-my eyes start making sense of what they're seeing, the grill of my locker door squished against my face, the only source of meagre light.
What was that? I thought I saw… twin snakes? Or whales…? And were those… stars…?
Before I can grab hold of the memory, I'm thrust violently back into my body by the sensation of bugs crawling beneath my skin.
Oh, right.
I scream- or rather, continue to scream -like I've been doing for the past hour. My throat is hoarse; I've spent any and all vocal stamina I have praying for someone to get me out of this hell.
So obviously it's now, when my screams peter out into hacking sobs, that the fucking bugs renew their assault. It's as if they know I'm ripe for the picking, a tasty carcass to dig into. And dig in they do. Tense with horror, I can feel them moving, writhing beneath the skin of my left arm. Pressure is building up, like something is dragging against the bone, sending it numb with the vibrations. My breath catches, hot and heavy panting- "no,no,no,no,no" -making the already stuffy locker even more cramped.
Sobbing, my arm twitches of its own volition but is immediately stymied, pinned as it is against the wall of this tiny box and mountain of fetid biowaste. Distantly, as if it were happening a mile away, I feel the back of my hand split open, something piercing it from within. With a frankly disturbing level of clarity, I make the observation that the mandibles of whatever is eating me alive must be pretty long, as the split travels up the length of my arm, which folds back and around until I'm essentially being hugged by the two halves of my left arm.
It probably isn't very sanitary for an open wound to be dragged against the walls of this particular locker. It occurs, I should probably be more concerned at how calm I seem to be, my sobs barely hitching when my left arm twists the shoulder in its socket and pulls itself free, the meaty "thunk" of what used to be my second favourite appendage impacting the wall. This seems to break whatever spell I'm under, if my suddenly swimming perspective is anything to go by.
Wailing and chittering, I thrash, my long, slim body squeezed between something comfortably soft and unyieldingly firm. My sight is a riot of running colour and darkness as I thrash, trying to dislodge whatever vicious bugs are attacking me, only serving to crush myself further. I try to use my only remaining hand to push against whatever is crushing me, startled when it slides smoothly inside before bumping into something solid buried within the mass.
Pain.
Like a lance of ice, I feel something lodge itself in my abdomen, A visceral judder runs up and down my back to accompany the icy cold agony. Did it hit my spine? Breathless, I try to twist away, which only succeeds in widening the hole, my arm still stuck inside whatever I've buried it in. I swear I can see my blood draining down the side of my pants in a blurry stream. Like some kind of impressionist painting, or macabre B-rated horror flick filmed only with night vision lenses.
Yanking frantically, I finally get my arm unstuck, hoping I can somehow find the strength to bust the door down. Isn't that a thing? Adrenaline rushes are supposed to make you able to lift cars, but I can't get out of some stupid flimsy school locker?! Simultaneously, I swear a colony of fire ants decides to chow down on my open wound. Molten fire drenches my insides as I gasp, twitching my newly freed appendage at the door, trying in vain to break it open somehow and get away from the bugs that are eating me alive!
My body burns all over while I flail uselessly at the door, my terrified clicks bouncing off the metal walls, turning the prison into a nightmarish alien soundscape. I don't know how long I rail against the barrier, my breaths coming shorter all the while, until they're so shallow I can barely hear them, my eyes long having gone dark.
As I observe myself drifting off, I get the distant, paradoxical impression that my parent is hurting. The beginnings of confusion are a bare caress by the time the twin whales, with all the grandeur of a solar system imploding, return.
…
Excitement
...
Startling awake, I fling myself off the floor, groping blindly at my body to fling the bugs off me, my eyes screwed shut tight becuase I can feel them running on my eyes!
My skin twists and compresses, my arms and legs shortening as tiny mandibles chew through my extremities at a rapid pace. This warrants further abuse of my already shredded vocal chords-
Only, I find they are perfectly functional when my shriek hits an impressive high C. Unrestrained panic peters out into confused whimpers, my eyes cracking open to discover my face is plastered with hair. I wipe it clear, feverishly thankful there aren't-
…shudder…
Not thinking about that.
