops to a whimper. “— it should be you , it should be you , it sh — AUGH!”

The door abruptly slides open and Andrew falls backward into the hall, knocked out of his mantra. He immediately shuts his eyes tightly to avoid staring into the bright lights, which unfortunately squeezes out more tears as well - he flops an arm over his face to try and hide it.

“What are you doing?” It’s Eclipse’s voice. It seems… more monotone than normal, if that’s even possible. Like he’s avoiding putting any feeling into the question; whether genuine concern or sarcasm or otherwise.

Andrew, meanwhile, goes for sarcasm. Of course he does, he always does. He just hopes he doesn’t sound all choked up. Would kind of ruin the effect. “I’m just hanging out in the closet. For fun, ya know?” Eclipse just grunts. Andrew slowly stands, cracking open his eyes bit by bit as they adjust to the light. He tilts his head down, though, refusing to look higher than the taller animatronic’s stupid jester shoes.

A cold sting of metal taps his cheek then pulls away, startling him into glancing up at his… caretaker? Dad? They still haven’t labeled what they are, not out loud anyway. “And what’s this?” Eclipse asks, straightening up again to examine the artificial tears on his finger. “Part of your ‘fun’?”

He goes for a half-truth. “I… got overwhelmed. By the… the senses. Wanted some quiet. And dark.” 

There’s a silence as Eclipse considers his story. When he speaks again, his voice becomes quieter. “I… should have thought of that. I’m sorry. We can fix that now, if you want.”

“Wuh- Huh? What do you mean?”

“Dull your senses down a bit. Let you take it all in slowly.” Eclipse… reaches out a hand. “Your… um, brothers were worried when they couldn’t find you, you know.”

Oh. Right, his… brothers. The offer is tempting, but Andrew frowns at the gesture. Eclipse doesn’t like touch. And neither does he. 

… Maybe today can be an exception. Now that he can really feel it. He nods stiffly, and grabs Eclipse’s hand. “Okay.” 

And without a word, they’re walking away from the closet. It’s an opening, the teen can tell - Eclipse won’t press him about his breakdown, they can focus on something productive instead. No need to address the real reason he was crying. And yet… Andrew follows for a few steps then pulls back. Eclipse glances at him, but Andrew looks down at their shoes again. It’s hard enough to ask, he refuses to look Eclipse in the face while he does. “Actually, can… can we talk? Later? Something serious.” 

Eclipse is quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says. And that’s it. He reaches out his hand again, and Andrew takes it. Neither let go until they get all the way back to the lab, where the rest of their family is waiting.