missing stitch and flowers on a headstone

by EagleWarrior161

Summary:

the canary gets sent back. and has to deal with consequences.

or

An au of an au.

Notes:

here we go boys :)

No chapter count yet, not sure how long this will take me.

Chapter 1: sew together my loose ends with stitches neat and clean

Stitching something onto your back is…well, hard is an understatement. Doing any kind of stitching on yourself is hard, but Jimmy had gotten used to it since his toy-ification. Wounds didn’t always heal nicely, and he had gotten into the habit of decorating anything larger, making the scars prettier.

That didn’t explain, though, why, when he had gotten back from…wherever they had gone…there were more stitches on his face, feather-light and more precise than any human should have been capable of doing, blue strands splitting over the left side of his face as if there had been some kind of shock. Or why there were two larger repairs on his back, stitched together slits on the back of his cloth body.

Something had changed. He was more paranoid now, always needing to see who was talking to him, to know whose eyes were on him at any given time. He couldn’t stand being looked at if he couldn’t look back. And, of course, the whole thing with Lizzie…

Eventually, he had decided that he needed to remember what had happened. And so he started with the most obvious, the slits on his back and the phantom pains stretching to either side that occasionally plagued him.

He sewed himself a new set, yellow main body and blue edge feathers. He didn’t know why, but those colors seemed…right. With the way he had sewn it, they should work when he attached them.

And so now, he was sewing wings onto his back. He couldn’t get help, not for this. Too many people were already involved in putting out other fires. It was easier, maybe even safer, to do this on his own.

Eventually, after a night of struggle and a lot of accidental stabbing, they were attached. The wings worked naturally, almost too naturally, as if this was not the first time he had them. And he felt more whole than he had since he got back here from…the place was on the tip of his tongue, but it was as if he couldn’t speak. 

Jimmy pulled on a white shirt and blue buttondown, comfortable and with wing holes, but not something he could remember ever having in his wardrobe. He looked in the mirror and…oh.

 

oh.

 

now he remembered what happened.

 

how was he supposed to deal with this?

 

He dressed normally, hiding his wings in his shirt and looking up at the sky. At least there were no eyes in this one.

Chapter 2: but i still wake up (i still see your ghost)

Summary:

a meeting.

Jimmy stayed away from the other Emperors. He wasn’t there for most of the game, not physically. He had only been a ghost, not living through the suffering of the games like the others. He had mainly stuck with Scott during the game, and after how that ended…he kept to himself as much as he could.

He tried to convince himself that it was for the best, that him being there, one of the first to die, would only make things worse. Still, he was lonely. Fwhip came every so often to check on him, but Jimmy never let him get past pleasantries. He…wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

Jimmy stayed in that denial for a while. Until one night, two weeks, maybe, from when they had come back. His perception of time had gone a bit fuzzy after that place.

He was staring up at the night sky. He knew the reputation the nights had from the game, but he was more comfortable here. He had died in the burning heat of day, not the cool embrace of night. And his death had been carried out by…he couldn’t remember their name. One of the Taken. The one of burning gold and heat and sun, not the one of betrayals and grudges. Their descriptions were all he could remember, only that because of what happened at the end of the game, the things that happened by the Watchers’ hand that left his eyes always searching for anyone seeing him.

And speaking of…he jumped as someone came over the hills, sword coming out with a small shing . His eyes scanned the horizon, finding the point of movement, a colorful blur coming over the hills.

Jimmy couldn’t tell what or who it was at first. It was taller and brighter than the typical shape of Fwhip, so it couldn’t be him. As the figure got closer though, the shock of bright blue hair, almost glowing in the night, was unmistakable.

 

“Scott…what are you doing here.” Jimmy’s grip on his sword tightened, voice catching in his throat.

 

“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’ I came to see if you were ok.” Scott looked confused, gold eye glinting as he tilted his head.

 

“No I’m not ok! Why would you think that? Why would you think that after what you did?!” He was resisting the urge to swing the sword around, intensely aware of Scott’s eyes, of his closeness.

