Work Text:
Ruin isn't the optimistic sort. He's always considered people’s fantasies of an afterlife to be just that: fantasies, grieving souls grasping for any comfort offered to them. It’s not that he was certain of his worldview, of course—more that he would rather live his life believing that what he saw was all he had, rather than looking forward to a blissful paradise only to be faced with eternal nothingness.
But if this is nothingness, he’s been severely underestimating it.
There was a moment of deprivation, certainly. Loss of the senses, the briefest loss of emotion. At some point, he assumes he lost his ability to think at all, though of course there would be no way for him to tell. But then, a sense of being pulled, then spinning, and he had just enough time to feel the briefest flicker of some sharp emotion—he couldn’t even tell what—before he felt grass under him and saw stars high above.
“What…?” He stands up. His body seems…off, somehow, but it’s intact. He’s in a sprawling clearing in a forest he doesn’t recognize, lit by the light of a hidden sun—whether it is rising or setting, he can’t tell. Either way, it paints the speckled sky above in a marvelous array of colors.
He resists the urge to flop onto the ground and never get up again. But just barely.
“Who’s there?” He looks around, tense and guarded, but he appears to be alone.
He doesn’t see me, of course. I’m not really here.
“You do realize it’s considered rude to talk ‘about’ someone rather than ‘to’ them, yes?”
I know, I know. Sorry about that. I just usually don’t get to talk “to” people like you.
“‘People like me’?” Ruin narrows his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re going to keep describing my actions for the entirety of this conversation.”
I haven’t actually decided whether I will. You should know I’m winging this whole thing.
“And what, pray tell, would ‘this whole thing’ be?” (He crosses his arms, not hearing my description of the gesture because I say it in parentheses. Clever, I know.) “Are you meant to be some sort of psychopomp, leading me into whatever lies in wait beyond the mortal coil?”
Well, now…that depends quite a bit on how you look at it. Let me explain: you know how books and movies and stuff take place in worlds that are fictional, right?
“Of course.”
Okay, so imagine that all those worlds that you’ve ever learned about exist “below” you on a sort of cosmological stepladder. All one layer down, rendered from your view as merely ink on paper or pixels on a screen. Simply concepts. Still following?
“I am.”
Then here’s the real kicker: your world isn’t on the top of this little hierarchy. I’m in a world “above” yours. From where I am, you and everything you’ve ever known is an incredibly convoluted work of semi-improvised fanfiction.
“Oh, wonderful.” (He rolls his eyes, somehow making the gesture look elegant. True Brit right there.) “Right when I thought I was through with forces of near-unfathomable, arguably-eldritch power….” (Despite his body being good as new, he could swear he feels a weight in his limbs.)
Hey, man, I don’t make the rules. I really tried finding a way to keep you alive more “naturally”. But it turns out there aren’t a lot of ways to shimmy around the writers literally erasing you from existence. The point is, when you died, you left your original narrtative—the writers stopped writing your story. Which gave me an opening to pull you into a setting of my own creation.
“So, what, then? You’ve gone out of your way to bring me here simply so you could reverse my death? Why? Am I just a new curiosity for you, meant to play along with your whims for the foreseeable future?”
No, no, not at all! I don’t even know if I’m gonna keep writing about you after this. There’s a good chance that you’ll go off and do your own thing and have nothing to do with me ever again.
(Ruin’s reply hissed through his teeth.) “Then why did you bring me back? If you want nothing from me, why did you intrude upon my death?”
Because I wanted you to live.
(If Ruin had hair, he’d be pulling it out.) “But why?”
Why wouldn’t I? I don’t mean to irritate—I’m legitimately asking. If I can save you, why wouldn’t I?
“Well, for one thing, one can argue it’s hardly fair to the trillions of dead I’ve left in my wake.”
Yeah, I figured you’d say that. You’ve been beating yourself up for, what, 50 years and counting? But who said anything about fairness here? Life isn’t something you have to deserve or earn. You have a soul, and however bruised and ashen it may have become, it’s still as priceless as it was the day you came to be. That’s a kind of worth no one can take away, not even yourself.
…And there’s the fact that I just plain didn’t like the way your story ended.
“What, was it too melancholic for you?”
No, I can handle melancholy just fine. I don’t like how you gave up. I don’t like how the writers gave up on you. Let’s be honest, your story goes something like this: you went through a bunch of seriously traumatic stuff for a long time, made some heavy choices in an attempt to win back a sense of agency, and then completely gave up on your life. You’ve spent the past who-knows-how-long either super focused on achieving a specific goal, or a hair’s breadth away from being suicidal. You’ve been hurting and in need of help for so, so long, but every interpersonal connection you’ve formed, you’ve practically stumbled into, and eventually tossed aside. And you’re willing to toss aside your own self just as easily. Why is that, Ruin? Why do you disregard something so precious? Is it truly because you don’t think you deserve it? Is it because, after everything you’ve been through, you can’t possibly imagine ever having a chance to live in peace, to love again so fiercely that it overpowers the fear of loss—
“It’s because I’m tired!” (he snaps. His voice cracks. His breath shakes.) “I’m so, so tired. I have been for a very long time. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? You know that.” (Traitorous tears well up in his eyes. He doesn’t let them fall. He’s always hated crying.) “So thank you for your ever-so-noble rescue attempt, but I want none of it. I’ve lived more than enough already. I attempted to stay for the sake of atoning for what I’ve done, but it’s clear that it was a debt I would never be able to repay. There’s nothing left for me.”
