Hereās the first chapter from my book on ao3! I hope you enjoy it!
This oneās a bit longā¦
His eyes droop as he attempts to push them open. Itās like trying to stop a ballerina as she performs a tourner into the final section of her perfected routine. The action is very difficult. Since arriving on the surface with his brother, Sugar, Spinel has been able to sleep deeply, untroubled. He couldnāt sleep as much underground, not as soundly at least. When he napped at his old post, he never fully slept, half alert for any passing thing that happened to be edibleā or something that wanted to try monster bones to pacify their raging hunger. If he didnāt remain attentive, he could miss a chance to provide Sugar some form of sustenance, even if Sugar hesitated at the source. Once, he almost let a human pass. She had precision with her ballet shoes that pranced around silently. She attempted to get past his station, and if it werenāt for the flash of dark blue Spinel caught in his sleepy vision, she couldāve succeeded. She didnāt last long after thatā he swiftly threw his axe at the little girl, and her head fell clean off. It fell silently into the powdered ground as her body gracefully descended into its final bow. Blood pooled in the snow where her head and neck laid, tainting the white snow. Her eyes, blank and wide, stared at him as he took her to the meat grinder. Sugar never liked the head dogs, but they kept him alive. As he rises, the memory passes like a storm, but he still feels the wet residual of a chaotic time. He inhales in⦠1ā¦2ā¦3⦠holdsā¦1ā¦2ā¦3ā¦4ā¦exhales out⦠1ā¦2ā¦3ā¦4ā¦5ā¦
The bed creaks as Spinel starts groveling his way up and towards the bathroom. His room doesnāt have much decor, he only really focuses on what he needs. He has his mattress, his favorite books, a collection of rocks, and a notebook for his memory. Other than that, a pile of dirty clothes rests at the corner of the room, and a shelf houses his clean clothes. While messy, heās made great efforts to improve his space. His therapy sessions emphasized how physical space affects mental space. At one point, he never even separated the clean from the dirty, everything sprawled out across his old room like a tornado of chaos. The disorder reflected his state of mind back then. Maintaining his room was the last thing he could think aboutā not when depression and starvation constantly threatened his life. An audible eauuhhh escaped him as he waddled to a clean set of clothes, then a ready waiting sink and shower.
Spinel finds the sharp scent of toothpaste waking him up as he brushes his teeth. His teeth, prepared for meat, are sharper than that of an average skeleton. They glinted the bathroom light as the foam bubbles off with a quick swish of water. Once he spits out the mixture, he begins shrugging off his clothes at his own pace. He slides off his blue hoodie. Itās a newer one, with more fluff than fur on the hood, more friendly in a way. His old one had a myriad of holes⦠and certain stains. The old thing had comforted him, staying the same when his whole world changed. It stood by his side like a loyal dog, aiding him against the desperate monsters of the underground. Although, the hoodie became a reminder of the harsh past when he didnāt need as much protection anymore. While letting go of the same hoodie that lasted him through hard times was difficult, hanging on simply wasnāt feasible. Especially when the sunlight beamed through every hole. It wasnāt until Sugar gently suggested that he upgrade that he even realized how bad it was. It was like someone used the hoodie for shooting practiceāand it, really, had. More than a few claws and knives tore through the fabric, leaving ugly holes, but it served as his companion during difficult moments. He still smiled at the thought of the hoodie; it reminded him that he would always have someoneāor somethingāat his side. Without reminiscing long, he strips off the rest of his clothes, stepping into the water. As he touches the water, heās indifferent to the temperature. Heās not very affected by heat due to being a skeleton and all, but the pelting water creates a comforting pressure that streams down his scarred bones. In his persistence to survive, heād forgotten how it felt to be so at ease. He stands under the water, and allows the water to wash away his worry. He can just take care of himself under the consistent shower. Sometimes such occurrences still caught him off guardālike he still clung to something without knowing how to hold it. By the time he grabs his cobalt blue towel, he feels lighter, yet still carries the weight of something he doesnāt know how to transfer elsewhere.
