Eclipse V2 at the end of his life, pushed through a portal and actively dying and receiving glimpses of the future through the Star Power calcifying shut his tubes and wires.
He’s been going insane, but it's not the Astral bodies or the villains or the monsters that crawl out of hellscape dimensions, and it's not the terrifying lightning flash bangs and frying from the inside out, or the promised crash of his ego which drives him into his jumbled ravings and ramblings. It was not perceived future pain.
No, this madness stems from the salve, the healing over of his most open wound called loneliness. It’s thriving in average, everyday life which should be impossible for someone who wants to play god and can’t currently fathom wanting anything else.
It's the children's laughter ringing in his ear and the party hat plopped onto his topmost ray because someone with a big bow on her head insisted on celebrating his birthday.
It's the boy learning how to ride a bike for the first time under his careful watch.
It's the pair of sunny-side eggs and a curved piece of bacon little voices persuade him to turn into a smiley face.
It's mac and cheese dinners and mugs of hot chocolate in winter and pool parties in summer.
It’s Ballet classes on Tuesdays.
It’s the dog barking at the neighbors again.
It’s someone caring enough to plug him into an outlet after he collapses from exhaustion in his lab.
It’s the retro t-shirts hanging in his closet and feeding ducks in the park and beach waves washing over his ankles as he watches four small, dark silhouettes play further out in the sea foam at sunset.
It’s the slotting of family photos into frames to hang on the wall.
It’s the final departure of the silver-haired woman.
It’s the art on the fridge and the clay animals drying on the windowsill waiting to be painted.
It’s mowing the lawn on a boring Sunday because he has nothing better to do and it needs to be done and fixing that leaky faucet in the kitchen sink again.
Whose science fair project sits on the counter to dry?
Whose laundry does he need to do next?
Who’s helping who finish his homework on time so he can pass his online courses?
Whose turn is it to wash the dishes?
He wakes into reality maddened by these glimpses of the future, and his wants to grab smaller hands with his, but there are no smaller hands here to hold.
All of these voices crowding his head, and so many of them sound like they want him there with them and at the birthday parties and the Christmases and at the breakfast table and a bunch of other inane shit that he shouldn't care about, but he does!
He's going mad with grief.
He knows that future isn't his, it can't be; they're delusions, false hope wedged between the indescribable horrors he catches at the corner of his eye.
The Star is telling him he’s going to die, that maybe all of them are going to die, but then it tells him he’s going to live, and not just live but live. He’s going to live, yet he can't bring himself to believe it, it’s all gaslighting and lies and he's losing it with every phantom voice that calls his name like it's happy to see him.
The satellite fires, here in this dimension of the "Nice Eclipse", and in the seconds before his death, a moment in time Ruin could not have captured and preserved for the memory banks of his next incarnation, because it could not be recorded, the what-will-be lost to the aether of what-once-was, Eclipse is filled with such strength, such peace, for the fireworks of New Year look so bright as they highlight the watchful faces of his family, and there is laughter, and pointing, and awe, and joy, and then a whistle, a pop, a white light, and-
V3 begins, the Star is gone, and so are the memories of the future which could not be captured through a camera lens and uploaded into his memory banks.
The sound of children’s laughter rings in his ears, haunting him to the core, and his fatal wound called loneliness bleeds, bleeds, bleeds until a furious bolt of lightning comes down on his head.
V4 wakes in the aftermath, the sound of laughter utterly dissapeared from his mind and leaving him in a crushing silence he’s never been good at handling.
He’s alive again but he doesn’t feel alive, because he’s angrier (lonelier) than ever, and he wants to know why.
"What is it, Eclipse?" Charlie asks, her head briefly turning away to from the sparks raining from the sky like fallen stars to glance at him.
Her question captures the attention of Andrew, though Andy and Jake are too busy lighting every sparkler at once to notice.
“I’m just,” Eclipse gruffly shrugs his shoulders, “here.” He’s fulfilled a prophesy without knowing it once was prophesied. What he has forgotten once he shall now never forgo, for it has been recorded and uploaded to off-dimension memory drives as a keepsake so it will never dissipate from the minds of any future Eclipse (through with luck there will never be one, fate be merciful and forgiving enough).
"I'm gonna throw firecrackers into the pool and watch them explode,” Andrew spouts in a rush before running off.
Eclipse sighs, though it’s not entirely one of frustration. It's closer to acceptance and knowing his eldest’s quiet need for chaos is part of him. Eclipse would never dream of changing that free spirit of his in any way, shape, or form, nor would he ever want to change any of the other’s.
He’s not a tyrant (anymore), and there are things he’s since well learned he has no control over.
That being said, he’s not about to let Andrew get himself hurt.
"I shall keep an eye on him.” The heavy metal footfalls of Flare trail the path of Andrew’s swift departure.
There’s a whistle. A pop. A splatter of white light ignites the darkened sky, and it's the salve over Eclipse’s most crippling wound called loneliness, which has since been healing, healed, gone.
It would be crazy to desire anything more than the company which can be found in this fragiler present time that once seemed impossible to fathom, but is now his modest, mundane everyday.
He’s alive, he lived, he’s lived, he’s living.