 

The confused look on Scott’s face only grew. “Look, it was only a couple pranks, I don’t see why-”

 

Jimmy cut him off with a borderline scream. “DON’T YOU REMEMBER?!”

 

and then, a shift. 

 

The Scott in front of him fell to the back, a vision of a different Scott, his Scott in front of him. Two icy blue eyes instead of one blue one gold, red flower instead of colorful streaks, a glimpse of wings and antlers so quick he wouldn’t have noticed it normally. And then things returned to normal.

 

Scott was silent. “...Jimmy?”

 

The sword fell from Jimmy’s grip. “Go. Just go. Please. ”

 

“Are-are you sure?” Scott stepped a bit closer.

 

Jimmy stumbled back, almost unwillingly. “I said go.”

 

Scott didn’t say anything else. With a sadness in his eyes, he turned and made his way out of the mesa.

 

Jimmy fell into the sands, staring up at the clear sky. He fell asleep like that, restless in his memories.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

<Solidarity> was Scott gone with the rest of us?

<Fwhip> No. No he wasn’t.

<Fwhip> You good, Jimmy?

<Solidarity> I think I’m ready to talk.

Chapter 3: someday won't this be long ago? (i want to feel that now)

Summary:

healing is slow, and jimmy is less healed than he'd like to think.

Jimmy’s wings were out when Fwhip came. He just…he couldn’t keep them bound in anymore. They wouldn’t have been out if any of the other game members had been here, too many bad memories, too much like the ghost, the fear that left them haunted. But Fwhip hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have the same memories. 

 

They talked at night. Well, attempted to talk. As much as Jimmy thought he was ready to talk, he wasn’t. The memories were still too raw, too present to get over that easily. But there were things that happened in that conversation, things that held meaning, in the way things do after tragedy.

 

Fwhip had come over the sands and found where Jimmy was looking up at the sky. He didn’t say anything, just sat and waited.

 

Eventually Jimmy had started talking. “I don’t know how much you know already, but I’ll say what I know. I was in love with Scott. Not this Scott, another. But they’re too similar to separate. I was in love with Tango, from the Hermits.”

 

It was here his voice caught in his throat, as if the Watchers were still trying to keep him from singing. “Scott loved me back. He was a Hand. Tango loved me too. He was a Hand too.”

 

There were tears on his cheeks. “I died first. Like I always do. I was betrayed.”

 

His voice came from deep in his throat, hauntingly similar to Lizzie. “ I trusted them. ”

 

we trusted you.

 

There weren’t any words after that. His wings wrapped around him quickly as he curled up, curled in, as if to protect himself. He forgot Fwhip was there, forgot the sands around him. For a minute, he was back in the flowers, withering from the cold, trying desperately to warm Scott up, trying desperately to be the Spring. But the Winter would never end.

 

It was Fwhip’s touch that brought him back to himself, a hand on his back, a warm hand. Jimmy melted into the touch, and they stayed like that, Jimmy crying and Fwhip attempting to comfort as the night turned on.

Chapter 4: feel like i’m working with barbed wire and moth wings

Summary:

the world turns.

The world turned ever onward.

 

Jimmy tried to deal with the memories. Whether he succeeded…well, that depends on how you define success. Though, almost no one would define how he was dealing with things as “successful”.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

If he had remembered it right, Pix had explained something like this before. He remembered the story Pix had told, that ancient Sumerian warriors believed that the ghosts of those they killed were still attacking them each night. It was a story from many weeks ago, a simpler time. Jimmy supposed that was close to what had happened there.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

His sleep was fitful. Too many times, he woke up from nightmares. Of the lightning strike, of the eyes, of the blood, the blood, the blood. He didn’t sleep that much because of it. Too many nights, he spent his time staring at the stars, praying they wouldn’t be blocked again.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

He kept to Tumble Town. He…didn’t really want to see the others. He told himself it was for their protection. He ignored the pull that said it was for his own.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

He couldn’t look at flowers or fire the same way anymore. Flowers reminded him of Scott. Fire reminded him of Tango. He hung lanterns for light, focused on the sands as much as possible.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

His wings got more and more natural with every time he used them. Both for flight and for comfort.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

Jimmy’s paranoia never got better. Instead, it only seemed to worsen, feeling eyes on him when there was no one around, never feeling at ease with someone else in the area unless he could look at them, never able to maintain eye contact for long.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

Almost all the time, he felt like a string pulled taut. As if just a little bit more pressure could cause him to snap entirely.

