Chapter Text
Sure, he’s done a lot of things wrong today. I mean, he trashed a house, broke an anvil—in half, actually, like straight in half, he doesn’t even know how he managed to do that—created a very helpful army of plants, and also there might possibly still be a bunch of rubble in his hair from when he slammed his forehead into a pillar earlier. In order to try and shatter White.
After he actually shattered Jasper.
Ugh, anyway. No use dwelling on the past, right? If every porkchop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs! It’s fixed now, he fixed it, so he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore. The point is, things have been maybe going just a little awry recently, but it’s all fine now. So whatever’s going on now should be just fine, too! No need to worry about a thing. He’ll get this sorted out in a jiffy. That’s what he does!
“Uhhh,” says someone who looks exactly like Classic Steven, staring up at him with big eyes. Who’s distinctly Steven-colored, so it’s not one of the gems playing Classic Steven Tag again or anything.
Also, there’s also a painting on the wall that he very specifically remembers taking down. So. That’s cool.
“Hey there!” Steven interrupts, grin stretched painfully tight over his face, and waves a little for good measure. Wouldn’t want to be rude, right? “So, by the looks of things, I’m guessing you must be Steven! Love the red shirt. That one’s a real classic.”
The kid blinks, looking at him like he’s expecting him to disappear any second. Or like Steven’s gonna attack him or something, which is just ridiculous, right? He would never hurt anyone! “Um, hi,” baby Steven cautiously greets, eyes flicking closely up and down him. “Are… are you a gem? Why do you look so much like me?”
A gem? “I mean. Yeah, sorta, but.” Fumbling for words, he gives up and hikes the hem of his shirt up to his ribcage, watching probably-kid-Steven-somehow’s eyes widen with recognition. “You know,” he adds on uselessly.
Eyes caught on it, Kid Steven hesitates, then reaches down and tugs up his own shirt. Twin stones, sparkling in the light: a cloying, artificial rose-pink. “Mom’s gem,” he murmurs.
And promptly yelps and startles back when Steven’s whole body swells all at once, shirt straining against a body abruptly three times as big as it should be, before he shrinks back down to only being twice as big as he should be. Fine, it’s totally fine. It’s all under control! “Oh, sorry,” he hastily apologizes. “Didn’t mean to scare you, haha! This just happens sometimes. It’s no big deal.”
“Why…” Baby Steven hesitates. “Did that hurt?” he asks unexpectedly, mouth twisting, and takes a cautious step towards him.
“Nah, of course not!” he brushes off, unsteadily backing away, hands fluttering awkwardly in midair. “It’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s a-okay!” Grimacing, Steven presses his palms of his hands over his eyelids in order to try and relieve the building pressure there. His stupid eye won’t stop twitching. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure this is a pretty typical time travel-type situation. Like the finale to season eight of Under The Knife , or…” Perking up, he claps his hands together. “Oh, wait, have you done the Sea Shrine yet? With the hourglasses? Still don’t totally know what happened there, to be honest, aside from the fact that a lot of me showed up and died all at once, but you know what I’m talking about. Gosh, this is probably gonna get confusing too, two Stevens, we should probably come up with nicknames or something—”
“Wait, hang on!” the other Steven blurts out. His eyes are squeezed shut, hands flapping frantically. “Just, slow down for a second, okay? This is, it’s a lot. I don’t understand, it…”
Shaking his head, the kid opens his eyes. He looks confused and vaguely desperate, overwhelmed, too much happening in too little time.
“Why are you pink?” he demands.
Steven’s vision blurs.
“I’m not Pink,” he hears himself spitting, the words making the ground rumble underfoot, phantom fingers clenching around him, ribcage splintering and mending itself, long nails pulling back his shirt and scraping gently over his stomach. “I’m not, okay?” Diamonds in his eyes, destructive powers, throwing tantrums left and right, she had a scream that could crack the walls. “I’m nothing like her!”
(It’s the truth. Mom wasn’t a shatterer.)
“Wh—what?” the person with Steven’s face is stammering, too-young eyes set in a too-young face, panic and worry and confusion. Doesn’t even know whose gem’s in his stomach, strong enough to push down the hurt and do what needs to be done. This is who the gems need him to be. This is who he should be, why isn’t he good anymore? “I, I’m sorry! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
The world’s pressing down on him, too loud. It’s all too much. Eyes boring into him, Classic Steven is staring, watching. Waiting. “I don’t—”
Voices. Noise, off in the distance: peals of laughter. It’s Amethyst. The gems are outside.
And there are diamonds in his eyes.
Shoulders stiff, jaw clenching, Steven backs towards the door, not once breaking eye contact. And then the grip of time loosens around him, world passing by in slow motion, and he turns and hurls himself forward: scrambles out the door and past Amethyst and Garnet and Pearl, onto the beach and past rocks and buildings and the water. He doesn’t stop even when things speed up again, not until he’s all by himself, back in the forest.
But it’s not the same. All the trees and the grass and stuff are still there. Undisturbed. As if nothing ever happened here, he never trained here with her.
(No shards under his hands, raking across his fingers as he fumbles blindly for them, searching every last nook and cranny in the holes punched deep in the ground. No panic clenching at his lungs, because he can’t miss even a single piece, he needs them all. There’s pieces of Jasper clenched too-tight in his hands cutting at his palms and the wounds heal over as soon as they come but they shouldn’t.)
(Hers didn’t.)
He screams. Trees crack and fall. It almost feels like home again.