Spinel idles in front of great big cabinets as he lets the grogginess roll off of him like raindrops on a roof. He takes a second to breathe. His therapist always encouraged him to take the time to focus on his breath in between tasks. It keeps him centered, and keeps his fractured mind from splintering off into too many thoughts. His fluffy reaper-themed slippers are the only thing between him and the cool, blue tiled floor. Soon, heās opening the gates of white to a landscape of ingredients. His eye glows in familiarity at the arrangement. Sugar, his brother, always made sure to re-organize the cabinets before he left to volunteer at the local library; he knew Spinel appreciated the consistency. Sugar always put in the time to help his brother, even when they had their differences in the underground. Sometimes their arguments tensed their interactions, but if someone dared threaten them, they would gladly tear the intruder apart together. Their brotherly bond held strong, even as their values conflicted. Just as he glossed over such memories, his eyes caught the jar of sugar. Each particle, small on its own, transforms a pie when gathered together. In instances of fiery pain, Sugar sweetened his life. No matter how they clashed at times, Sugar was essential to Spinelās life, always appearing when needed. He changed the burn of strife into something bearableāmore whole. Like caramelized sugar.
The knowledge that his brother is at side, even when away, gives Spinel the tranquility to start. Apple pieāthe recipe that never failed him. He lifts the granulated sugar, each grain glittering like a snowflake, another piece in the continuous cycle of water which always reshapes and reformes. The brown sugar moves, denser, darker, with a little less grace like the runoff after a heavy rain. He pairs them on the counter, moving into the rhythm of preparation. The flour flows into place, a constant in baking just as water to life. Spinel excitedly eyes the cinnamon. The spice, ground, powdered, refined, hits Spinel with the force of any cinnamon stick, strong as ever. The addition of a little nutmeg, small yet potent, makes a warm, harmonious combination. The bread shortening is the base of the entire crust. Spinel feels out for the divots of the box with care, grounding himself with the familiar feeling before lifting it onto the counter. He freezes for a minute, unable to remember why he needed shortening. He turns to his notebook, filled out the brim with day to day notes, to understand why he needed the ingredient. Ever since his eye left him, and left a literal hole in his head, his mind struggled to work at the same pace.Through constantly writing in his notebook, he can recollect reality and anchor each step through the frost of life. Without shortening, he wouldnāt be able to emulate the same flaky texture that felt as familiar and steady as his notebook. Once he gathers the salt, heās turning to the fridge. Egg and butter wait for him, and lead him to the sight of granny apples. Green, bright, acidic, the apples remind him of the best part of his favorite pie, tart enough to balance the sugary sweet dessert. They didnāt fit the typical idea of an ingredient for baking, more sour than most other fruits. They started out bitter, tough to eat on their own, but with enough work and patience they became the heart of one of the best desserts out there, allowing it a second chance to redeem its taste. Just like water changing form, granny apples morphed into something better, more enjoyable. Spinel sighs in contentment, happy to start the filling to this apple pie.
He slices through the fruit with an experienced hand, creating the perfect portions while avoiding the core. The blade surges through the skin and the body of the apples in a way he came to know underground. While brutal circumstances forced him to learn such a skill, the applications stayed practical long after he left. The thought doesnāt cause shaking in his hands anymore, instead he maintains precision, still with the understanding that he had the capacity to form something undiluted, free of blood. He has the choice to create rather than kill now. He relished in his freedom, the crisp scent of opened apples tying him to the present. The strong aroma in the air only multiplies as Spinel pours the sugar and spices into a bowl with the apples. The waterfall of flavors cascade in a way that resonates with his peaceful joy and glitter like the ocean's sands after a receding tide. He grasps the paper surface of the flour which crinkles under his touch; the flour trickles in after the others. Spinel waves all these ingredients together, tossing it into one, delicious filling. Just as Spinel coats the apple slices in sugar and spice, the swing of the front door alerts him to his brotherās return.