 

The world turned ever onward.

Notes:

sorry about the short chapter, I’m setting up for something big though!
:)

Chapter 5: cover these vibrant eyes (can't forget the pain)

Summary:

a nightmare, a memorial, a bird.

He was in the flowers again. His grave was right there.

Scott was in front of him.

“Jimmy…Jimmy…Jimmy please…”

No. no no no this had to be a dream. Right? right?

 “Please…I’m freezing Jim…”

He grabbed Scott’s hand. It was only then he realized how the grass, how the flowers around had withered, how it was covered in frost.

It was only then he realized that Scott’s eyes were red.

Scott grabbed onto Jimmy’s other hand, trying to pull him close as he pulled away.

The last word out of Scott’s mouth was a half-frozen plea.

“Jimmy, Jimmy please warm me.”

The cold leeched up Jimmy’s arms.

He tried to pull away, but Scott’s hands were frozen shut. Frozen around Jimmy’s. Frozen so tight he couldn’t escape.

Scott was completely ice, anguish in his eyes.

The cold reached his heart.

It radiated out from there.

It burned through him.

This didn’t feel like a dream.

help. please.

 

---

 

Jimmy’s eyes shot open in a place that was not his bed. He collapsed into the sand beneath him, eyes squeezing back shut, still feeling like there was a sliver of cold where his heart should be, that his fingers were frostbitten. Slowly, very slowly, he came back to the world, wings wrapped around him, hands dug into the ground, trying to feel something real.

 

He didn’t know how long he had sat like that, how long he had been asleep, but when he came back to himself, he was…somewhere.

 

It looked like a small room, picked out in a way that would make it seem like it was natural, if one wasn’t looking for the small indents and perfections that came with a manmade cave. Jimmy was always looking for those now, anything to look for, anything that might give him information, anything that would tell him who to trust.

 

There was a small pillar of stone in the back of the room. Mostly blackstone, but with a few bits of gilded. Carved into the base was a short line of Galactic. His Galactic was rusty, but Jimmy had vague memories of it.

 

He was pretty sure the base read “For the Taken.”

Or perhaps “For the Watched.”

 

As he watched the room, it slowly lit up, as a shaft in the ceiling directed sunlight from the noon-day down into it. It felt…right. Having it be lit up by the sun. The sun had something to do with one of the Taken, the one who had killed him…what was their name? Something with a G, maybe?

 

Suddenly, it struck him that he didn’t remember making this room. Either he had stumbled upon someone else’s memorial and sleepwalked into it, or he had built this entire room while he was asleep.

 

Either way, it seemed like there were too many memories here to stay here for long. He got up shakily, stumbling backwards before turning around and making his way shakily up a winding path, supporting himself against the wall as he went. He…didn’t have much confidence that he would have been able to do it without that leaning.

 

He resurfaced back in the mesa. Apparently it was his. Still, he couldn’t…he just couldn’t deal with this now.

 

He hadn’t been looking where he was going, mostly. But then he looked down.

 

There, in the sun, was a canary. A small yellow bird unmistakable to Jimmy.

 

He crouched, looking the bird in the eye. He poked it, as if maybe it was just a trick of the light, just his imagination.

 

…It wasn’t.

 

Why, why was the game following him.

 

why wouldn’t it leave him??

 

The world turned ever onward.

Chapter 6: i can’t hear myself through the loudness of my own hurt

Summary:

the rule of three.

the world turned ever onward.

the canary 

followed, 

followed, 

followed him around.

it wouldn’t leave him.

nothing would.