-that my face is safe. I look down at my body, half expecting to see a rapidly expanding pool of blood…
Instead, I think I've had an aneurysm. Or the Trio did a deal with some Merchant kids to put some kind of fucked up hallucinogen in there with me. Because I could have sworn the arm I'm now poking and flexing had been mangled beyond recognition. For that matter, all the wounds I remember sustaining seem to be gone without a trace. My hoodie still has a terrible, wide gash, but the skin of my abdomen beneath the shorn fabric is unblemished. Same goes for everywhere else it seems; my clothing is in tatters and will have to be thrown out even if I wasn't wearing one step down from a biohazard, but my injuries? The torn fingernails, the bite marks, whatever the fuck stabbed me?
Not a trace.
Grimacing furiously as I catch a whiff of my rancid clothing, I resist the urge to vomit again, spinning around in my sitting position on the floor to see if someone finally heard me now that I'm out-
I nearly faceplant as a wave of vertigo rolls over me, half my vision spinning while the remaining stares fixed ahead at a vaguely human shaped blob. It takes me all of a second to realise the colours and are all wrong, that they aren't even colours at all. Highlights of 'something there' contrast with 'less there' and 'has been there' to form shapes that are little more than blobby outlines, before the perspective twitches.
Slowly completing my turn, I come face to featureless expanse with some kind of alien-snake-thing the size of a large cat. Freezing in an effort to avoid startling it, my eyes slide off of its smooth, seemingly eyeless head to trace along one of the tails flicking behind it. Following the tail down, I amend my observation. This thing looks like its body was cut in half at the tip, the two 'tails' merging seamlessly with the long, sinuous body. It also seems to have little tentacle, tendril things spilling out the back of its head like hair. The whole creature is yellow and black, those bands of colour reminiscent of what I'd expect to see on a poisonous snake.
My eye twitches, catching on the thick, pointed claw on the end of a single arm-like appendage protruding from the creature's chest. The claw looks like a- what is it called? A machete? With a curved tip. Stifling a squeak, I stare as it moves for the first time, its head mirroring my motion. I don't dare look away from the pointed reminder of my soft, fleshy body. Breaths coming a little faster now that my body seems to have caught up with my mind, I break out in a sweat, unsure of what to do. What do you do when you see a snake again? This obviously isn't a snake, but it looks similar and it's probably dangerous, so I can't imagine it would hurt to treat it like one. Fuck, that claw must be as long as my hand. Dammit! I know I learned this at summer camp-
I shut the thought down on pure reflex, putting as much distance as I can between myself and the pain associated with those memories. My anxiety must have tipped whatever it is off, because the creature straightens like a startled squirrel before darting towards me. I don't even get a chance to yelp before another bout of dizziness, less aggressive than the last, assaults me. I'm halfway through raising my hands to ward off the oncoming attack as I try to make sense of the rush of blurry images, when I feel a soft yet firm weight wind itself around my waist and across my shoulders. Almost immediately I feel a buzz roll off the creature, like a cat purring only infinitely more vibrate-y. A feeling of reassurance, tinged with worry and comfort, radiates throughout my mind like a soothing bath from the general location in my head where the blurry images are coming from.
Too shocked to resist, I lean into the sensation… and douse myself in it. Comfort, devotion, love. These feelings and emotions I haven't experienced in what may as well be a lifetime wash over and through me, bringing unbidden tears to my eyes. The buzzing vibration soothes my muscles, relaxing and grounding me like I'm wrapped in a full body blanket. It's only when I feel the slide of leathery skin against my neck that I realise I've grabbed hold of the creature, face buried in the crook of its neck as it places the back of its single clawed arm softly inside the fold of my shoulder. We sit like this, me trying to figure out what the hell is happening while drinking in that same rolling wave of comfort and contentment. Taking a breath, I pull my face out from under the creature's head… thing… wiping my face on its side before I realise that might not be a good idea.