āSpinel! I just had the loveliest time at the library.ā
Sugar quietly ducked under the doorframe to squeeze into the kitchen where Spinel turned to him, still continuing his task.
āWhat did they have you do today, bro?ā
āWell, rather than just organizing books in the back, I got to read to the children!ā
āReally? Thatās a real page turner.ā
āYes! Seeing the monster childrenās eyes light up was such a delight! Even some human ones listened from their mothersā sides this time!ā
Spinel lets out a weary breath. Sugar doesnāt blame the childrenāever the optimistābut Spinel couldnāt avoid how intimidating they look. They were afforded the chance to heal on the surface, grow as people, but their sharp, giant forms frightened those who didnāt understand the story behind it. Sugar wore braces now, to fix the mangled mess of his teeth, but Spinel couldnāt exactly cover the gaping hole of his skull. That combined with their statures gave most people a scare. Spinel notices how Sugarās smile falters, the darkness of exhaustion casting over his eyes.
āHey how about you help me out too,ā Spinel couldn't help but try to distract his brother from that reality. Sugar knows the truth, but he still holds out hope.
āOh, but Iāve never joined in your baking sessions before,ā Sugarās sockets widened as he bent over to Spinelās level, pointing at himself.
āYeah, well⦠I thought it would be nice to do this.. togetherā
Spinel has no idea how much he made Sugarās day. Sugar stands straight up, eyelights widening, as he nods to himself.
āOkay, just tell me what to do!ā
āAlright, now this is the core part of the pieā¦ā
So, Spinel puts Sugar in charge of the crust, finally involving him in his most personal habit. He instructs him on the entire process, from mixing the dry ingredients before incorporating the fat and shortening to slowly adding in the ice water. Spinel silently embraces the moment, finding happiness in his brotherās company. Most days, he would try to spend some time with him, but that time eluded him, slipping like water through his hands. When survival became the essence of their life, they grew distant. Their core values misaligned, and they fought. So instead of staying home to constantly keep watch over Sugar, Spinel posted outside, hunting. Whenever he did go home, they didnāt even have the energy to fight after a certain point. They didnāt have the fuel to have such energy. Standing here, in a well-kept kitchen with his brother, teaching Sugar about something so personal to Spinel felt⦠good. It was a warmth heād never known before, like the warm wind of autumn on the surface.
Eventually, Spinel finishes mixing the filling; he finalizes the step by grinning, calling out to his brother, āIām gonna start up the ovenāI oven need to check on the temperature.ā
Sugar pounds the mixture at a rougher pace, exasperated by his brother. Spinel only chuckles at Sugarās reaction to his terrible pun. They are bad, Spinel knows that, but he still cracks them anyway, just like those eggs.
Spinel positions himself in front of the oven, turning the temperature to 204°C. He stands for a few minutes, watching the machine slowly heighten its heat. He stops, and turns towards Sugarās mixture. Sugar is tentatively stirring the mixture, unaware of the over-mixed state of the batter. Spinel freezes. Sugar stagnates, confused, letting the spoon sit in the bowl. The mix is supposed to be crumbly. Why is it smooth? Itās meant to be crumbly. Why did he let this happen? His pinprick shrinks down to the size of a crumb, and his body straightens out. He messed up, he never should have let Sugar in the processāhe doesnāt understand! Now the whole thing is ruined, he has to start over! He feels the drops of sweat roll down his back, the heat of the oven sinking into him. Suddenly he canāt breathe. His pieāhis ritualāis all wrong! How does he go back? How does he regain control? Why canāt he move? Why canāt he breathe? Why canāt he justāstop, stop, stop! He canāt let them consume him! He canāt! He canāt!
āWhat the fuck are you doing!ā
Sugar looks at him like a deer in headlights.