 

how does one keep going after

tragedy

tragedy

tragedy?

after everything you know has been ripped away

leaving you behind picking up the pieces

of the things you once knew to be true.

we trusted you.

we trusted you.

we trusted you.

how do you move on

when the words echo in your head every day

reminding,

reminding,

reminding

of the heartbreak

of the pain

of the scars

the scars

the scars.

the world turns ever onwards.

it turns.

it turns.

it turns.

focus on the sands.

ignore the memories.

ignore.

ignore.

ignore.

build the wall.

set him free.

don’t return him to the dark

of all the memories.

the world turns.

turns.

turns.

 

the world turns ever onward.

but he does not turn with it.

Notes:

bit of a different format today! hope you like it :)

Chapter 7: scared of the water, scared of the rain (scared of the memories that make me insane)

Summary:

a thunderstorm.

Notes:

um, yeah, this chapter is the reason that the rating got bumped up to mature!

It does contain depictions of self-harm, which will be divided by this symbol at the beginning and end: ~

If any more self-harm does come up in future chapters, this same warning will appear again.

Please stay safe, and take a break from reading or skip over these parts if you need to!

no no no no no no no no no.

There was a thunderstorm rolling in.

 

Jimmy ran to the center of Tumble Town, hands over his ears, trying to block out the shaking of the sky. It was too much, too much, too much. He didn’t look where he was going, only narrowly avoiding falling multiple times onto the sand. He had to get inside, get away, he couldn’t die again, not like this again, what if he didn’t come back no no no.

 

The door slammed behind him. He pressed up against the wall of some building, some inside wall. His eyes were closed, ears were covered. Memories, memories, memories came back to him, unwittingly: the shock of the lightning, the eyes filling the sky.

 

The sky was covered, he couldn’t check, he couldn’t make sure the eyes weren’t there. There was thunder, there was lightning, he couldn’t go out, what if he got struck again, what if he was dead for good what if they finished the job.

 

Why was it thundering, why was the canary still there, why did the memories still haunt him, why did they come back after that torture, why wouldn’t the game just leave him, why wouldn’t it go and leave him be, why did it seem like that was all he could think about, why couldn’t he move on, was there someway to stop this or was he doomed forever to the cycle, the spiral, the loop.

 

A particularly loud thunderclap came from outside.

 

A bright light floods your vision…thunder is making your ears ring…when the glare fades, a crater is clearly visible.

A crater where Jimmy once stood.

 

His hands came away from his ears. At some point, his wings had wrapped around his body, nestling into them almost as a bird did.

 

The Blue Hue has lost…The Orange Hue has won…

~~~~

Fingers ripped into the wings, tearing through the feathers. He stifled the cry as feathers came out with each violent run through, leaving small drops of blood where they once lay. He had sewn on these wings himself, he could take those feathers away. At least then he would have some semblance of control, some pain he was causing himself rather than something that was being done to him.

 

You’re…you’re my spring, yeah?...I’m sorry…I didn’t expect death to do this to us.

 

Fingernails caught on cloth, started ripping, ripping, ripping, like little claws. Don’t think about Scott. Don’t think about Tango. Don’t think about the games, don’t think about the canary. Don’t think about the way you can’t not think of these things.

 

Scott felt a bit colder than usual…You’re warm, Jimmy…I suppose I am…

 

Rip at the memories with talons like knives. Rip at the scars caused by their hand.

 

Scott…can you-can you see them? I know you’re aware of them, but can you actually see their stares? The way they Watch us all?

~~~~

Wish the world would stop turning for once.

 

Goodbye, Jimmy…goodbye, love…I love you…I love you, too…

 

Moonlight filtered in through the open window.

 

The thunderstorm had passed.

 

With shaky breaths, Jimmy looked at the pain he had caused himself.

 

Felt the stinging as the loss of so many feathers caught up to him.

 

His breath quickened, his hands shook.

