zexal month week 5 day 1: alt prompt! musicals the song is “Dead Mom” from beetlejuice the musical i like to think kaito and harutos mom died shortly before everything with haruto happened @zexalmonth
This is a collab piece! Meli is my Kingdom Hearts OC, A’ninsi is @hopepetal ‘s FF14 OC. So why not throw them together and see what happens? We came up with all kinds of things that could happen to them in this AU, so it’s possible there will be a continuation in the future.
Warnings:referenced loss of limb, death mention
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The Light burned.
A swirling, raging storm inside of them, that could not be quelled by any force… but it could be briefly suppressed, thanks to Ryne’s magic. Although… it wouldn’t matter in the end, would it? if A'ninsi kept the Light, they’d be turned into a lightwarden. If they let it break free, all their work would be undone.
Not to mention the very minor detail of their lost leg. It turned out to be incredibly difficult, finding their sense of balance on one leg and a crutch. They had gone back to their room to rest when suddenly…
He was in his usual spot when she got back to their shared apartment - center chair at the dining room table with his back to the bookshelf, focused entirely on his computer screen and notes spread out in front of him, and absently clutching an untouched mug of tea in his hands. The only unusual thing about the whole situation was that he hardly noticed when she came in, which was more than a little odd considering that he could hear heartbeats on the other side of the planet.
“Hey, Smallville,” Lois piped up in greeting, dropping her purse on its hook and slipping off her shoes. It was the sound of her voice that finally caught his attention, and Clark blinked slowly as if dragging himself out of his thoughts before registering her presence with a small smile.
“Oh. Hi,” he responded, getting up out of his chair to help her with her coat, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. How was the interview?”
“Eh, went as expected. Nothing really exciting - the whole situation turned out to just be some ‘accidental’ misfiling which turned out to be deliberate because of all sorts of very interesting reasons which you can read about in the Thursday morning edition,” Lois explained with a hint of sarcasm before turning her attention back to him, “How about you? You’re looking a little pale, are you feeling okay?”
Clark paused at the question, thinking it over for half-a-second longer than she would have expected before brushing it off with a quick shrug, “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“Alright,” she nodded acceptingly, albeit reluctantly. She knew something was off about him but she didn’t want to intrude, so the best thing she could do at the moment was let it go and hope Clark either opened up about it later or eventually worked whatever was worrying him out of his system. Deciding that now would be a good time to change out of her work clothes into something a bit more comfortable to write in, Lois headed for the bedroom, sparing a glance at Clark’s workspace on the dining room table as she passed by. His notes were meticulously organized, as usual, but the Word document open on his computer hardly had two sentences in it and both had apparently been written yesterday, not to mention the forgotten mug of tea nearby which had already gone cold. Somebody was struggling with writer’s block, she quickly surmised.
When Lois returned a few minutes later, having changed into some loungewear and let the stress of working at a well-known newspaper begin to dissipate, she found Clark back in his spot, still clutching the cold mug and staring at the near-empty Word file.
“I’m going to make some tea,” she announced, “Do you want some?”
He opened his mouth to politely decline and explain that he already had some before noticing that his own cup still clasped in his hands was uncomfortably cold - a glance at the clock confirmed that he had made it nearly forty-five minutes ago and had never gotten around to even taking the first sip.
“Sure,” he relented, setting the cup aside, and Lois put on a smile to hide the worry in her eyes. Something was wrong, and she could only hope that he told her what it was sooner rather than later.
Setting the kettle on to boil, she pulled mugs and tea bags from a nearby cupboard to prepare for brewing - green tea for herself, and chamomile for him - and turned the television in the living room on to one of her favorite news channels. Lois always worked best with some background noise, and careful experimentation had revealed that the news was both the most monotone and informative drone for writing investigative articles, closely followed by true crime podcasts. Clark had gradually come to tune out her work-noise as well, though with a bit more difficulty considering his enhanced hearing, but every time she offered to turn it off he would politely tell her it was all right. He himself had now moved to sit on the couch with his computer and a few choice notes, though still with an oddly distant look in his eyes.
Once the tea was done brewing, she passed Clark his mug, grabbed her laptop and purse, and made herself comfortable next to him on the sofa with the intention of getting some work done before dinnertime. But despite her efforts to focus on transferring her interview notes from her composition pad to her computer, Lois found herself paying a bit more attention to the news story than necessary. The anchorman was giving an updated report on a flash flood in the Philippines while playing footage of the damage done. Multiple small towns had been affected by the rising waters that had begun to threaten the area early that morning but Superman had arrived in time to help evacuate many civilians from their ruined homes to higher ground. The emergency responders had been working hard all day to rescue and give medical treatment to as many people as they could, and an hour before had announced that the worst of it was over. Thanks to Superman’s help, the casualties were way lower than anyone had expected considering the population of the flooded region - as few as thirty-two individuals had been severely wounded, four were still unaccounted for, and only six had died. The anchorman went on to say that it was a miracle the numbers were so low, and they had Superman to thank for that-
“Can you turn it off?” Clark spoke up over the newscaster, “Please?”