I've been so preoccupied with the sudden waves of emotion that only now do I notice that the blurry images I can't explain have changed; the 'there-ishness' is all around, like I'm being wrapped in a blanket of it. The thing nuzzled against my chest twitches, its tails moving around me, and my hand moves before I can think to stop it, stroking the flat of its head-thing. The blurry image is suddenly filled with broad, smooth motion, a hazy something moving across my perception. Startled, my hand jolts to a stop, the motion ceasing simultaneously. The snake-thing chitters in my arms, a wave of plaintive longing joining the comforting swell of emotion. Hesitant, dots connecting ever so slowly, I continue stroking the creature's head, the blurry motion starting once more.
"What are you?" I hiccup softly, trying to get a better look at the creature now that it's up close and doesn't appear to want to cause me any harm. Unfortunately, closer inspection reveals no further truths about what it is or where it came from, besides being covered in the same muck covering me. "Were you stuck inside too?" Glancing up at the open locker and screwing my nose shut, I lever up, almost losing my balance when the weight around my shoulders adjusts to stay rather than slide off.
"You want to stay on?" I hazard a guess, turning to look at… I settle for the centre of its 'face'. My question is answered with a downwards twitch of its ridge-like head, a pulse of contentment, and a myriad of tiny impressions and notions that could be summed up as: Comfy. Stay. Protect.
"O-oh," I squeak. These emotions, the images... they're all coming from this thing. It's in my head. I was wondering if this was some kind of exotic fuck-you by the Trio, but I doubt they could get their hands on a Mastering snake, no matter who Emma cozied up to. Which means…
"Am I a parahuman?" I whisper, noticing for the first time that my locker door seems to have been bent and twisted outwards, tearing the public school-grade lock bolt from the frame. No way could I do that. But here I am, outside when I used to be inside, with a weird alien-snake-thing wrapped around my shoulders purring like a cat dropping acid.
'What the fuck is going on?"
As it turns out, having two sets of eyes makes it pretty easy to avoid unwanted attention.
Currently hiding in the empty gym storeroom where Winslow keeps the lost and found, I shrug a stained and decidedly musty white shirt over my head, my companion keeping a lookout from the corner for anyone approaching the storeroom. Nudging my old clothes into a ball bag with the end of a lacrosse stick, I focus once again on the sight coming from the creature. It's not sight per-se; from what I was able to work out on our rapid journey here, it seemed to sense heat or something similar. Twice, I nearly ran into someone before catching sight of movement through a solid wall or a door. It isn't like the thermal gear you see the military use in films which lights up stuff; it's like this thing has a sense for where heat is and isn't, which is somehow being translated into shapes and distances.
Crouching down next to the little creature, I scratch my nails along the crest that covers its head, chuckling when it preens and nuzzles into the contact. "Would have been great having you around to avoid the Trio." My bitter musing slowly melts away in the face of how soft the creature behaves. Leaving my lookout to its job, I take stock.
My bare feet uncomfortably chilly on the bare concrete, I go over what I know. "I'm a parahuman," is my first whispered observation. The unreality of the statement hasn't passed, I think I'm still in denial about it, but the evidence is chirping softly to itself in the corner, my awareness of it an extension of my own mind and body. Second, I'm pretty sure most people don't have structures sliding around beneath their skin. Part of me is worried that there are still bugs under my skin, the ridges I felt all over my body when I was scrubbing myself free of gunk in the showers preying on that horrifying little nugget of anxiety. But there are two things keeping me from entertaining that notion; one, the feeling isn't uncomfortable. The movement is oddly natural, like being aware of the joints of my fingers. Two, I simply don't have the capacity to deal with that right now. As such, I'm going to ignore that possibility so I don't curl up into a ball and hyperventilate until someone wanders in here and finds me.