 

He fumbled for his comm, typing out a one-word message and sending it out before folding back in on himself.

—--------------

<Solidarity> help.

Chapter 8: drowning so long i got older

Summary:

a recovery.

Jimmy didn’t remember the rest of that night. Not because of any external force, not the unnatural way he didn’t remember the games, but an internal one, the way the brain almost stops working in a state of panic, the way it forgets what it doesn’t want to remember.

 

What he does remember, though, is waking up the next morning. Or, what could have been the next morning, or could have been some morning days after. It had been one of those weird periods of time where it was hard to tell how much time had actually passed, that the time between his memories felt both too long and too short. He sat up, realizing that at some point, he had ended up in his bed. There were bandages on his wings, a decently sized bundle of feathers on the table nearby. There was blood marring the yellow and blue.

 

His gaze trailed up along the table, but was drawn by the repeated glints of armor to the left. And there, asleep in a chair, was Sausage. A bit different, a little more gold, a little more blue, but still Sausage. And at the sight of Sausage, Jimmy’s eyes glanced around the room again, noticing the small details of the room that seemed to point to this not being Tumble Town. It was small things, like the color of the light through the windows being slightly different, slightly more muted, the small sunflowers carved into the tables edges, the fact that Sausage was at peace enough to sleep so casually here. This was probably Sanctuary, then.

 

As the covers rustled, Sausage’s eyes blinked open, and he sat up a bit more in his chair. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep.”

 

Noticing that Jimmy probably looked a bit uncomfortable, Sausage continued, “And sorry about moving you. I’m sure Tumble Town has medical supplies, but I didn’t know where they were and you were…not in the best shape.”

 

Jimmy sat cross legged on the bed as Sausage came over to sit beside him. “What…did happen? I don’t remember that much after the thunderstorm.”

 

And slowly, carefully, Sausage started explaining. “After you sent out that comm message, a couple of us showed up. It was me and Fwhip, I think. One not in the games, one in. Scott wanted to come help, but Fwhip and I both thought that he would not help matters. Especially…especially how it ended.

“You were all curled up, wings around you. We could only see the outside of the wings at first, but then Fwhip noticed all the feathers on the ground and the…state they were in. 

“I basically airlifted you to Sanctuary. It was…horrible phrasing, but as if you were actually a doll. Like, you weren’t actively moving anything, but you didn’t show any resistance to it. Like you were lost in your memories, or something of the sort.

“I was able to bandage your wings. You probably shouldn’t use them until they heal more, though I’m not sure how exactly that works. Fwhip said he could take care of Tumble Town as long as he needs to.”

 

Jimmy blinked. “That was a lot. How long was I asleep?”

 

“At least a day, and a little bit more. It’s two days after the thunderstorm now,” Sausage double checked on a small gold watch pulled from somewhere, a skulk-stained thing with a sun carved into the back. “night’s just coming on.” 

 

Jimmy nodded. “Thank you.”

 

“Just wanted to be able to help.” The unspoken context was clear. Help in a way he couldn’t in the game.

 

Jimmy glanced out the window, at the reddening light. “Do you have anywhere to stargaze from?” He needed something familiar.

 

“There should be a ladder in the back that leads up to the roof.”

 

Jimmy got out of the bed, legs a bit shaky. Still, as he did and made his way back, he turned to Sausage. “Thanks. Again.”

 

“Just tell me if you need anything.”

 

Jimmy nodded again, making his way up to the roof. It was one of the highest roofs in Sanctuary, the city spreading out beneath it, the ocean beyond that. The city was beautiful, colorful and glowing in a way that Tumble Town wasn’t.

 

As the sun set and the stars glowed ever brighter in the sky, Jimmy felt the smallest glimmer of something. A tiny glimmer of hope that maybe he would make it out of this is one piece. Damaged, maybe, but whole. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, that he would probably fail many, many, many times. 

 

But the hope was there. And maybe, just maybe, it could grow.

Chapter 9: the world has changed (don’t you find it strange you just carried on?)