Lois complied immediately, turning the tv off with a click of the remote before turning to him to see what was the matter, but a first glance revealed nothing except that his tea was getting cold again, the Word document open on his computer was still untouched, and Clark had dejectedly slumped an inch or two deeper into the couch beneath him, still staring at the dark television screen.
“Are you okay?” she asked gently, well aware that she had already asked him that and not at all surprised when Clark simply nodded in response. It was fine if he wasn’t in the mood to talk, knowing him he would probably open up later and let her comfort him through whatever he was dealing with, but he surprised her by choosing to do it then.
“I-I know it’s difficult,” he said at last, reluctantly meeting her gaze, “I know that I can’t possibly help or save all of them, but…”
Clark trailed off, staring off into space again as Lois reached over to rub slow circles between his shoulder blades, hoping to calm him down.
“But think of all the people you did save,” she reminded him, “They are alive because of you, Clark. And even if you couldn’t do enough for all of them, you did do your best, and that really is all that you can do.”
“I know,” he answered softly, “But it still hurts.”
Panic enveloped him immediately, and he tried to sit up only to be sharply reminded of the restraints binding him down and digging into his chest and ribs. His already-labored breathing quickened in place as it occurred to him that something was wrong, he couldn’t move, it wasn’t supposed to be this dark-
It took him a moment to realize that the screaming he could dimly hear over the sound of his own pounding heart was also his own, his voice hoarse from shouting out in a fear of something he couldn’t quite remember. It was too dark, too quiet, General Zod was nowhere in sight… and it was only then that Clark realized with relief that he was in his own dim bedroom and not the prison-ship Black Zero.
The adrenaline still coursing through his bloodstream kept him gasping for breath, but he was awake enough now to recognize that the room was exactly as it had been when he had gone to sleep, though a few hours had passed if the dim moonlight peeking through the blinds was anything to go by, and his blankets were considerably messier than he remembered. Even though he knew that it was just a nightmare that had woken him and not an angry Kryptonian intruder, Clark couldn’t help but scan the apartment for anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there and he found it empty besides himself.
Just a nightmare, he told himself as he tried to relax a little bit only to be surprised by how taut he still was even when awake. It was just a nightmare, he had nothing to be afraid of, but he could still feel the alien restraints pinning him down and his throat was raw from screaming…
Clark briefly wondered how much he had been screaming in his sleep, guiltily imagining having woken the neighbors up before his train of thought was suddenly broken by an incredibly jarring buzz shattering the silence of his bedroom. He flinched in surprise at the sound, frantically searching for the source of what he was almost entirely sure was a chainsaw close by before he recognized his phone on the bedside table, chiming brightly with a new message. Sighing in relief but now dealing with even more panicked adrenaline than he had a moment before, Clark unlocked it to see the familiar image of Darcie’s profile picture next to a notification signifying that she had recently texted him.
Are you hurt? the small words read, written in her typical overly-concise style that Lois both admired and detested for being so on-the-nose. Clark’s phone pinged again in his hands a moment later, the first text followed by a second message stating, I heard you scream. Is there someone in the apartment? Do I need to come home?
I’m fine, he typed in return, Just a nightmare - no need to come rushing back.
The little bubble indicating that Darcie was typing popped up, and stayed there for an unusually long time before finally responding, Are you sure?
Was he sure? Was he really sure? Clark knew that she could be there in under twenty seconds if he asked her to, all flustered and windblown as she alternated between telling him what a wuss he was and interrogating him about what was really a minor situation. She would probably march around the apartment checking all the locks and windows for signs of an intruder in her sharp well-intentioned but admittedly-overprotective way before forcing him to down a cup of tea and get back in bed. He knew that Darcie meant well and was genuinely concerned about him but he also knew that she had a terrible habit of brooding over the slightest threat to his safety, which apparently included nightmares - a night that he should have spent sleeping and her working would turn into an awkward situation once he had to admit that he had called her home over a bad dream. With a sigh, he shook his head and typed up his response.
Yes. I’m going back to sleep now, he sent, Goodnight.
Clark set his phone aside and switched off the light, pulling the covers up over his head just as the device pinged a final time. He didn’t bother checking what Darcie had said in response but knowing her it was probably either a poor attempt at Sleep tight orCheck the lock on the front door.