āItās wrong! All wrong! Shit!ā
His hands wring at his eyesocket with no light, grasping onto anything even if it hurts. His hands shake even as he tightens his hold. The ovenās ticking as it changes temperature becomes persistent. The tap of a droplet of water angers him. He feels his entire head throbbingāparticularly where thereās no bone or light to be found. It feels as though stupid Undick has torn out his eye light, leaving part of his skull to fracture again. It feels unbearably painful, he canāt help but grit his teeth. He hunches over, and it feels like he reopened a wound that never fully healed.
āSp-Spinel itās okay⦠Iām here youāre here⦠itās okayā
Spinel only continues to spiral, grunting in pain. He canāt grasp onto anything, everything feels like water slipping through the crevices of his bones. No matter how hard he tries to ground himself, he canāt focus on his breath. He can feel Sugarās worry, but he canāt stop himself. The air feels unbearably hot, the ovenās heat rising with his temperament. His slippers slide slightly against the friction of the floor, and his grip on the present slips. Heās constantly switching between erratic fits of breathing and periods where he can barely drag in a puff of air. He can only let out small sounds of despair as he freezes over.
Spinel finally ticks, crying out, when a wooden spoon taps against a ceramic bowl, letting out a small, yet terribly loud, sound. He canāt even cry, heās so overwhelmed, his pains aching. He canāt even let out the storm building within him, so he bellows out instead.
āListen, weāre going to sit down and breathe⦠okay?ā
Sugar guides Spinel to the chilling tile of the kitchen floor, and Spinelāalthough still tenseā complies. He curls into the frozen ground, unable to move like a frozen lake. Sugar just sits beside him, and gingerly keeps his hands on Spinelās shoulders. Spinel can only whimper as his brother tries to aid him. Sugar stares off in concern, knowing he can only do so much. Soon, he looks to Spinel, and recounts, āremember the 5-4-3-2-1 method, what are five things you can see?ā But, Spinel couldnāt even respond if he was less disassociated. Sugar canāt help but hold on a little tighter as Spinel continues to spiral.
āIām sorry⦠Iām so sorry you had to carry so muchā¦..ā
Sugar doesnāt know what else to do. He can only manage himself so well during his episodes, but his brother operates on a different wavelength
āYou did so much to keep me alive, us alive. You let me follow my ideas even when it puts myself in danger⦠You brought home food that helped me make it another day; you lost your eye just to sustain everyone elseā¦ā
Sugar shakes as he speaks, completely washed over with emotion while trying to stay together for Spinel. Spinel starts to still, staring off into space.
āYou faced all of it by yourself, when we both just needed to survive⦠And Iām so so so sorry you carry all that weight to this day!ā
Sugar just sits next to Spinel, pouring his heart into every word as he hopes that his brother can hear him.
Somewhere, somehow, a dam cracks, and a body of water floods forth, relentless. Slowly, tears stream down Spinelās sockets. He looks exhausted as emotion releases from his broken skull, steadilyābut surelyācrying. Sugar grows somewhat relieved yet mindful. Sugarās mouth hangs slightly agape at the new sight, but Spinel keeps spilling tears until heās full of sobbing.
Spinel cries, and wales, so overcome with sadness, frustrations, anger, desperationāhe canāt forget. He never will forget, his past will forever hang on him like hydrogen in water. He wouldn't be the same being without his past, but it floods his lungs almost everydayāmaking it impossible to just inhale, exhale. So, he just lets himself weep, unbridled.
Sugar sits at his side, holding onto him, coming to embrace Spinel entirely. But Spinel still carries everything alone. He canāt hug onto Sugar, he canāt hold onto anything without fear of losing his control again. But he allows himself to be encompassed in Sugarās taller frame, for just a moment.
Suddenly, Spinel stills and his head turns fuzzy. He only hears a static that resembles the television they had in the underground. After resources got cut off, the television could only play a buzzing screen of black and white alongside a constant buzzing. Right now, thatās all he can hear and he quietly gasps. Where is he? He looks up at Sugar with wide eyes. How did he get here?