(He takes a breath. It rattles in his system, weak and restless.)
…There’s a whole world beyond this forest, you know. Populated, in no small part, I think, by people like you. There’s…a lot of children. Stories are often cruel to them, it seems. Perhaps you could guide them, somehow. Or, hey, you could finally join a theater! I know you’ve mentioned having wanted to do that. Or you could just stay here and watch the world spin forever. Feel the sun on your rays every day, the grass growing under your palms. That could be nice.
“…The others. The people I’ve lost. Are they out there?”
I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know.
“This is your creation. How do you not know?”
Because I don’t build the whole world—there’s not enough room in my brain for that. Not enough in anyone’s, really. I’m just here to write the story. And in this story, it doesn’t really matter whether your loved ones are here or not. You will live a beautiful life if you find them here, and you will live a beautiful life if you do not.
(He scoffs, the sound catching in his throat.) “It doesn’t feel beautiful.”
Yeah, it won’t always. But look up!
(Ruin does, if only because he has nothing better to do. The sky is several shades paler now, but lighter, and the trees ahead of him are aglow with golden light. As it turns out, the sun has been rising.)
Things are always changing. Nothing we hold onto lasts, be it the bad or the good. For some people, that’s a source of hopelessness, but for me? It’s what keeps me going. Life is an absolute mess, but it’s vibrant and growing and it’s ours.
I…
…Screw it. I thought it would be ridiculous to do this, but this whole thing has been ridiculous.
(A shimmer of lingering morning starlight touches the ground a few feet in front of Ruin, and with a flicker, I appear. Ruin has neither the energy nor care to hide the surprise—and mild amusement—on his face.)
What, am I not what you were expecting?
“I learned not to bother with expectations long ago. It’s just that…you’re practically a child.”
That’s one way to put it. I have the imagination of a kid. I get super attached to pretend people, like a kid does. …I get scared like a kid, too. Scared of just about everything my mind comes up with. I’ve been like that for years, and while I’m trying to fix it, sometimes it takes all I can do just to keep from getting worse, you know?
And I’ve gotten tired of it. Really, really tired.
I think it’s why I got so attached to you, y’know? I’ve seen so much of myself in you, so I figure, if you can get a good ending…
“…Then you can, as well.”
And I really do think I can. I think we both can. It won’t be easy—few things ever really are—but I’ve been at it for a while, and I’ve found that the longer I go, the more things I find that make it worthwhile. And you will, too. I don’t know much in life, but of that I am certain.
(He chuckles.) “I see you’re one of the optimistic sort.”
Me? Oh, absolutely not! Optimism is way too terrifying, y’know? No, this I believe because there’s no way I can't. I see proof of it every day. It’s a wonderful thing, learning to see the world like that.
I just want you to be able to see that, too.
“…I used to. But that was a long time ago.”
Do you believe you can learn it again?
“I don’t know.” (He hums, tilting his head in thought.) “I suppose we are alike in that sense. There is little of which I truly can say I am certain.”
So, then, I suppose the only way to know is to try.
“…”
(A gentle wind stirs, sending a flutter through the end of Ruin’s hat. His gaze remains fixed in the middle distance, pensive.)
Would you like me to leave you alone now?
“I don’t know.” (His voice is so soft, so weak, it can barely be heard. But it is heard nonetheless.)
How about this? I’ll leave you to think for now, and right when the sun rises above the treeline, someone from this world will cross paths with you. Whatever choice you make from there on out is entirely yours, no strings attached. Does that sound okay?
“…Alright. But before you go…”
Yes?
“Since we may not meet again…I don’t quite know whether I should express my disdain for you or thank you. I may as well do both.”
That’s fair. And thank you, too. And—you do like hugs, right?
“I take it you’re getting this information from my interactions with Titan?”
Just answer the question, silly!
(He doesn’t know if he should be afraid to answer. Regardless…) “Yes, I d—”
(I hug him. Obviously. It’s a pretty pathetic hug, seeing as I’m really short compared to him, but from the way his posture eases, his smile softens, and he hugs me back, it seems to be good enough.)
(There is nothing left for me to say. Except…)
Goodbye, Ruin. I’ll see you when I see you—if I see you. Take care of yourself, okay?
“I make no promises,” (he replies, only half-joking.) “But…thank you. And goodbye.”
From there, I depart, as I said I would, and what happens after, I cannot say. All I know is that, as I leave, the sun is still rising.