Focusing on thinking of the ridges like joints, I flex the rippling subdermal layer, which pushes upwards, immediately thrusting me back to-
-mandibles tearing, arms lengthening, the already constrictive locker shrinking as my body swells-
I clamp down hard on the swell, stopping it in its tracks, the memories of my ordeal flooding in as I dry heave, tears forming in my eyes. I come to my senses a short time later, the buzz and thrum of vibration from the detached presence draped over me a grounding comfort. Gasping, I work my breathing back down from the upheaval.
"Not-" Panting, I wipe beads of cold sweat from my face. "NOT doing that again". Body groaning, I get to my feet, the cold floor having thoroughly leeched what little warmth I had. A spark of curiosity hitting me, I direct my creature's view down. Below me is a glowing imprint of a body wearing a scarf, curled up in a foetal position. Strangely, although I'm looking through two different 'lenses', I'm able to focus on both at the same time, rather than flicking between the two.
"Handy," I murmur, absently stroking the creature's head. "I should probably call you something besides "creature" or "snake-thing" though, I guess." The questioning pulse I sense from them leads me to think it doesn't really understand what I'm talking about, but I feel awkward without something proper to call them by. I don't know how intelligent it is, I have no idea how powers work, but its immediate response to my worry and distress has been to comfort me. That's more than I can say for anyone else, so it feels wrong to treat the little guy like a mindless animal. Really looking at them, they're a sliver of a thing, barely larger than a large house cat and nowhere near as chonky. Inspecting our connection, I feel myself slip into place, it's mind like a well worn favourite seat. Playing around, I flex its one clawed arm, twisting the twin tails around each other like a-
I recoil in horror, startling us both with how suddenly I pull away. What am I, some kind of mind control Master? How could I abuse their free will like that?! I feel tears prick at my eyes, only to have them stall when I feel a confused chirp brush my mind. They're opening themselves to me, happy to let me in. "N-no, that's wrong," I emphasise, memories of news stories and Master-Stranger Danger assemblies filling my head. Despite my urgings all I feel from them is a deep seated longing to be close to me; a sense of implicit trust, sure in the knowledge that I know what's best. When I continue to refuse, pulling away from them, they let out a heartrending soft keening trill, the wash of melancholy and abandonment a match for what I've experienced on some of my worst days these last few months.
Wincing, I close my eyes in an effort to drown it out, but it's impossible. They want to be connected to me, need it like I need breathing. "I-if you're sure…" Tentatively, I allow myself to sink back into the sensation of being in their body, feeling their warm contentment at being so close to their progenitor, a sense of oneness and unity devoid of manipulation or coercion. I let out a pent up breath, thanking whatever or whoever can hear that I haven't been turned into some kind of manipulative, Heartbreaker-esque Master. Spreading out across our connection, it's like having an extra limb, or set of eyes. I'm not focusing on two separate bodies, so much as I'm waving one arm while lifting something with the other. It's slightly disorienting, but I'm rapidly getting used to it as I practise turning our heads opposite directions and twitching our tails to and fro.
Well, their tails and my legs. Realising that I'm well and truly distracted, I get back to the matter at hand. "Oh, right. A name." Crossing my arms bunches the musty shirt across my chest, reminding me I'm still wearing nothing but legging shorts and an oversized men's t-shirt that probably once belonged to some Merchant wannabe. "Snake doesn't fit right, and you're definitely not a Spike," my current musings accented by soft chitters and clicks. Remembering their buzzing purr, I consider. "How about Sylvester?" This is quickly followed by a shake of the head. "No, that still doesn't feel right, you may be the size of one, but you're definitely not a cat." Frowning, I rack my brain, digging into my memories from old books and movies… a bag of balls reminds me of a movie mum and I watched after I got lost in the mall as a kid.
Honestly, it fits. A friend of their own making, who rescues their companion from isolation, protecting them from insanity on a deserted island with no help in sight and no hope of anyone coming to their rescue.
"I'm going to call you Wilson."
Placing the garish blue and yellow sports bag I'd 'borrowed' on my bed, I let Wilson venture out for the first time since leaving Winslow. There was zero chance I was staying at school, so I'd caught the first bus I could find heading the direction of home, ditching my old clothes in the first bin I saw. Unfortunately, sitting down just gave me nothing but time to think, and I had to work myself down from at least one major and three minor panic attacks throughout the trip, the only thing making it possible the comforting weight of Wilson in the bag on my lap.