Summary:

the world turned ever onward.

The world turned ever onward.

 

Jimmy stayed in Sanctuary for…a couple weeks, maybe? He still hadn’t gotten back a normal perception of time, not since that place.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

He never got used to waking up in a different city, a different bed. His sleep was always light, when he did sleep. Most of his nights were spent looking at the stars, only retreating to sleep when the phantoms got too close.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

The feathers got washed, cleaned and dried out by the ocean wind. Yellow and blue. Living and dead.

…Sausage called them sun and sculk once.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

Jimmy slowly learned how not to fear. Very slowly. Replace the bad memories with good. Replace flaming wings with songs around a bonfire. Flaming tail with torchlit streets.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

Poppies were still too hard. There were too many memories, too many lies, too much cold there. But Sanctuary had sunflowers. Bright, large, yellow, so different from the small red.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

He stitched the feathers back on. Learned how to work his wings again. A week or so after, it wasn’t rare to see a Jimmy where no normal person could end up, on the roofs of various buildings.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

There was a point when he found a book about the old empires. Including an elf empire named Rivendell. There was a portrait, a drawing of its final ruler, one with ice powers who sacrificed himself to stop Xornoth. Someone with antlers and wings. Someone with teal blue hair and ice blue eyes. One with a poppy embroidered small on his robes.

Jimmy slammed the book shut when his eyes caught on the name. Scott Smajor.

 

The world turned ever onward.

 

There were canaries in Sanctuary now. Only a few, but they trailed Jimmy through the city. He saw them. Of course he did.

 

The world turned ever onward.

Notes:

yeah, sorry about the massive posting gap. life be lifeing.

Chapter 10: cause i’m a giver (and a giver is a bad bad thing to be)

Summary:

a whirlpool of memory

Jimmy was getting better. Maybe. He hoped.

 

But still, memories aren’t something that simply leave. If they aren’t taken from you, they live there forever. You just learn to avoid them. But sometimes that’s impossible.

 

For Jimmy, that was impossible.

 

It was a dark dark night, the moon close to new, barely a sliver in the sky. Normally night put Jimmy at ease. But not tonight. 

 

The crescent moon looked like a closed eye, ready to open at any moment.

 

The stars and night looked teal and blue, creeping across the sky like a mold.

 

And the memories enveloped Jim like his wings so often did.

 

Each time they came, he seemed to latch onto something different. So often it was directed out. But sometimes, the thoughts turned inward. Times like tonight.

 

He had questioned it. He hadn’t trusted Scott fully. Something had seemed off, and he had questioned it. But he still went along with it. He had still helped. 

 

Maybe if something had gone differently, maybe if Jim had went with his gut rather than his heart for once, maybe if he hadn’t been who he always was, so trusting, so loving, so quiet. Maybe if he had spoken up, maybe if he had connections other than his loves, maybe if he had even started to keep poking holes.

 

Maybe if he had been someone other than himself.

 

Maybe more people would’ve gotten out alive. Maybe the Watchers wouldn’t have won. Maybe there wouldn’t be this guilt like an arrow in his gut.

 

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

 

Such a small word. Such an uncertain word. Such a damning word.

 

A chorus of maybes, a jury of uncertainty, dooming Jimmy to the things he already knew. He was so painfully himself. And that’s what got him killed. And that’s what got others hurt.

 

But at some point, his brain caught on something, a lifeline, a branch over the whirlpool.

 

Something he had heard about tragedies, probably from Pix. That part of the reason tragedies were so tragic is because they were almost doomed from the start. The main characters were good people (maybe) but they weren’t perfect. For things to go differently, they would’ve had to be a different person.

 

It would’ve always happened that way.

 

For some reason, that was the thing to pull him out of it. 

 

And he looked up to the stars again, and they looked like stars and not sculk, and the moon was not an eye but just a moon, and he stared up the sky and ignored the jury in his brain that damned him as a part of it.

Notes:

sorry for disapearing. it will happen again.