Standing now in my room watching Wilson slide under and around my bed, I allow myself to release some of the tension in my shoulders. Bless the kind and considerate citizens of Brockton Bay, I think bitterly. Only in this cesspit could a clearly distraught teenage girl catch public transport in clothes that obviously aren't her own, remaining completely free to have consecutive panic attacks without even the slightest hint of meddling. Truly, we live in a society.
Quickly stripping down and grabbing fresh clothes from the wardrobe, I chuck the lost and found in my new sports bag, then make a beeline for the shower. I may have cleaned the worst off of me at Winslow but that's no substitute for soap and a good loofah.
I finally finish giving my hair a thorough wash, moving on to scrubbing the top few layers of skin off my body, when I feel Wilson glide into the bathroom. I've been absently aware of them roaming around the house, inspecting all the nooks and crannies, while studiously ignoring the masses of warmth they can see inside the walls of the old house. After I pulled away for the fourth time, Wilson started chasing any bugs they could catch and eating them. It didn't help much, but so long as I ignored their perception, the impression of a little exterminator running around the house brought a smile to my face.
Now, finally feeling even just vaguely clean, I watch and listen as they slip their crest under the shower curtain, flinching back for a moment at the first touch of water, before sliding fully under and curling up at my feet.
"You're kind of cute once I get past the obvious weirdness, aren't you?" I coo, crouching down to stroke my hand along their now slick flank. "I've never had a pet before. I don't even know what to feed you." My anxiety mounts, the nervousness fuelled by a lack of experience or understanding of anything resembling whatever the fuck is going on. They seem to be happy with bugs so far, but is that because they aren't hungry? What if they only eat meat? Do powers even need to eat?
Oh god, what do I do about Danny?
I can feel the weight of everything teetering over me, like an avalanche held in place by a single strand of woven glass. The Trio, the locker, Wilson, the mass I can feel even now roiling beneath the surface of my skin, Dad.
"God, Wilson," I groan, flopping to slump on the wet tiles, the skin and muscle beneath my palm sliding closer. "What am I going to do?"
As if I'd spoken it into existence, through the foundations of the building I feel and hear the front door tear open and slam shut with blazing speed. Boots pound on the floor as a shout- "TAYLOR?! Are you here?!" -carries up the stairs of the empty house.
Startled by Danny's incredibly loud arrival, my eyes wide, I look at Wilson happily flicking the tips of their tails through the water.
"Shit. Shitshitshiiiit!" Cursing frantically, I look for some way to hide them. There's no way I can let dad see Wilson, I've barely processed half of what's happened and he already sounds upset. Realising the school must have called him, I swear again, straining against that mountain of pressure just waiting to drop-
"Please, are you okay sweetheart?" I hear him call up the stairs, the sound of each foot hitting the ground like one more nail in the coffin. There's a vulnerability in his voice I haven't heard since the days after Mom passed, dad's pounding feet making a lap around our small house. "Taylor, please tell me you're here!"
The crack in his voice as he shouts that last word shatters the strand of glass holding back the avalanche.
Huge, heaving sobs rack my frame, my arms wrapping Wilson around me tight, Dad thundering up the stairs while continuing to call my name. I can't respond, the water washing my tears away merely replaced by more as the door to the bathroom flies open, the abrupt movement flinging the shower curtain like a flag in a strong wind. I catch a single glimpse of Danny, terrified, through the falling spray before the wet curtain plasters itself across my face and half my body. My sobbing falters at the shock of sensation. Luckily I was sitting already, or I might have slipped and split my head open.
But that thought is a distant, distant whisper in contrast to the sight of my Dad getting on his knees to peel the curtain off me, only to freeze just like I did upon first laying eyes on the snake-thing that has itself wrapped around my body. I can only imagine what I must look like, naked except for what Wilson's body and tails can conceal, my head tucked under their crest like a protective mask-
"Honey, you're not hurt are you?"
The gentleness in his tone, the hopeful worry of it, puts a dissonant halt to the salt mixing with the water still streaming down my face. I look up to see him staring, hand halfway through reaching towards me, his eyes flicking nervously to the creature he must think is attacking me.
"I- I'm," I gasp-
My nervous energy evaporates suddenly. What can I say? "I'm alright"? I wouldn't buy that if it was free. "It's fine"? Yeah, and Lung is a member of the E88. I'm sitting on the floor in the shower on a school day, naked but for a weird snake-thing wrapped around me which, oh yeah, I can feel in my mind. I just…
Unable to look him in the eye, my voice feels like it did in the… in the…. "I don'-… I don't know," I cough, adjusting Wilson's cover of me, grasping their coils to keep myself afloat. "Um, uh- I k-know what this must look like-" I start, my teeth clicking together abruptly at the sound of his hair brushing the curtain.
He shakes his head. "Do you? That would be great, because I haven't got a clue," he deadpans, gesturing towards me with an all encompassing wave.
A manic laugh bubbling up to the surface from deep down within me, I barely catch it before I'm either stuck that way for the next few minutes, or I begin crying again. Finally retracting his hand, dad looks broadly at the sight of Wilson curled around me like some unrealistically erotic sci-fi costume.
"Taylor, do you mind telling me what that is?" Sitting himself down gently with his arms crossed over his knees, he frowns like I've come home and proudly announced to him I will now be adopting a scorpion and letting it live in my sock drawer. "It's not hurting you, is it?"
"No dad, they aren't hurting me," I breathe, feeling like I'm having an out of body experience. Danny Hebert, my Dad, is sitting calmly in the bathroom talking to me while I'm curled up naked in the shower, wrapped up by something I would expect to see on the set of an Aleph alien movie. The same man who, for the better part of two years, has barely spoken more than a sentence or two at a time when it wasn't about repairs that needed to be done around the house? I can't reconcile that person with the one I see in front of me, looking at me as if I'm still the little girl who's gotten herself into more trouble than she can handle.
Reaching forward tentatively, Danny hesitates before gently nudging Wilson's head out of the way so he can see my face, the little creature obliging without so much as a hint of emotion. I feel something bubbling up to the surface. I do my best to shove it down like always, but I'm weak, spent from the emotion and the trauma of the day.
Jesus, it's not even ten o'clock in the morning.
"W-why should I have to d-do this anymuh- anymore?"
Through hazy eyes, I watch his calm façade shatter like ice beneath a hammer. The look of grief and desperation that surges to the surface makes my face burn, a manifestation of all my worst fears about telling him what I've been going through.
He can't take any more, he's already broken. I couldn't put any more on him, not after Mom. He can't deal with this, I shouldn't have said anything, I should have been able to deal with it on my own, I'm sorry-
"It'll be okay, baby girl."
My thoughts jumble and screech to a halt, like pulling the brakes on a loaded cargo train. I stare, open mouthed, as dad joins me in the shower, wrapping his arms around my skinny frame.
Was I always this small, I wonder, Wilson lifting their coils to encompass him as well. My connection to them burns with a myriad of feelings and emotions. Protection, respect, longing, sympathy. They want to comfort me as well, but in their mind, dad is to me as I am to them. Progenitor. Central.
I let myself fall into my father's arms, my brain still stuttering through comprehending the words he's saying and what they mean.
"It'll be okay, baby owl, I'll help you fix it," he murmurs, stroking my wet hair and rubbing my back like he hasn't since I was a child. If his voice is just as unsteady as mine, I'm too shocked to really notice. "We'll be okay, I promise. I promise, you don't have to do it alone."
Sitting in a pile on the shower floor, held tightly by my dad and a sliver of myself, I allow myself to truly let go for the first time in a very, very long while. While they fall just the same, these tears are ever so slightly sweeter than those that came before.
A//N: Edited 21/03/25